For the first time in a while I will be raw, I will be clarifyingly realistic.
I look in the mirror and I see my spine. I see the colar bones that were once none existant. The ones I wanted to see visible more than anything in tenth grade. Just to feel like I wasn't actually one of the bigger girls in the class.
I can now see the shape my face has, naturally. The veins that pump blood through my body appearing up the lengths of my arms and hands.
The hips that I once wished upon anything that I could look past.
and finally, the tender, loving breasts that fell from my chest.
What is uglier? The fact that I can see the bones that grow within me, or that I let a boy convince me that I was unconfident and not beautiful from the inside out.
Making me feel that my past, that made me strong, is a weakness.
That my insecurities are a baggage.
That my idealism of a healthy, happy relationship was not possible because I am cursed with the above issues.
My securities were embarrassing; my home, my habits.
For the people whom have met in the last year this one's for you...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To whom it may concern,
When I first meet people, I'm not as open as I used to be. Unbelieveably, at one point in my life I was one of the loudest, most confident people I knew. I wanted Cindy next door to know that her garden looked beautiful that Sunday morning, or that Jerry had a place in my heart and was always supported by me via some inspirational paragraph on social media.
One day, out of nowhere, my house was raided. If you read this blog enough, you can see every detail about that morning and the ripple effect of demonic happenings that followed.
I believe I would have survived the raid. Or at least, come to terms with it and move on. Though later during that week I had to begin to deal and face with the next 2 years which would be changed forever.
My mother left me to do drugs with a man whom recorded me naked from the age of sixteen.
It may seem easy to forgive and to forget, but have you ever felt a pevert stare at you in public and you can feel that chrning, sick feeling in your stomach?
Well, it was like that. Just my step dad. and, in my own home. For a long period of time.
I not only couldn't trust the meaning of a "home" or "family". I forgot what love was.
How could love be staying with a man who ruined your life?
My mother chose a sex offender over me.
A year later she returned, healthIER and ready to begin restarting her life.
Though, how could I assume my friends, my boyfriends, my family, how could I assume that they're loyal to me?
That I can trust them?
That they won't break me?
That they aren't here to prupoself hurt me?
People I surround myself with, damage everything positive, and happy and everything that I want to be as a person. But I can see through my struggle and my trauma that they are dealing with their own.
I woke up one ruthless morning, the clouds hung over the cities between Ipswich and the Gold Coast. My father and brother were secretly discussing an urgent matter that was too serious to share with ten year old me, for now.
Three days later I walked into my year six class. Confused and trying to understand the news I had heard the weekend before.
Now looking back at it, I can only imagine how concerned Mr. Connell must have been.
"excuse me, Sir. What does it mean when someone hangs themselves? That's something they did back in the older days, right?"
He looked at me with those frantic eyes, still soft and touched.
"Samara, is that what has happened to you?"
I had a few brief moments to decide what I would let him know. Did my year 6 teacher have to know that? Was it wrong? Something inside of me swiftly responded.
"no. not at all, I was just... curious".
That was that.
That same year I had emailed my other teacher some personal advice on how to deal with my.. "tantrums". These class tantrums were nothing but chairs being thrown across the room and my hideous disrespect towards rules and regulations. But I know I was just crying for help. Attention.
Although I'm always surrounded with people, somehow I do wrong by them. I spent so many rainy days and lifeless nights wondering why I was never good enough for a healthy relationship between anyone. Why no matter how hard I try just to wake up every morning, some one wants to remind me that I have been without for so long.
Someone likes to remind me that this could always, just be it. If I don't wake up, or if I don't stop that chaotic panic attack in my bed before I get ready for my day, I have no reason to exist.
I am saddened when my friends who made me feel warm inside, like a sun ray on a beach towel, have vanished. It's easy to blame myself for it all, though I must admit I have been taken advantage of.
My love, my charity, my vulnerability.
I feel as though a new begginning is approaching. My courage and strength needs to be embraced rather than inflicted.
Like a crashing ship, I'll find a place to survive until I can seek help. True help.
another hand through the storm.
Unfortunately the last sailor to find me astray didn't genuinely love every inch of my soul so I must set course for a different journey and maybe if I crash again, and sink to the floors of the ocean.. someone else will save me.
I look in the mirror and I see my spine. I see the colar bones that were once none existant. The ones I wanted to see visible more than anything in tenth grade. Just to feel like I wasn't actually one of the bigger girls in the class.
I can now see the shape my face has, naturally. The veins that pump blood through my body appearing up the lengths of my arms and hands.
The hips that I once wished upon anything that I could look past.
and finally, the tender, loving breasts that fell from my chest.
What is uglier? The fact that I can see the bones that grow within me, or that I let a boy convince me that I was unconfident and not beautiful from the inside out.
Making me feel that my past, that made me strong, is a weakness.
That my insecurities are a baggage.
That my idealism of a healthy, happy relationship was not possible because I am cursed with the above issues.
My securities were embarrassing; my home, my habits.
For the people whom have met in the last year this one's for you...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To whom it may concern,
When I first meet people, I'm not as open as I used to be. Unbelieveably, at one point in my life I was one of the loudest, most confident people I knew. I wanted Cindy next door to know that her garden looked beautiful that Sunday morning, or that Jerry had a place in my heart and was always supported by me via some inspirational paragraph on social media.
One day, out of nowhere, my house was raided. If you read this blog enough, you can see every detail about that morning and the ripple effect of demonic happenings that followed.
I believe I would have survived the raid. Or at least, come to terms with it and move on. Though later during that week I had to begin to deal and face with the next 2 years which would be changed forever.
My mother left me to do drugs with a man whom recorded me naked from the age of sixteen.
It may seem easy to forgive and to forget, but have you ever felt a pevert stare at you in public and you can feel that chrning, sick feeling in your stomach?
Well, it was like that. Just my step dad. and, in my own home. For a long period of time.
I not only couldn't trust the meaning of a "home" or "family". I forgot what love was.
How could love be staying with a man who ruined your life?
My mother chose a sex offender over me.
A year later she returned, healthIER and ready to begin restarting her life.
Though, how could I assume my friends, my boyfriends, my family, how could I assume that they're loyal to me?
That I can trust them?
That they won't break me?
That they aren't here to prupoself hurt me?
People I surround myself with, damage everything positive, and happy and everything that I want to be as a person. But I can see through my struggle and my trauma that they are dealing with their own.
I woke up one ruthless morning, the clouds hung over the cities between Ipswich and the Gold Coast. My father and brother were secretly discussing an urgent matter that was too serious to share with ten year old me, for now.
Three days later I walked into my year six class. Confused and trying to understand the news I had heard the weekend before.
Now looking back at it, I can only imagine how concerned Mr. Connell must have been.
"excuse me, Sir. What does it mean when someone hangs themselves? That's something they did back in the older days, right?"
He looked at me with those frantic eyes, still soft and touched.
"Samara, is that what has happened to you?"
I had a few brief moments to decide what I would let him know. Did my year 6 teacher have to know that? Was it wrong? Something inside of me swiftly responded.
"no. not at all, I was just... curious".
That was that.
That same year I had emailed my other teacher some personal advice on how to deal with my.. "tantrums". These class tantrums were nothing but chairs being thrown across the room and my hideous disrespect towards rules and regulations. But I know I was just crying for help. Attention.
Although I'm always surrounded with people, somehow I do wrong by them. I spent so many rainy days and lifeless nights wondering why I was never good enough for a healthy relationship between anyone. Why no matter how hard I try just to wake up every morning, some one wants to remind me that I have been without for so long.
Someone likes to remind me that this could always, just be it. If I don't wake up, or if I don't stop that chaotic panic attack in my bed before I get ready for my day, I have no reason to exist.
I am saddened when my friends who made me feel warm inside, like a sun ray on a beach towel, have vanished. It's easy to blame myself for it all, though I must admit I have been taken advantage of.
My love, my charity, my vulnerability.
I feel as though a new begginning is approaching. My courage and strength needs to be embraced rather than inflicted.
Like a crashing ship, I'll find a place to survive until I can seek help. True help.
another hand through the storm.
Unfortunately the last sailor to find me astray didn't genuinely love every inch of my soul so I must set course for a different journey and maybe if I crash again, and sink to the floors of the ocean.. someone else will save me.
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