I am two parts. One part is still a child. She is immature and lazy. She knows only to do, never to think. She never got to grow up. The other part grew up too fast. She is strict and wise. All she does is think and think and think. She never got to be a child.

Why does my husband only love me when it doesn’t interfere with his career?

Why does my mom only love me when people are watching?

I keep having this nightmare where I talk to people, but no one hears me because I’ve lost my voice. I’ll scream at them and they won’t even spare me a glance. You know, it’s crazy because it happens sometimes when I’m awake, too.

My dad is dying. I want to go to sleep.

My brother is dying. I would gladly take his place.

Caught somewhere between “I don’t need anyone” and “please come back to me."

He started hiding the liquor in the house. I don’t know whether to hug him or hit him.

I often think about my life. I’ve worked so hard to build a happy, healthy routine for myself - something safe. But I don’t feel safe. I feel like I can’t ******* breathe.

Why does 3 AM come and go so quickly?

Last year I cracked and gave my mom the link to my poetry page in hopes that maybe she'd start to see and feel things the way I do. The other day, I asked if she had kept up with it. She said she didn't know what I was talking about.

The holidays are upon us and I cannot go home. I cannot face it.

My youngest sister is getting baptized on Sunday. She wants me to be there for her. I would rather bleed myself dry than go…but I will go. This is what I do.

My writing is **** recently.

My therapist tells me to imagine that I'm in a room. I'm safe and no one can hurt me. No one is around, I am alone. Nothing can touch me. I feel nothing. I open my eyes but I'm still in that room. I'm still in that ******* room.

I was 4 years old. FOUR YEARS OLD. And it took years for me to realize my childhood had ended when I was just 4 years old.