Journal - Blog Posts

Little things are everywhere. Sometimes a bug, or a flower, or a meal. Some are encased within big things, some within a small deviation of a routine, some within a single days difference.  Often they're overlooked, unseen and taken for granted. And sometimes they get stuck in your mind, are glaringly obvious and you appriciate them for the blessing they can be. Two different ends of a spectrum of reactions and actions that can be taken. Hundreds of thousands of little things, all around you. How many do you see?

How often do you look for the little, lovable things? The little things you do for your friends and the little things they do for you? A ladybug on a rose or a moth with pretty wings? Do you have little things that you notice about a beloved? About friends? About you?

*{-}*

We live a life of big things, with access to a world of information at our fingertips. We have a new generation of people who are called the most connected generation in history. There are places in developing countries where they do not have water, running or not, but there is a smartphone or other such device. One that is connected. We are connected, in a way that has never before been seen. There a movements and people, all with big voices, loud voices, constantly in our ears, in our minds, and on our tounges. I am a small voice, but I will still speak. I speak a small words with big impact. I speak Jesus. I do not ask for you to as well, I do not, will not, will never demand that of you. I write this for myself, to remind me that God is good, and always around me. I write this for you, the reader, to try and give you a way to look for the little things to love in life, a small bit of true joy in a life of easy access to war news, death news, and all the things that are wrong in the world. It is overwhelming. My hope is for this is for it to be something calming, something full of hope, and a moment of peace in our world of ever-moving chaos. I will speak of Jesus and what I believe, but I will also speak of things and places and people who bring me joy. Welcome, treasured ones, and please, follow along with me on this journey of the  little things in life.

19th September 2017

The life of an adolescent has hit me, I literally am stressed out. I turned 15 this year and it already sucks I cannot longer get anything for half its’ price. Finished my cringe-worthy middle school era and passed entrance exams. Starting freshman year feels weird. I always looked up to those upper-class students wishing, I could be just like them, finally being a grown up. Now literally all I want is to stay young forever. It’s crazy how the older you get, life actually starts to hit you in the face.

 Skipping classes and running late from before has come to an end in this chapter of my life. I'm officially a high schooler, somehow cool and terrifying thing to say at the same time. So far it's been nice. I met new people, made a couple of dope friends, went into a new environment, adapted to few changes and had let go of my old habits. I'm not expecting freshman year to be easy, but hopefully, I'll pass. 

The first week went okay and all. Spent so much money on textbooks, it was very painful to spend money on education, but not food and coffee. Had to finish some administrative stuff, had my first coffee with a friend which seemed like I didn't go to one in god knows how long, got lost multiple times, booked a flight to Paris and well doing wild shit.

 The second week went by fast. We went on an adaptation course, basically mostly accurately translated to English. It was our class and all-boys mechanics class. It meant to bond us and get to know each other, the usual when you got a bunch of new kids and you want them to socialize. I met a cute boy, who gifted me acutely patterned wristband from Marocca. Not gonna lie, I do stalk him every now and then If we don't pass the same classroom, so I can sneak peek at him. Overall I'm excited, horrified, but glad I found such a fine bunch of people. Well, let’s see if ya girl gonna survive her first year of high school.

I'll be posting every now and then, spill out my thoughts and worries.</3 Also, I'm new at this, so it's gonna be a process for me write longer entries and I do jump from one thing to another LOL, it's gonna get better, hopefully.

Mood Board That represents me ✨✨✨

All photos above are taken by me :D

i wish I was poetic and clever

i don't know what i was thinking when i decided to study journalism

(i'm exaggerating)

(actually i like what i study, i just like to complain)

(plus i'm CRAMPS)

(i want to be in my bed, but i have to study)

Day 1 | 16/10/23 | 23:27

Ratings: ¬Dissociation 4/10 ¬Mood 7/10 ¬Motivation 5/10 ¬Energy 4/10 ¬Overall 6/10

Summary: An average day today! Woke up much later than intended, meaning I had a much later bus to catch in order to get home from my partners. Made it back safe, and have spent the day doing creative activities that I was unable to do over the weekend. Didn't have the motivation to do a clean like I wanted to, but settled on taking the bins out at the very least. I cooked a nice meal too (if you count chicken dinosaurs as a nice meal). New hyperfixation of zombie apolocypse, which has me captivated. Overall, it's been a neutral day, but I'm still proud of myself! Side Note: I've been meaning to start this internet journal for months now, so I'm glad I've got around to it now! Whether I'm speaking into a void, or have even the smallest of audience's, I'm happy either way. Until tomorrow, Vio <3

FINALLY FINISHED THE COVER RAAAAAHH‼‼ (oh my fucking god this took so long, I couldn't find ANY good glue in this damn house... and sorry for the crappy image 😒💢) WRITING THE FIRST FEW JOURNAL ENTRIES RIGHT NOW

IF ANY OF YOU WERE WONDERING, YES, I AM STILL WRITING IN THAT JOURNAL I MADE. I'VE JUST BEEN SUPER BUSY. GIMME SOME TIME‼‼

UPDATE: I think Bill is after me. Had the worst nightmare after MONTHS of dreamless rest. Gonna read Journal 3 for some help, wish me luck fellow Gravity Falls fans. Ad astra per aspera! -M

UPDATE: The front cover is already finished and I've written two pages so far, I'm adding a little twist to this journal though! ;)

It'll have pages with the entities of Journal 3 we know and love, yes, but it'll also be a personal journal for myself where I talk about my own experiences. Currently thinking about what creature from Journal 3 I should write for first, would love to hear all of your suggestions! Ad astra per aspera (I think I spelt that right...) and stay weird! 👁⏳

Back in my Atla jammmm

I watched it a while back. The second I finished and went to my room and drew for like an hour past 12 am.

Journal pages i made using old letters i found in a seconhand market⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆.

PAGE 1 !!!

Currently working on a small planner using Zinnia (once again - any ideas/ preferences for other journal design apps??) this is the beginning page, next up will be a slightly “Bounce Man” inspired page.

Let me know what you guys think!!!

i fear a cloudy day does miserable things for my ego, I feel far too proud when the sun doesn't shine

Hello, I hope my message finds you well .I'm hamdi from Gaza 🇵🇸❤️, I'm asking you for a small donation of 20€ to save our lives from Gaza 🙏Can you donate to me and my family? Thanks to your donation we can achieve our goal as soon as possible 🥺Your support and standing by us in this difficult time is everything to us.I would be very grateful if you donated to me and my family, thank you for your generosity in our time of need.https://gofund.me/4de94fec

can you help us to reach 2000€ today ?

I am very sorry, I do not have money to spend. I will share your gofundme on here and twitter to try to encourage my followers whom have money to donate to you and your family.

I wish you the best of luck to reach your goal

I shall now add several random tags to spread this as far as possible

On Journaling

Hi, so i LOVE journaling. im obsessed with it, i love talking about, its my main personality trait, i try to convince everyone i meet to journal (and have succesfully convinced many of my friends to do so).

I would like to talk about it, and answer questions about it. More than anything i think this is an interest and hobby of mine that has become so integral to my being and i cannot live without it and i think its super super helpful and fun. Obviously for many people it isnt helpful or inspiring but it could be! give it a try! so here is a LONG post about my basic journaling practice, why i journal, and how i became consistent and happy with it.

My journal collection.

Currently im actively using a 3 notebook system, and i have 4 total journals. the first (A) is my regular journal one that i will habit track, write my goals, ramble, diary entries, collages. anything. the second is my commonplace book (B) (the most recent additon) which i use to collect information i want to reference back to (everday reciepes, facts, excersizes/activities) and i also use it as a on the go notebook since its small enough to fit in my purse. 3rd (C) in my system is my planner. its a blank notebook that i draw a calender in and use it for to-do lists or things i need to remember, its the messiest of the 3. the 4th is a bit of a wildcard, i have a journal that i am making for a friend and they are making one for me and we trade them once they are done. fun little bonding activity, i do more prompts and artistic collages and lists for them.

I am pretty picky but also broke so i wanted to share the types of journals i use. type A is currently a art creation sketchbook (im canadian so a win for us) i adore it and its a good length of pages for me since i can finish them quickly and they are thick enough for me to draw in on occassion. B is a A6 spiral bound blank muji notebook, small enough for my purses and i like the hard cover so i can flip it over and write even without a hard surface. C was a gift, a grid notebook a freind got me but i have in the past used an A5 muji blank notebook, im the least picky with this type. Just no lines, my handwriting is messy and lines get in the way.

My History + Why

so i have been doing diary writing of some sort since i was a kid, if very sporatically. i was definitly inspired by dork diaries <3 and i for sure think it was a way for me to talk to someone about the traumas i was experiencing without guilt or shame. I have journaled on and off for years. i started taking it a bit more seriously in highschool, I'd finish one journal every like 2 years/1.5 years. last fall i had a pretty thin notebook that i didnt love that i had for oct-dec since i didnt want to start a new nice one so close to the end of the year and for some reason i just poured into it. i think the goal of finishing it was motivated 1. because i was excited to use my new one for the new year 2. i was very conciously working on my mental health and developing new hobbies, 3. i was away from my friends, and 4. I decied that instead of having the like 5 journal system i previously did (why idk) and being so precious about it i would mush them all into one and build from there. this year I have finished 2 journals and started my 3rd one yesterday. not even that i was trying. infact my first journal of the year i thought was so beautiful so i was a bit precious about it sometimes. It just got solidified as a habit, and i needed it as a coping mechanism. its definitely something i use more when I'm feeling lonley or my friends are away at school, but even during the summer i love it. I dont force myself anymore which is a wonderful feeling.

The biggest change i made to become consistent started with me noticing how bad of a vibe my journals had before. i only ever journaled the bad things or the things i was too embarassed to say. So everytime i picked it up i felt BAD. i stopped using my journal at the time half way through and started a new one with the express mentality that i was going to do both good and bad things in one space. make it my life. I started writing out my goals semi regularly, documenting good days like my birthdays, journaling while waiting for friends at cafes, sticking in receipts and packaging, doing pretty/ugly collages, all while also journaling through late night breakdowns, difficult times, therpay sessions, and coping strategies. i used it as a place to extend my joy AND process my sadness and mental health. the point is, make your journal a confidant. Its so helpful for me (a chronic oversharer) to write stuff down and then if i still feel the urge to talk to someone i do. this doesnt limit my social interaction but enhances the conversations i can have because I have already processed parts of my emotions.

So generally speaking i journal because its helpful and fun. I suspect i have ADHD and i also dissacociate from my depression/anxiety so i forget things. both good and bad. so i need a record of not only my plans but also the good things that happen in my life. Nostalgia runs deep in my bones and i cannot wait to read these back as i age. every year i wish i had journaled more in my childhood. its also a way for me to process my emtions and feelings without spiraling, i write slower than i type so it forces me to slow down. I also feel like externalizing my emotions to a book gets them out of my head. there are a few anxiety reducing things i have learned that help A TON

You dont need to be consistent about it, there has been days or weeks where i dont touch my journal because i dont feel the need to. But because of the years of practice i know when i havent been thinking about my emotions or I feel like my brain is a mess that i need to. Even when i've just had a really really good conversation i know its something i want to write down. sometimes i will type entries into my phone and either print them or copy them into my journal.

My journals, past and present, are some of my most prized possessions. PLEASEE feel free and encouraged to ask me things or tell me about your journaling practice!!!!

Hello friends, I need your help. I have not received any donations this week. I hope for a donation of €10 or €20.🥹🙏🙏🙏

Guys please help! Again, I apologise for random tags but post needs to reach a wide range of audience so ppl could help

🆘 Don’t Leave Us Alone in This Struggle…

After losing our home and everything we had, we are trying to start over, but life is not easy. Being in a foreign place is difficult, we are struggling financially, expenses keep rising, and even basic needs have become a heavy burden. 💔

My children need stability, and we are trying to hold on, but we need your support.

🙏 Any contribution, no matter how small, can make a big difference in our lives.

🔗 Donate now: https://gofund.me/abbc2759

⏳ Your support is the hope we are holding onto… please don’t leave us alone

The tags are so random bc this post needs to reach a wide range of audience so ppl could help, sry 🙏

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 5 6:32pm

Now here we are, in the present, where I’m back after 3 years at 20 years old. Where I’ve learned and grew so much outside of this cage, where I was free from the dark chasm in my life and heart that is home. Where every second around you makes me feel 8 and 10 and 12 and 15 and 17, all simultaneously and all over again. Of course, the abuse has stopped, it stopped a long time ago, but when you have PTSD, things get really muddled. And, yes, I’m an adult now, teaching at an elementary school, and taking care myself for the most part. So, what’s so bad? Well, I’ll tell you.

When I’m back in my childhood bedroom, sleeping on an air mattress, with ALL of my younger siblings, as an adult. When there’s another bedroom that could have been used, but why would it be, when my stepdad uses it to get ready for work, to house the hundreds of products he purchased from Amazon, and in case you forgot from earlier, the thousands of dollars worth of workout equipment that he uses once every 2 months. OH! And get this! His mother is living with us right now, and she now gets that bedroom. Wild, right?

When I’m back to being the in-house, unpaid nanny for the kids. To feed them, watch them, help them with homework, and yes, to correct any misbehaving and report only the extremes. When my stepdad decides he’s bestowing me the responsibility of “supervising the kids cleaning the room”. When he comments on how responsible I’ve always been, and offers me to be back on their car insurance, even though I was never removed from it. 

When he comes in the door, and immediately starts yelling and blaming everyone for how “messy” the house is, and to “get this crap off my stuff”, and “who touched my shelf?”. OH, THE SHELF! When he has a whole shelf in the refrigerator that is dedicated to separate all of his groceries for his vegetarian diet and his on-brand food items that cannot be disturbed by anyone else. When he subjects my mom to buying the cheapest version of all food products, but specifically asks for her to only buy specific brands for him. When he has 2 tables in the kitchen for juicing that cannot be used as counter space by anyone but him. When he’s telling me about the health benefits of one of his juices (or as he calls it every time, “a concoction”), and adds, “Bet you didn’t know that when you were vegan, huh?”. When he continues to not allow anyone to use the washer in the evenings when he gets home because he needs to wash his uniform daily. Also! When no one is allowed to use the only bathroom in the house for at least 3 hours, because he needs it reserved.

When he consistently forgets our birthdays or details of what’s going on in our lives because he doesn’t ask, until my mom tells him of an achievement we’ve made and forces him to congratulate us. When he’s rushing to get to where he’s going and he’s bounding and pushing throughout the house telling everyone to get out of his way because he has poor time management and forgets that there’s 8 people in this tiny house right now. When he asks us a question and we answer, but he doesn’t care because his focus is always elsewhere, so he yells at us that we’re ignoring him. When he impulsively decides to buy the kids something or take them out to eat, and he constantly complains about he could be watching Tv instead or badgering the kids about how much it costs. 

When you misinform your kids by telling them inaccurate retellings of American and Black history. When you feign authority over whether they can go out with a friend, just to forget about it until the time arrives. When you preach about respect and manners, but continue to disrespect and treat me as a child and allow your kids to do the same. When you brag about accolades and compliments from your job because of said respect and manners, even posting a letter on the fridge, but never celebrating any of us for our accolades and compliments.

When you force me to pay you and mom at least $100 a week ($500 a month) as a rent-adjacent payment to help my mom with groceries and bills, just like you used to. When you constantly lecture me about getting a car, but don’t allow the full autonomy of my finances by threatening my ability to stay in my childhood home with the payments. When you try to tell me how to do my job teaching, when you have zero experience of the sort, and try to speak in a proper manner to match my manner of speaking. When you project your superiority/inferiority complex onto me when you ask me about college, by trying to act that you’re more intelligent than me and more knowledgeable about the subject I’m literally having to explain to you.

When you constantly forget about my mental disorders and my therapy and my medication, then you ask me about them as if it’s your time hearing it, even though you know that my mental health is the whole reason I moved back home. When you weaponize your willful ignorance against everyone in the house, especially my mom, to excuse your participation and involvement in our lives.  When you bought walkie-talkies as an updated way of summoning everyone to your room to heed your request, like a bell system that you ring when you need an attendant, saying, “[insert name], report to the bedroom.”, because you can’t be bothered to function independently at home or talk to your family normally. 

How you require that whenever we enter your room to listen to you, that we stand on the side, “where you can see us”. How you make my mother wash all of your clothes or prepare your shower. How my mother goes out of her to make your choice of dinner every night, but you consistently change your mind and inconvenience her, or how my mother is currently in school to get her degree and has HOMEWORK, just to get frustrated when your wife isn’t able to spend time with you. How you selectively recognize that my mom is overworked, just to blame it on us, rather than stepping up and being the parent that you should be. 

How you ask me to complete your online training and learning modules for your job, despite me not knowing anything about truck driving or transporting oil and that you don’t pay me to complete what you should be completing on your own, again, for your job! How you are teaching your kids to stereotype other marginalized communities by saying, “All Mexicans eat guacamole”, or “Those Asian people look like they squint because they’re eyes are too small”.

How you literally decide to manspread every chance you get and take up so much unnecessary space, and force everyone to move around you and yell when someone can’t get around you, when I’m literally taller than you. How you insult your kids daily by calling them stupid, dumb, clumsy, blind, deaf, etc., when it’s because of your own failings as a parent that they don’t meet your expectations of them. How you lie to everyone not in the household in front of all of us about how you act as a parent. How you lie to your kids saying that a box of doughnuts has been sitting on your table for 3 days and needs to be thrown out, when I just bought it that same afternoon. How you don’t know how to react if the kids have a medical emergency because you don’t know their conditions, medications, and what they’re for.

How you manipulate your kids into serving you (“helping you”) by painting it as spending time together, which is the only time you spend together.

How you constantly speak in very vague and general terms, saying “that thing”, “your stuff”, “over there”, then get frustrated and insult everyone’s intelligence because you can’t think of ways to speak in a more clear and intelligent manner, and expect us to be able to always know what you’re speaking of.

How you asked me why I never come home, and I told you a half-truth. How you’re so observational, yet not perceptive. Because if you were, you would at least have the self-reflection to be able to understand that you’re a despicable, horrible piece of shit excuse for a human being, not even a man. How you can’t even look at yourself in the mirror and realize how you scare everyone with your tantrums and violence. How you can’t even recognize that it’s your fault that things are the way they are, and you can’t expect children to have that level of understanding. How you think you’re so exceptional as a person and as a “parent”, but it’s all a delusion that you make yourself believe because you were raised in the same exact way. How you can’t realize that you were traumatized as a child and as much as I know you hated it yourself, you didn’t strive to be different than your father, you strove to get your chance to do the same. 

How you willingly and knowingly married a woman with two sons, and looked at them, and decided to treat them with violence and vitriol, instead of realizing that they don’t have positive father-figures and that you should be different. I hate you for who you made me become. And you’ll never be a parent to me.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 4 6:32pm

When I was 15, I was forced to get a job to pay for all of my school fees. I had to convince my future manager to give me the position illegally because I would eventually turn 16 in 3 months, which was the legal age to work at the time. After I got the job, you told my mom to force me to give her all of my paychecks to help her with the bills and groceries, and confiscated my money to use as an allowance for me. So, when I continued to be your perfect little pawn, then, I would slowly get the money I needed for my school activities. You used that opportunity to stop helping my mother with the bills, even though she made half as much as you, and a little after I was 16, you had 2 new cars and started your impulsive Amazon shopping habit that turned the extra bedroom into the “workout room” that it is today. I wasn’t even allowed to save for a car because I didn’t have my permit, which is because you and mom decided not to teach me until a year later because I wasn’t “making enough to get a car in the first place”. How does that make sense?

I decided to take inspiration from my father and turn vegan during my sophomore year. I had to learn how to grocery shop on my own for my diet, and cook for myself because he didn’t need “his wife” taking extra time to focus on my “unnecessary needs”, which was fine, I learned so much from that time. But, he also asked me questions everyday about the benefits of veganism and the recipes I was making and how much things costs because he wanted to “cut down from 330lbs to 260lbs”. He tried to make me feel antagonized for being vegan and that I was a burden on my mother for it, but also showed interest in it, then all these years later, he’s vegetarian now because he was inspired by me.

When I was 17 and a senior in high school, I didn’t have the motivation to truly apply for scholarships and to college due to my severe depression. No one ever asked or checked in on how that process was going, because it was assumed that I was doing great in school and would go to college, true, but still. I received no assistance searching for schools and scholarships, and it was because of my teachers that I received my full-ride scholarship to an almost Ivy League-level school. I wasn’t even excited when I received it because I was anxious to tell you all. And, I was right to, because you both weren’t even excited when I told you, the interaction lasted 2 seconds. Yet, you both turned around and gushed to everyone who would listen and on social media of how proud you were of me and how hard I worked. You wouldn’t even tell me that yourself.

I told my counselor about some of the trauma that you put us through because I wrote about it in my essays. I also wrote about how I found out that you were beating my mom, after she told me that she wanted to divorce you. I made the counselor promise me that she wouldn’t report it because the abuse stopped years ago, but while I was house-sitting for my mom’s boss, CPS came to the house. I admitted that I talked to the counselor about some things that happened at home, and my mom told me that she was glad that I was staying at that house because you were threatening to kill me.

I was part of the ever-controversial class of 2020. So, before the COVID lockdowns started, I was already planning for prom and graduation. I asked my “parents” for assistance paying for some of the costs needed to have the prom and graduation that I deserved, I guess I should have expected that you would say no. And, it was a slap in the face when you both told me to research how to make my graduation invitations and find a photographer, to not only pay for by myself, but to send to all of my and my mom’s family and to yours. And after the lockdown, and all those plans were canceled, you only threw me a party after my Nana told me she was making me a cake.

James decided to “gift” me his second pickup truck for graduating. Not mentioning all of the functional issues the truck had, and directing me to pay the $3,000 dollars worth of work that needed to be done to it. Then, after asking him if the truck would survive the 3-hour trip to Atlanta, he told me that he didn’t know and that I should continue fixing it. 2 weeks of me starting college, the truck was out of commission and he refused to help me figure out what to do. And a year later, after paying $1,500 of parking fees for a broken truck, he finally came down and scraped the truck, but kept all the money from it. It’s no surprise though, since through my 2 and a half years of college before this “gap year”, I never received any financial support from my adults.

I spent every break trying to avoid coming home. I took advantage of the fact that my college offered to house students who have abusive households over the break. Especially after my first Christmas break, where mom and I had our fight about literally all the trauma that I have endured from my supposed “father-figures”, that she continues to ignore, excuse, defend, and support. When my school denied me the opportunity to stay on campus the summer after my sophomore year, I thought I was going to be homeless. I wasn’t allowed back home after the fight, and I had no where else to go. But, after talking to my dad’s side of the family, I went back to where I grew up to stay with them. Of course, only to endure more abuse and more “conversations” of them defending my dad, because apparently, my whole family is fucked all the way up!

After I returned for my junior year, I thought things were going to be great. I was finally moving on from all the shit that you and everyone else did to me. But of course, scary men still exist, and after experiencing yet another triggering, traumatic event, I was done with this life that I’ve been dealt. Hence, the medical leave, or as most people refer to it, “a gap year”, and moving to New York with my sister, and then, having no choice but to move back home when everything fell apart.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 Part 5

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 3 6:32pm

When I went to the high school 5 minutes away from our house, I was in the Honors Academy and still in the Band program. I was busy, with afterschool rehearsals and homework that I couldn’t easily breeze through. It threw a wrench in how the household functioned because you relied on me to pick up your slack as a parent and to take the pressure off my mother. You asked my mother to make me quit the Band program, and when I refused, you made me pay for everything myself and forced me to find a ride home every practice or show. 2 months later, you asked my mom to take me out of the Honors Academy because you thought it was “too difficult because it took so much time”, to which we both refused. But, if it was a sport, would you have reacted the same? I doubt it, considering that you jumped at the fact that Anthony started playing basketball. You blatantly tried to sabotage my high school career and life to take advantage of me. Not to mention, you didn’t graduate high school and you don’t have a GED because you went to jail instead, so why would you try to disturb how well I was doing; the top 5 of my class and the first chair of my section, when you should know what you missed and sacrificed?

By that time, the girls were in elementary school, the same one my mom works at, and now I do too. You made it a personal responsibility to show up for every parent event that they asked you to, and you bragged about how you were making time for it, or how much money you spent taking them out to eat before going. Way to go! I hope you are so proud that you make your kids feel like a burden with how much you speak like that. ALSO, how you rubbed it in my and Anthony’s faces because every time we invited you to “Doughnuts with Dad”, you refused and said it was a waste of time.

I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my friends because it took me away from my responsibilities at home and because my friends were girls. I was bullied because my closet was made of glass, I didn’t know how to connect with my male peers, and I was one of 3 black kids in my grade in the Honors Academy. Neither you or my mom were checking in on me or my grades or how I was doing in high school. You never taught me how to make friends, didn’t warn me of discrimination in a conservative, racist area, and didn’t teach me that there was nothing wrong with me for being me. But, that’s because you didn’t make me feel safe at home and made me feel like I was crazy for thinking that our home wasn’t right. You took and manipulated my mother right in front of me for years, until I realized there was no point in hoping or wishing for a support system. Yet, when we’re out in public, we’re one large, happy family with an amazing life, but behind closed doors, we all shiver with anxiety under the wrath of the king with no visible throne. Things couldn’t be more twisted.

Every day, you walk in the door and immediately call out everything that was wrong. This shoe is out of place, the washer is being used, there’s a tissue box on “your” counter, when everyone, except you, has allergies. Or, did you forget after all this time of your wife needing weekly shots, and all of us kids needing to take medicine every morning and night? 

You consistently pride yourself on being an “observational” person. You’re not “confrontational”, so you “sit back and take note of what’s going on around you”. I think you mean to say that you look for all the problems that bother you, and when you explode about this thing or that we need to clean up “this mess”, you excuse yourself from having to get involved and parent your kids by saying you’re not “confrontational”. 

We are a 7-person household, where all of us kids sleep in what is supposed to be the living room, and you have one of the bedrooms monopolized as your “workout room” that you don’t even use. We don’t have the space to have a properly organized and clean look. You disregard functionality for presentation, and as soon as you hear the context of the situation after we repeat it for 8th time, you deflect and say to just throw it away. But, you’ve been promising that we would get a new house since I was 10. I’m 20 now, and look, same house AND same behavior!

Daily, you find something that frustrates you and instill fear in everyone. You have such a superiority/inferiority complex with your family and the public that it leaves you with such a scary pattern of irrational violence. You never take the time to teach your kids the same standards or lessons that Anthony and I were expected to meet, and then, you throw a tantrum when they don’t do things the way you want them to. You’re an adult and a parent, we’re kids. We don’t understand how to establish a routine of cleanliness and organization isn’t a talent, it’s a skill. But, you’re so observational, yet you haven’t realized or noticed that the problem isn’t us, it’s you. Because you have such high expectations and such extreme outbursts, but you don’t raise your children to understand and teach them how to meet them and avoid what you call a “consequence”.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 4 Part 5

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 2 6:32pm

Now, I introduce you to our new roles. I became the “golden child”; conditioned to get the perfect grades and carry out all orders timely and perfectly. I was the “nanny and pseudo-parent”; directed to take care of my siblings, provide food for them, get them ready for school, help with homework, and handle any misbehaving and report only the extremes. I was the “maid”; the only child in the house with chores, which meant I had all of them, even cleaning up after my “parents”. And, I was the “butler”; I had to deliver everyone their plates, eating last, and take James’ dishes after every meal and bring him a hot cloth to clean his hands. I became depressed, anxious, and extremely hyper-independent, curling in on myself and realizing this is not what “home” should feel like. I was “maturing” fast, and my adults took advantage of it.

Anthony was the “rebellious child”. He was more outwardly angry, picked fights at school, and sought comfort in his friends. He wasn’t trusted with responsibility, so he didn’t receive any. And, eventually, the rules and standards that were established with me, as the oldest, didn’t work with him. He gradually grew more and more distant with the family, as I was becoming the crutch for them.

My two little sisters, and soon-to-be youngest brother, were raised more graciously, still servants to the king and with the same emotional detachment. Thankfully, they never had to experience the abuse that Anthony and I had to endure. So, while they love their father, because that’s all they know, they don’t know the true terrors of that man, and I’m truly grateful that they won’t ever go through that. 

My mother suffered as you put all of the parenting responsibilities onto her, as you forced her to attend to every need and want you spoke of, as you made her shoulder the finances to keep the house fed and taken care of. You, however, would go to your job (I can’t even remember which one because you job-hopped so much), come home, claim and monopolize the washer and the bathroom for hours, shut yourself in your room to watch “your” TV, beg and call for “your wife” to come spend time with you while asking her to do everything for you, ignore your kids and yell at them to stay quiet, and go to sleep. This is your daily routine, even now in the present.

I left my home because of you. I was 10, and my father had reappeared back in my life for the past 2 years. After visiting him twice, he offered me to come live with him, and I took it because anything’s better than here, right? WRONG. My dad is a whole other story, but I came back after a year. You would think that would be enough time for change to take hold, but it didn’t, and how could there when the space is constantly suffocated and stifled with immaturity, unintelligence, and vitriol. 

The standard was to get all the chores done before you got home and without being told, which is normal, if you disregard the fact that you threatened to beat us within an inch of our lives if we didn’t do so. You did plenty of times before. Having to hide bruises with long-sleeved shirts, oversized hoodies, and pants in the summer, and excusing ones on my face with stories of rough-housing or accidental falling against a cabinet. 

The standard was to watch the kids at all times, and make sure that they don’t get into trouble. Once, when Malia was learning to stand up on her own, she fell and hit her forehead on a vent, while I was changing a movie for Anthony and I. I was beat and blamed for that accident, and wasn’t allowed to watch anything because my focus should be on them. Once, Anthony locked both Malia and Jasmyn in the car with the keys as they were still infants, and I was inside putting on my shoes, my “parents” still taking their time to leave for church. After I tried calming Anthony down from a panic attack and telling James, Anthony was stomped in the chest against a fence, my mom barely getting him off, and I was punched in shoulder and shoved against concrete while you spat that I should have never let it happen. We were left at home that day. 

Once, I was riding in the trunk with the top open, as we got home late, and a shooting happened right in front of me in the street, us kids still in the car in the driveway. You and Mom were in the house because we weren’t allowed out of the car until you said so. You were angry that I didn’t do more to protect my siblings, that I confided in my teacher what happened, and that I woke you up when police came banging on the door at 2am. I was 11. And I had nightmares for months.

Once, you threw Anthony against the washer and beat him in front of your two extended family members at Christmas because he took too long to take out the garbage. Then, your family decided to praise you for it and talk about it, as if it wasn’t brutal and my mom didn’t have to pull you off of him.

Things got better in their own way after my youngest brother was born. I was 12, almost 13, at the time. You magically stopped. I still don’t know what changed to make you stop.

But I still wasn’t your kid.

You started to refer to me and Anthony as “boy”, and nothing else. You made sure to tell us and show us that we were separated from our siblings. You would probably say that we had to earn our keep or that we learned some lesson, but that’s not the truth. You have other kids that are much older than us, and you never contact them or tried to do right by them. I think when my mom told me that years ago, I should have realized sooner the type of man you are.

Part 1 -- Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 6:32pm

Today, we’ll be diving into the wonderfully enraging topic that is my stepfather.

It is truly baffling yet underwhelming that a man such as he, exists. And till the day I die, I will continue to wish the most ruthless hell for that man. So, let’s start from the beginning…

The thing about James is that he’s a deceiver. Someone with many masks, with two sides like a coin, a shapeshifter, if you will. I will never forget the first night I met James, I was only 7 at the time. You could feel the dishonesty in every breath he breathed, with words that hid his true identity. I remember telling my mom I didn’t like him when she asked, after he left. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, she remembers too. 

I learned the context for his odd behaviors long after the time, but he always hated the house we lived in at the time. He would always come home irritated for some unknown reason, acting in very brash ways. My mother would inform me years later that he hated living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, eating at the same table, as the boyfriend that came before him. So, I guess the only logical solution would be to move, right? At least partially, no?

We had a wonderful 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom house, around the corner from my Nana. My younger brother and I had friends in the neighborhood, and would scooter around the corner to see our Nana, Grandpa, and Uncle. We went to a science academy, and my mom was doing absolutely marvelous as a single parent. But we moved. To a 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom house, 20 minutes to the next state, infested with roaches and mice, all for a little over $500 a month because dear old stepdad had a friend! And as a bonus (which was really the whole point), he got to call everything his! And did!

Anthony and I are almost 4 years apart, so I was almost 8 and he was 4. We moved churches, and it was like you were a completely different person. You would smile and laugh and joke and would be affectionate. But then again, there were people saying, “Oh, look at well behaved your boys are, James!”, “Your boys are so handsome, James!”, “I know they’re going to grow up just like their daddy!”. Umm… excuse me miss, sir, I’m standing right here and THAT is not my dad.  

We would go to our local BlockBuster and would be so excited to see the amazing place that brightened our eyes every time we went. You know, because every kid loves an outing. But, of course, it wasn’t for us. Ever. We weren’t allowed to look at the kids movies, weren’t allowed to ask to see the games they had, just wait for James to pick out the 4 or 5 movies or tv shows that he and his fiance (our mom) get to watch. Thank the universe for Nana for getting us a Wii, because all there was before that was trying to find ways to play with each other or watching wildly inappropriate TV with our “two parents”. Because seeing nudity and sex scenes are important for 8 and 5 year-olds to become men, right James?

Remember that time when me and Anthony were giving each other wedgies because we thought that shit was hilarious? Then, you punched me in the face so hard I flew into and broke our bookcase? Remember that time I stayed up all night playing video games, and you held and choked me against the wall? Remember that time when we lost one of the games we rented from BlockBuster, and after we found it, you threw every single toy, movie, book, game we had in the dumpster? And if not, oh well, because it didn’t stop there!

After my little sister was born, time sped up real fast. All of a sudden, they’re getting married, while just the five of us are standing in the pastor’s office, and I’m holding Malia and deemed “best man”, the day after my birthday. He said to me, “Well, now when you’re grown, you can tell your girlfriend that we got married right after your birthday!”. Then, we’re changing the house layout to where their bedroom and the living room are switching places because we need more space. I’m, now, given the esteemed responsibility as “baby-sitter” at age 8. My mom was pregnant again, and my sisters were going to be 10 months apart. Oh! And the most important bit, Anthony and I were now, “not his kids” (trademark it), and the violence got so much worse.

So, as he built himself a kingdom amongst rags instead of riches, where he is the sole king (without a queen), everyone else became his servants.  Everything in the house now had the possessive “my”, every single thing done in the house needed to meet your standards, everyone had to heed your requests and desires, no matter how untimely, and everyone had to be your audience as you spoke of promises for better that never came.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

*Trigger Warnings: Details and Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, drug use, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms, eating disorder, passive aggressive humor.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 7

12:06pm

So yeah, I tried to kill myself. Emphasis on “tried”. I packed up all my shit, so that you and Gem wouldn’t have to touch it or look at it. I took those pills, all of those pills, because I couldn’t and still can’t cut myself. And, I waited in an alley 2 blocks from your apartment in the biting cold for 3 hours, so I wouldn’t die in the apartment, your home.

That slap must hurt, doesn’t it?

Then… nothing.

Nothing happened happened that is. I waited 3 hours, watching Steven Universe to leave with my last chance at happiness and nothing fucking happened. “Oh well”, I thought.

So, I got up, walked back to the apartment, called an ambulance because I took a shit ton of medication that was going to do something other than k*ll me. Went to the hospital, told them not to call you for a few hours because I didn’t care to. The drugs kicked in and I was high out of my mind, couldn’t even walk by myself (HA! LOL), and then… there you were.

I only remember two bits from that conversation. 1.) That you got me food because I realized I hadn’t eaten in however long I was there. And 2.), That you were kicking me out, said I couldn’t come back, that first you felt guilt that switched to anger, that you're "shipping me back to my mom", that what would I think if Gem found me dead in my room, and what would it be like for you both to have to find a new place. And I said, “I’m sorry”.

And I still have more sorry's to give. I know that what I just said was hurtful and unfair and completely victimizing myself, even if it is my side of the story. I’m so sorry for that. Genuinely, I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry that me arriving came at a time, where you and Gem were struggling with new jobs and the eventual lawsuit possibility. I’m sorry that I was another person with damaged mental health added to your household, when you felt like you were the only one keeping everyone afloat. I’m sorry that I never just told you the truth, my truth. Of how I was feeling and how much I was struggling.

I’m sorry that things never went the way we expected. I’m sorry for not being there for you and Gem, the way you both were for me. I’m sorry that I “fed off the energy in the space” and “exacerbated what was already in the space”. I’m sorry for not seeing the obvious signs that you both needed space.

I’m so sorry for not being able to leave the house or eat without being told. I’m so sorry for not being able to find an out-patient program or a job fast enough. I’m so sorry for making you be my one and only protector and supporter.

I’m so sorry for becoming your and Gem’s suffering, instead of just my own.

I’m so sorry for putting myself in your hands when you weren’t prepared.

I’m so sorry for making you take responsibility for me.

I’m so sorry for sharing more with Gem than with you.

I’m so sorry for not making my choice to say, “Yes, I’ll come stay with you”, shown and worth it.

I’m… so sorry… for putting you and Gem through the trauma of me attempting su*c*d*, and the strain that must have caused.

I’m.

So.

Sorry…

For Everything.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 6

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 6

12:06pm

I’ve realized that I wasn’t broken or shattered when I came to you. I was cracked. Hundreds of jagged lines waiting to be smoothed over. But from Langone to those next 6 weeks, pieces were starting to fall faster than the cracks were sealed. The first hospitalization at Emory, moving to New York, our fights, my Granny passing, more fights, my birthday, to that last Monday that I saw the apartment, to the last time we were together. Everything in-between was beautiful and warm, and those specific moments were pain and suffering.

I thought I had reached my breaking. But the truth is, my breaking point was 100 times higher than I ever thought. My mask was too thick, right? So thick that as tears rolled down my face onto the floor and as “I’m sorry” rode along my shaky breaths, the splashes and shakes couldn’t be heard.

You know, it was the smallest thing that pitched me off the tallest cliff that is my breaking point. It was another of your fights, another “open conversation”. I bought my tickets to go see our cousin for Christmas, something that you not only suggested, but I informed you that I decided upon the week before. And, as I listened to you say it yet another slap to your face (this should be a new record at this point, what’s the count, 6?), as I felt the quivering of my anxiety claw at my lungs, as you brought up trying to buy my tickets as if it wasn’t the first time I was hearing it, as I felt a good moment fade… I knew I needed to leave.

To rid you of my presence, my two suitcases, of my laptop, of the heels I bought as my birthday present to myself that I returned because you suggested (another irresponsible spend), of the list I made you of all my favorite foods of me washing the dishes and cleaning the bathroom and staying home and watching the cats as you and Gem traveled on a trip that I was invited on first and of the packet that you and Gem promised you would help me with but didn’t and of me with my angstand my sorrowand my guiltand my anxietyand my depressionand me…

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, insomnia, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 5

12:06pm

I was hiding my anxiety, my depression, my rage, my insomnia under my mask that I guess was too thick. So thick that it shadowed the drips and drops of the truth, my truth, that I hoped would grow into waves large enough to show on your radar. That I was not okay. Not okay at all. But okay enough to manage, right?

My world was changing so fast and everything was too much, yet slow enough and just not enough that I could see my only motivation to even have a world, flickering in and out with every interaction. With every text left unsent. With every phone call unrung. 

I thought things were getting better, I thought I was getting better. But how could I with no therapist, no meds, no one to help me sift through that packet, no one to talk to? All I had was that packet, my laptop, and two older sisters that switched from laughter to comfort, to withdrawn to frustration. From me being there, to me wanting anything but anywhere…

The way you spoke, the way you acted, the way you looked, set me on edge. I felt like an intruder in your home, and during some of your “open conversations”, I felt like you thought so too. There were lines drawn in the sand, when you said you would always prioritize Gem over me, when there shouldn’t have been. There were so many contradictions, “We’re not roommates in college” vs. “I’m not your parent”, or better yet, “You’re an adult who can make their own decisions” vs. “You should at least inform me of what’s going on, so I can help you”, that should have been cut and dry. There were assumptions, so many assumptions, “I think you look for drama” vs. “I think you were trying to be insensitive”, that could have been questions. 

So many times, we had “open conversations” that were plainly and painfully, just one-sided. In which your claws were out, and I cried and apologized. Even the one time I found the strength to stand up for myself, I ended up saying “I’m sorry”, drowned in tears enough to last a lifetime.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 6 Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, hospitalizations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, bipolar depression, anxiety.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 4

12:06pm

My resolve sparked the shift. The shift from watching my pieces scatter from me sporadically to gluing them back together. By the time I landed, I knew there were expectations for me, whether they were from you or my friends, or even myself. Everything was still moving too fast, I really couldn’t keep up, but all I could think about was that I had to and that you two were there to help me.

But only half of that was true.

After I landed and we went to Langone (hospital), I think both of our expectations broke and we didn’t know what to do. I was in an unfamiliar place (New York City) with a deadline of January 1st to move out. I was losing myself throughout that entire time, and instead of finding hope, I found rejection immediately. Langone was the destination in my mind that would turn the tides. I would be able to heal and receive the treatment that I needed to kickstart the right kind of growth. I was ready to let go of my control of myself and release my inhibitions in the hope of something great… for me. 

But instead, I was rejected and I walked away with a packet of every out-patient facility in the NYC area.

Everything was too much. I was broken and was fighting myself to not to want to give up, for you and everyone else, and I decided to keep saving face and see it through. Then maybe, it would be for me too.

After Langone, you were upset, it was nowhere near the plan of me staying in the hospital for 2 weeks. I think that’s when I shied away from you and confided in Gem. I was upset too that Langone didn’t work out, but I was so tired, too tired, of trying to lift off the ground and take flight. I needed time to gain more energy, to repair my mask that was so close to completely breaking. Because if I wasn’t okay enough to manage, then all of your efforts and money would have been wasted. So, I did just that. I rested for almost a week, and felt strings lifting me to dance a song I didn’t know.

You guys did your best to pour into me. By telling me to journal again, to eat, drink water, to get outside. Despite all that was on each of your plates, you made sure I knew that you were there for me. But, how you specifically did it took much longer to understand.

I felt like I was an intruder in your home. A parasite taking what you had for a gain I had not identified or knew existed. I was trying to be so careful; not to do something wrong, to upset you, to make you question if bringing me there was a mistake…

You asked me to wash the dishes, I started washing them almost every time, so you wouldn’t have to ask again. You got upset that second week that I didn’t take out the trash and recycling on time, I made sure to take them out by the end of each day. You told me to clean the bathroom on the weekends, I put time aside to clean it on Sundays. You told me y’all like to spot clean throughout the week, as soon as I saw cat litter on the hallway floor, I was sweeping and moping the whole house.

You told me that I was irresponsible with money, that it was a slap to the face, even though it wasn’t with your money. I stopped buying things that was just for me, bought groceries for the household, and occasionally bought a coffee.

You told me that you expected me to go back to school in January, then when I said that I didn’t want to, you only said okay. I started looking at colleges and scholarships and made a list.

You told me that you didn’t have the space for me to regularly let you know the progress I was making, even though I was putting in all this effort for you, for you to keep seeing me alive and well. I stopped talking because there was nothing left of me to pull from and share.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, harassment, trauma, hospitalizations, breakdowns, triggers, depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 3

12:06pm

That incident with the driver triggered me, so badly to the point where for the next week, it was like I was back with Dad and with my step-dad. I couldn’t separate my past reality with my present one. And, 4 days in, I stopped going to classes. I missed 2 weeks by the time that I almost acted on my su*c*d*al ideations. I stopped myself though, and told my therapist. She suggested I go to an in-patient hospital down the road at Emory, and I took it. But, it made everything worse, and I regretted it.

I went without telling anyone, and I thought the school would handle all necessary communications with my teachers, like they said they would, but they didn’t. I was bitter and sad and angry and numb the moment I stepped out of the hospital after almost a week. Then, I spoke to you and the New York Plan started.

You were the first and only person that I told about the hospital. I thought you would be mad at me, at least I made myself believe that. But, you were the opposite, you were mad at Emory like I was, and after you told me what you went through to try to find me, I thought you were finally starting to understand why I didn’t like it at Emory. You were fiercely protective of me like you always have been, and I knew that my big sister had me.

But then, you called back later that day and said that I should fly out to New York the next day, and for the first time, you scared me. Everything was moving too fast all of a sudden, and me, being where I was, just out of the hospital and so ready to die, I was so ready to come to you, but the logical side of me pumped the brakes so hard and so fast.

Of course, I needed the support, I wanted the support, but there was no way that I could just up and leave, but also, leave and then what? We didn’t talk about that first. I had to think about my college trajectory, how things would change, what I would be risking, what and who I would leave behind. Everything was too much to work out to just leave the next day. I processed and understood that enough to take a pause, which in hindsight, I really commend myself for.

The next 2 weeks were awful. I was breaking down crying almost every night, trying to wrestle with the fact of leaving not just just Emory, but the life that I had staked everything and was failing to maintain. I was losing an already lost battle, but it was just catching up to me. When my professors told me that I either would need to leave or fail my classes, when my therapist was pushing for me to go, when my advisor told me leaving would save my full-ride scholarship. The world decided for me what would be next, and I watched my world shatter. It was heartbreaking and frustrating and so filled to the brim with grief that I was drowning, truly, when I already thought I was. But, there was you and there was Gem.

And even though I had a January deadline to meet and the pressure equaled my sorrow, I knew what to be done. So, I filed the medical leave, and jumped on the plane.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7