It’s been two weeks since I have last blogged. I want to avoid certain topics. I can feel myself start to zone out. It is like a haze over a pond early in the sunrise. Gradual, silent and lingering. I just want to disappear. I have not been able to go to counseling for 3 weeks now. Not because of my choice but because she has been unavailable or sick.

Of course realistically I do not blame her, but in the hazey fog- it’s all her fault and I want to quit. Why do I depend so much on other people to make me feel better when they just let me down? The past couple weeks have been huge triggers, an episode of self harm, brutal nightmares, panic and anxiety attacks so bad I have to leave certain buildings, I am not only thinking about a world without me but how to commit suicide.

My life honestly in “real eyes” is not that bad at all. I actually have it fairly easy right now but on the inside I am screaming. My eyes lust for my own blood, my brain thinks any man will hurt me, my body shakes and cringes because I feel like I am about to pounced upon. My hands scratch and pull at my own disgusting fat body. I cry hot tears, my chest gets these sharp knife like stabbing pains ever so often that bring me to my knees and then I go numb.

I enter in the haze. It is not a daydream, it is not a sleep, it is not anything. It just is numb. I need her help and for 3 weeks I have been stuck in this haze longing to get out.


fog 2

The Trees’ Secret

The trees sway softly and silently. All night and all day they sway softly. It is almost as if they are trying to whisper. The light comes in hazily. Slow your eyes down and just gaze into the delicate beauty. Watch as the sunlight peeks through each tree. They are trying to shed light into the twisted darkness. The trees in these woods know a secret of mine. They would like to tell you, if you will just listen.


Screen Shot 2014-04-12 at 8.09.47 PM


All I can remember is hot breath along my face and sharp teeth flashing before my eyes. A blur of images and not  a lot of time to react or to even think. This animal we called our own, from which we raised from birth had flipped a switch. In an instant that hot breath and opened mouth covered half of my face. Half of my face was covered in darkness and heat.

The little girl fell to the ground, covered her head in fear and her mind went elsewhere. Her mind had gone into the trees and watched as his great big nails slashed into her head. Her mind cried silently, all she could do
was watch. Her gift was to numb the precious body from all the pain.

The dog stopped for a moment and that was all the little girl needed to slip away to be able to climb to safety. The animal followed her and tried multiple times to jump to reach her. The little girl screamed from her ladder for help since there was nowhere for her to go. Blood was dripping from her face and onto the treehouse wood.

Finally she was rescued and placed in the bathroom while things were gathered. She had the courage to look into the mirror. Stepping slowly in front of the glass, bracing herself- she looked. Her face had been chewed. Pieces of flesh were
hanging from her face. Quietly she got into the car, quietly she went into surgery, quietly she hated her harsh incisions. They were so ugly and all over her face.

Abruptly she was silenced anytime she wanted to speak up about her pain. She felt so ugly. People stared, people wondered and people poked fun. The incident was denied, modified and never spoke of again. The little girl took refuge in the trees as the days passed.

On the ladder, where she took refuge that day, the blood stain was still there. The redness began to fade over time but the stain and memory did not. To this day the little girl, now a young woman, can feel the breath of the beast on her face.

She remembers the hunger in his eyes and the brute strength of his nails digging into her skull. She remembers the loving hands, that she should call mother, silenced her. The trees know another secret- this wasn’t the first attack on the family that was silenced by those same hands.

Quietly the little girl remembers, quietly the woman hates.