bigmouthauntie-blog

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Puzzle Piece #1

I only remember that it was winter...or very early spring. I remember the snow, and that it was cold outside. I’m not sure how old I was, maybe ten or eleven years old. 

It was a school day, and I was supposed to stay back for Activity Night. Aunt Peggy was working that morning. Those were the best mornings. 

My brother and I were sitting in my dad’s truck waiting for him to finish up at the garage.  I can’t remember what Joseph was mad at me for, but he ended up kicking my dad’s windshield and making a crack in it. When my dad came out he was really angry and Joseph blamed me. Either way, we didn’t get any candy that morning. Dad made us wait in the truck, where we watched the crack in the window get bigger.

I was in class when the call came. All of the kids heard it over the P.A system.  I was no longer allowed to attend Activity Night and had to go straight home off of the bus after school. I remember everyone looking at me. I remember feeling both terrified and ashamed. 

I don’t remember what happened between the time I got off the bus and when she started beating my head in with a mini hockey stick. Once she realized that I was getting blood on her carpet, Peggy dragged me to the kitchen by my hair and kicked me while I was lying on the floor. When she was done, she threw me into a freezing cold bath, where she laughed and made fun of me for being stupid enough to let her throw me in the bath with my clothes still on...

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Fucked up memories mostly forgotten. Just some pieces.

 God help me. ok. bits and pieces all messed up. Brother being tied to the bars and whipped. Glass bottles put inside him. The masked people had gloves. blue gloves. they tasted like bubble gum...the masks, they were blue. lab coats? or were they doctor coats? No...they were dentists..I can't make out their faces though. There's a tray next to the bed with sharp things on it. One of the maksed people picks up one of the things on the tray and cut me with it. There's rubbered fingers in me in different places. There's a Bible. Bed shaking really bad and lights flickering on and off. A Ouija board. My brother hanging from his arms in ropes from the ceiling. They were trying to get the demons out of us. They must have thought they did the surgeries right because they stopped coming around after the baby came out but she died. I never saw the masked people after that and anything to do with the Occult, (even magic tricks and card games) wasn't allowed in the house and she stopped lighting candles. She said she hated candles because her dad liked them and he was in Hell now instead of heaven. I don't think she liked my grandpa too much. She took really good care of his grave though. None of her other siblings went to visit him. When we went my aunt was always in a weirdly good mood. She joked and laughed and we had a good time. I don't remember it though, just that she seemed happy on those days. I liked going there because there was a snake farm/museum right across the street from the cemetery and then a candy shop we got to go to beside that. Anyway, after that the only time that the Bible came out was when she made me fake tell the truth on it and then beat me up to save me from going to hell for lying on the Bible. You can't get your feet wet at school either. Even though she put holes in your boots and you had no choice but to come home every night with wet feet when the snow is melting in the school yard even if you are just standing in one spot just like she said. But she beat me and my brother up anyway because we didn't listen to the rules...I just noticed that I'm saying "your" a lot...I thought about going back and changing it all, but that's a lot..I'm sorry if I trigger anyone. I don't mean it as in 'you"..I think I just have troubles with talking about it like its me. I'm really tired now so, I guess I'll post it and just hope I don't make anyone mad.

[bigmouthauntie-blog]

I do not have time or the patience to fight and argue with people who have no idea who I am or what I'm about. This status goes out to everyone, as I will not be wasting my time and energy on replying to every comment.

I do find it interesting how the only people to comment are Addy's best friends.

However, let me get something clear here. I am happy and couldn't be more pleased that Addy has support. You have no idea the pain and suffering I know she's gone through and is going through.( Did you know her fiancee abuses her too? Or are you blind to that too? Why do you think she's so angry? Because she's terrified. Only a handful of people know what true terror is like, and even then, only a small percent of those, have to deal with it more than once, let-a-lone everyday for an entire childhood and youth.) I know more than ANY ONE OF YOU. This isn't about "destroying" anybody's life. I am not trying to "take" the boys from their parents. However, I, as the sole intelligent-enough one of this mess, it is my duty to do what I need to do for my family. Yes, it's going to suck balls for a while. In the end, it will work out for everyone, including Addy. In the end, she WILL have her sons. Neither child will be put into an abusive foster home or be adopted out. In the end, she won't be so scared anymore.

The C.A.S has already been on their asses, even though it’s only to look like they’re doing their job as social workers.  They were before I even said anything because she’s been accused of abusing two dogs. Also, other people have complained. People who actually see the boys. 

 Eventually, whether or not you see it yet, they WILL take those boys. They would have with or without me. My job, is to protect everyone involved, in the only way I, a non-family, non-child/family agency can. I have to prevent either of the boys from going into any of the C.A.S approved sex-cult foster homes. (And at the same time bring the whole truth out about the County C.A.S)

I know my family's history like I know my own guilty pleasures. Do any of you have any idea how easy it is to keep secrets when you're terrified of losing your children or fucking up your family? I bet you do. You're from the same county.

My point is, I have to protect the children in my family. My priority is those kids first.  And regardless of what anyone believes or wants to believe, I know the truth. I knew some people were going to be pissed off and maybe even down right murderous. But I can't keep letting my family and the children of my family keep doing this.

It would be really great if you could try to understand what Picton/Highland Shores children's Aid has been doing to my family since my Birth-father and his siblings. It's a cycle that NOBODY in my family will be blamed for.

My aunt Peggy? She was a little girl once too. A little girl who everyone ignored. None of her aunts and uncles stopped what her father did to her. Nobody listened to her cries. So really, should she be blamed for being fucked up and doing what she did to my brother and I? No she shouldn't. The C.A.S, took our birth mother away from an abusive situation and put her into another APPROVED abusive home. The blame needs to be put on Highland Shores Children's Aid and NOT my family. Not aunt Linda, not my birth parents, not aunt Peggy. It's a vicious cycle that I have come to understand quiet well and have realized that nobody in my family is at fault. And again, that includes Addy.

So regardless of what you know, or don't know, I DO know. I HAD psychological issues. Can you really blame me? Honestly? The proof is right there, what my siblings and I have gone through. Which, by the way, I put there as extra evidence for the world that I'm not a liar about my childhood, to help my point about the cycle of abuse, the lack of true give-a-damn about the kids, and how Children's Aid has been covering up and avoiding what the did to my siblings and I.

Anyway, in the end, everyone will know the truth. That she was NEVER lying about ANYTHING. In the end, my sister and her family will get the help/support they need, and they will be okay. That's my whole point with this. Addy, Joseph, Greg...they won't be the ones getting in shit by the time I'm through. They'll see victory. You just watch. Hate if you're going to hate. I'm okay with that. I'm okay with it because I know how this is going to end. I understand because you, as (for lack of a better word), outsiders, you really can't know. I get that. And that's okay too.

So be mad. By all means, be right pissed. Addy has EVERY fucking right to be pissed off. Let her go at it. Let it be directed at me for a while. I'm okay with that too. Honestly, it's a relief. It means that she she cares. It means that she still feels. After what we have been through, do you have any idea how incredible that is? No you don't. Why? Because you haven't seen what we have.

So say what you want, I'll just delete anything I don't find appropriate. Regardless of how anyone perceives me and/or this situation, my intentions are from my heart and purely for my family. Ya, I might get to help some other kids along the way, and that really would be amazing. But honestly, my sights are set on bringing my family up and out of the darkness. And I will.

Laugh at me, hate me...whatever. This is MY family. And I refuse to let us sink.

[bigmouthauntie-blog]

Your so-called aunt is deeply troubled and sadistic. I hope that you're in a safe place now because she's too dangerous to be trusted. Oh, and she's wrong too. You're not stupid; you're very smart and you're not the person that she told you that you "were". She should go to jail for a very long time! You are a very beautiful person, inside and out; your aunt is just ugly inside and out and you're not a brat; your brother was. I doubt that he was mad at you; he's just a hateful person, like her.

Thank you so much for saying what you did. My aunt is NPD sociopath. I am writing this blog because the entire county where my nephews live is covering up the sex-cult approved c.a.s foster homes, so they are refusing to remove my boys from my sister and her husband who are just like my aunt. My brother is also being allowed by Belleville O.P.P(police) to see them and he is a convicted child-porn distributor...I have more to say if you care to carry on a conversation..

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10-year old Mikaila Ulmer is the founder of BeeSweet Lemonade. She recently landed a $60,000 investment to advance her growing company on ABCs Shark Tank! 

And what makes BeeSweet extra special? Instead of using lots of sugars, she sweetens each batch with honey from local bees.

CONGRATULATIONS Mikalia!! 

#PrettyPeriod

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...

Hearin lies the voices of a lost and twisted soul. Innocence stolen far beneath the depths of hell. A life destroyed by fire breathing dragons that creep through the shadows of their twisted minds. -R.Marie Storms 

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Little Girl Daydreams

Little-Girl Daydreams Sometimes in my daydreams, I imagine myself , barefoot and running, my arms wide open, through a field of wildflowers. Purple,and white. Pink and green. The colors warm my spirit and I am in the safety of my daydreams. I stop in the middle of the field, and close my eyes. I begin to spin, to dance with the soft and gentle breeze. The sun blows me kisses that land upon my skin, and around and around I go. For a moment I am pure and innocent, untouched and unbroken. A fearless child, glorified in her freedom, peaceful in her childhood. “Why the fuck would anybody love you?” My aunt's words sting, and I'm brought out of the safety of my daydream. “I brought you here when nobody else wanted you. You came here with nothing. I give you everything!” She continues to scream at me. She calls me names, and tells me I'm ungrateful. Then she grabs my arm and twists it behind my back and forces me out of my chair before throwing me on the ground. I curl up into the smallest ball I can manage. There was never any point in trying to hide or run. There was never any escape. She always got to you. She manages a good kick to my ribs, and I hear the crack that sounds like a twig crunching somewhere in the distance. The moon is full tonight. I like that because it lights my way in the forest. The forest is kind to me. The trees wrap me in their branches and embrace me in their gentle hug, and it heals even my deepest of wounds. They whisper to me, and I feel better. Nothing can hurt me here in the forest. I am protected by the creatures that reside here, and hidden by the bushes. I know that I am safe. There is a place not to far from here where Shining Knight's stable is, my Egyptian Palomino. The wildest stallion in all the lands, he is magnificent and dignified, and his creamy coat is forever soft as silk. The owls lead the way, and the wolves follow behind. Soon I can see Shining Knight, and he trots over to greet me. After a pat and nose-kisses, I climb his massive height, and sit bareback upon him. “Dance, my Shining Knight, Dance”, I whisper to him, and off we go, following the moon's glow to wherever it will take us. Something grabs my hair and and I'm dragged across the floor to the chair. Here my aunt pulls me to my feet and makes me pull off my pants. After she throws me face down onto the chair she starts hitting me with whatever she has in her hands that time. This she calls “love-taps” and says that they're for my own good. I don't believe her. It hurts. It can't be for my own good if it hurts this much, can it? Eventually it stops, and I'm left alone with my anguish to figure out how not do whatever I did to get this ever again. I know nothing I can do will ever stop her disgust and anger at me. So I just lay there until whatever happens next, and I begin to daydream. Sometimes in my daydreams, I imagine that I can dance on water, the waves of the sea holding me up, lead by the rhythm in my steps. They follow my song, and my spirit leads them. The stars, they dance to the beat in my heart, a wondrous show of light amidst the seemingly endlessness of the night that surrounds me. And in my daydreams, I can rest my head on the waves of the sea, their rhythmic rocking lulling me into a peaceful slumber that I hope will never end... * * * * * My brother did it because he was mad at me. But my aunt believes him when he said I did it. “He's older and I know that he knows better. You're just a stupid little girl, so just tell me the truth and it won't be that bad”. Reluctantly I tell her I was the one who kicked in the windshield of our uncle's truck. She sits me on the floor facing away from her, and she stands really still behind me. She's holding my brother's mini hockey stick. I don't know how long she's standing there for. She's quiet and she hasn't moved in what seems like ages. It feels like torture. I don't know when to expect it. Or if she's just teasing me and threatening me? No. She's playing with me. I'm her little game. But it's not much longer before I feel the slice of the hockey stick cut open the top of my head, and the warmth of blood weeping down my face in streams like tears of sorrow. She yells at me to get up , and she kicks me toward the kitchen, accusing me of getting blood on her carpet. The wind rushes through my hair as Shining Knight and I gallop through the trees of the moonlit forest, a bow and arrow in my grasp and a quiver on my back. I can see the edge coming closer and closer, the mountains and daybreak not far ahead. I sit up as tall as I can, my face in the crisp, early morning air, towards the sky and watch in awe as the morning sun climbs up high above the tallest peak. I let the feeling of all it's beauty encompass me, and I know it can't be described. Sometimes in my daydreams I imagine that I will be like that morning sun one day. That one day I will rise above the tallest mountain and be a light for the world to see, the brightest star in the sky, if only in daydreams. The water is cold. Fully dressed in the bathtub. She has her hands on me, I feel the weight pushing me down, and I fight. I fight hard. I'm screaming. She's trying to kill me. I can't breath and my chest feels like its going to snap in half and burst into flames all at the same time. I don't know how long it was before I was coughing and trying to breath. I felt the weight on my head and shoulders again, and again it hurt. Sometimes I daydreamed that she killed me. That way it would be over. Sometimes, in my daydreams, I imagine that I can soar like an eagle chasing the sunset. Shining Knight races below me, faster than the speed of a lightening bolt, splitting open the night sky that wraps around us, as today fades into yesterday. The rain starts to pour down on us but I don't mind, as my victorious horse grows his wings and he glides up to greet me, and I lay down on his back. With my arms around his neck, my face buried in his snow-white mane, we soar together through the stormy skies and over tempestuous seas. Through the hours we break open every dark cloud until there is enough starlight shining through to make a rainbow in the night for all the world that is draped in darkness to see. Sometimes I daydream. I dream that one day they won't be daydreams anymore . That there will be a day when I can dance and sing and laugh, just like I do in my daydreams. Sometimes I daydream that one day I will ride my wild horse bareback across every terrain, in whatever weather. And I will be free and full of life and wonder, just like the girl in my daydreams. I daydream that there's a day somewhere out there when I would be happy and free, but once again my daydreams are punched away with a blow to my jaw from my aunt, for who knows what reason now, but I am suddenly and painfully reminded, that they are, and always will be just that. Just daydreams. Just stupid little-girl daydreams...

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Just some of my attempts at photography :) 

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The fear of God in her Mind-control of “lying”

Between the ages of five and twelve years old, when I was accused of lying, my aunt would make me swear on the Bible, and because it was the Bible, I was more terrified of God than my mother..But the thing was, I was too terrified of her to do anything wrong in the first place...When there was no Bible, I would often surrender to her to protect my older brother, saying I did something when I didn't..But when there was a Bible, I was too scared of God to put my hand on the Bible and say I did something when I didn't..That would still be lying, even to protect my brother and lying was punishable by death...So I had no choice, paralyzed, I told the truth and and always said "I swear on the Bible, that I didn't do it." ...But, as always, in my aunts eyes, my brother was the older one, so he knew better, therefore, I was obviously lying. and on the Bible too...So she had to "save my soul" by beating the fuck out of me. 

It did not matter what I did or said, “I was never telling her the truth”.  She often accused me of using my insomnia as “an excuse to stay up all night, thinking of lies to tell her.” Whether I was telling the truth or not, I was beaten for lying. When she knew that I was telling the truth, she would find some reason as to why it must be a lie.  To Aunt Peggy, everything I said was a lie, and to her, I did it on purpose just to defy her. She accused me of making her beat me, that I purposely upset her with my lies. You know, because every little girl wants a fat ass wannabe mother beating her up every day right? *rolls eyes in sarcasm* 

This whole thing baffles me. None of it makes any sense. Like, what was the point to all of her bullshit? What was her obsession with lies? Messed-up psychological issues. 

[bigmouthauntie-blog]

My Daddy( AKA adoptive dad AKA uncle)

The man who adopted my brother Joseph and I, is the man who was married to our Aunt Peggy( Birth-father’s sister).  

Growing up, as a small and terrified little girl, I hated my daddy.  I hated that he was almost never home. I hated him for not protecting me, for not stopping her, for not taking me away from her. I thought he hated me. Aunt Peggy always made sure that my brother and I believed that he never wanted us. “I had to fight for you two. He never wanted you here. I did.”, my Aunt Peggy would tell us.  In my eyes, my dad was just as horrible and terrifying as Aunt Peggy.  

When I left for the Group Home in the summer of 1999, Aunt Peggy refused to ever see or speak to me. She blamed me for everything.  She hated me and wanted me to know that the abuse was my fault. My dad, however, came and saw me every single week(or as much as he could depending on situations and whatnot at the time). 

Even though my dad put in his best effort and tried to show me that he loved me..tried to show me he was sorry, I didn't gain full appreciation for that man until just a couple of years ago.  

When I was just a child, growing up in that house with him and “the War Lord”, (as my dad so fittingly dubbed Aunt Peggy), was nothing short of fucked up. There’s just no other words to describe it. As long as she was home, dad was either zoning out on the television/pretending to be asleep or out in his garage messing around with his machines. Sometimes he would be really pissed off that my brother and I were making so much noise and made Aunt Peggy take us out so he could watch the news. I don’t remember that though. I just remember Aunt Peggy being all bitchy, putting us in the car, and driving us around for two or three hours. 

Aunt Peggy was a nurse, and depending on whether or not it was a school day, when she went to work, my daddy was AWESOME. (Most of the time, sometime we got in trouble as normal kids do...I just didn't realize how awesome he really is until recently). 

On school mornings, Aunt Peggy had my brother and I out of bed and ready before she left for work at 5:30am.  Every morning, as soon as Aunt Peggy’s car was no longer visible(we would literally wait in silence staring at each other), we were free. Joseph and I just ran outside like a couple of wild animals. We were free to play as we saw fit while dad prepared the garage for the days work ahead. Dad is a really hard worker.  

After dad was finished getting his day ready, he took my brother and I to the convenient store in town. On those mornings, my dad bought us a crap load of $0.25 candy before the school bus came. On those mornings, my brother and I were kids. 

On the days that Aunt Peggy was working after school, I went to my grandma’s while Joseph stayed and went to work with our dad. But dad always picked me up from my grandma’s around 7:00pm. Even on weekend nights when Aunt Peggy was working.  There was always an hour or two before we had to go to bed. During these nights, my brother and I were allowed to play games and watch movies. Aunt Peggy almost never let us watch movies. On those nights, my brother and I were kids. We were kids because our dad let us be kids. 

My dad always wanted hugs and kisses from me. In my torment, I had forgotten. I had forgotten the attempts at innocent tickling and knee-bounces. The last time that he tried to tickle me was when I was very small. I think maybe six or seven years old. I screamed at him. I yelled at him to let go of me and I called him a bastard. I was so angry. I remember hearing Aunt Peggy laugh. I remember seeing my dads hurt facial expression out of the corner of my eye.  But I refused to acknowledge his attempts at being a dad.  I was so afraid and so full of shame, even at that age.  I had even chosen not to acknowledge the day Aunt Peggy attempted to show him my naked, early pubescent body, and he turned away. He was in bed sleeping when she woke him up. My dad just covered his head and went back to sleep. My dad never sexually abused me. He never physically abused me. He hit me once, on the thigh. He spanked me maybe a couple times(he was old fashioned, so just to be clear this was considered proper and acceptable discipline to him). Mostly he just yelled and threatened though. 

I’ll be twenty-nine years old this summer. I have not seen or spoken to my dad in seven years. We had a really bad fallout, and I was horrible to him.

 He’ll be seventy-one years old this Christmas Eve.  I want him to know that I understand now.  I want him to know that there is nothing to forgive. I want him to know that I remember everything that he did to try and make it easier for us. I want him to know that his efforts have not gone unnoticed or in vain. My dad, Reg, really is the #1 DAD. 

I realize now, that my dad was just as terrified and mind-fucked as my brother and I. But he was kind and gentle. He was funny as hell too, and a million times the parent than Aunt Peggy was.

Mind control. Brainwashing. Emotional and physical abuse. 

Through everything that Aunt Peggy put him through, dad loves me, and he loves my brother.  He was always proud of me, and I hope that he still is.  I know that I will always be proud of the man my daddy is. 

Nobody deserves to be my mom, but dad will always be my daddy. 

I love you dad. 

[bigmouthauntie-blog]

Coerced into “letting” her beat me

Sunday March 1st 2015

This is something I've just realized the other night about my aunt and I guess I just want to get it out. My aunt raised me from when I was 3 until I ran away at 12. She and her husband took me in along with my older brother after 7 different foster homes didn't want us. We originally came from our sexual sadist birth-parents who started our sexual torture and neglect when we were each about 4 days old. Anyway, whenever my brother or I did something wrong( or if we didn't do anything wrong, she did it herself and blamed one of us)..Things like something broken or missing, which was practically every day, she made me and my brother stand side by side in the living room. She held a wooden stick, and said " If somebody doesn't tell me which one of you did this, I'm going to beat you both." Then she would look at me. She knew I loved my brother. Even though he never admitted to anything. They both knew what the outcome would be. She said, "You're brother's older than you. I know he knows better". Then she would say other stuff, until I eventually caved in with fear, both for myself and for my brother. In the end, I would always say to her smirking face that I was the one who did it. My brother went to his room, and I was left with my aunt, who usually left me pretty bloody and bruised, though usually only on my back, and thighs. Places not even my uncle would see. How could I not have clued into this until now? How could I not see the entire time that SHE KNEW!! she KNEW that I would cave. She didn't want to beat my brother! she wanted to beat me!! And he knew it too! That's how he kept himself safe! He knew that if he stood his ground long enough, he'd be free from her. My big brother sacrificed his baby sister, I sacrificed myself almost daily for him, and my aunt sacrificed me to appease her sick perverted mind. But I can't believe how I missed that this whole time...I should have seen it sooner. Should have fought back and stood my ground like my brother. Why did I have to be the one?

[bigmouthauntie-blog]

Dissociative Identity in Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

April 3rd 2015

Identity crisis. All my life, my likes and dislikes, my beliefs, my opinions, have all changed according to who I was attached to at the time. Though "obsessions" is a more appropriate word. I would latch on to someone and morph into an exact replica of that person. My very first experience with this that I remember was when I was in 3rd grade and I became my 6th grade reading buddy. Before that, I assume I was my aunt and before that, my birth-mother. Unlike babies, who begin noticing themselves as separate entities at around 6 months of age, I have never "discovered" myself or been a real person, even though I'm almost 30. I feel a lot like Pinocchio, always wishing to be a "real boy" or "real girl". Anyway, there has always been someone to be. Always a solid personality to cling onto. Now there is no-one. I haven't seen anyone in over 6 months. All I've got are my cats and my bunny..but I can't be a cat or a bunny. I don't know who to be or how to be. My aunt never taught me anything useful, and she kept me either on the chair in the living room if I was being good, or in the basement if I was being bad. I don't know how to be a person, I think mostly because I was kept from all the persons outside my aunt's immediate family. I did not have any peers or friends. She let me go to summer camp though, but I don't remember how I behaved or if I played nice with the other kids. I only remember being dropped off, and then picked up, and a couple of really memorable days there. Other than that, I didn't have anyone of any age to talk to, play with, learn from etc. And now I'm all by myself, only I don't have a self and I have no idea how to get one or if I even want one. I do not think I'd like it very much. I don't like bodies. I can't think about any of mine. Sometimes I even get an urge to rip out my tongue because when I think about it I feel really gross and it makes me feel sick. Sometimes I want to burn my private parts off with a torch, and sometimes I wouldn't mind just sticking my whole self into a furnace. I do not like to think about my body. If I think about my blood inside me, I get all shivery and ick. Every piece of me is gross and dirty. Sometimes I wish I could skin myself alive and put on new skin, but that would not help because I would still have all my rotting organs and blood. I feel really not so good about being attached to any part of these body pieces that are supposed to be mine and attached to me. But even if everything was all attached, my brain would still be in pieces, a million fragments of multiple abusers/torturers and foster placements within the first 3 years of life, continuing on with auntie and her friends until I was nearly 13. Sigh..I don't know...There's just nothing there. Every piece of my mind, my body, my heart, and my soul is far too fragmented. It would take eternity to piece all of it, all of me together, to just make me a little more comfy. My brain is literally different that other people's. It's half the size of most adults my age, shaped a bit differently, yet has extra "grey matter". But that's only because of my obsessiveness with books. The last few weeks, my identity has changed around 4 times a day, sometimes more. My moods seem to have a lot to do with it. But when I'm doing ok and nothing is really going on, I play with my cats or paint. And I age-regress when I'm just "here" and I do not know why. I'm usually pretty good at acting like a grown-up, but when nobody is around it seems like I am not very grown-up at all. I think I am finding that I am developmentally delayed a little bit when I do not have any person to attach to and "melt" into. I like it better when I know how to do stuff. And when I feel like a real person, even though I really wasn't.

[bigmouthauntie-blog]

Hello love, I want to apologize to you because you feel the need to read this. I’m entirely sorry that this messed up world has you suffering; you don’t deserve it.

I know you, and I know that you believe this is some random post addressing a whole of people by someone who doesn’t understand. But love, this post is for YOU because even though you feel empty and hollow and invisible, know that I can see you as you look at your screen mildly uninterested.

If I could reach through this screen hold your hand, sit you down and have a tear-filled heart-to-heart conversation that allows you to utter the words you keep contained and to let go of the fake smile for once, believe me, I would. I would hug you, for however long you need, but I would not tell you thinks like “it gets better” and “stop okay” simply because I hate it when those things are said to me. What I would tell you, is that I’m proud of you for still breathing while you’re being suffocated. I’m proud of you for waking up this morning when you didn’t want to. I’m proud of you for being alive right now, in this moment, when you wish you were dead. I wouldn’t tie your hands down and tell your parents so that you don’t kill yourself, because truly love, I’m in the exact same place as you. But I would tell you, to look into my eyes, and know that I understand, that for once someone isn’t judging you. I wouldn’t tell you “you’re better than this” and “c’mon you can do it” , but I would tell you that in this moment, here with just me and you, that you are alive and your hand is warm in mine, even though you feel so so cold.

But love, I can’t see your face right now, and I can’t physically hold your hand, so instead I reach out to you virtually as a presence and one that you can’t see either, but know that I’m always there, whether it be within the air you breathe or the deepest forms of your mind.

Talk to me love, please talk to me through your dark thoughts and your silent mouth. Tell me the stories you keep bottled up, tell me why you’re just breathing and why you force your smiles.

I’m here to listen, and I’m here for you.

Yes you.

I see you and as much as you might not believe me, I understand.

So take a minute and let me listen, tell me your life and tell me all the things you’ve never said before.

My mind is dark too, my insides carved out, but maybe, just maybe, within the two of us, we can scrounge up some light and some fresh air.

I’ve been empty for a long time too, love, and I know just how heavy of a burden that can be.

And if you’re still reading this, feeling as dark and isolated as I am, I know there is a part of you that seeks that light and warmth again, even though you might not know who you are without your sadness.

I understand that too, I stopped taking my anti-depressants because I didn’t know who I was with this fabricated light and easy smiles that didn’t feel like they belonged on my face. I missed the darkness because that was who I became and I know how it feels to seek the comfort of an empty world rather than the uncertain brightness of one you haven’t seen in forever. I know how scary it is to want to let go, but constantly telling yourself you can’t. I know the internal battle, believe me.

I need you to know that, no matter what other people say, you are not a bad person for trying to kill your sadness, or trying to let it consume you. But I’m asking you, in this moment, even though you’ve been torn apart and cannot find your soul and even though you feel so overwhelmingly empty and so overwhelmingly heavy, to take a breath of me, and of my words.

And love, though you can’t see me and though you cannot touch me, I am here.

I am always here, in this moment you live in, not the past nor the future, but right now and as many more moments that you have….

I am here, and as are you.

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OMG!! 

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING SO FLIPPING CUTE????? 

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PTSD is a reality in many babies and toddlers. This post details 7 behavioral symptoms very young children with PTSD may exhibit.

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If there is one thing that I’ve learned in my battle with depression, it’s that the first step to fighting back is taking the things you aren’t motivated to do anymore, and doing them anyway. Your limbs might weigh you down, and your brain might be fuzzy with mental exhaustion, but believe me when I say that that little spark of passion will eventually be what burns your depression to the ground.

It’s the best weapon you could possibly possess. (via paintakesthepainaway)