Story 8

Eight years ago I was on a slippery slope – a runaway train really. I was looking to fill the emptiness inside in any way possible: alcohol, relationships, denial. I was holding tightly to the rails – the rails being the bits of hope that had taken root in my heart from many Sunday school…

Story 7

I am the youngest of five. My dad was a very hard worker. Not around much. He was intelligent and excellent at any job he tackled. He just didn’t apply that to parenting. The abuse he handed out to my older siblings was scary and I tried to never get him angry. That meant no…

Story 6

My life story? It starts and ends with: self-hate. I’m so full of self-hate: everything about myself, everything I am. I’m the youngest of three children. My dad was a blue-collar worker who never got ahead. My mother was mentally ill and never worked. We weren’t poor, but we were free-lunch people living above our…

Story 5

There are many things that I remember about my abuse. There are lots of things that I haven’t allowed myself to recall.  I guess I can say that my mind is doing me a favor. I know there was a sudden change in my demeanor around the time that my abused commenced. I went from…

Story 4

  I am terrified to share this, but the voice telling me to write is no longer at all hushed. It’s screaming. It feels like it’s knocking on the side of my brain. There are these parts of me yearning to be heard. They want their stories to join with all the other children’s stories…

Story 3

I am terrified to put this post on paper. Though it’s been in my head and on my heart for quite some time, I never really knew if I’d get around to writing it.  And so I write it, kicking and screaming…knowing it needs to be written but not wanting to be the one to…

Story 2

For many years, I tried to make sense of my father’s death. I was 3 years old when he died, and have no memory of him, only stories that people told me. He was told he had 6 months to live, which he surpassed, and lived another 9 months. “It was because he wanted to…

Story 1

I grew up in a small town, and am the youngest of four children. We had a ‘regular’ home, and my parents had regular, blue-collar jobs. Although we appeared to be a perfectly normal family, my home life was actually quite dysfunctional. My mother did not intend on getting pregnant with me, and I knew…