Who the fuck am I?

I don’t know what I enjoy. A normal person could identify favorite foods, music ect. and things they don’t like. Normal has never been my thing. I liked what people told me to like, looked the way others suggested, everything from my hair color to the way I liked my burgers was entirely based off of who others made me. I have been a human paper doll as long as I can remember.

I spent the last week seeing in the flesh all of the things people hate about me. I saw all my biggest fears standing in front of me. I can see myself in all the worst parts of my mother. I see the worst qualities of my mother in her mother. This cycle is done. I have suddenly seen the curtain pull back and the voice of Oz is a lie. Everything I know about who I am is starting to blur.

Suddenly I question who the fuck I am? How much of what I remember from my childhood is a reflection of her prospective? Everything I hate about myself comes from the environments in which I was raised. Am I actually crazy or was I raised by crazy and thus my idea of healthy and normal is vastly incorrect? I just want to hide under a rock sometimes because it would be easier.

Shopping is difficult because I don’t know what I like. I know what different people in my life would choose and I go based on that. Most of my clothes are my moms hand me down and it’s like I am a fat version of my mother. From my voice to my bitching and my horrific tendency to make nasty judgmental comments about people. The lack of boundaries and my mothers need to be the center of everything causes such intense disturbances in my ability to have my own life.

I’m fucking angry! All I want is to be a good mother and a good wife. I long to set roots and become a part of a community and build bonds. As much as I desperately cling to these ideas of suburban bliss I know I am not ready. I have so much to change and work on as a person before I feel that I am worthy of my dreams. People with the cruel streak I have don’t deserve to have it all.

Being raised by people with the incredible ability to slice you into piece turns you vicious. Like a dog trained to fight I will attack in the most aggressive way possible. I verbally maul you until you fight back. Unfortunately when you spend years being the attacked you tend to cower away in sheer terror when someone makes you remember where you came from. Everything in life is frightening when you have no clue how to handle it.

Marriage. children, love stories that last, people who don’t physically assault one another or throw things? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Full acceptance without question, what is the motive? All I have ever known is that you can trust no one but your own. My mom was the only person I could trust because everyone else was against me. Somehow she was always made to be the savior. My father always the villain, though there is sufficient reason for a vast majority of that title.

From the very beginning she has been in my ear trying to hard to make sure I keep a distance between what I hope someday to be my in-laws. Don’t trust them they will always take his side. Be careful what you say, they can turn it around. Don’t tell them about your postpartum struggles because they will try to take your child. Talk to a lawyer. Push and Isolate! What we have created in a paranoid state where I feel the world is plotting my demise.

We accept the love we feel we deserve right? What if you have no idea what you deserve or even want because all the versions of love you have been shown are totally fucked up? The women in my family are verbally abusive, overly critical and have a serious case of the “look at me’s.” I have great examples of the love I would like to receive from the men in their lives but I don’t think anyone deserves to be treated the way they were. That stops here as well. I will not wake up one morning when I am widowed and alone and say “I wish i would have appreciated what I had”. I will not belittle someone I love because they didn’t jump when I instructed. I will give them same respect I expect.

I want to cry because I feel so torn between loving my family and seeing the reality of how damaged everyone is. Now I have this family that has accepted me as their own despite seeing my flaws and knowing that I am wicked and dark. They love and support one another without using it against you later. All of these people come together for one another, they rally behind each other. You know you are never alone. Are they without flaws and disfunction? No, but it feels like home. I have never actually seen people be married without divorces or deep open traumas that lay under a glossy surface.Nobody sues over money, no fighting over materialistic nonsense or deep resentments keeping people apart.Nobody stealing yo0ur shit or drugs being used. Nobody is living on the couch or using one another. Love is not an exchange for these people. This reality of who I am and what my truth is has been forever changed.

My perception of my childhood has been shattered with the glimpse of what could be. Everything I want in life is the opposite of what I have known. All I know is I refuse to be who I am. I refuse to be this miniature version of all the generations of trauma that caused the evolution of walls I was born into. I can not base my life on the darkest parts of everyone elses past. I can not project my own darkness on the future of my child. The world is beautiful, people are inherently good, God is more than being seen at church on Sunday, no person is better than another, giving up is not an option and love has no conditions.

Who the fuck am I? Not sure but I am discovering slowly that I can be someone I genuinely like. I can love without allowing myself or my child to be exposed to trauma or unhealthy relationships no matter who it may be.

I am more than my trauma.

I am more than where I come from.

I decide who I want to be.


If you are a bird, I am a bird. That is the premise of love. Birds fly together lifting above the the perils below. Safely in their nest at night with one another.

Crows travel in groups as large as 15. All together with respect, looking out for one another. They call it a murder but we would call it a family. Strange synonym in my opinion. I’ve spent forever with a so called family when I was searching for my murder.

Families are instinctively wired to protect one another but some people have a short. Crows see one of their own hurt and they will avenge their loved one. Humans in my experience are less about their loved ones and more about themselves. Love is given when it’s beneficial. I long to be a crow where I am never abandoned and where causing me pain is considered an offense to them all.

Sometimes I watch birds fly and I wish I could just be free but I not wild anymore. My natural instinct for freedom is diminished to dependence on life as a pet. My flight is contained within the confines of my cage, I am content.

In this cage I feel nurtured and safe. I am fed and affection is given but mostly I am alone inside this tiny space. I have forgotten what it is like to be free, to fly into the sky where all the dangers are below you. This cage I have built of fear and anger keeps me locked in. I tell myself it’s to be safe from the outside world but now I can see my murder in the other side.

My family of birds sits visible between the bars of my cage the door wide open for escape but I can not go. My instinct to fly is shoved away by my captive sense that I must stay in if I want to survive. I know this new family will avenge my pain and hold me close in their nest. I will not be alone and I need not be afraid but the path to them is in the open and that’s a dangerous place to be.

I have an opportunity to become a part of something whole and solid but have to let myself out of the cage. Every bar I have placed is a dark thought, a piece of learned behavior that I have to deconstruct. It takes so long to build that the process of tearing it down takes all the power you have and not amount of time will ever be enough.

So I’ll poke head out of the cage as I ease myself free. Each try I get a little further. One day I will be brave enough take flight and leave this behind for the safety of numbers.

Toxic Relationship

“Toxic” seems to the most broadly and overused term for any relationship with hurdles. I don’t me rocky points or jumps, I mean full on leaps that must be taken to get over the bar and move forward. I have had more than a few of those relationships in my life. I’ve had them all from a romantic partner to an unhealthy friendship and family members but nothing has been as toxic as the relationship I have with myself.

As long as I can remember I have disappointed myself. I never quite fit in and I either became friends with whatever kid I could find that also had a dysfunctional household or the kid everyone picked on, with the exception of 1 girl who loved me anyways and still remains a great support but mostly I was never enough to be one of the “normal kids.” Which in that area just meant their parents had known each other forever and these kids had well established bonds by the time this 6 year old with glasses showed up talking about gay people and AIDS let alone the fact that I had divorced parents. This is Bible Belt Tennessee in the mid 90’s, I might have well had 3 heads.

By middle school I was overweight, extremely insecure especially since my 100lb mother was always concerned about her weight and my father thought anything with a curve was fat. One of the most important things I have ever learned is that if you body shame yourself and others you inadvertently tell your children they aren’t worthy. Being insecure, lonely and picked on leads you to become mean or people pleasing. I somehow became both. If you were mean to someone I was going to tear you down piece by piece. On the other hand I desperately wanted to be loved and have friends. I was very giving and very kind if you got past my walls. Those who did are lifelong friends but everyone one of them came from an “different” home like I did.

By high school I hated myself, hated my body, hated life and my desperate need for affection and acceptance put me in positions that would change me and break me down. I loathed myself, everything I did I judged. I would cringe when I looked in the mirror. I cried myself to sleep and thought if I just died it would be better than this, emotions I still struggle to control.

My entire life I searched for reassurance that I was loved and I was enough. From my relationships with men where I allowed myself to be bullied, broken and used up to friendships that cost me everything, unhealthy relationships with my parents who both struggle with their own personal demons even if they don’t see it; I searched for something I never found. I continously attached myself to the things I hated but found comfort in, the chaos and tragic darkness that consumed most of my life. I wasn’t ready to see myself as I was.

My biggest issue in life is not the relationships I have it’s the way I handle myself in them. Nothing is toxic unless you allow it. Instead of loving myself and staying strong in my worth I lowered myself to either cut back stronger than they could, until it cut so deep you couldn’t ever really heal it. Sometimes I cowered in the belief that I was responsible for the things being done, the words being said and the physical violence I endured. I chose to be that person because of my own toxic self belief that I am not enough.

Now I am seeing a different side of my toxicity, the one that has the biggest effect on me. I have come to a point where I am so desperate to feel worthy that instead of standing my ground and saying “Yas queen I’m proud of you” I have gone to a place where I judge myself, I am disgusted by my reflection both inside and out. I have gained physical weight and I have gained emotional weight.

I hear from people I care about how much they dislike themselves when they clearly weigh less than me, I get told “I hope your kid doesn’t have your metabolism” or “you need something to suck all that in if you are gonna wear that” and I hate myself. I cry more times than I care to admit. The fact that my partner doesn’t tell me I am attractive gets to me because I feel unwanted. Which is not the case, he never hit on me before I got fat either lol but having to suggest a compliment is embarrassing which makes me feel pathetic.

Feeling unwanted be it true or not compiled with already feeling disgusting can put anyone in a dark place but stack it with a history of secrets and lies, that’s enough to make your mind melt. This rage builds up inside because I want to be wanted no I NEED to be wanted, 28 years I have begged to feel wanted and worthy and I search for that gratification from others.

A lot of the deep pain and trauma from life has left a void in my heart, one I have tried to stuff with physical relationships, emotional relationships, people I loved, people I barely knew and worst of all people I left damaged in my wake. As much as I have been hurt I have hurt others. I have lied to lovers, cheated and felt nothing, loved what was not mine not caring who got hurt, committed sins that can not be forgiven, screamed at, belittled, thrown things, sadly even physically struck people who meant everything to me because I didn’t know how to deal with the world around me. I have hurt myself with my actions. I look at myself in hindsight and it’s hard not to see the damage I have self inflicted over the years by not understanding you need self love to love others.

The way I react to life and to pain is my own issue that flows over into everything good in my life because all I know is toxic. This is not to say that the actions of others are not wrong and that I am not justified in my pain but how I handle it and the respect I give myself determines how things move forward. If I strike back with rage than rage will fill that space and no good can come of it. If I crumble into pieces and sink into a depression there can be no forward just back. The only way life can flow is if I let go of my own behaviors and take responsibility for my own self worth. If I respond to the hurdles in life with dignity and self love, respectfully and with civility then I can break the cycle of unhealthy relationships. Toxic relationships are a personal choice. You can either break the cycle or you can continue to allow yourself to be less than you are. I have to be the shining example for myself of how I want and deserved to be treated. I can not expect that from others if I can not expect that from myself. Self love and self worth are the cure and fix for all that is toxic because when you love and respect yourself you either walk away with dignity or you push forward with strength and class. Easier said than done but everyday is a new opportunity to be a better healthier version of yourself. Never stop growing, evolving or loving. You are worthy!


Life is made up of tiny fragments of time, memories created as glimpses of the past, dreams creating grand visions for the future. Moments sealed in your soul creating the backdrop of your world. Moments, just tiny pieces of stolen time you tuck away in your mind for safe keeping.

One of the best kind of moments are the ones that come unexpectedly often in the stillness that surrounds. When your child falls asleep on your chest and you could watch them sleep forever just memorizing their face or when your lover reaches for you in the night. Moments when you are so filled with love for someone you can’t look away. Those moments create a place inside where you feel overwhelmed with joy.

Some moments don’t sink in until after they have gone. You can walk away from something not realizing you’ll remember it forever. Like a midnight ride to a Krispy Kreme or watching ET in you pajamas. Long talks on cool couches or musical singalongs so bad your throat hurts after.

The most important moments are the ones that transcend, the ones where you feel like time stops. The first time you laid eyes on your baby girl. The moment when you tell someone you love that letting go is ok and the peace you see in their eyes. The moment when you see the joy in people’s face when they are trult happy. Sometimes theses moments feel like scars for a while but time has a way of making peace of things.

Every second is a chance to make a moment. Memories, fragments, screenshots of the things that make up your heart. We are but moments in history, here and then gone. So make the moments, take it all in. Use your words, use your time, watch the movie, take the drive, go hang out for no reason at all, laugh every chance you get and hold love as close and as long as you can. Money doesn’t make the moments but being able to buy snacks is always a plus!


The idea of home evolves over time. When we are younger it is the physical location. As you get older home is the place you feel safe and loved. As a young adult home was the new place where we made our own family of friends. For me home was always a town or house until now.

As a child I had many homes. We moved a lot. I always felt like my mother got bored and moved to a new house because she wasn’t ready to settle down but never wanted to go far. As an adult I can see there was a lot more to that and I feel a tinge of guilt for my childhood frustration. It doesn’t change the fact that I never did feel settled and I just tried to be around as little as possible.

I always had two separate lives one in the south and one on the west coast. Two lives, two homes, two places that I never belonged. I always felt loved but I never felt normal. By the time I had sleepovers in 3rd grade I had become aware that my homes weren’t like anyone elses.

As a child both homes I shared with my parents were volatile. Toxic love lives filled with fighting, objects being thrown, scream, yelling and crying spilled into every aspect of life. My father socially drank to excess and basically ignored me unless he was expressing disappointment for most of my life and my mother always had someone who was more important than me. I always felt that everyone was more important than me.

My true home in both my lives was my grandparents. The most consistent places of love and comfort belonged to my Oma and my Grama. On their couches and in their loving arms I was home. I was safe. That safety was an illusion. One home was a constant parade of drugs, thieves, violence and the ever nagging knowledge that death was inevitable. That was normal but there was love, chaos but love. The other seemingly picturesque had a dark underbelly that I was blissfully unaware of as a child, something I am eternally grateful for.

My Grams and Gramps gave me the only normal safe place I have ever had. The only place in my entire life I knew I could run to and someone would always want me and I never felt forgotten or in the way. They gave me the only consistency in my life, structure, faith and my love of others. I learned to give and love because of my Grandfather and my Grams. You always felt loved and everyone was welcome.It wasn’t perfect but it was my grace.

Over the years all of those places began to crack and crumble, people died, people changed, and our home, the home I made all my memories is was now someone else’s. My anger from the shattered reality these “homes” provided ate at me until by 16 I was a teenage nightmare who was ready to run away from everything and I did. I ran for years, building and destructing home after home until I found myself in a bottomless pit with no home, no safe space and relationships so damaged that many of them will never be repaired. I have fought everyday of my life. I have been the victim and recently I’ve been the monster.

I have run from myself for years. I have run from my marriage, my family, my past, my reality, my addictions, my reputations, my mistakes, I always physically ran away from home. I thought home was the city I was in. Nashville, Cape Coral, Clarksville, Monterey; every place I ran from never feeling like I belonged.

When I came back to California last year I had no idea what home meant. They say it is where the heart is but mine was always confused and torn. My heart always ripped and shredded not knowing where I was from or who I was. I figured home was going to be this town… again. I’d settle in and become a townie like everyone else. I had settled on being a Collins in a small town. I was just going to have to be ok with that.

Fast forward a year and I know where I belong. Having a child makes your whole world flip upside down. There is no love like that love. I have never wanted anything more than to give this beautiful person a home. A home where she always feels loved, where she feels safe and where she sees love the right way.

I can’t say that I have been incredibly good at it. I’ve constantly made the same mistakes as my parents. I have yelled and I have allowed yelling. I have belittled and attacked, I’ve allowed myself to be belittled and attacked. Worst of all I have been violent while cowering in fear from the situation I created. This is not the home either of us want her to see.

I have to let go of the homes of my past. Those places and feelings have to be left behind. The versions of home I once accepted as normal have to be replaced with a new ideas. It may not be entirely possible to unlearn 28 years of my home life but I have to try. I have to try to not be all the things I have seen and become the things I craved.

Everyday we wake up and start fresh. We push forward and we work on being better. Together we are creating a new idea of home. The home we all deserve. She will never be confused about where her home is.

Home is not a place. No physical building, city or state can ever be home. Home is wherever your soul finds peace. My home is in this tiny family we have created. My home is in my child and in my partner. We could live any place, have it all or have nothing but home will always be where I am with these two.


I hate the word “victim”, it feels dirty. It’s one of those words like “moist” that just bothers me for some inexplicable reason. I don’t ever want to be called a victim but as far as definitions go, I am. You grow out of being a victim at some point and then you become my least favorite term “survivor.”

Survivor makes it sound as if my life was in jeopardy and I am lucky to be alive. Survivor makes it seem as if I have overcome the obstacles. That isn’t really the case at all is it? When you survive cancer or a health disorder, a car crash ect. you are alive after it. Survivor isn’t the right term for me.

When you experience something traumatic, something so horrific your mind has to compensate by trying to cut the memory out; you don’t survive. A part of you dies, the person you once were is gone and she never comes back. You don’t survive things that break you, you have to be born again.

From the ashes of my emotional death, my murdered sense of saftey, the new me was reborn. I am no phoenix, I didn’t become anything special or majestic. Quite the contray, I came back as something darker and jaded. Years were spent waiting for this rise from the fall but it has never fully come to fruition.

This new person is afraid. Everything is new and terrifying. Without the saftey of the cloak I wore before, the cloak of drugs that covered all the scars, I am left exposed. Anxiety takes over and the thought of new people makes my blood pulsate through my veins. I can feel the terror of the outside, all I want is to crawl back to saftey, alone.

Tears flow so often as I try to cleanse away the thoughts inside. Everyday I have to fight my own mind, my own irrational fears and concerns. The walls are always closing in and everyone is always watching, judging. They all know my secrets and they all know my shame. I can’t convince myself otherwise even though I am well aware of my irrationality.

It is impossible to explain to others that all of your insecurities come from something¬† unrealted. People can not connect the events from the past to a dinner I can’t attend now but its all one. I can not fix it on my own. My current irrational fears have come a long way from the ones of the before but still I fight them.

You can not call me a survivor when I did not live. I am scarred and I am pieced back together with theraputic duct tape and medicinal gorilla glue. It will hold but you will always know I was once broken. Tiny cracks in my armour will always show no matter how hard I try to cover them.

I am no longer a victim and I was never a survivor. I am a lingerer. I ” remain existent although often waning in strength, importance, or influence”. I “remain alive although gradually dying.”

Nothing survives you just linger on what’s left until you are gone.

Forgiving The Fire

Facebook always knows how to cut you with the searing edge of past swords. Burning into my flesh are the eyes of the deepest darkness you’ve ever seen. What once brought smiles is vanished replaced only with emptiness. Memories sizzling into my mind as I try to look away.

When those pictures were taken 8 years ago nobody could have ever imagined the horror that followed. None of us could have ever fathomed that evil lurked beyond the surface. I used to become enraged when these pictures came up every year but now after all this time I have learned to cope with irrational self punishment and guilt for the times of happiness long gone.

There he is in full color holding this glowing angel of a child he would soon turn on. His so face so young and brimming with pride as this tiny beauty smiled at him. These snapshots in history show such a different side of the monster. For many years I battled my inner demons wondering if I was wrong for smiling when I remember the day those photos were taken. It is hard to reconcile the killer with best friend.

I spent nearly a decade blaming myself for bringing together these two people who would implode only months later. It is only after a lot of soul searing that I have reached the conclusion that two people like that would have burnt the world down with or without each other, I had no way of knowing just how fast those flames would travel. So many warnings went unheeded, desperate plea after desperate plea thrown at the side. No one could contain that wild fire once it caught.

The depths of personal hell you have to be in to reach so low as to take the life of child is no place I can begin to reach. Maybe drugs carried away the soul that once was because by the end neither of the friends I held dear existed any longer. These villains are not my friends I knew. Living with that love is intensely confusing.

I can love and never forget. I can give it to God and find my own version of peaceful forgiveness but I can never forget. I can never make the light shine like it did the day before she left. I can never see the world the same. I can not be the same.

Having my own child who reminds me so much of our sweet girl has brought back so many feelings. The anger is different almost as if I am so angry that I feel a strange pity. I have been low, I have been sick and strung out to an unrecognizable version of my prior self. I understand that when you come back from that internal death everything you have done comes flooding back and the guilt in unbearable.

Guilt can push us to numbness. Loosing her brought upon the darkest feelings of guilt and regret pushing me into a spiral of toxicity that took years to walk away from. I have been plagued with suicidal thought and nightmares that never go away. Flashbacks of her tiny face in a tiny box forever haunt me. I can only imagine how they feel now that they have awoken from their drug induced emotional slumber. To live with the knowledge that they took her life must be the most painful experience in the world. Good.

I get some sense of peace in knowing that they will never sleep a night without fear for the rest of their natural lives. Fear that she must have felt, the terror of her final days haunting them for the next 50 years. Everyday the terrifying threat that someone will take offense to their heinous crime and give them the same treatment they gave her.

God tells me it is ok to forgive. I trust in that. I trust in him to make the final judgement on us all. So today I remind myself to forgive them for my own sanity and to forgive myself for having a heart that never stops beating for others. Today I forgive the fire as I cover the scars it left behind.

Welcome to parenting: I’m new here

Babies are weird. They smell funny, they fart loud and you have no idea why they are crying or why they only respond to the chorus of one song over and over until they sleep. You can have 20 blankets and they only like 1 for maybe 2 weeks then suddenly they don’t like it and you have to try them all again. Babies are real divas.

This is not to say that being a mom isn’t amazing because it’s incredible. The thing is I’m new to this. Sometimes she cries in the middle of the night and I’m like “oh shit we have a kid” I could never forget (belive me she won’t either) that I spent 18 hours in labor only to have a csection. I always know I’m a mother but I spent 28 years one way, 3 months is not a long time.

I love making up songs about nothing. I sing songs about everything. “Mommy is folding laundry, it really sucks,” sounds great when you sing like Snow White to a random bird. I love changing diapers even if she poops everywhere and I have to hose her down because she smiles and it is really cute. The way she farts when you play airplane is adorable. Everything is adorable.

Never in my life did I think I would smile and laugh when I got puked on. Being peed on while someone giggled wasn’t really my thing, not an R. Kelly fan lol Having shit up my arms seemed more like a plumbing disaster than a daily routine yet here I am.

All these things I knew came with being a mother but it is entirely different when it actually happens. Being a mother is exaughsting. Trying to stay a float is a job all in itself. My mind is constantly on what my child is doing even when she is sleeping. My ears are alway alert to her sound even when I am asleep. This job is 24/7 with no days off. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking but then she makes a noise and I remember why I chose this life.

People think because I stay home that I am lazy or that I don’t contribute. I sometimes undervalue myself as well so I try to do more. Forbes magazine says a stay at home parent would earn $162,000 a year for all they do. I try to remember that when money comes up.

Some days I miss being able to go to work and then come home whenever I wanted. Some days I miss my size 4 jeans, lets be honest thats most days. I miss doing laundry once a week and not having to do more than 1 dish in a day. I long for a day in my sports car with the top down at the beach.

That’s not to say being a mother isn’t my favorite part of life. I’m new to this and it is a huge adjustment. People assume women just naturally love motherhood and it comes so easy. To some extent that is true but a lot of it is learning as you go. Learning to love it and learning to love yourself through it.

Mistakes will be made and you’ll ask constantly if you are any good at this. If you have to ask then I assume you are because bad parents don’t care enough to acknowledge they are bad parents. I ask myself daily if I am making the right choices. I worry every second that I am going to irreparably damage my kid somehow but I’m not.

Being a parent is like walking into a classroom at a new school. Welcome to Parenting your teacher says and you just stand there like a deer in headlights. I have moved away from my old life, same town different neighborhood type of move. It has become that friend who you don’t see forever but could. My new class has lots of new people to learn with, to learn from. It looks different but I like it. In this classroom my partner and I will figure things out together. This is the school where we will grow with our child. Where we will learn together because we are all the new kid and we have to stick together. Hello Life, We are new here.

Snapchat gets it


Everyone has their breaking point, that end of the road when you snap into pieces. I have cracked. Jagged and dangerous shards of me skid across the floor taking my sanity with them. Cracked. Not shattered or broken beyond repair. Cracked. Implying that while I can probably be patched up my pieces will remain damaged with a scar where the lines don’t match up all the way. Just cracked.

“You’re a piece of shit” the more you hear it the more you start to see the signs of it. “Worthless” you feel it so often you have no idea why the world needs you. The disgust in the eyes of the one the person you love is enough to make you disgusted with yourself. All I have ever wanted my entire life is to love someone who loves me back with the same intense joy. This sure doesn’t feel that way.

When your partner betrays you all the feelings of being less than enough are suddenly confirmed. So many times I have been betrayed. So many times I have been made to feel 2nd, 3rd, 7th best! I can not compete with the invisible people on the other side of the phone. All the praise in the world, the adoration I show is never enough to inflate the ego of someone who needs constant stroking. I will never be enough. A piece of me slowly chips away with every lie and every conversation I wasn’t supposed to see.

Beat me down again and again until ‘I get it through my head” you say. Trust me I understand how you feel. Trust me every harsh word you have spoken, every name you have called me is stuck in me like a knife. My body can only hold so many of the thrown daggers before I start to bleed out. My soul leaks out of my wounds until I have barely enough of myself inside to breathe. It’s not enough to make it stop.

The tears they stream like a river down my face meeting on my chest as I stain my shirt with my dead spirit. You have killed everything I loved about myself. The person filled with joy and a lust for life is gone. All that is a left is a shell. A zombie who goes through the motions but feels no happiness. All that is left is pain and emptiness.

The more you hate me the harder I hold on. I wake every day and I know I could lay in bed with this child we created and never brush my teeth. You would come in and ask why I am still in bed so I get my disgusting body up and shower. I get her ready for our day of pointless busy work and go down the stairs. I drink my cold coffee, vacuum the floors and try to make sure you come home to a clean livingroom if nothing else. Everyday I pick up the dishes you leave on the table for me like a maid. I wash the laundry you throw on the floor because the basket is 2 inches too far. I wash, I dry, I fold all your things and neatly put them away like the feelings I have about being a glorified slave.

Your lunch is made with little notes to remind you of how special I think you are even if my special is long gone. “We love you” “#1 Daddy” “Have the best day” always hoping today my well wishes will be acknowledged. My goal is to make you feel loved despite the fact that I never have. I am constantly aware of your intense need for attention and I do my best to give it even when I am the last thing you pay attention to. It’s gut wrenching to be pushed away because the tv is more important. I can’t compete with sports.

My concerns are viewed as bitching and my fears are tossed away as nagging. You make it clear I am an annoyance. You verbally swat me away like a fly at a picnic. How dare I question the king. You act as if I should feel lucky to be here and opinions are to remain silenced. I am never to have a voice even when that same sentiment is reiterated by those you sought out for help. Nobody is outranks you.

“You’re a piece of shit” CRACK and my seams have split. This monster of rage escapes from my body as I release all the hatred I have been holding inside. “Don’t call me names” I scream like a wild animal as my hands flail at you. Over and over I scream as I attack you with every bit of pain you have given me! So much pain and I want to spread it like a contagion to your soul but your physical being will have to do.

The line between self defense and rage is a slim one for you as we have seen before and I question if you will stop before you crush my face in with the weight of your body you use to pin me down while I cry in fear. I’m frightened of the colossal and dangerous mistake I have made. My face hurts from the pressure of your knuckles held against it but not as bad as my heart.

Leave they say and with all my heart I want to but the second I see you I know my strength is gone. You have taken my strength, my power, my sanity and my security and thrown them to the side. Everything I was when we met is gone and all thats left is pain. I am a weak, unrecognizable version of a person.

I want you to hurt like I hurt. I want you to cry yourself to sleep because you hate yourself and you think you are nothing. I want you to be afraid that everytime I leave the house I will stumble upon someone better than the piece of shit you think I am. Burn mother fucker burn! I want you to burn to the ground from the inside out with the guilt of your existence because you have scorched me with verbal flames for so long. All I want in this moment is for you to feel an ounce of what I feel. Your pain in payment for my spirit. You feel nothing.

Your version of abuse is me telling you not to do things with your child that common sense says are dangerous. You say that my irritation at your selfishness and comments about wanting to be seen are bitching. You turn the tables and call me the abuser. You claim everything I get I deserve. My mind says thats insane but my heart says you are right.

Leave they say. Leave you say. Leave I scream to myself but here I am on the floor crying begging not to be left. “Don’t leave” I scream “please don’t leave me.” So on it goes. More cracks will come and one day I won’t be repairable. One day this hellish reality will take over and I will run as far as I can. Not today. Today I will swallow my pain and quiet my mouth. I will wipe my tears and apologize for the inconvenience of my breakdown and you will win. This will end when you let me go but I have no more strength to do it until you push me out. Cracked. Not shattered or irreparably damaged

Body Image

Positive body image has been the biggest struggle my whole life. The way I look often keeps me from leaving the house. This morning I woke up and felt great! I took a hot interrupted shower and managed to do my makeup in peace. I felt beautiful! I always feel beautiful in my towel but never in my clothes.

As soon as I put my bra on I instantly went from beautiful to disgusting and tears formed in my eyes as fat bulged from under the band. My pants cause rolls to spill everywhere like day old bakery rolls. You buy them cause they are cheap but you know they could taste better. I am day old bread.

I look in the mirror and I am so ashamed. I know I am disgusting and nobody could possibly want to be seen with this whale in jeans. I am too fat to be seen today.

Back into my yoga pants, makeup off, contacts out I go. I cant stand to see my reflection. I just want to throw up. I can feel the fat rolls in my neck touching and my chins dangle there as a sick reminder of what a loser I am.

My weight has always been my worst problem. I have been 300lbs and I have been 130lbs but I have never looked good to myself. I google surgeries to remove the layers of fat I hold on my back knowing damn well I can’t afford it. Even at my smallest from behind I look like an orca migrating every time I move.

“You just had a baby, don’t be so hard on yourself ”

“You’ll loose it in no time”

I want to scream “shut up!” I looked better pregnant! I didn’t just have her it’s been 3 months! I was smaller when I was pregnant! I have gained back all my weight and actually weigh more now than I did when I gave birth. It’s shameful!

He says he doesn’t care what I look like but he never tells me I’m good looking. I never get told I am beautiful, not that I would believe it if I was. I know what he’s attracted to and it’s certainly not me. This fat piece of couch lard is not what he signed up for. Who would want to be proud of this? There are no pictures of me on his phone or publicly posted. He doesn’t want anyone to know how low he has sunk. I’m an embarrassment.

I will never be enough for myself. I diet and I fail because I have no support. I try to exercise but I am too ashamed to be seen in the gym so I won’t go. I judge everyone by my own struggles.

When I see an overweight woman I am filled with disgust and I think of how grotesque I find that. I see myself in whoever she is and I immediately gag because I know I am probably just as big. I get so upset when big women talk about loving their body because I don’t understand it. I could never love my body like that! I don’t look as confident and beautiful as they are. I hate because they are happy and I am not. When I was at my biggest I was never judgemental but my own self hatred is suddenly projected everywhere.

I will never be beautiful to myself because I will never be able to achieve what I consider attractive. I will never make real female friends because nothing feels worse than being the ugly girl in the back. I am the designated ugly fat friend, everyone has one.

I feel like nothing. Nobody makes me feel this way, nobody says anything but I know they think it. I see women look at us together and I feel judged. I feel judgement in everyone’s eyes these days.

So here we are yet another day I have trapped us in the house with my insecurities. I trap myself in my mind and I hide away from the world. I just want to disappear from myself until I am worthy of love. They say beauty isn’t skin deep but for myself it is.

People “You have such a beautiful face.” Yes, but it’s attached to the rest of me which is not beautiful at all.