Introduction

When you pick up a pen to write, to record what was lost, it is always hard to know where to start, or if you can even begin. For so many years it wasn't safe to talk about my life, and the things that happened to me. When I tried to write about them as I grew old enough to, my parents found my diaries and there were grave consequences. I don't just mean a spanking or “grounding;” I mean my world was turned upside down and suddenly I had do one to trust or turn to, and no place to record my thoughts. I was afraid even to feel. I was placed with different therapists and counselors over the years, and even there I learned the unfortunate lesson that these therapist and counselors were not my confidants and could not be trusted. I have huge trust issues, so at this point I am pausing to look up the word counselor, and the common expectations for counselors and therapists just to see if maybe my expectations may have been too high. Here are my findings. In the thesaurus, under counselor, I was astonished to see that the words advocate, adviser and confidant are used as synonyms. Part of me was hoping to have no right to be as jaded as I am, but I have every right. As I think back, I get even angrier, remembering how one particular therapist took me for ice cream when I refused to dish out the information she wanted. By this time, I suspected that she was talking to my mom about our conversations, but I was hurting so badly, and she really did seem sweet. She took me to Penguins. I remember. I got vanilla frozen yogurt with gummie bears; my favorite. She really spoke like she was on my side. She was taking my side against my mom. I felt like I was finally getting some help. I could tell her...but of course when we got back to the office she told my mom everything and it was a big mess. I ended up in trouble for something I was trying to get help for; that was being done to me. Everything went back to the mother-ship while I was growing up, needing help; alone. For me, this was very unfortunate. So I sit here with pen in hand now desperately seeking freedom from within. I have so much to share. Some of it beautiful, the majority of it awful and haunting, but I have spent a long time feeling desperately alone in my thoughts, and it is time to set them free. I can't help but feel that there is some one else who will be reading this who is feeling similarly alone, and I'm hoping maybe now, you won't feel so alone with your feelings and stories. Or at least you will maybe have the courage one day to share as well. I'm thirty-one. That is a long tie to be alone with your stories and pain, so here it goes. Here is my diary as I can remember it; starting from my very earliest memories.There will be some gaps that I will try to explain the best I can. But hang in there for the ride, while I share with you what my life has been. How shall I describe it? A Beautiful and Equally Horrifying Roller-coaster.