Resentment

’Cause you brought the flames and you put me through hellI had to learn how to fight for myself 

 And we both know all the truth I could tell

I'll just say this is I wish you farewell

I will never understand why people don't speak up for children. Why do people turn a blind-eye and allow a child to be abused? To those who will answer this question with a "It's none of my business", you are a fucking coward. 

The older I get, I find more resentment in the people who knew what was going on behind closed doors, and who never said a damn word. Do you have any idea how different my life could've been had someone just decided that "enough was enough"? I find myself wondering what was so wrong with me for someone not to step in and save me. I get it, it could've been worse- much worse... but it was still bad. So bad that I live with the damage everyday. . . so bad, that the way my brain functions and processes things was altered. I suppose that's none of your business either...

Maybe this is why I have a fucked up perspective on what love is. Everyone who claimed to love me, and who was supposed to protect me, didn't. Everyone who "loved" me, left. It must have been a lot easier to go home and pretend nothing was happening. I can't imagine how someone could face themselves knowing what was going on and not saying a word. Kids should always have a safe haven- where the hell was mine?! No matter where I went, I always ended back up where I shouldn't have been. I guess I was the "special lucky child" though, instead of one hell house, I got two. Two terribly broken households, and dozens of people who never said a word. Sickening, isn't it?

Luckily, even though I struggle with mental illness daily, I turned out half-way decent- or so I would like to think. I took everything that broke me, and allowed it to make me stronger. Granted, I feel like one of the weakest people ever at times, I am strong and the more I think about that, it's really no thanks to anyone but myself. 

I bust my ass daily to provide a childhood for my daughter that she will never have to recover from. The little girl inside of me make sure to be the driving force for that. I want to make sure Marleigh never has to feel the way the little girl feels. I never want my daughter to question her worth, or her life, especially because of something I did or said. I would never be able to live with myself inflicting such pain on such innocence. Just wish someone had wanted that for me. . . maybe it would've made me that much better.  

Cont;nue

People don't realize when I say if "I didn't have Marleigh, that I wouldn't still be here", it's not sad or for attention. It's fact. There isn't a single thing that pulls me through my days other than that little girl. It's my way of saying, in all of my darkness, I have found strength. 

Honestly, it shouldn't matter what my reason is, rather that I have found a reason. 

This little blonde haired, blue-eyed baby who lays sleeping across from me. She saves me everyday in ways that I hope she never understands. I never want her to feel the pain I feel, or to the extent that I feel it. I want my daughter to have more than one reason to keep going, I want my daughter to love life. I don't, and quite realistically, I can't. I was dealt one too many "bad hands", and although I love my daughter, and I keep going, I can't say that I enjoy life. However, even though it may seem hypocritical, I want her to see the good in things, the good in people- to an extent. 

I do believe in teaching my daughter she needs to be guarded and that trust needs to be earned- not everyone is who they say they are, and not everyone is a good person. We live in a very dark, scary world, that seems to worsen daily. I want her to be a realist with the world, and the people in it, but I don't want her to lose her shine. I want her to know she will ALWAYS have someone no matter how much it feels like she's alone. I want my daughter to thrive, although she's being raised by an extremely broken mother. 

You see, I was never taught to love and I'm not really sure that before Marleigh, if I could even begin to tell you what true love felt like- with one exception being my Mimi, of course. I guess my point is with all of this, I'm terrified that with as broken as I am, I'm going to end up giving my daughter a childhood in which she can never recover from. 

Although, I can't blame my childhood for every bad thing in my life, it certainly was the foundation on which my "fight or flight" was built. It is the very reason that I don't believe anyone could ever possibly truly love me... I mean hell, if your parents can't love you, who can? If I wasn't good enough for my own father, what man would I ever be enough for?

I feel my love for my daughter, it's instinct. It wasn't a choice. I'm thankful for that. Although in the same breath, I wonder what was so wrong with me that loving me became choice and not instinct, especially for my father? 

How can a child not be enough for their parent?

How could you possibly want to keep harming yourself when you know it hurts them?

How could you not do everything in your power to keep them from hurting?

I don't want this to be my daughter's future, and I'm so relieved that as I struggle on my bad days, right now she is too young to understand. She doesn't know the hurt, or why- and she doesn't need too. She doesn't know she has saved me countless times. I can lay here crying, wishing I were dead... yet I hear "Mommy?" and I know I could never do that to her. Though, most days I feel like she would be better off without me, I also know that she needs me. She needs me to make sure she doesn't have this battle. She needs me to try my damnedest to make sure she NEVER feels alone. 

I never want my daughter to stare into a mirror, begging herself to just be strong. I want her to know I'm here and though I may be broken, and my love is not without flaws, I love her- and her life matters. She matters. 

She is why I need to get better. I need to stop just living with it and go do the things I need to do to learn to cope. I wouldn't dare put the weight on her shoulders to know she's what keeps me alive, that's a burden too big for a little girl. Though she will know- she saved me. She saves me everyday. 

 I guess what I'm trying to say is, my story isn't over yet- our story has just begun. 

I Met an Angel

"Oh.... I believe there are angels among us

Sent down to us from somewhere up above

They come to you and me in our darkest hours

To show us how to live, to teach us how to give

To guide us with the light of love"

Believe it, or not, I have met an angel. 

I'm in NO way really religious, or even remotely religious. However, I, without a doubt, believe in angels. I'm not talking about a "figure" with wings nor a "spirit" that no one else can see. When I say angel, I mean a completely selfless, genuine, giving, good-spirited person; not someone who does good for recognition or to make themselves feel better. Someone who see good in everything, and everyone. 

With that being said, I've met an angel. I was blessed enough to have her in my life for sixteen years, two months, and one day- time that will NEVER be long enough. 

This woman that I'm speaking of was more kind-hearted, loving, and forgiving than ANYONE else that I have met in my twenty-one years of life. She never spoke ill of anyone, even though she may have had every reason to. She showed more inner strength than I knew possible. Not maybe people can be dealt the cards that she was, and rise above being a better, NOT bitter, person. She saw past the wrong in anyone, and saw the good- the important. This is the woman who taught me about love and forgiveness. 

I saw her struggle physically and mentally, but never without a smile on her face. She had an unwavering faith, even through her hardest of trials. She gave the purest of he2/r self, and the purest love to her family that I've ever witnessed. I'm not saying she was a saint, but I'd say, if one could be a saint in this world- she'd be the closest person to it. She taught me strength. 

"She" was Lois Irene Hilghman; my bestfriend, my role model, my hero, and, most importantly, my MIMI. Mimi impacted my life in ways that no one, other than my daughter, could EVER measure up to. She is the reason I did the best I could growing up; the reason I have a good head on my shoulder; the reason that I give up when life utterly sucked. Making her proud, and seeing her smile was enough to keep me going. She loved her family, and was extremely proud of us, all of us- mistakes included. She never once judged or said an ill word in my presence. She was a pure soul... an angel.

I say was because, almost four years ago, this month... I watched my best friend take her last breath. I still remember it like it was yesterday, my dad and uncle telling her that it was okay to let go and to "Let go and Let God". I cried, as I had been all weekend... Our eyes meet and I see her shed a single tear. I felt I HAD to be the one to let her know it was okay... that I would be okay. I bent down, kissed her forehead and as I stood back up, she took her last breath. Nightmares haunted me for weeks, and sometimes still do... I said "Goodbye" to my angel, and I wish I didn't have to. 

As selfish as it is, to have wanted her to stay, I was blessed enough to have her as long as I did; to have her instill the things in me that she carried within herself. She gave me memories and love that, as a child, I couldn't find elsewhere. Never once did I question her love for me, unlike many others that I doubt. She loved to the purest, that even I couldn't question it, and I question everything- so, that says something. 

I was blessed enough to meet, and love, an angel.

Rest Easy Mimi

2/19/25-1/17/11

I Love You Forever**

 

The Storm Inside

"I wanna hide the truth

I wanna shelter you

But with the beast inside

There's nowhere we can hide

No matter what we breed

We still are made of greed

This is my kingdom come

This is my kingdom come"

-Imagine Dragons

Most people think anxiety and depression are phases, and for some that can be true. However, for me, I face a chemical imbalance. I struggle with demons and disorders that have become beyond my control.Some people know about what I battle daily on the inside, but very few know the severity of it. 

In the, almost, twenty-one years that I have been alive, I can't really remember a time that I haven't struggled with the thoughts in my mind. I grew up a lot quicker than most, and unfortunately, in that, I lost a my ability to know how to relax, and let things go. I learned to worry at a very young age... I was worrying about things that children that age shouldn't even be thinking about. 

I was born into what I would call a very confused, and unhappy family. Alcohol, drugs, divorce, significant others who meant more, domestic violence, threats, etc.. How do you learn to cope with such things at such a young age? Luckily for me, I had an older sister who sheltered me from the bullshit the best that she could, but in the end- it was all still there, and I knew that. 

I grew to feel unwanted, and unimportant due to all the arguments I'd overheard and all the things that were said to me. Though, those feelings got much worse once my sister wasn't there to protect me anymore. I didn't have anyone to shield me from what was being said. There I was, right in the middle... Knowing and being told things were my fault. Being ignored by one parent, and bailed on by the other. Living with mom's alcoholic boyfriend,who wanted me put up for adoption or dead. By that point, I had lost my place and had nowhere to belong. 

I found myself turning to journaling to release my emotions. I don't think anything has been more heartbreaking than rereading those journal entries from my 13 yr old self begging God to end my life because I didn't have the strength. No one should ever feel pain to that extent, especially not a child. But back then, NO ONE really knew. If they did know, they didn't understand. There came a point that I couldn't even leave my room once I got home from school because "he" didn't want me in the way...I was given my meals through my door, and when I was done I had to text my mom telling her that the plate was on step for her. 

By then, Mom had turned to bribery to try to make up for everything I was going through. Which in turn, I began to be called spoiled. Little did those who called me such know, that I would've given up EVERY single thing that I was given for a simple "I'm proud of you", "I love you", or "I'm sorry"

For years, I felt I was my mother's mistake, for that's what I had been told, and I was no stranger to being called a little "bitch". 

As far as my dad goes, I have SO many rotten, haunting memories. From punching my mom, being questioned for his arrest, watching him pull out knives and threatening people I loved, restless nights of worrying, not talking for long periods of time, to drunken phone calls. I never felt as though I was apart of his life, or at least not a part that ALWAYS mattered. 

I honestly just wanted to belong. However, that's tough to do when it feels as though, not even your parents want you around. I had become a very angry person, and I chose who I let that show to. To others, I had learned how to fake the best smile. Soon, journaling my pain turned into writing poetry about it, and with that, I had my outlet. Granted, the pain was still there, but the feelings weren't exactly bottled up anymore. I could just sit down with a notebook and pen, write my heart out, and cry. 

I'd have good days, and bad. Days where life wasn't so horrible, and days where I wished I had never been born. But one thing never changed, I HATED being home. I got away anytime I possibly could. Friends made for a distraction, especially the ones that were completely oblivious to how I felt. That's when dating came into play.

I was looking for LOVE, desperately. I took relationship EXTREMELY serious and to heart. But unfortunately, even though all I ever was to be loved, I didn't know how to be loved... or how to love. I allowed guys to do and say things to me that I would honestly hurt them for doing or saying to Marleigh. I put up with exactly what I knew, what I had always been subjected to. Strangely as much as it hurt, I saw nothing wrong with it. Even though I swore I would never put up with such things,it seemed to be that's just how love worked, or that was all I was worth. 

I allowed myself to be put down to the point that I LOATHED every single quality about myself. I was back to the place of finding myself ugly, stupid, fat, unlovable, crazy, and unworthy of life. I turned to starving myself, obsessively weighing myself, the occasional cut here and there, scalding my body with water in the shower, anything I could that would take my mind off of the mental pain. The pain of feeling as if I was never going to be good enough for anyone, not even myself. 

Between the years of a toxic home life, and toxic relationships, I finally cracked. I broke down and I spoke to my doctor. Granted, I only told my doctor that I was depressed over my Mimi's death, which in part, was very true. I was too ashamed to tell her the truth, afraid that she'd see so much wrong with me, as I did myself. She prescribed me a medicine, that I still take to this day, and suggested therapy.

Therapy? I didn't want to go... Then that would really mean there WAS something wrong with ME, it was bad enough I was on medication. It also didn't help that I had people close to my heart who treated me like a nut, and if I got the slightest bit upset, their response always was "Have you taken your meds today?". So if they treated me crazy then, what would they do with me seeing a shrink? That or I had my some family that liked to tell me that I only wanted attention.

Yes, positive attention would've been nice. But, I wanted something so much more. I wanted to be able to turn my mind off, to have balance in my thoughts, to act my age... I wanted to love myself, and I wanted to love life. Those are all things, I still want today. S

ome days my mind creeps back into the darkness. My mind constantly obsesses, and worries. It truly takes over my life, and I can't help it. After awhile, I get overwhelmed and that is what brings all the darkness back. The feeling of a failure, the pain of the past, and utter fear of the future. 

The other day, something gave me strength, that in prior years I would've called a weakness. I made a phone call to help change my life. I called to make my very first therapy appointment. I need to be a better me now, not only for me, but for my daughter. I never found myself worth helping, but I know I need to help myself to help her. 

Therapy and medication may never change the past, or take everything away, but I have hopes that it can teach me to manage, and maybe even how to relax. Life is only so long, and you only get one. I don't want to waste the one I have in the nasty cycle that I've grown up in. I want to break that cycle, and I want my daughter to never feel the way I have, especially not because of me. 

Where My Demons Hide

Some people judge depression and anxiety as a phase, and for some I believe it can be. However, I battle with something much stronger than a "phase". From my earliest memory at the age of four, until now, I've struggled with the thoughts in my head, and the way things around me make me feel.

I was born into what I would consider a very confused and unhappy family, one that subjected me to things that most shouldn't have to witness, especially starting at such a young age. 

-alcohol.verbal-mental-emotional-physical abuse.drugs.having significant others chosen over me. feeling unwanted. feeling hated. abandon. neglect. bribery. . my list could go on-

I'm gonna try to start way back at the beginning, forgive me if I ramble or lose you. 

We'll start with my Father:

At a very young age, I was subjected to violence, alcohol, and so much more simply from my father. My earliest memory is coming out onto the porch just in time to see him hit my mom. He was a very unhappy man when I was younger... At age 5 or six, I was questioned for his arrest after abandoning me in an apartment with my Mimi, who was having a severe allergic reaction. . . I vividly remember being in my white RUGRATS pajamas, standing with my mom while an African American police officer questioned me about my "daddy". Meanwhile, they had him propped against a police car, taking a breath-a-lizer test. My dad went to jail for a little while, and once he got out he started dating again. I remember locking myself in the bathroom when him and his girlfriend's would fight... I didn't really see him often at that point anyway... he was kind of in and out of my life. But then he met, Susan, the woman he later married. They both drank way more than they should have. They fought worse than anyone I've ever seen. Throwing beer bottles, threatening, having the cops called.. I remember locking myself in their bedroom to call my step sister to warn her not to come over because Dad had pulled a knife out and went outside with it... Through all of this, and so much more, somehow I always found it in my heart to forgive my dad... still to this day I have SO much hurt and anxiety over the things he has done, and continues to do. 

Next is my mother:

Mom dated a lot. Her men came first, that was a rule my sister and I knew well. I remember always wondering what made her boyfriends more lovable than me. . . Mom's first boyfriend that I can remember, Joe, was the first man to hit me. He smacked me hard enough, that the print was still there when I went to dad's for my Christmas exchange with him. Dad flipped, and it almost progressed into a fight after a few threats... Joe always wanted me to call him daddy but, I refused, which of course pissed him off. . . Luckily, one winter, he left mom for another woman..The guy to follow, Dave, became the first person that I grew to HATE. He was an alcoholic who hated kids... He would write my mom notes begging her to give me up for adoption. He HATED me, and he made sure I knew it. When I was ten, He came into my room and told me I needed to make a decision, either I accepted him as my father, or I got out of his house. Neither of which happened, of course. .. My sister tried her best to shelter me from him, I spent most of my nights sleeping in her bed, out of fear. We're talking about a man who would down a thirty pack in one night, a man who called me "that fucking kid", a man who told me he wanted to "punch my brains out against a brick wall" because I wouldn't hug him. . . a man who wouldn't allow me to watch tv upstairs... That man became the reason that I had to be in my room by four o'clock, and mom would open my door and hand me my plate of dinner... I ate alone.. would return my plate to the step and text her that I was done. At that time, my room was the refurnished basement, I spent many night curled up in a ball listening to his drunken complaint about everything about me. . . That's when I first turned to journaling. . . I began journaling about how unwanted and unloved I felt... those entries turned into entries that begged God to end my life because I couldn't find the strength to do so. . . Nobody should be made feel that way... especially not a 13 year old. . . but no one had a clue how I felt. . No one seemed to care quite honestly. Mom didn't quite know how to handle me, or what to do... she wanted to be loved. She began to buy me whatever I wanted thinking that would make me happy. . . people began to call me spoiled. .  but they had no idea that I would've traded everything my mother had bought me for just one "I'm proud of you". . I never have felt good enough for her. . . She took her frustration out on me, calling me a " bitch" and a "mistake". . . My self hatred grew more with those words than anyone would ever know. I put up with that environment and abuse from age 7 until I was 17. Mom finally found a new man to move on to. Luckily though, since then, our chapter has gotten a little better, and more so after Mar was born. However, the mental damage is still there.

Then there is my ex:

At first everything seemed perfect, but that's how it usually is, right? It didn't take long for things to take a turn. The emotional abuse I endured drove me over the edge.Then the cheating began.. I became constantly anxious, found even more flaws in myself, I didn't want to eat, I weighed myself obsessively, and I revolved my whole world around him. I was constantly worrying about who he was texting, who he was really hanging out with, if he was cheating again. . . I could no longer turn the anxiety off. I had no friends, and I felt I had no where to turn. I found myself in a place of wanting to die again. 

 Unfortunately, at that weak point, I got even weaker.. I lost the only person I held on for, my Mimi. I became numb, I hated everyone and everything, with the exception of my boyfriend at the time. That is when I finally had enough of the pain, enough of the anger.. I wanted to live and be a better me.. I went and talked to my doctor, who prescribed me the medicine I still take today.

I got better for a little while, was able to push it all to the back of my mind, and the medicine could give me a fake "happy". I was covering my problems, not dealing with them. Don't get me wrong, the medicine is and was a big help, but it does not solve the issues that are still there. The feelings that I still need to come to terms with. Everytime things get stressful, I'm overwhelmed and flooded by everything. Every thought and feeling; all that hatred; all that failure. The constant worrying, and fear. I'm overtaken by my mine. I obsess, and I have no control over it. I make plans, and lists for EVERYTHING, obsessively. I have a mind that I can't turn off,I can't sleep, and I don't KNOW HOW to relax. I just can't...

Though with all of this, even though I have no idea where to begin after this, I took a huge step. . . I finally got in touch with a therapist. 

For those of you reading this,

If you feel this way, you are not alone. 

If you don't understand, don't judge. 

If you don't know what it is truly like to have a mental disorder of any kind, do NOT treat a person like it's something they can just turn off, they can't. . .  It's not silly, it's not funny, it's not for attention. .  it is serious. Getting help through medication, therapy, or both is nothing to be ashamed of, and it's certainly nothing to be made fun of.

F A T

 "Never call a girl fat

..Even if you're joking"

I have always been self-conscious about my weight. I tried any fad diet I could get my hands on, diet pills, exercises, self-starvation... you name it- I've tried it or at least thought about trying it. I've hated myself for a horrid number on the scale for years...

 Guys in high school used to comment about my weight; so, I'd hide in hoodies, or baggy t shirts (but, the sleeves couldn't be too short because God forbid I showed my fat arms). I would see other girls and instantly think "I wish I had her body". I don't even wear swim suits, still to this day, in fear of looking "too fat" and someone pointing it out.

My weight became an obsession, and still is. Gaining a pound, or having someone say something sends me over the edge and I can't shake it. I stare at myself in disgust, I weigh myself a LOT, I don't eat as much, and begin to try to work my ass off. However, last time I went overboard. I began starving myself, walking, doing 5000 stair steppers a day, and doing squats... Granted, I got to a weight I was some-what happy with for the first time in my life.

I got so many good reactions, and I was THRILLED. Only problem was, I tried to start eating normally again and found that my body would attack the food when it finally got it. I would literally be curled up in the fetal position in the shower because I was in so much pain. It wasn't worth it. Somehow, I pulled myself out of that and still managed to (kinda) like my new body in a healthier form.

Then once I got pregnant, I was excited to be having a baby but, absolutely TERRIFIED about gaining weight. As my pregnancy moved along, I was so proud of myself. I had made it to 28 weeks, and only gained EIGHT pounds. Unfortunately, that's when I got sick. I ended up developing severe pre eclampsia and my body retained about forty pounds of fluid... I had BALLOONED. I was a little devastated but more concerned about my baby's safety.

After a couple of weeks, I had lost 33 pounds, which I was thrilled about. However, that was all I lost. From there I noticed I was starting to gain a little again. Up went my self-consciousness... I started hiding in clothes again.

Today maximized those old thoughts and feelings for the first time in a year... All because I was once again told that I am F A T.

The Dark Places I've Been

"No matter how hard the past, 

You can ALWAYS begin again."

-Buddha 

From a pretty young age, I had learned to hate myself and everything about me. I exposed myself to horrible self ridicule, and allowed WAY too many people to succeed in bringing me down. I had felt I deserved nothing less than things or people whom only brought pain. I forgave too often, and too easily, but never have I forgotten. I allowed people to walk over me, to lie to me, to use me, and in some cases, even to abuse me- myself included.
Why expect others to respect and like me if I couldn't even do that for myself? I didn't seeing anything wrong with being degraded, because in my eyes, I felt they were just being honest. Truth hurts, right? There were times that I truly just wanted to end my life, or to just not wake up. I felt THAT alone.
At that point, I so badly wanted to be loved that I put up with just about anything and everything. I was called names, told how difficult I was, told how lucky I was to have someone to actually put up with me, told I wouldn't find anyone else, that I was a whore, that I was the reason they felt the need to lie and cheat. I felt I deserved that emotional, verbal, and physical abuse... because, that's what I was use too.
Then after that came the anxiety and panic attacks. I was terrified of everything! I was scared to lose what I thought was love because that was the love I had known most of my life. I began to truly believe everything I was being told. I LOATHED myself. I started to distance myself from family and friends, I lost my passion for things I once adored, and I became obsessed with keeping that "love" alive. I was convinced that the only thing I had going for me, was my relationship.
I lived and breathed keeping my relationship going, learning to hate myself more and more as time went on...I was an empty shell. I literally had NOTHING going for me. I had my whole life engulfed by one thing; which was one of the major things bringing me down.
I had reached a point where my panic attacks were out of control, and I wasn't eating. I began losing weight, and becoming obsessed with the results. There were days that I weighed myself at LEAST 10 times; I'd wake up- weigh myself, eat- weigh myself, use the bathroom- weigh myself, exercise- weigh myself. If I went up even a single pound, I'd beat myself up and wouldn't allow myself to eat anymore that day. Looking back, I assume this was my outlet and my punishment to myself.
 I finally confided in my doctor, and got put on the medication that I still take to this day. Slowly my anger, and anxiety started to get better. I didn't have such a short fuse and I started to see more clearly. Following not too far after this was the big break up, which granted I was shattered- completely broken hearted, I somehow knew it was for the best. I learned to pick up the pieces, and for the first time in my life, I started to see good qualities within MYSELF.
I had lost weight, I was eating right, I had a job, and I finally had no more CONSTANT worrying. I learned to smile, a real smile. That's when I realized what I needed out of my life. I didn't need someone else to "love me" I needed to love, respect, and accept myself. I could FINALLY be honest with myself, and realize I wasn't as bad as I had thought.
I still struggle with my self-worth and self-image from time-to-time but, I can proudly say I haven't been back to a place THAT dark in well over a year.