The Thirteenth Piece: The Three Year Storm (Part Two)


My first day as a seventh grader in middle school was the complete opposite of the previous year. I used to want to converse with others and try to make more friends out of my own free will.

That year was different.

Truthfully, I didn’t care about anything anymore. I didn’t care if I had friends or if I kept them. I didn’t care about lectures, so I chose to avoid them instead of attending. I kept to myself. I avoided personal conversations or just made up lies about my life to prevent any future curiosities. Love was foreign to me. I didn’t know how to love or what it meant to be loved. You could say, I was going through the ‘adolescence phase’ where I hate the world and complain about how shitty life was.

Sometimes I wonder. Would I still be in the same state of mind as I was in if I the word abusers never introduced itself int my life? Would I be happier? More sociable? Less anxious? Less numb?


Seventh grade was a time where I experimented a lot with the word love with both genders. With guys, I still felt numb. I wouldn’t last more than two weeks dating my exes. I would go out with them for pity or, honestly, just for the hell of it. I can’t say I ever felt ‘love’for any of them. The were just figures within my life.

I prohibited any physical contact besides kissing and holding hand. I strictly verbalized that my butt and breasts were off limits. Yes, at times, when we would make out for perpetual minutes, my insides would twist and turn with a fiery burn, desiring more, but the images of my abusers shocked me back into reality and my insides twisted and turned in agony and disgust.

Teenage females were different though. Our make out sessions would last for the longest and they were filled with intensity and I didn’t feel an ounce of disgust. Instead, I felt normal. I would fire up and the glimpses of my past would not try to sneak in. They remained hidden with them.

Is it because my abusers were male that my amygdala automatically put on a defensive shield with them? I wonder.


The first guy I went out with in middle school was kind and loving really. I had a binder that had ‘I love nerds’ written on the front. He wrote me a letter and gave it to me towards the end of the day in the classroom.

“Do you want to go out with me? Yes or No.

Some girls teased me over it and pointed at him, daring me to go out with him. He was staring at me, smiling.

I circled yes. After school, we walked around the football field and I could see how nice he was, yet, I felt nothing. He kissed me. We kissed for a few minutes. I stopped and told him, “This isn’t going to work.” I stood up and walked away.

Why did I break up with him? Honestly, I don’t know.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw him, still sitting on the bench. I continued to walk.

The next day, rumors clouded the school. He no longer looked at me with a smile. Instead, his eyes translated hate.

I continued my day. I didn’t care.

That was my shortest relationship.


There was one relationship where the idea of love came to mind. His name was H. I loved the way he smiled. Genuine. We started out like my previous relationships, but the it elevated quickly. He invited me to his house to meet his mom. I was nervous, but I accepted. We scheduled a day to go to his house and we did. I met his mom. We talked.

That was the first time I’ve ever done anything like that and I felt good.

He invited me to his room where we immediately exchanged an intense kiss. We climbed onto his bed and his body was closely pressed to mine. I could feel the fire inside me burn. I loved that burn. I wanted more. The images were hiding. I could do it, but I quickly pushed him away. I rapidly collected my emotions and stabilized myself. I smiled at him and giggled asking him to show me the rest of his house. He guided me to a small room covered by light bulbs. The lights were dimmed.

He turned on the stereo and a slow tempo music played. He grabbed my hand and we slowly danced the floor away. Perfect I thought to myself. I felt my heart ache, but not because I was in pain, but for a different reason. A reason unknown to me then. I layed my chin on his shoulder and smiled.

Our night ended with a kiss goodbye and calming walk back to my apartment.

I quickly learned that happiness does not last long, at least, not for me. About a week later we were in the schoo’s hallway, holding hands, while he was walking me back to class and without my knowing, he grabbed my butt. As soon as I felt his hand on my ass, my hand pushed him away.

“It’s over. I’m breaking up with you.”

I had rules.

I turned around and walked away. I thought I would feel remorse or guilt for ending it like that, but I felt nothing, like, the first guy I went out with in middle school. Like him, H just stood there and, like him, my emotions did not waver.

My feet kept pulling me forward. My mind kept asking Why?

That was my longest relationship during middle school.

A Sudden Change


A month ago I decided to prioritize myself.

I realised that I was letting myself go to the point that I was no longer happy with they way I felt. I have repeated numerous times during my time of blogging that I have always struggled with self esteem, but this time was different. My physique was not a major part of why I decided to change. Yes, I did not like the fact the my clothes were adding in size, but I was okay. I didn’t get tot he point where I was disgusted with myself, because I was learning (still learning) to love my body. The main reason is because I was letting myself go emotionally and mentally, food was (still struggling) my go to escape. If I felt any kind of way I would just grab a “bite.” If I was full after a meal, I could convince myself that I could fit another plate. I did.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to.

I started to realise that I was more tired than usual. My sleepless nights climbed a few more levels and five hours of sleep converted to two or three hours of sleep. Walking was a hassle; I would run out of breath in an instant. My children were mimicking me. Laziness and fatigue was contagious and I was the disease.

My gloomy days became dark days in an instant. I didn’t know how to get myself away from the dark cloud creating thunderstorms over me. I couldn’t escape.

I let myself go. I was annoyed with myself. Angry.

How and why would I allow this?

Why can’t I get up?

Why isn’t this working?

Why don’t I have any energy?

Why? Why? Why?

After days, weeks, and months of being trapped in that dark loop, I decided it was time to escape.

The next day I started my first day of excercise and eating healthier. Yeah. I was suffering alright. I wanted to grab a “bite” at midnight so bad. I literally made water and ice my best friends. Just like how I could convince myself to shove food down my throat, I used the same tactis to get my shit together and not miss a day of exercise.

I didn’t miss a day.

I cut of all foods that were tempting and easy. I even had to control myself with healthy foods. I just wanted to eat, but, once again, I used my tactics against myself.

As ridiculous as this may sound. I was in constant battles wih myself for a month. To me it was agonizing and emotional. How can food cause this much affect to a person? Why is it so hard?

A month later. Here I am. Not only have I lost 7lbs. I have regained, to put it simply, life. I am slowly working on regaining emotional and mental control and having something that is able to aid me in that is a newfound sentiment.

Today I can say I am proud of myself. I feel like my journey has taken a new route towards healing. I have taken many routes since my sexual abuse as a child and I feel like this could be a great candidate for a permanent position.

Healing is a journey. You will take many, different, paths until you are able to say, “This is the one.”

Even if this is my path, for now, it does not mean that it is obstacle free. I just wish that I get to the point where I am able to jump over those obstacles without fear and hesitation and welcome the next one.

We are strong.

We are not alone.

This is a journey.

This is my journey.

One Picture


It took one picture of you

To make me stumble and fall from the top of my hill to the rocks in the ground

It took one picture of you to make me detest the touch of my lover; his touch resembling your desert like hands vacuuming the life out of me and leaving me dry

My lover’s soft touch has now turned to torture

It took one picture of you to make me LOATHE myself for three days; seeing my reflection in the mirror being violated by your monstrous hands

I loathed myself to the point that I wished the scars on my arms would reopen and gush out a stream of pain

At last…setting me free

It took one picture of you

To make me tremble in silence

For three days

I trembled

It took one picture of you

To break the heart of the clock


For three days I was stuck in the same time zone

And the nightmares set on repetition

The same time

The same fucking time

It took one picture of you

To send me back to that fragile and scared little girl

Just one damn picture

That’s al it took.

A moment of Happiness


I am a happy person

I have my ‘episodes’

I have my ‘moments’

But I am happy

Some days my happiness sends me a quick reminder that it still exist.

Today was a reminder


I was driving back to our house from Wal Mart and my kids were in the back seat surprisingly quiet. I turned on the radio and a song by Selena Gomez was on (which quickly falls of my scale for good music btw) and they both started singing along, makig funny faces, and laughing. I glanced at my kids from the rear view mirror and I smiled. I felt strange. I felt like I haven’t smiled in the longest time. My face felt renewed.

I turned up the volume and quietly laughed to myself.


I used to loathe my existence.

I used to avoid happiness.

I used to be oblivious to love.

Even now, some days I wonder if it is real, all of it.

So, Happiness sends me a reminder that I am still alive. I am worthy of being happy. I am capable of giving and receiving love.

A wake up call.

I am happy today.

My Body


From the day I was born my beauty was forced on me

My beauty was to be shared by those around me

My beauty was never mine

From my legs to my hair, my beauty was cherished

My curvy body

My small waist

My long curls

My long lashes

My soft lips

My body was beauty

Beauty forced on me

Appearance was a priority forced on me

Why? I don’t know

By the age of seven, my body was no longer mine, instead, it was taken from the men who turned it into a sex toy

By the age if eight, my body was recycleable; passed from one to another and used up as many times they wished

By the age of nine, my body was a collage of new needs and forgotten futures

By the age of eleven, my body was introduced to new artifacts:

Full breasts and a Nice ass

During my teens, my body was unbearable

My body became a temple where I could walk in and worship all my hate to it


At age fourteen my body found true love, but not from me

My body received uncontidional love, but not from me

My body was foreigned to me

I only saw it as a dirty dish rag and it didn’t matter how many times I tried to wash it or change it

It was still a rag

My beauty was forced on me and used against me

My beauty introduced me to hell

Before the age of 22, I couldn’t bare to look at my body naked

I felt the filthy hands of my abusers

I heard the echoes of perverted men and prideful women

I smelled the breaths of those who forced my body on them

I felt the hundreds of eyes starring down at me

I couldn’t breathe, so I didn’t look.

At age twenty two, I remember standing naked in my bathroom. I looked at my body from head to toe and whispered You are beautiful

Not an ounce of belief, but I said it

Now, at age 24, I am laying on my bed



You are beautiful

This is my beauty. This is my body. This is me.

The Thirteenth Piece: The Three Year Storm (Part One)


My first day of middle school was nerve wrecking. I woke up at 6 a.m. and walked to the bathroom only to realise that a huge zit grew overnight on my chin.

This is a disaster.

Kill me.

The first day of sixth grade and I had a zit. I tried to make it disappear. I dabbed a bit of toothpaste on it (my mother once told me it worked) but quickly washed it away when the burning sensationbecame unbearable. Next, I tried to pop it, but only failed and made it worse, so I decided to cover it. I was not expert in make up so I decided to take the low risk choice and just hide it with a small bandage.

Just kill yourself already.

My day was already fucking me over.

I was mentally preparing myself for the first day of middle. I decided that I should continue as I was in fourth and fifth grade, socialize and fit it. I wanted school to be a distraction from the reality that haunted me at the house. I wanted to be normal, but there is so much one can do to prepare. In the end, LIFE loves to punch and kick you around.

Our house wasn’t far from my middle school. It was located in front of my former elementary school and about an eight minute walk from our house. On that day, eight minutes felt like hours. The closer I got to school, the more anxious I would become. I had to constantly stop to balance my beathing and take momens to relax. Surprisingly, I arrived in one piece and headed to the gymnasium. I walked in and saw the crowds of kids.


Don’t stare so much.

I clenched my hand infront of me, avoided eye and physical contact and headed to the wall mat. I leaned on the wall and released a long, silent exhale. I didn’t realise I wasn’t breathing until I leaned on that wall. I stared and floor and listened to the laughters, screams, and talking around me.

I need to leave already.

My first day was already heading downhill.

I didn’t recognise how much time passed until the gymnasium was half empty. Everyone was heading to their homerooms. I quickly picked up my backpack from the floor and searched for my homeroom. It took me longer than usual to find it. By the time I arrived most of the seats were filled. I looked around nervously and found a desk in the middle of the room and quickly sat down. I placed my bag infront of me and sat in silence until the teacher came in. Nearly everyone in the classroom had made a friend, except for myself and another kid. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone. I was anxious. I was afraid.

What if they stare ar your bandage?

What if they don’t want to talk to you?

What if I talk too much?

What if they ask too many questions?

The CONS were endless, so I just gave up.

The months that followed had it’s nice outcomes; I was able to make a few friends, go to a couple school dances, exhange friendly letters, etc. As much as I tried, I still felt distance between me and everyone else. I think it was just the fact that I always had my mask on even when I was with friends. I felt safe. If they tried to ask questions, I avoided them or just gave vague answers. Friends were temporary for me, because I was too afraid to put down my mask and just say This is me.

My personality took a darker turn after my visit to the assistant principal’s office.

My need to fill the aching void that dwelled within me increased and transitioned to my second year of middle school.

Where did it go?


I remember the days we spend hanging out.

I remember the secrets and storied we kept to ourselves.

Where did it go?

I remember hard times and fun times.

I remember sleepovers and never ending laughters.

Where did it go?

I remember being there for each other.

Small or big…we were there.

Where did it go?

I remember us

I remember our friendship

I remember the love

Where did it go?


Busy lives.

Hectic schedules.

This and that…

Yet, i’m trying too keep our connection

Why are you still so far away?

I’m trying.

All I can see now is a thread.

I’m still trying.

Where are you?

Why are you not trying too?

I think I’ll just stand here now.

I’m tired of trying.

I’m tired of this one sided friendship

Where did it go?

On Edge


I have mentioned on a previous post of my fear of being alone and this was last year around this time around.

I would think that my anxiety and fear would have minimized by now, but I was proven wrong today. My husband found work out of state and due to economical reason, he decided to go. My mind immediately open the door to the dark room and walked in. While my husband talked, I could only shake my head or lose myself to the nothingness that was devouring me. I could not focus on his voice, I could only focus the fear that was creeping in from every inch of that dark room.

You see, I hate the fact that my husband will be away for so long and so far. Don’t get the wrong idea. I am not attached to him like a leech. We’re dependent and independent at the same time. The best way to explain it is like this:

My husband is like my protector, so when he is not around for a long time I get anxious. My anxiety reaches its peak and my thoughts ramble on. I walk to a store or any public place and I become hyper vigilant. I become untrustworthy of everyone around me. I feel vulnerable and exposed. I just can’t function.

In the back of my mind, I know this reaction and emotion is a burden to him and maybe not understandable to others. I know it is something I have to be able to take control of. Sometimes it is easier to enter that dark room than just keep the door closed. I know that I have to learn to be okay on my own, especially because I have kids. I have to be in control.

How can I when the moment I open that door I see a little girl, sitting down in the dark and hugging her knees. She is scared and alone. She wants someone to save and protect her. So I walk in and stay with her in the darkness. Stay with her in that fear.

Maybe with time I will learn and she will learn that staying in that dark room is not for the best. Maybe we will learn how to fight our fear and our anxiety and not rely on my husband’s protection.

One day we will..

But for today, I will stay on edge.

Social Anxiety


I haven’t really come to terms with the term “social anxiety.” Usually I’ll just stick to the phrases:

“I don’t like big crowds.”

“I don’t like people.”

“I rather be a lone wolf.”

“I’m picky when it comes to friends.”

Don’t get me wrong. There is truth behind every single phrase, but I leave out the most important facts.

1. When I am within a crowd, I start panicking to the point where my palms start sweating, my vision becomes a blur, and the air arround me is restricted.

2. I rather not like people, because the judge and jury within my head decides for me that I rather hate people first because I know they will come to hate me too…eventually.

3. I rather be a lone wolf is just a other meaning for I don’t want to get to close to you or you too close to me. I am too afraid to be judged. I am too afraid to open up. Lone wolf is the equivalence of some sort of fear lurking around.

4. Truth. I am picky with my friends. I rather not waste my time with those who are a hindrance, yet I don’t even try to set foot outside my circle of solitude. So, I make my excuse that I am picky because it’s an easy and acceptable answer than admitting that you are too afraid to even try to be picky.

Social anxiety.

I’ve already come to terms with my depression, PTSD, and anxiety. The fact that I have to keep adding to my list gives me chills…

What else is wrong with me?

What else do I have to fix?

What else do I have to change?

Maybe, it’s just another part of me that I have yet to accept.

Yesterday, I discovered that.

A simple party to others became too overwhelming for me. I wanted to escape. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t.

I had to blend in which I did. I drank a little. I laughed my way through conversations. I blended in.

Why did I feel so out of place?

I was blending in, right?

I was trying too much, I think, to the point where I just lost control on the inside.

I woke up this morning and I felt like all the energy from my body was sucked out. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to see or feel the sunlight.

A simple party became a burden.

A simple party broke me down.

A simple party broke my balance.

To put it in simple words, that party wasn’t for me.