ringing in my head. Write. Write. Write it says. How do i give myself so wholely to something when i know that its going to drain my mind, spirit and soul. And just as i say that a video im watching tells me to not be afraid. Her voice apeaking to me in tone that is so soothing and so comforting. Im probably drawn to it because its a comfort i was never offered. Not growing up, not as an adult. Not even now. Even pulling that out of me is so hard. How can i be what was never taught. I have to have 5 shots of espresso for my customer service voice to be worth $15.50 an hour. Thats not even the entire concotion need to even pull me out of bed most days. Im not special, im not alone in this either i know. Many single young mothers must live like this. I dont know how many of us are supported financially or at least have a shelter. But im one that consistently is battling for both. Stability that is. I crave stability with every fiber in my essence but when i get a taste of it i smash it in the ground like a bong of broken guardians past. Im very good at cleaning up the shads but like a stoner smoking since the rise of the sun it seems to always slip out of my fingers once again. Not this time.
This time im settle in a home in the valkey. My children play safely in their room and meditation and herbal conjurings are a safe space for me. Now, I am ready. Ready to unravel the folds of my tramatic past, to see what happened to me for what it truly was. And more importantly to end it. To end the era of pain and hurt and sorrow. To stop wondering why me. I will dive into the depths of my abuse, neglect and vices to end this cycle once and for all. I just ask, for you to not judge me.
YOU ARE READING
Post Traumatic Daughter
Non-FictionMemoirs of a daughter who pushed past trauma, physical, mental and drug abuse to survive in a society made to ignore vulnerability.
