pamcoco
Sponsor
My life feels completely futile.
No matter what direction I turn, how many hours I work, how much I free things I once treasured, the wind is in my face. On a great day the wind only chaps my lips and dries my throat. On a bad day the wind is a force that blows me backwards and gusts overturn every shelter I meekly seek.
It seems that my damage and deterioration are beyond my control. My fate predetermined. I am tired, exhausted really. I am stubborn beyond belief and only relent when the last lifeboat is reaching a distance beyond my swimming skills. It seems like there is no longer a lifeboat in sight.
Everyone needs something to hold onto, enough that just tips the scales toward survival. My health is crumbling, bad becoming worse. My business is at a standstill even though I work many hours daily, still I can't buy food today. My mental health eludes me, sick and without money to sustain myself, the much needed focus on the trauma, depression and disassociation cannot be my focus, in spite of the SI that has not relented in several years. Certainly I have to eat.
There is no one. Their frustrations escalated to a degree of exile before I even had a memory. I lost time for a little over 3 years after the assaults, I have no idea what I did or said. I woke up a bit with no idea of my age or what year it was. They already had written me off. My family, spitting venom that I finally learned to avoid for survival. Friends, turned out were not. Soothing from my mother now consists of her explaining my failures, like her point that if I had openly shared anal penetration maybe people would have had some sympathy for me.
Alone, I push on, futilely.
No matter what direction I turn, how many hours I work, how much I free things I once treasured, the wind is in my face. On a great day the wind only chaps my lips and dries my throat. On a bad day the wind is a force that blows me backwards and gusts overturn every shelter I meekly seek.
It seems that my damage and deterioration are beyond my control. My fate predetermined. I am tired, exhausted really. I am stubborn beyond belief and only relent when the last lifeboat is reaching a distance beyond my swimming skills. It seems like there is no longer a lifeboat in sight.
Everyone needs something to hold onto, enough that just tips the scales toward survival. My health is crumbling, bad becoming worse. My business is at a standstill even though I work many hours daily, still I can't buy food today. My mental health eludes me, sick and without money to sustain myself, the much needed focus on the trauma, depression and disassociation cannot be my focus, in spite of the SI that has not relented in several years. Certainly I have to eat.
There is no one. Their frustrations escalated to a degree of exile before I even had a memory. I lost time for a little over 3 years after the assaults, I have no idea what I did or said. I woke up a bit with no idea of my age or what year it was. They already had written me off. My family, spitting venom that I finally learned to avoid for survival. Friends, turned out were not. Soothing from my mother now consists of her explaining my failures, like her point that if I had openly shared anal penetration maybe people would have had some sympathy for me.
Alone, I push on, futilely.