Last night (Monday night because when I went to try and post this I could not because Vocal was under maintenance) I got trapped in my own negativity, and what started my downward spiral of a thought process was how my mother wrote to me in a poem about how everything I was telling people after they kicked me out was a lie.
I was really young when the abuse started, and I was far too young to understand what was really happening. I look back at the traumatizing moments I do remember and wonder how my mother could deny abusing me. That is until I read this:
To start off, all of this is true; this is me getting everything off my chest, out into the world, in an effort to maybe, just maybe, help other people feel a little less lost and alone.