Bless me

I say words I don’t mean

I hold on to things that no longer bring me joy

I try to taste the past out of reach




Better days.

Bless me cause I can’t breathe

Keep striving for different things

But matter will never change

Bless me and hope for better days.

I love to write but it doesn’t mean that it is always going to sound good.

Not everything I write will win a reward. Some things will be damn near cringe worthy. Still…I write.

I write because it brings me joy. I write because it is the one gift I have to pass on to my baby girl.

I write to make you think and feel.

I write because it is the only way to show I am here.

Forgive me, don’t forget me


Photo from the Video Winter Song by Sarah and Ingrid.

I had a friend, a wonderful friend. One who I did so much with. We lived together for awhile. But I got sick..mentally sick. I tried to kill myself. I tried to make her hate me by having her save me. I put to much pressure on her. I expected her to heal me when she had her on stuff going on.

I just wanted to die so bad.

I was never in the right state of mind. When we met I was contemplating the best way to do “IT”
After a few years she stopped talking to me suddenly.

It was random. I remember that last message I sent her was asking for her to forgive me. I had funny done it. I had finally cut my wrist. It wasn’t deep  enough though. It was to shallow. I survived. To much of a coward to try again once I was free from the hospital. The damage was done though.
She was gone.
I have spoken to her twice since then. Went to visit her. So much had changed when I had not.
I talked to her one more time before she decided enough was enough.
She hates me now.
Not as much as I hate myself.

I can’t forgive myself for what happened.
In the end I am not mad at her anymore. I have forgiven her for not being strong enough to tell me to stop. That I was going to far. I forgive her for ignoring me. I haven’t forgiven myself for hurting her. I wish she would forgive me as well.

She probably never will.
I will probably never have my best friend back.


image*****Warning please be advised this post deals with some heavy stuff. Please read no further if you are unable to handle different forms of abuse…*****












I have tried so hard to forget. To move past everything that has happened in my life.
I was born unhappy it seems, born into a world I never felt ready for. I lived with my mother for the first few years of my life. Going from place to place once I turned five. Sometimes with my mother and sometimes without. We where always running from something.  Running from being homeless and poor. Always one step away from losing it all. My mother was good at hiding the fact that we didn’t have much of anything. I don’t remember the struggle. Even now with looking back I don’t see anything but happiness growing up with her. As a child I did go through a lot of hardships. At the age of four I was forced to witness my mother be hurt by a man for the first time. That was when my lack of faith started. I remember it as much as a four-year old can. My mother was sexually abused as me and my sister were forced to sit there. Years would past and my memories of what happen would morph to were I felt I was to blame. That I was weak because I could not protect my mother or sister. Even when I am my sister were hurt ourselves I blamed myself. I was the one who should have been strong enough to defeat the darkness. By this time I was 8 years old. My sister had confided in me what happened to her and I had let her know that it had happened to me as well. I told her I would deal with it. It would be months before I would even tell my mother what had happened. I never had faith in adults or God. While I pretended to have faith in those around me and my church. I mainly did it because it was required of me. I said what needed to be said and I did what needed to be done to appease everyone. All the while hiding my true self. That I was suffering, that I was taking on more than an 8 year old should.

I was molested twice before I said anything.

At the age of 9 I was taken away from my mother. I had my 10 birthday in a children home. It was then that I told everyone what happened to me and my sister. Not many people believed us though.


I am a mother of a two year old little girl. You wouldn’t know this though because she think she is 16. She does things that make me look back and question if I ever did them. If I did, I immediately call my mother to say sorry.
She colors on everything. She puts everything in her mouth; including various body parts of hers. She should join a sport…pretty sure she would dominate the field.
She does strange things without reason. She cries when she doesn’t get her way. She has thrown shoes into the middle of the street in the dead of winter just so she could see her toes sparkle (I painted her toes and she liked them).
She eats crayons and poops works of art. She screams at me when I leave and screams at me when I am close. She tells me she loves me one min and the next tells she wants me to go away. She hates me..well not hate but she did tell me no when I asked if she loved me so close enough.

Despite this..the pain..the agony, the humiliation;  I can’t image living without her. I can’t see life without her. How can I wake up and be motivated if I didn’t have a child singing the toddler version of let it go. How could I clean without someone coming up behind me and destroying it. What good is coloring if not hours later I get to see how brown , green, and orange look together (pretty darn cool).
Without her life would be boring. Yes I would have more time on my hands..but for go to the club? To read more chapter of a book? To drink wine and stay up all night? My daughter makes me feel happy about waking up and hopeful when going to bed.

She is the reason I smile most days. She make it worth it..she makes life worth it. Cause without her…I wouldn’t be alive…