Coming Back To Life

It's taken a while to get back in the swing, and though I'm not sure if this will be permanent, I'm going to try. For so long in my life I've been lax at continuing projects I've started. I don't know if it's the feeling of inadequacy or the knowledge that once it's finished I won't have anything in front of me, but it's been a lifelong struggle. The only way out is through and I intend to see it head in that direction.

The year has been fraught with developments, struggles, and more of the same nonsense that's carried through the whole of my life.

I went back to school and completed six classes, two by the same teacher and I deeply regret it. There was little enjoyment for it the first time around and even though I like history, I was a fool to hope it had gotten better. Now that's it's finished, I feel a sense of ease that I haven't had in quite some time.

The house has become bothersome. More of the ceiling fell in and we were struggling with rain buckets. The tarps my father nailed to the roof were ripped off by the high winds and the amount of rain was staggering. We finally acquired a large enough tarp to cover the bad spots and now we can simply sleep through the storm without having to empty the water out the front door.

However, after a particular dreadful downfall, the whole of the living room ceiling came down and Visclean (heavy duty plastic) was put in its place. It's unfortunate but it feels cleaner than it has in some time and part of the mold problem has taken care of itself. We're taking baby steps to get the house sorted so we can leave. In turn, I'm working to find a job and get a checking account set up so I can have my own place.

My mother has become more bothersome than ever and it's taking its toll on everyone.

She was placed on Suboxone by a new physician after losing her old one due to a failed urine test. Everything was working fine for a while, until they decided to up the dosage and she began acting strangely. She started to trip over her own two feet, her emotions spiraled from crying to calm, then to anger and lashing out, and back to calm, often times becoming violent, a new sense of paranoia came over and she found horrible hobbies to occupy her time, mainly dumpster diving and hoarding the house with crap. Sadly, even after losing that doctor for another dirty UA, she's back to buying medication. Unfortunately she hasn't changed; she still dumpster dives and thrift store shops, lashes out, is derogatory and hurtful, but now things are different at home.

My father, fed up with having to take out loans because bills weren't being paid, took control of the finances; the electricity was days away from being shut off (again), the car payment was a month overdue, and he had $60 in late fees from the loans. Yet, after seeing how much everything is, he'd beginning to have more patience with my mother. The amounts have been staggering but with this knowledge he's less grumpy and I don't fear the tide when he comes home from work. He and I are something of best friends (for the first time in the whole of my life), and I have an ally I can turn to. He's told me time and again that if my mother ever asks for money to tell him and now I can. The last time she tried to steal a $1,200 check and withhold it. She was going to forge my name and deposit it. I tried to leave and she physically assaulted me. However, after returning the favor, she's understanding her place. I'm not happy about what I did, but she's hurt my mentally and sometimes physically for 27 years and I couldn't stand by another moment and let her abuse me. I'm not at all proud of it but it hasn't happened since. Especially after my father discovered what happened.

The ex that had been harassing me finally ceased, finding comfort with HIS ex. He did try to message once but I blocked the account and nothing has continued; no comments on my YouTube channel, late night drive by to see what's happening, phone calls, text message, or statements on my Facebook page. I'm abstaining from anything too serious because I don't want to be back in the same boat. I'm tired of being tied down, forced to involve everyone in the things I want to do. More outgoing than I used to be, I now join a weekly D&D session, spend weekends at my friend's house across the street, make new YouTube content (can be found at Candlelitsoul), and write stories on Wattpad (found by searching CandleLitNovelist).

My demeanor has also changed; I've become something of a realist, looking at what's plausible rather than imagined, the advice I give is blunt and to the point (I can't abide foolishness anymore. It's sad but it's what I have to do to survive), my belief structure has enhanced and I know what I want of it, and my sense of being and style is now more aligned with hippy. Though I still cling to my dark ways, I wear colors of blue, yellow, brown, and dark green when it suits me. I'm not afraid to be myself and create beautiful things in Minecraft (for these, you can find me on Instagram at Candlelitsoul). I have dreams of owning my own home, having one garden for crops, a greenhouse for herbs, and living miles away from another person (though not too distant from a hospital just in case I need its services). I want to see the beauty that is Bar Harbor, Maine, and take up a home. I found one Zillow and it's stunning.

I know I don't have to, but I want to apologize to those that follow my blog. My head hasn't been in a right spot since my cycle has stopped coming (not once in well over a year), several animals passed away (we went from 27, to 17, to 12, now to 7), and I came to know that narcissism is the name for my mother's attitude and being. It's taken a long road to get where I can feel settled but I'm glad it's happened the way it has. Now at 32, I've taken off my blinders and the world makes more sense. I'm going to work hard to gain back your love and trust. I always tell people that once it's broken, it takes a journey to find it, and I won't be lax this time. Besides, I love writing, and what better place to make people smile than here?

I long to hear from all of you, and I hope that you've been well. If you haven't, I want to be there to help you through the darkness and into the light. You're wonderful the way you are and you should never change to suit another. Like what you like, be who you wish to be (so long as it isn't detrimental to you or someone else), and fly high when you have the wings on your back. You're amazing and I love you for everything you are.

Goodnight, dear readers. I have a cracked tooth and have to be up early to find a cheap, affordable, but decent dentist to treat the infection and hopefully extract it. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.

Love you always,

Candle

Back Down The Rabbit Hole

Yes, I know. Yet another blog that isn't about writing, but at this point, it's more important to me to get my message out there, to put my feelings down on some kind of paper, and hope to the gods I'm not too late in helping someone else. I'm an absolute fool; I admit it, and I can own up to it, but do you know what happens to a soul when they're pushed too far, when they're already broken down? They shatter, and each time, it becomes harder to pick up the pieces. It seems my life is spent traversing the rabbit hole, but at least I've been able to find some comfort in it, the millionth time around.

 Last week, my brother called me to ask if I would babysit his kids. He doesn't trust his thieving mother in law, or his bitch of a sister in law (rightly so when they steal from him, and leave him without), and his wife does nothing but go behind his back. It's all sad, but back to the point. Monday came and I was sick. For two days I had to contend with nausea, diarrhea, no sleep, a rolling migraine, heart palpitations, and dehydration. I messaged my brother around 8am, and profusely apologized. I went to bed shaking, so scared and panic ridden, thinking everything was fine.

 I get woken up by mother yelling at me, because my father is yelling at her. I've had six hours of sleep, not too bad. I know I'll sleep later, so I get up to help. My father starts throwing things in the kitchen, like a fucking toddler. The drainboard soars into the living room, cats are tossed outside, and I (stupidly) walk in to offer assistance. After the mop bucket is readied, and he starts mopping up the water the cats had spilled, he turns to me, and it begins.

 He starts out by asking why I didn't go babysit that day? I tell him why, half hoping he'd be understanding, but I'm not a fool. I know my father when he's like this. You could have cancer, be on a morphine drip, and weak from repeated vomiting, and he'd look at you like you were the scum of the earth. He looked at my mom like that when she came home on oxygen after nearly dying from smoking. Even SHE didn't get a break.

It came to a head with him saying that it was incredibly fucking selfish and inconsiderate of me to bail on him. It didn't matter if I was sick. My brother had asked for my help, and I should have gone, regardless of if I've slept, or was puking my guts out.

 It ended with him thrusting the mop at me, and telling me to put it up, then help him get dinner ready. He tried to be nice to me later, but I didn't reciprocate. I ate my dinner, and popped a melatonin, then laid in bed, trying not to cry. Somehow, I won.

 How can a father speak to his kid like that? My brother was understanding. He knows how my stomach is, and what I go through to fight it. His wife, who'd had a funeral that same day and was ABLE to attend, despite what my father tried to make me believe, was understanding. My father has a habit of trying to baby you with words, then ripping the rug out from under you. I walked right into it, but this time, I didn't emerge unscathed. I haven't left that hole he kicked me into, and for the first time in my life, I no longer give a shit.  I tried hard to better myself, and my way of thinking. I still wore black, but the music I listened to changed, as did my writing style. I thought everything was fine, but I forgot the most important lesson on my journey to the top; never show the house your full deck. In one instance, life became what it had been when I was 22, and my father told me that I was making everyone around me miserable, and that I had six months to find a place to live.

 I find it funny that a man who subjected his nine year old daughter to bouts of overdosing on pain medication, repeated trips to a mental facility, seeing him in a drunken state, where one moment he's laughing and having fun, then he's screaming, yelling, and the cops are being called. At every turn, he's tried to break me, browbeating me into being what HE thinks I ought to be, and for a while, I let myself forget why, but all that came rushing back; I'm my mother's daughter.

 My mother, in recent times, has become more of narcissist. She's tried telling me that I'm not allowed to have my own home, or my own money, until I help get both her and my father into a better home. Any money I managed to get hold of, she tries to lay claim to. Only good that came from that was my father's sit down with me, telling me to NEVER give her another dime. She called my father a liar, but that's just her isn't it? She tells me that I don't do enough around here, even though there are nights I clean the whole house, make dinner, and take care of the animals, but then she comes back with "Well, I do it every single day. Havefor the last 31 years (my age, of course)". She also counters with everything she did that day, and the day before, then crowns it with "I work harder than you ever have or ever will". Real mother of the year material isn't it?

 All of this has culminated in me self loathing, and tumble back down the rabbit hole. Of course, none of you know what that means. You don't know my history, but let's just say; the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree that helped create it. When it comes to fuckery, I am also my father's daughter.

 In 2010, my boyfriend of eight months broke up with me in front of the woman he left me for, and her best friend. We'd been living together seven months, about six weeks after my father told me that I had to leave.That's when my journey towards self destruction began. I started with dragging needles across my skin as hard as I could, repeatedly, making myself bleed. I did it in less obvious places, but like any drug, I graduated. I worked at Walmart at the time, and I'd bring my box knife home. I'd grab replacement blades before leaving, and use those to slice myself. The sharper the better. When my parents discovered my method, I went a step further; men's disposable razors are an amazing fix. I'd pry the blades off and use those, conceal them in my pillow cases. During this ride, I was thrice admitted to Laureate Psychiatric, and once to Kaiser at Hillcrest Medical Center. I tried therapy, but it's hard to speak to someone who knows nothing of what you go through. Drugs made me less of a good person, and from there, all hell broke loose. That's a story for another time.

 Monday night, I relapsed after six years of being clean; I took that needle from my sewing box, and I drug it three times across my skin, savoring that pain that lit my nerves like wildfire. I'm not proud of it. I tell people all the time it solves nothing, but I also knew that it was either hurt myself and accept a sore leg, or physically damage my parents, and go to jail for life. Yes, I may have a strong case, but in the end, I would have been aware of my actions, and I don't relish having that on my conscience. I sat myself down and came to a decision; if I'm such a horrible person, then fine. I guess, that's all I'm ever going to be, and I should just own up to it. If they want to tell me that I'm bad, I will show them what bad really is. I cop an attitude, I throw truth in their faces, I haven't spoken to my dad since this all began, and I refuse to. I no longer confide in my siblings (not like I did much anyway. My brother, whom I'm babysitting for, has always run my dad like a lapdog and spilled everything, so he can never be trusted. My other brother abandoned me, and was also physically and mentally abusive. My sister, well, you can't even call her that, can you? She and I don't speak. They all left me, and never looked back), I don't speak to anyone who has association, which has led to me cleansing my social media account in favor of keeping my secrets, and though it may all seem petty, I no longer care. I'm past that point.

I thought I was numb before, but now I know what it means; to feel your heart squeezed to the point it can't expand, your emotions virtually dead, so you have to fake a smile and a laugh, but the light never meets your eyes, and you keep your agenda hidden from the world. They'll know of my plans by next fall. By then, I'll have the money to do what I'm needing. This fall I have college, and I've accepted Pell Grants and Direct Stafford Loans, plus work study, which will total a good sum after everything is taken out. After Spring semester, I'm hoping to have found these kittens we have good homes, then pack up myself and the momma cat, plus the grandmomma cat, and leave in the dead of night. I'll be changing my name, closing down my social media account, and leaving a letter for them to find. Kind of shitty, I know, but at every turn, they have hindered me from living a full life, and I won't let it happen anymore.

At 31, almost 32, it's time to get the show on the road. I'm not the girl I used to be, and I don't really care. I'm more of a bitch, an outright cunt to those that need it, and I will continue to weed out my life until I can see my way before me. My writing is really all I have left to me. I will do everything in my power to stay afloat, but I'm perpetually drowning, no rescue in sight. I can't stand the sight of myself, and the world itself makes me ill.

Hermitdom has come to claim, and it's blissful.

 My warning to those who are struggling is this; keep a goal, and ride it hard. Hide yourself behind the wall, and smile and wave like a fool. Follow your set agenda, and when you can, leave the others in the dust. Cutting solves nothing, only creates new challenges. Mold yourself into who you MUST be, until you can be who you TRULY are. One day, these memories will fade, but know you aren't alone. We must stick together and put hatred where it belongs; back on the shoulders of those casting it. Together, we will rise, and claim what's rightfully ours. Know that you are never alone, and I will continue to run my own game, while helping you achieve yours.

If nothing else, look my writing as your escape, or create your own worlds to fall into when you and it most.

No matter your age, color, or creed, you're a mighty warrior, and as always, with your shield mates behind you, will rise to the top and live to fight another day.

 Onward and upwards, my brothers and sisters.

 Our time is now.

Happiness can be found in the smallest, but best, of places

Lately, I've been trying to change my outlook on life. Considering the times we live in when people who need food stamps, medicaid, and disability can't get them, we have our younger generation eating tide pods to become famous on YouTube, my own family slowly circling the drain, and my mother and I growing steadily apart, I have had to re-evaluate my life to try to find some kind of peace. It came in the form of people I have never met face to face, but those I have formed strong bonds with through the art of writing. When i came across on a group on facebook entitled, "Role Play Literate", I wasn't expecting to find people who could do multi-paragraph sentence structures, proper grammar and punctuation, even able to keep the story going and contribute ideas, but I was shocked and amazed when three people stepped forward. and have helped me to create the most amazing storylines. For reasons of privacy, I won't give their actual names, but I will call them by who they have played. Oliver Kingston, who has stuck with me through thick and thin. We don't talk as much as the others and myself do, but it's meaningful nonetheless. She's kind, understanding, and has been through a journey with me that I can't even begin to explain. Oliver, You're absolutely amazing. I love our storyline, and even though it's approaching its end, I hope that we can either start over, or find another to do. I don't want to lose you as a friend and fellow writer. You're writing inspires me, and I love seeing your name pop up on my notifications. Dr. Roan Jensen, what can i say? From the first moment you took on the story line I was blown away. Your writing has often intimidated me because it is so good. I feel I need to step up my game and work even harder to reach your level. What we've created has been phenomenal, and I still want to collaborate on a book, even a Youtube series if at all possible. You've become a great friend, and I can't wait to see where we go in the future. You inspire me to create schematics of my stories and bring them to life. I love it! Aros (I swear to fuck I forgot your characters last name XD), you are AMAZING! Working with you on these stories has been wonderful. You're writing is perfection, your in-depth character and story plotting has inspired me to make my own that much better, and now that you have also become a fellow Minecrafter, my world has become alive with content. I love to see what we might get up to at night, the shenanigans we're going to pull, and you make me feel so special. I could not do these things without your guidance. Thank you, for everything. And how can I forget Paranormal? The man who found me when I was doing live videos on YouNow, followed me to Youtube where he became a loyal and die hard fan, then came into my real life on Facebook and has made himself such a valuable asset that I can't get through a day without talking to him, or screwing around on Minecraft for hours on end? We play off each other so well it's almost frightening. I truly do hope that one day, me, you, and a few others can get that house we've been talking about, and set Youtube and the internet on fire with out content and general shenanigans. I can just see it now.... and it's absolutely terrifying. XD Most people will tell you that online friends are not the same as real life friends. To them I say, maybe it's because you haven't met the right person. I have had my fair share of ups and downs with people online, but these individuals have helped shape me as a creator, a writer, a dreamer, and an overall person. When I stopped trying to please other people and change their opinions, becoming happy with who I wanted to be, and dropped those in my life who wanted to do harm, I let myself have a good life. These people have been here for me when I've been on the true edge. I wouldn't be where I am mentally without them. I do have real life friends. My neighbor Jessica is a great friend of mine, almost like a sister. I'm an aunt to her and her husband's kids, and, as she will say, an asset to their lives, but it's only because I believe in being a good person. My brother says it's me being fake, and that if people knew the real me, they wouldn't like me. That's why my brother is no longer in my life. I am done with the negativity, and these people reinforce my belief that I'm doing the right thing. When I was 16 and got my first computer, I took to writing and role playing to find an escape. Little did I know that 15 years later I'd be doing the same thing, but this time, I'd have the most incredible army beside me, bringing these worlds to life. Everything has come full circle and I'm happier than I've been in many years. Thank you, all of you, for helping me when I've needed it, and bringing these stories into greater existence. Here's to the future, and everything we will accomplish!

Being Me

So much has happened between now and last year, and the differences are nothing short of amazing. I am enrolled in college for the Spring semester, and I will make sure to be funded for the fall. I have all the prospects in the world to get done what I have always wanted, and I'm going to see it accomplished. The major difference has come internally, rather than external. No longer do I bow to others, including my own family. My mother is a narcissist and my father, well, he'd rather bury his head in the sand and criticize than do anything constructive. My siblings and I don't speak, and I'm okay with that. I have brought my life to a point where it is tolerable for me. I don't take on friends just to have them, or stick in friendships that I know are toxic and will not help me become better in the long run. I am more dedicated than ever to my YouTube channel, and I am to see it through. I have come to meet some amazing people, and with their help, we have created such beautiful worlds that no one can ever imagine existed. I am proud, each and every day, to work with these people. I wake up and immediately check my phone to see what they have posted, and get butterflies in my stomach when I look down at my phone and see their little chat heads on the screen. I love hearing about their days, and role playing in the stories we've created. Most people would see my life as boring. All it consists of are books, school, role playing, having fun with my friends, cleaning, cooking, podcasts, YouTube, then bed. They'd say I need to travel and see the world, but in my mind, I've seen so many beautiful places, and I feel as if my life is nearing completion. As I stand outside at night, i still dream of moving far away, and by next year I plan to make that a reality. i want my own home, away from here. Where there's not 15 cats and two dogs, plus two grown adults being rude and making noise. I want to lay down at night and listen to my fan turn and know that if I don't have work the next day, I can sleep in, or wake at my usual time and just lay in bed until it's time to go to sleep again. I won't have to hear my name called and have the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can be free, safe and warm in my own house. Next year... it has to be next year... it WILL BE next year. I love who I am, and I'm done feeling guilty. I don't go to parties or drink. I like to stay at home and role play or play video games with friends on Discord and enjoy the peace surrounding, knowing that when I've had my fill I can just turn it all off and be in the solitude. I had that once upon a time; a place where, at night, the atmosphere was peaceful, and I could do what I wanted without fear of judgment. I could sit outside on my balcony and drink a beer or a hot cup of tea, sit in the living or bed rooms and play video games or watch TV. I could soak in the tub in candlelight for an hour, then dry off, crawl into bed at dawn and sleep until nighttime. I could write in perfect silence, and not have to hear a knock at the door, or my name be called, telling me to do their bidding so they could rest some more, even when they haven't done anything for days, or in my mom's case, years. I have this dream... this idea of beauty and perfection... It's going to come, and I will be perfectly free. Don't ever stop being yourself. Let others say what they want. At the end of the day, when you lay your head on that pillow, all that matters is you can look at yourself and like what you see. If there are those surrounding you who don't like it, or are uneasy, they can take their leave and make room for those who WILL love you. There is always someone... somewhere... Never give up trying to find it. Life is beautiful... it's what you make of it. Mine is clad in white Christmas lights wrapped around the ceiling, books lining shelves around the room, a comfortable bed, a computer or writing desk in the corner, and the knowledge of good friends that will always be there for me. if that isn't beautiful... then I will never what truly is. Be yourself. Love yourself. Live free in the beauty of the world.

Based On A True Story| Part 1 | | Introductions Are In Order

Hello. My name is Saoirse Kearney, and I am a survivor. I was born in October of 1986 in a small town in Oklahoma. I was premature, and stopped breathing for six minutes. I'm starting to think that I should have died that day, rather than continuing to live, and maybe, I would have been spared the life I've led, but then again, I could have been born to something much worse. So, in truth, i don't know where I stand. From the time I was six, I knew my life was never going to be easy, but I didn't know just how right I would be. From the time I was born until I was five, I had a pretty good life. Two brothers, I'll name R and K, a sister, I'll name Little J, a mother I'll name Big J, and a father I'll name D. I had two dogs, Basset Hounds, Maggie and Eunice. A couple of cats. We had a three bedroom house in a nice part of town, and I started going to a good school when I turned five. Life was... pretty sweet. Then... everything changed. Suddenly, my father wasn't around as much, and when he was, he wasn't very nice. My mother became self serving (though I'm told she was always like that) and cruel. They separated and we were losing the house. I thought, maybe, we were just moving somewhere else. Somewhere better, but I should have listened to my bigger instincts. From that point on, we were divided; Little J and R with D, K and me with Big J. I didn't know why everyone went that direction, but apparently, K's father was from Alabama, and my father was his step father. My mother was Little J's and R's step mother. They were taken from their real mother at a young age because she was deemed unfit, which, in part she was. I was the only one from both of them. It only made it that much harder. My father and the two moved into an apartment, and me and the other two moved around. Couch to couch, floor to floor. Only later the reasons why became apparent, but that's for a later time. When I look back now, I can't believe how innocent I seemed, considering now I'm a year past 30, I have 5 tattoos, natural red dyed hair, scars from when I tried to take my own life, a panic and anxiety disorder that flares and calms like whiplash, and a whole host of emotional, mental, and physical problems that have spawned a lifetime of chaos. The name I'm using here is a name that's based on a character I use in a role play, whose parents are more abusive than my own, but she had the courage to get out a young age. She's everything I wish to be. Her name will soon be my own, because I can't bear the weight of the one I was given after birth. As you continue to read, IF you continue to read, you'll see why I call myself a survivor, and why I'm ready to start over. Why I'll be working to start over. I have to, because if I don't, this life is going to kill me. Continued later.

One Day

Deep brown eyes stare out at the horizon, the golden skies stretching on for miles across the open prairie. The trees sway in the wind as the dawn rolls on like the tide, sending the black scurrying for cover in the distance behind. The signpost that passes bears the name of a town not too far away, advertising a rest stop and restaurant combo, as well as hotel rooms and great tourist destinations; the ideal town for most to settle, but for this occupant, it is little more than a halfway point on the journey to freedom. Shifting in the seat, the woman with red hair, her roots brown as they chase the color away, sits up straighter in the small seat, pulling the Skullcandy headphones from her ears. During the night, the Harry Potter book on tape had finished, and silence had reigned, but in her exhausted state, her body had failed to react. For the first time in her memory, however, she'd slept through the night without fear of what might happen the next day. Would her mother bang on her door and yell that she needed help with the dogs, or that she had, once again, done something wrong, and she was selfish and lazy because, NOW, her mother had to do it... even though she HAD done it, just in her own way? Would her father message her from work and tell her that her mother was in a bad mood, or come home and start slamming doors, screaming and yelling behind it? WOuld her mother, once again, tell her what a selfish person she was, and that she hated her? When was the other shoe going to fall? When would her sanity finally break and carry her to a place she would never be able to escape from? Or worse... when would the day come that she would finally snap and end up taking one of two lives; her mother's, or her own? This night had proven to be one of the hardest but the most rewarding. Every cell in her body told her to turn back; to get off at the next stop and go back home, tell them she'd made a mistake and she was sorry, that she would never do it again if they only loved her. However, she knew there was never going back. Yes, there would be pain at losing their respect, at losing their love. There would be angry words and tears, but the benefits of what she was going to do outweighed every thought that played through her head, those words nothing more than damage done after 30 years of brainwash, scapegoat, and narcissistic intention pushed through on her by her own mother. She could relax. She could breathe. She could live. The woman next to her gave her a small, knowing smile, almost as if she could see behind the innocent brown eyes that gazed back, and see the world of hell that she was leaving behind. She could also see that the woman wanted to speak, to find out her story and see if her suspicions weren't correct, but not wanting to frighten her, or make her uncomfortable. Behind those hazel eyes, she could see a wealth of knowledge, but also a sweet figure who only wanted to do good in the world. They reflected everything she hoped to be one day, that she could now strive for because she'd taken one that one fateful step and reclaimed her life for her own. Over the speakers, the bus driver announced their stop, the small town coming into view. His voice broke the spell of the older woman's gaze, and her own turned back to the disappearing fields. There was a transfer station here, and she would be taking the next bus towards Salem, a new haven for the frightened girl who fought and survived to escape. A job had been promised by a lovely shop owner, and lodgings were being found for her at a local inn until a permanent solution could be found. To that woman, she owed her very life. One email, an application from a distance. One phone call, an hour long discussion, and the woman had jumped into action. She had friends in all the right places, family who had seen girls at the hands of people like her mother, and worked hard to make a better life for them. A new identity, a new look, a new home; all of these prospects awaited her. As they'd said, she only had to find her courage, and it would be for the better. She'd never be found, they'd said, and they were right. The woman with the hazel eyes was her guardian angel, and she'd more than made sure they couldn't be traced. Stepping off the bus, she followed in the woman's wake, never releasing the hand that held hers in its gentle grip. Trust.. absolute trust. This was what it truly meant to trust and love. Not empty promises and hollowed words. Not threats and screams that came with the nightfall. No bargains, no quid pro quo. Just one person helping another. She'd give it back someday. For now, she was honored to be the recipient. As the wheels of the next bus set into motion, her stomach released its tension and she fell back into a gentle sleep, free in the knowledge of what awaited her. This was her time to shine. She hoped her friends would understand, and support her decision to run. She'd tell them when the danger past, and hope against all odds they could forgive her. She loved them, so dearly. And her girlfriend... would she understand too? The past would always haunt her, but now she had a future, and it was brighter than every dawn before it, and shone twice as beautiful as the moon. When all was lost, she found her voice, and it now sang from the rooftops. Forever had finally come, and she was proud. Written while listening to: Angel's Fall by Breaking Benjamin.

Afraid

I wanted to insert an inspiration quote here, to make the opening more of a grand style, and get people to think, but honestly, tonight I don't have it in me. I'm just too tired, too sick, and too scared. What do I mean by this? Allow me to explain. As I sit here, half out of my mind because of my medication, feeling like a child has inhabited my body, and they're been told something terrifying; something their minds can't yet comprehend, but they know the severity of it. I can't think straight, I can't act normal, and I don't know how to combat it. It's like, I'm in a permanent state of fear, and I will never recover. In the last hour, I have taken my antispasmodic to help my stomach spasms stop. Why would I need to do that, you're probably asking? Once a month, or once every two months if I'm lucky, I go through what's called a, "dumping syndrome", which means that the normal spasms a stomach has are increased. Any food that I take in, my stomach spasms push the food out before it has a chance to process, and gain nutrients from it. It pushes it into my lower intestine, and colon, and then I have an IBS attack, and it pushes out more than I've taken in. Sadly, if I've caught the dumping too late, the antispasmodic doesn't have a chance to work, and gets pushed out. When this happens, I usually end up in the emergency room, hooked to an IV while they give me nausea medication, and a shot of the same medication in my hip so it can get through where it needs to be. I'm honestly trying not to let that happen. I also took half of a Norco, and a less drowsy nausea pill. My stomach hurts horribly. It feels like Freddy Kruger is trying to claw his way out of my stomach, while giving me nausea. I may also have a cyst on my ovary that is contributing, but I'm unsure. I'm only halfway here. Lastly, my heart palpitations have started again. I don't know if it's because I'm coming down with something, but it could be the spasms in my stomach doing it. I took two puffs of an inhaler, but it didn't help. So, can rule out an illness. I am not myself. My mind is fogged over, I'm more distracted than usual, and every 5 or so minutes, I start having a minute long panic attack. Thoughts of death roll through my head, and I can't halfway face them. I know that it's the medication doing this, and I could easily never take it again, but I have nothing else to treat this with. Gatorade, Powerade, Pedialyte, protein bars, meal replacement bars, meal shakes, crackers, milk, tea; these only go so far to help treat the problem, and to help keep nutrients in my system, but they don't help the underlying problem. In the end, I only have medication to turn to, and the love of great friends. My stress hasn't been helping. I had to watch my father's cat die a gruesome and unneeded death because FIV and an upper respiratory infection. I don't want to go into it again because my mind still hasn't healed from it, but I haven't had the heart to tell him. My mom and I have only told him that she was outside, and she never came back in. That we haven't even seen her. I hate lying to him, but he's back on a medication he doesn't need, and it makes him angry, derogatory, and he'll act out his anger by slamming doors, cussing, name calling, etc. I know when he's taking it because he falls asleep on the floor, and is angry when woken. He's also in and out of the bathroom all night long, and sometimes we have to wake him up so we can use the bathroom. My mother hasn't been much of a joy either, but I know most of it is because of him, and the fact that I'm going back to school, which means on Thursdays, she's going to be the one cleaning. Both of them are alike, and they don't even know it. Pushing me in one direction, even though I don't want it, putting out not so subtle hints about my life, and thinking they know what's best for me. They don't see my struggle, and I'm trying hard to keep it all together, but I am failing on a major scale. I haven't been like, not once in the whole of my life. Hold on, panic moment. ......... Alright. I am sorry if none of this makes sense, but I'm so drowsy, yet so scared I can't even focus. My friend sat with me on a livestream, trying to help, but in the end, the medication has to run its course, and I just have to try my best to ignore these feelings. I have to. School is at 1pm on Monday, and I can't fuck up the first day like I did a year ago. I refuse. I have to get through this, and I can do it. If you're reading this, and you've stuck with me so far, please, put a nice comment on here. I need all the support I can get while I ride it out. Gonna try to lay down and forget, but it might not happen. I'm so scared, but I'm not a quitter. I can do this... I can do this...