It was another typical weekend night. My father was already three sheets to the wind and was headed toward a blackout. My mother was in the small house that we rented in Yazoo City, Mississippi staying occupied and distracted with household chores, and my brother was tucked away in his room where it was safer. I was left sitting in my room hoping for a peaceful night when I heard the dreaded, “Honey girl! Come out here!” I closed my eyes and fought to keep the tears from flooding down my face. My chest felt heavy and my heart raced. I let out a small whimper. So tonight, I was the one my father chose to come keep him company. I always hoped it wouldn’t be me he called, but so did my mother and brother, and it had to be one of us. I didn’t understand why someone would want the company of a child, but I wouldn’t dare to ask. I took a deep breath and got to my feet. I eased my way outside making sure not to walk dangerously slow. I spotted the little white Toyota pickup truck that he called “Yodi” parked in the driveway and made my way to the passenger side. I climbed in the old, squeaky truck, barely seeing over the dashboard, and sat erect and trembling. Please God. Please God. Please help me.

Shaking, shivering, it’s not cold, what’s happening to me? My heart races trying to drive out of my chest. My leg bounces up and down about 100 beats per minute. My breathing speeds up, choking on each breath. I try to calm down but I can’t, I can't stop this feeling. Looking around the room my vision is blurred but I can make out the shape of a desk with a monitor on it showing a colorful screen saver to the right of me. A window behind it with the blinds halfway down just enough to block out the sun but still let light in. Next to it, I see many inspirational posters, one saying “ Hang in there!” with a picture of a cat hanging onto a branch, cute, but not right now. I’m sitting at a large table with multiple chairs around it one containing my mother. She’s looking at me with a confused, concerned, glare. I see her face out of the corner of my eye while I blankly stare at the neutral party in the room, lets call her V, V goes on about the process that we’re going through right now. My mom continues to glare at me during the silence, I look down afraid of what she might say to me. V finished typing as the phone starts to ring, she answers, she then says “We’ll be right out” She hangs up then gesture toward the door.

I sit at a table, the sun long set, the friend across from me with an upside-down bottle in hand, watching the last fated drops fall to his very empty glass. As I drink the last of mine, the all too familiar clinking of a semi-melted ice cube rattling around as its bell tolls the end of our conversation. I look at the bottle and think to myself that I have drunk enough, and it’s best to be wise and get a cab home. A lie if ever I heard one. I’ll have just one more I tell myself. This is a thought I will laugh about come sunrise.

Darkness, I am most thankful for you this year. Why you ask? I finally have found an answer. I am thankful for you.... Not because you sucked me down deeper and into your hole that filled with thoughts of no longer wanting to wake up and face he tomorrow that will continue to come even when your at your lowest of lows, not because you laughed at the sight of my tears after losing the only parent I had left to a non curable evil.... cancer. Not because you’ve introduced yourself into the homes of my fellow neighbors during this time of deadly virus, not because I have lost so much as many of us have, my home, my steady income.... and the one thing that led me to you, my mind.

I am suicide. The truth about wanting to take your life is after the first time it’s experienced it isn’t a one and done state of mind. The cycle begins and then continues for most likely a lifetime without help and support. The first time we go into the darkness we call family or friend. We may call these people a second time but what no one talks about is that this cycle is recurring over and over again. This is where the danger lies. After the third, fourth, fifth time the call to family and friends is received with eye rolls and hushed words of “they are just looking for attention” and after the sixth or seventh time, we slide into the darkness but stops calling anyone. We believe that we are being a burden to those we reach out to and the calls stop. Here we wrestle our demons alone, we fight to press through the darkness and hope that some angel from above will intervene, but no one comes. At that moment we may succeed to break free of the frozen space of misery, thinking that the world will be better without us and are doing our family and friends a favor, it’s the lie we tell ourselves.

It seems like an odd time to count your blessings, when the world is focussed on counting its afflictions, punctuated by 20-second choruses of Happy Birthday To You as we dutifully rinse the plague from our hands. But this has been the year of counter-intuitive, unintended consequences.

Saturday night, early Sunday morning I had a meltdown and a major ah-hah! moment. Now I want to tell what I realized, the article that hit home, and how I am taking the first step to help myself.

During the spring semester of my freshman year, a friend named Sophie convinced me to attend meetings held by my college's Hillel Society. I am not Jewish, but since I was friendless and didn't have anything better to do, I came to the miniscule meetings where the club watched films on Judaism and ate kosher pizza. Born and raised Catholic, I felt like an intruder. But people welcomed me, and for a few weeks, I was less alone than I was before.

“The Social Dilemma” brings together social media app leaders to discuss the unstoppable monster of their own creation. This Netflix Documentary is a bold warning of the unforeseen strength that lies within our technological devices. Some ramifications of tech usage have undeniably negative consequences which are highlighted in the film, but will it truly lead to civilizations' downfall as the documentary suggests?

If reports are to be believed, internet trolls have chased yet another famous face off of Social Media. Actress Elizabeth Olsen, best known for playing Wanda Maximoff, aka the Scarlet Witch, in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, recently de-activated her Instagram account. If reports are to be believed, the reason for this is that Olsen was bullied by supposed fans over her failure to post about the death of her Avengers co-star, Chadwick Boseman.

Savage warmongers or animal-loving pacifists? Uncivilized beasts or trainable inferiors? Early settlers of North America perhaps debated these questions amongst themselves when encountering the indigenous peoples of The New World. Regardless of the discussions that took place, one thing is certain: the decimation of Native American (NA) populations is a black mark forever ingrained in United States history.

Dear (Suburban) Black Girl, You are *magical*, yes. You are a queen, full stop, period. I’m not here to tell you that you shouldn’t pick your head up, dust it off, and keep it pushing when the haters (or systemic racism) get you down. It can actually be challenging to maintain a smile sometimes, to be the source of strength that many seek for inspiration. I understand what it means to have to laugh off the jokes your friends say when you’re the only one who looks like you in your friend group. It can be a challenge to feel different, to know you are different, but to seek so much normalcy and “sameness” anyways.

I was working fulltime as a registered nurse & midwife, while hiding my dark secret of the use of the illicit substance known as methamphetamine. I was injecting before attending work, it would make me feel enabled to perform my work easily. I was doing it for a year now, my workload was easy to handle. My ability to perform professional at work while under the influence diminished when I had the realisation I had a drug problem I could not control. Hiding the guilt & shame I felt for myself was becoming harder & the ability to compose myself lacked. The increasing worry I had of being exposed as a drug user overwhelmed me, the more I thought about it the more paranoid I became. There was an instance in my garage at home sitting with fellow drug users, I heard my work colleges voices attacking my friends with the dangers & legality of consuming methamphetamine, it was like they had tagged along in my headspace waiting for the opportunity to inform the users of their professional guidance. It was a war of rights to choose ones lifestyle without prejudice. I became increasingly unconfident I could hide my drug use any longer, how could they not know they were in the medical profession, they have the ability to observe ones deterioration in presentation. I arrived late, missed shifts & cried at work, found it harder to cope with my workload & lost time management skills. I observed the look of concern on their faces. there was an instance of skills compliance where I felt tested if I was performing duties correctly. I could hear their thoughts they were negative towards me & they didnt want me to be apart of the multidisciplinary team because I was under the influence of methamphetamine, they lost confidence in my ability, by this time I was using during my shift trying to gain power from this supposedly powerful drug. It was making me more paranoid they would be aware. The anxieties I felt were intense it was like everyone was observing me isolating me out. It was like the multidisciplinary team were talking about me & doing a case study on my performance, there was an increase in psychiatrists on the ward with feelings of them wanting to discuss my use with them. One day I was crying uncontrollably in the toilet and the manager would not answer my call & I heard her say to another team member I am not going in there to get her. I failed their expectations & they were not happy with me. I only became aware of this after admitting to myself I was unprofessional & should not be injecting prior to & during work. My guilt & shame started the lack of confidence in my work. I remember walking through the doorway to my workplace & the voices above my head said not today Tamika we are coming in with you, thats when I thought patients were doubting my ability to care for them, I even lost the confidence to greet them in a positive way, it was like they thought I should be the patient. I had one patient guiding me in the care I carried out for her, it was that moment my heart broke, I could not perform the job I loved. The hold methamphetamine had over me was too hard to conquer, it had me choosing the easy road of staying on the drug to get my rush I craved, I chose selfish pleasure over my life.

Since this pandemic started I've been in a very bad headspace mentally. I was laid off, I had to move back in with my parents, I had 2 children to take care of, another one on the way, and as of late I have been diagnosed with Post Partum Depression. So what have I done to try to combat the ever-growing sadness, anger, and pain within myself? That's correct. SHOPPING. Now I haven't been going store to store shopping in store or online just buying anything that catches my eye. Just the one stop shop for my any and everyday wants and needs. AMAZON!!!!!!!! Now yes at this moment and since 2 months ago I have definitely calmed down and have gained some self control, but I wanted to share with you all how it gotten so out of control it became an issue. At first I was buying new baby clothes, a new rocker, a new crib, and other such baby materials. Then the guilt came, my older children weren't going the get the same attention they're used to, they'll feel like I don't love them anymore, they may believe they aren't special anymore, and because of that I decided to buy them both special gifts. My oldest I bought a kids digital camera and a big play salon set and my then youngest a Barbie Fashionista doll, and a Disney Princess grown up phone, credit cards, and car key toy set and then to share I bought them a Disney Princess pretend curio coffee,(or as I tell them Hot Chocolate), machine. Their little faces lit up when they saw what was in those boxes. I felt so happy to give them something they really enjoyed. Then I had this feeling I needed to buy something for my parents for letting me stay with them, just to show how much I appreciated the sacrifice they made for their freedom. So I went back to my favorite place and got them both, beautiful, different colored, coffee or tea cups. They are made from Glass, sculpted 3D designs on them both, and they just look so amazing in person. I honestly couldn't help myself, I knew how much they enjoyed their tea and/or coffee time and by their first impressions of them, they were. Then I got myself a new pair of really nice fuzzy socks. But that's how it all began.

I had been smoking meth for a year, I found it hard to maintain my habit now that I finally kicked out my drug dealer boyfriend. One of my new supply resources suggested I injected it, showed me how & gave me my first shot. The rush of the meth hitting my heart was euphoric, the feeling of being energised, happy & satisfied was enough to keep me addicted to the powerful mind drug meth for over 3 years now. I rarely get the rush or energised feeling anymore, but it stabilises my mood & completes me, I need to feed my addiction or it attacks me through my mind & physically disables me. I have been trying to quit for over a year now, meth has the power over me to arrive when least expected. The powerful mind drug has opened my minds energy to manifest meth in my life, it has grabbed onto me & makes it intolerable to go without. I am weak in my battle against meth & find it hard to find the way away from it. I experienced an evolving psychosis which developed into skitzophrenia. I have been lucky enough to travel this magical brain created imagination, hallucination & delusional journey. A fortnightly injection of an antipsychotic medication inhibits my psychosis characteristics, leaving me with a clear & logical mind. Its hard for me to believe that what I lived through is not actually real. I believe in telepathy, spiritual guides, aliens, various gods, naturally occuring signs, mind readers, spirits, angels & devils, possession, gaslighting, self awareness, the third eye, government trials, science discovery, channeling, souls & conscious levels most of these beliefs could actually have some involvement in the occurences endured. The beginning is hard to determine, but one of the first instances involved a huge shadowed object in the sky, which I waved to & expressed I wasnt ready yet. Another was a couple of ladies voices communicating they could help me after I begged for help to overcome my addiction, a foreign group arrived through my media & electrical appliances concerning financial issues, a white light increasingly got closer to me & when entered me another couple entered my voice library, buzzing, machinery, animal communication, instruments & weather sounds increased. Observations of drones, cloud shapes, shadow people & symbols, entities, energies, animals, projections & body language of family & friends, increasingly kept my mind yearning for more stimulation. Sensations of feeling accompanied, observed, touched, squeezed, heated, cooled, lifted, entered & altered were incredibley comforting & enthralling. With all three senses open to fully invite stimuli, I experience amazingly wonderful powerful happenings which become draining on my functioning self. I asked the universe to take control of my life & I was given the gift of a dimensional kaelidiscope & my creativity & imagination opened up. I have had countless memorable moments which astound me, if only I could live in both worlds simultaneously without the control of the voices. I would feel myself lucky. grateful & happy. My mind has been opened to another realm & find it unsatisfying to not experience the phennonenom.

Listening to sounds of the past triggers a wave of regret in me all the time. People say that when all someone can talk about is the past, they are no longer moving forward. Why? Because all they can think about is the past, their attachment is to the past, and so all they can talk about is the past. That’s the case for my father.

Perhaps like some of you, I find myself seeing, hearing, feeling, knowing, that I am meant to do something, be someone different, some days it feels closer than others.

Mental illness is something no one wants to talk about. Its real. Some people are ashamed of it, do not want to talk about it and get laughed at it. It is no laughing matter. People take their lives in behind humility and shame. Some people suffer in silence. It is sad when people feel like they have no one to talk to but unfortunately, that’s how things are these days. People hide their feelings for fear of being called crazy and sometimes fear of being called stupid or fear of losing friends.

S.O.M What is Anxiety? The definition of anxiety is a mental health disorder characterized by feelings of intense, excessive, and persistent worry or fear that are strong enough to interfere with one's daily activities or everyday situations. Anxiety is only an indicator of underlying disease when feelings become excessive, all-consuming, and interfere with daily living.

It's just my anxiety and me. We've become best friends. She goes everywhere with me and we make all of our decisions together.

I have a phone game. It’s a run-of-the-mill run a farm type of game. Your character is an elderly person living with regret, they want a chance to return to the simple life. In the game, a magical butterfly-winged fairy appears to turn back the hands of time and allow for you to make changes to the choices you’ve made. She returns you to your grandfather’s land, where you must now cultivate produce, livestock, and more from a derelict farm.

There we were. Racing to every convenience store, gas station, and local plaza we could find; posting dozens of the hundreds of flyers we’d printed stating, “MISSING PERSON” of my little sister’s disappearance. The headline was typed in bold, desperate red ink across the top. It was a distinct contradiction to the calm, slow beat of the blood my heart was pumping in my chest. I couldn’t compute where my sister would go, if she had eaten or showered in days, and why this trail of pain seemed to plague my family.

My darling, as I sit here and try to come up with a way to explain this to you, the first and most important thing I want you to know is that I am sorry. I am sorry that I failed you during this. I am sorry that for a short time, I wasn’t the mother that you needed me to be. I’m sorry that you’ve had to pay some of the price for my mistakes.

Why Supplements are Essential for Detox We were taught all of our lives that mind altering drugs are bad for you and to stay away at all costs… except for when you have a mental illness of course. Then it's okay to change your brain chemistry and who you are to fit in better in society. After being on medications for about five years I can say that there are for sure pros and cons of both being on them and being off of them. And whether or not you want to be on them is a PERSONAL CHOICE. I don't care what anybody says, it's your choice to take them every day and yes, some people desperately need them more than others. I can see both sides of the story of both wanting to be on them and not wanting to be on them. There isn't a right or wrong answer to the question of “should i take medication”. Because yet again, ITS A PERSONAL CHOICE. Nobody has the right to judge you either way.

I am suicide. The truth about wanting to take your life is after the first time it’s experienced it isn’t a one and done state of mind. The cycle begins and then continues for most likely a lifetime without help and support. The first time we go into the darkness we call family or friend. We may call these people a second time but what no one talks about is that this cycle is recurring over and over again. This is where the danger lies. After the third, fourth, fifth time the call to family and friends is received with eye rolls and hushed words of “they are just looking for attention” and after the sixth or seventh time, we slide into the darkness but stops calling anyone. We believe that we are being a burden to those we reach out to and the calls stop. Here we wrestle our demons alone, we fight to press through the darkness and hope that some angel from above will intervene, but no one comes. At that moment we may succeed to break free of the frozen space of misery, thinking that the world will be better without us and are doing our family and friends a favor, it’s the lie we tell ourselves.

It was a little over a year ago now, I started feeling stressed with work, I felt like I was getting the job done but doing it enough or to my best standard. I wasn’t sleeping much at home, I was sitting up late most sits just overthinking things, scrolling through my social media and just letting time pass by, whenever I did get time to eventually fall to sleep, I’d be woken up about an hour or two later by my alarm.... another day I would be dreading I’d think to myself. However, I’d put a smile on, get up, shower, get my work uniform on, and sort my son out for school - who at this time was going through a referral for ADHD, I did my best, got him to school and went to work, hiding how I feel. I stopped speaking to people, only if it meant I had to for my job, and decided I would keep myself to myself. No one knew anything, they just thought I was a normal happy 24 year old.

When asked what I am grateful for this year... all I can feel is pain. I remember the first time after getting diagnosed with clinical depression that I felt pain. I was crying in my room. Earlier that day I went to my nephew's birthday party at the soccer dome. Kids running everywhere...get me out of here. I left after an hour. I went home and layed in my bed and for the first time in a few months, I cried.

Shaking, shivering, it’s not cold, what’s happening to me? My heart races trying to drive out of my chest. My leg bounces up and down about 100 beats per minute. My breathing speeds up, choking on each breath. I try to calm down but I can’t, I can't stop this feeling. Looking around the room my vision is blurred but I can make out the shape of a desk with a monitor on it showing a colorful screen saver to the right of me. A window behind it with the blinds halfway down just enough to block out the sun but still let light in. Next to it, I see many inspirational posters, one saying “ Hang in there!” with a picture of a cat hanging onto a branch, cute, but not right now. I’m sitting at a large table with multiple chairs around it one containing my mother. She’s looking at me with a confused, concerned, glare. I see her face out of the corner of my eye while I blankly stare at the neutral party in the room, lets call her V, V goes on about the process that we’re going through right now. My mom continues to glare at me during the silence, I look down afraid of what she might say to me. V finished typing as the phone starts to ring, she answers, she then says “We’ll be right out” She hangs up then gesture toward the door.

I can give a few facts and stats about anxiety and depression, but I think anyone can look those up on Google. Instead, I choose to relate my own experience, in case it could help someone with similar experiences.

You're living life to the fullest and one day it all stops. The breaks are slammed and everything changes. You ask yourself a ton of questions and thoughts run through your mind as to why. What happened? Why me? Why can't I get up out of bed? Why is that things that I used to care about and enjoy just seem to be chores and lost thoughts? Why is it that I'm so sad, moody, making plans just to break them? Why do I feel so dead inside and why am I crying so much? Why don't I care about the way I look or even have the strength to take a shower? All these things crossed my mind over and over again for years. I had no idea what happened to me. Where did my spunk go? Why is this cloud over my head? Why and more why's were running through my mind what was left of it at the time. I really tought I had lost mind.

I never thought I would be effected by the disorder I have, I used to make jokes about having OCD. I never knew what it was really like.

A Bad Experience at a Young Age You'll be surprised what might traumatize you. I vividly remember a horrible experience from when I was about 7 years old. It wouldn't be until I turned 22, and had 2 children, before I realized I had a problem due to this event.

So these episodes go on for years, the hypnagogic hallucinations, the intense sleep paralysis and that sense that I was being coerced into a state that did not feel right-I fought that immediately every time.

When I was little, I had a normal, awesome childhood. I was always running around, playing with my brother and just doing what kids do. When I got older, it was like overnight, that I noticed my thighs were thicker, my stomach had some extra weight on it and I thought to myself, "How did this happen." I wasn't upset about it, until everyone around me started talking about my weight. Telling me I was too pretty to weigh so much, that for a lady my thighs were too big and one summer I still remember the day I was told my legs were too big to be wearing shorts.

A few years ago I went on holiday to Spain with my boyfriend, Steve, and we were looking forward to a lovely relaxing few weeks in the sun.

​I was the kid who got bullied, not lucky. Which explains why I am so greatly astonished when luck strikes me now. ​By the age of twelve, I had been repeatedly told I was fat and unacceptably overweight by both my peers, relatives, and even my very own brother. I can recall the exact moment in time where I decided to count my first day in calories. One of many to come, my self love or loathing became fully dependent upon the exact amount of energy which I would consume throughout the day. My family was vacationing in Mexico for the second time that year, and I was contemplating what would come of me eating precisely one serving of Life brand cereal squares, rather than brainlessly downing however many pieces my body seemingly craved. Little did I know the birth of my complex relationship with food had begun right then and there. I slowly found myself tossing aside fatty options, and turning my nose up at any offer of snacks. I banished all the foods from my body that my parents had raised me to understand were “fattening” or “unhealthy”, and soon decided to turn away anything with an uncertain amount of calories, with the exception of fruits and veggies.

There is another me. I've been distinctly aware of her for years. I don't exactly remember the first time she made her appearance, but I do remember that she has disapproved from that moment.

It’s something both ‘Gone Girl’ and ‘The Girl on the Train’ have in common as well as many other popular thrillers and famous novels across genres – the ‘unreliable narrator’. Our protagonist appears to be balanced and coherent but then unfolding events contradict their skewed reasoning and drive an ever-growing wedge between their perception of reality and ours. Things just don’t add up; the reader can no longer take the story at face value. Is the POV character insane, lying, deluded or just plain wrong? We won’t know until the final piece of the jigsaw that is their damaged mind fits into place.

Boarderline Personality Disorder... What a name right? Well that is the diagnosis that was given to me by some psych chick way back when I was seventeen (I'm now closer to 40 then I am 30).

When people say they are understanding and accommodating of mental health, don’t take their word for it. See how they really behave, and that says everything.

It was harder to finish this than I thought. When I sat to write my first post the words just seemed to flow naturally. Now today, I’m back at my apartment, and the amount of support I’ve had from people around me has been inspiring. So many have shared their own struggles, or just reached out with words of encouragement.

O.k. Here’s the beginning of my story. I was born to an all white family in an all white town in West Highlands, New York. Raised by my immature parents at their tender age of 29 and 31. My name is Mitchell by the way. I’m a full grown man they say but I don’t feel like that much at all.

It was another typical weekend night. My father was already three sheets to the wind and was headed toward a blackout. My mother was in the small house that we rented in Yazoo City, Mississippi staying occupied and distracted with household chores, and my brother was tucked away in his room where it was safer. I was left sitting in my room hoping for a peaceful night when I heard the dreaded, “Honey girl! Come out here!” I closed my eyes and fought to keep the tears from flooding down my face. My chest felt heavy and my heart raced. I let out a small whimper. So tonight, I was the one my father chose to come keep him company. I always hoped it wouldn’t be me he called, but so did my mother and brother, and it had to be one of us. I didn’t understand why someone would want the company of a child, but I wouldn’t dare to ask. I took a deep breath and got to my feet. I eased my way outside making sure not to walk dangerously slow. I spotted the little white Toyota pickup truck that he called “Yodi” parked in the driveway and made my way to the passenger side. I climbed in the old, squeaky truck, barely seeing over the dashboard, and sat erect and trembling. Please God. Please God. Please help me.

When it’s all over, you realize so much. What everyone thought was an amazing 7 year relationship, really wasn’t. It came with a rollercoaster of emotions. Good and bad. Most of the time, bad. It sucks to realize how much bullshit I went through to keep the relationship going. “Forgiving” him everytime he screamed at me and put me down for being the person I am, staying with him even after he cheated on me multiple times, and believing he loved me even after he had shown me that he really didn’t. It wasn’t worth all the pain and everything I went through. Then just like that it all ended after 7 years. It didn’t end peacefully either… I was served papers by the court while I was away at school in Chicago. The papers said that I was abusive, dangerous, a stalker and many other things that I’m not. Things were listed that he had done to me but he tried turning it around on me just because his girlfriend, he had while still being with me, wanted him to. I got to talk to the judge the day we had our hearing and truthfully told him what went on and how the things that were said were not true… the protective order was lifted and I told my ex and the judge that I could care less to speak or to ever see my ex again. It was all damaging and traumatizing. But, you know what I’m getting myself back and I couldn't be happier. I got all the friends back that I dropped for someone who ended up being temporary. I feel so shitty for dropping all the people who cared and looked out for me even through the 7 years. They tried making me realize and I was too stupid to think it wasn’t true. Now that I’m out of that relationship I could fully realize how bad it was. What I went through is difficult to talk about and to think about. How it drained me and affected me so deeply. We all go through it. We all think we will be with our first love forever. But that’s not what it ends up being most of the time. I honestly can say that I’m glad it wasn’t forever. Because that would have meant forever being sad and in pain physically and emotionally. I would have never been really happy. I would have had to fake that happiness so no one would see the pain I was really in. My heart was broken so many times in the relationship, I don’t know how I kept going with it. The people close to me that I told what really went on always tell me they don’t know how I stayed so strong through it all. I love way too hard and believe that everyone can change depending how hard you love them. But that's not true, no matter how hard you love someone, it doesn't matter unless they love you even harder. The love I gave was taken advantage of so many times. But, Like I said I’m so much happier now that he’s gone. It feels like so much weight off of my shoulders. It is definitely hard to function sometimes, all the trauma I went through affects me everyday but I try my hardest to battle the bad thoughts and feelings. I can now say I’m getting myself back. I can be myself and I can be happy. No more hiding my emotions. No more holding back my feelings. I can do anything I want to without being held back. I won't get physically and mentally abused anymore. I can be me and I can be happy. It’s the best feeling ever. To anyone who has gone through a similar relationship or is currently going through it, you can get through it and stay strong. Please don’t stay with an abusive partner or someone who doesn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. You matter and the way you deserve to be treated matters.

The guy who wanted to control me & have only me in his life was abusing me & threatening me with violence , sexual exploitation & discreditting me with anyone I knew including my children. We met off a dating site he was eager to meet me & seemed like the type of guy who likes to please people. He came to my house & hardly spoke a word, but was very polite & showed interest in what I had to say. He briefly spoke of his lifetime goal of searching for gold, he left without saying goodbye. Our next interaction was surrounded by strange occurences, I felt an excited rush over me when he would of been heading on the 2 hour drive down the freeway, later confirmed with a text message, when he arrived into my estate all the streetlights went off. I had thoughts of I am connected to this guy on a deeper level, society supported the beginning of this relationship. He was again polite, respectful & affectionate. We had sex that night , he acted if it was his first time & expected me to thank him, strange behavior I thought. Four days later I received accusing text messages from him of being a crackwhore, junkie & worthless, he sent several, I blocked him as I didnt deserve his abuse & thought he was a crazy psycho. A few weeks later I had a judgement thought that maybe I was too hard on him & should give him a chance to explain his behavior , he wanted to see me again, I wanted to see him too I felt drawn to him, I liked the energy he gave off when around him. Whenever we saw each other we had copious amounts of sex, he showed care for me & sincere attraction, I felt protected around him. The more I saw him & communicated with him the more the voices would try to interact with me, drawing me into listening to them & focussing on the importance they felt they had in my life. We were driving one day in my estate a voice asked him if he felt that, when I rested my head on his arm, he nodded his head. He was on the phone raised his hand up as if to turn the volume up & stated he could hear it four blocks away. It was like he was communicating with the voices I could hear. He used to wrap his arms around me like silencing the voices intruding in my every day life, they would quieten. It was if he had some sort of influencing control over them. While in my vegie garden one day a voice from over the fence told him to help me out & another time was them stating to him they didnt want to do that to me, they were just trying to communicate with me to awaken me to them watching me. I felt intimidated & freaked out, why were people attacking me in my own yard, when I wasnt doing anything wrong. The feelings of being observed & judged by those around me increased to paranoia, the voices kept making me aware they were there, asking me questions & forcing me to speak to them, I would speak to them in my head. My so called boyfriend increased his unusual behavior of accusations, degrading me & threatening me while not in my presence. While with me he acted as if nothing had happened & treated me very well, giving off a vibration of connecting energy. The voices would tell me it was true love, even when I was crying defending myself over the phone to him trying to convince him I was not the person he was implying. The situation got increasingly worse I was judging & analysing myself, thinking maybe I portrayed myself that way. I was always worried I was being observed for my actions, behaviors & thought pattern. It was like I was trying to be controlled by the whole community. I thought I could hear their thoughts about me & they would directly target my words in my head. I would look at the moon for comfort & they would tell me not the moon again, a voice asked because I could see birds overhead if I actually thought they were mine. It was if they were taking my appreciation of the little things away from me, like I wasnt allowed to be involved in anything around me, isolating me out. When strange occurences were happening my constant team of voices would express their part in that happening, like they were controlling everything around me, including nature & animals. It was pointed out to me by a friend who met him, inquiring as if he was the alias contacting her stating how much of a piece of trash person I really was. She showed me the messages & there was a picture of him entering me on my bed, I dont recall him taking that photo. I tried to explain the judgement I was feeling was from not being aware of who he was belittling me too, anybody could of been receiving these accusation messages. I became more intimidated & self judging about everything I did, I couldnt affirm to myself I was truly not the person he was trying to convince people I was. I became hollow, depressed, stressed & anxious, I felt powerless in defending myself against him. I knew he was treating me badly & was trying to convince people to not socialise with me taking my life away from me bit by bit, insuating my words were meaningless. I was so broken sometimes I could not visit people or go to the shop, I felt I wasnt worthy enough to communicate with my kids. I even covered my mirror so I could not see myself, my self confidence destroyed, my trust in people questioned, shame & guilt overcame me & I began to believe I was worthless.

It started with me not wanting to get out of bed or off the couch. And then it turned into I don’t want to do this today. Only it was something I couldn’t miss, so I had to get up and I had to go.

So my experience begins as early as 1969. I was 3 years old and way too big and wild for my small 5 foot 2 and disabled(from polio when she was small)mom to handle. She took me to a child psych who determined right off that I was indeed "hyperactive" was the term they used back then. I immediately spied the doctors stool on wheels, flopped down on it and started "orbiting" the room.

Late 2016, my mother finally decided to see a psychiatrist though it wasn’t a voluntary decision. She was discharged from a 21-day stay at a medical facility and was diagnosed with anxiety as a mental illness. I don’t know the “real” details of the stay because from what I hear her tell me time and time again, everything she says matches symptoms of several mental illnesses.