My mind races

All the time that has passed.

Positive thinking

To prevent my desperation from collapsing.

Give me more time

To appreciate my small positive space

I am scared of that face

That I will make once I see how much TIME

has forsaken me.

Be gentle

Don’t you see that I am breaking.

I need more time to escape from

This dark entity.

I need more time to make my day

Shine and last for eternity.

One word for the struggle of PTSD; inefficient.

The Tenth Piece Missing (Trigger Warning)


During our time of secret visitation to my father, my mind kept haunting me with questions:

Why is he not touching me?

Why is he not acting normal?

Does he not love me anymore?

In the back of my head I was aware that his actions were not right. They were not love from a true father, but after you become use to being treated a certain way; in my case, sexually abused every time my father and I were together alone; your own sense of reality becomes warped and everything within you follows. I needed my father’s “love.” His lack of “affection” made me think that I was no longer loved and I felt completely useless.

I know this may sound…disturbing, and pardon my way of expressing my thoughts, but the only way to understand is through the truth.

I felt like something was missing; I was incomplete, so I replace his lack of love with masturbation at the age of 11.

The first time I experimented with masturbation was probably around the middle of third grade during the time that my grandfather began sexually abusing me.

Our class went to the computer lab. The seats next to me were empty (I was a loner.) The computer lab was freezing and my hand were trembling so I decided to put my right hand between my thighs. It wasn’t instant. I just felt a sensation like I had to pull my hand higher towards my vagina. I tapped my finger and I felt like I had to keep going. I was scared because I did not know why I was doing it and why I had this twitch to keep going, until the teacher approached my computer and I stopped. That was the beginning and the temporary end of my semi masturbation.

So, when I turned 11, my first response for satisfaction to this void was inserting the end of a razor inside my vagina. It did not hurt for I have gone through this process many times. I responded to the lack of affection; masturbation. The first time, I quietly cried on my bathroom floor; disgusted with what I have done. Disgusted.

Masturbation was a baffling escape. At first I knew why I did it, then I lost track on why I continued when every time I inserted an object in my vagina, it resulted in disgust, shame, and overwhelming tears.

I thought I was missing something, but in truth, my reality was warped into something false. I was used many times by many men, so, for me, that was “love.” When everything stopped, that urge to become useful continued. I was desperate to feel needed.

So, I turned to the only thing I knew…

A Better Gloomy Day


A distant mind.

A distraction I am

trying to find.

Cloudy day covered in mist.

Vibrant colors

Songs of birds

Not today. Today I resist.

Everything is gray

the colors, the air, the mist, the songs

synchronized in a ritualistic dance.

My eyes looked away.

My heart remained cold

My darlings laughed and smiled, but

My happiness could not unfold.

Guilt manifested within me.

Why am I feeling this on such a beautiful day?

A voice echoed in my head

“You are okay. This is just another gloomy day…”

Time to Move Forward


March is a beautiful month; It is a time of awakening; colors begin to slowly

reveal themselves, flowers begin to bloom, our surroundings wake up from a well

deserved slumber. For me, there is only one day that brings me misery and

despair, March 17th; my father’s birthday.

As I have stated in a previous post, my parents and I share a similar birthday

month; we are about 2 weeks or so apart. I use to love the idea that we had this

one thing in common, but my father quickly poisoned my love with his perverse


Now, every year on his birthday, I feel…hhmm, how do I feel?

I used to feel angry or sad; I made a promise to myself that on the day of his

birthday, I would restrain from committing any form of celebration or happiness,

because if I did then in some way I would be celebrating him and he will be the

winner; a monster like that does not deserve an ounce of happiness after

all the darkness he spread, not only in my life, but everyone he touched.

“Now…I feel numb.” I told my husband as the hot trickles of water hit my

my body as I bathed.

My emotions have changed. For some odd reason, I do not feel anger or sadness.

I feel as though my emotional state has washed away any emotion linked to that

day, yet I tell myself, “Tomorrow I will do nothing.” My emotions are guiding me

to a direction of, I believe, positivity, but my mind is pulling me back.

Why do I have to prohibit myself from treating a day like a normal day. A

day like any other. If I am caging my own happiness, then isn’t he


The Smell of a Man


As my husband lays his head on my breast, I press my nose

to his hair and caress it ever so gently. I close my eyes

and immerse myself with the smell of his hair until

the past pulls me down…


A handful of Ralph Lauren cologne.

Throat burning.

Is this the smell of a man?

Stench of alcohol.

Sweat and…again that smell

of alcohol…

Is this the smell of a man?

No…this is the smell of a monster.

I pull myself back and place myself in my present.

Slowly, I run my fingers through his hair and inhale

the sweet, soft, and loving smell of this man.

This is the smell of a man…my man.

Something New


I’m not much of a self loving person. I have always struggled with personal self esteem. My experience taught me that my body was just a toy, disgusting, disposable, used, and stained; so that is how I guided myself through school, marriage, and being a human. I started this self practice that I would compliment myself everyday, even if the words that came out of my mouth were filled with deception. I thought by doing so, I would believe it…eventually.

Recently, I found a balance within myself. I’ve noticed that I haven’t had any negative thoughts. I willingly keep myself busy to prevent myself from being devoured from my darker alter persona, but what stood out to me the most was that a couple days ago I was looking at my reflection and realised my beauty. I told myself,”You are…beautiful.” I give myself a timid smile as if I am complimenting a stranger…well, not even a stranger; I think my compliment towards he or she would be without hesitation and straightforward.

After this frightful realisation, I decided to share my thoughts with my husband. While looking at my reflection on the bathroom mirror, completely naked, I said,”My boobs look great. I’m starting to like them. I feel beautiful. Yeah…” My gaze remained as is. I wanted to look at him, so I just slightly turned my head and he looked and me and smiled, “You are beautiful. I was waiting for you to finally realise it.”

I could feel my chest tighten. I remained silent, but I couldn’t help but smile.

So this is what if feels like…to love yourself.