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What Journey Is Waiting For You?

What journey is waiting for you?

Do you have a secret dream you have never told anyone? That might be a journey that is just waiting for you to take the first step.

My dream involves actual traveling. I want to learn French and go to France. It isn’t something that will be happening soon, but I could start preparing now with some studying and planning.

I took a small first step, now it is your turn – what journey is waiting for you?

I Don’t Want Him To Be Like Me

Nothing is harder than watching our children struggle as we have.

This is her story and her wish for her son:

I can feel the panic rising in my throat like bile.

We are at the pool and my son is showing off for a group of boys; trying desperately to be noticed and loved. This brings it all back: being the social outcast from grade three on up. The teasing, the ignoring, the bullying the tears. Hours of wishing I could belong.

My only recourse was to NOT belong: if they thought I was freak; then I would be a freak.

He is two. Only two. Is the need to belong so deep inside our biology that it begins so early? Tears are in my eyes even now, as I think of it.

Please don’t let him be like me. Please let him be okay. Please don’t let him go through what I did.

It’s not about being popular; it’s about being okay. I don’t want him to go through what I did. On the other hand, I sure as hell don’t want him on the other extreme; the type of person who made my school years hell.

I see him striving for attention, to be noticed, to be loved. Already. At two.

Please, please don’t let him be like me…

Six Months

Those who grieve hardest when a sibling dies are those who are most often left to grieve alone.

This is the story of losing her precious sister:

It’s been six months since my sister died.


How is that even possible? February seems so freaking long ago.

Originally as I started his post, I was at a low low point and after some thought, I hit delete. Because I wanted to start this post over. Like I wish I could do to my life, well, most of the time.

will say my grief has been better. A couple times, the grief hit me like a tons of bricks. It happened once when I’d gone to visit a friend who’s expecting her first child which is wonderful. We had a great time, but during the drive home, I felt sad – I’m 30, and still don’t have those “joys” that everyone else around me seems to have.

It really hurts.

I cried on the drive home.

Not long after, Dad had the last of my sister’s belongings from storage. Stuff I hadn’t seen in ages; stuff long-forgotten – cue water works. It was over just like that. How do you deal with that?

Then, Mom’s wound – the one she’d had surgery on a month before Jenny died – re-opened. She’s having ANOTHER surgery right before the six-month anniversary of Jenny’s death.

I feel like screaming.

However, there is healing.

I recently accepted a co-chair position for my local Relay For Life – I’ll be one of two in charge of the whole event. I felt taking this on would give some kind of purpose in my life. I have such a huge hole I have to fill.

I don’t let the grief consume me, I get up every night (I’m night owl), go to work, then a walk or workout. After that I’m off – I eat, spend time with my family and friends, I laugh, I smile. I keep going because it’s what Jenny would want.

It’s not easy – then again, nothing ever is. There is a light at the end of a very dark tunnel. You just have to get through it.

Not a day goes by where I don’t miss her smile, her giggles, her fluffly brown hair, her sparkling eyes – the way she’d squeeze my fingers.

I end this post with a quote from Winne the Pooh by A.A. Milne:

“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever”

It’s Never Too Late To Start Over Again

I’m a teenage sexual assault victim.

This is my story:

When I was sixteen years old, I was sent abroad to study and work. I was on my own – no family, no friends, and no jobs. And as I was underage, it was quite hard to get a job.

Finally, a nice man with a family – his lovely wife pregnant with his second, a son about a year old – agreed to allow me to work at his store without a contract.

I trusted him. His family allowed me stay overnight, cooked me meals, as his house was nearer to my school. It was nice. One night we decided to have a party. We all drank.

He took advantage of me while his family was upstairs.

Desperately, I tried to run away. As his family was upstairs, he followed me downstairs and locked the door and pushed me down onto the floor. I tried to pull away, but he had a hold of both my hands and legs.

He stole my first time; my only chance to make it special. He stole my carefree teenage years, my childhood, my lively personality.

After he was done raping me, I ran for the door and escaped to home. I was scared – I couldn’t understand what had happened; what was going on. I lost all sense.

The next few days, I spent alone in my room, staring at nothing, not talking, not doing anything. My friends reported me missing – eventually they came to my house and found me in this state.

But they didn’t know what happened. I was in denial; pretending I didn’t know what’d happened. They knew something was up.

I quit my job.

I cut all connections with everyone in that city and moved away. I changed schools, took medicine to quell my anxiety, I started (and stopped) therapy sessions as I didn’t want to open up to the therapist. I didn’t want to. I pretended nothing had happened to me – as long as I believed nothing had happened, I’d be fine.

Dose after dose, I took the medication until I became addicted. I’m addicted to drugs and alcohol – they make me forget what happened. They allow me to feel happy again. I can live my life without caring about anything. I started doing dangerous things and harming myself, hoping that if one of my “adventures” goes terribly wrong, I can finally die.

I considered killing him, but decided that was a bad idea.

I lost my connections, my friendships with other people – become antisocial. It’s extremely hard for me to make friends because I just don’t want to talk or share my story with others. I close up and let nobody in.

They think I’m weird, snobby.

I lost interest in everyone – especially men. I fell apart without my family, I’m depressed and anxious; I cannot sleep without drinking alcohol. I suffer nightmares; I’m extremely jumpy – especially in my sleep. I hit people or shout at them if they touch me, even if it’s a friendly touch. Suddenly, I’ll wake wake up crying without remembering what I’m crying about. I drove everyone away from me – in order to find joy and safety alone

At age twenty, I got into university and am doing a bit better. I managed to make new friends – even if they think I’m odd.

I was doing okay. Until recently.

Finally, it hit me that what happened wasn’t a bad dream. I was actually raped. I’m on the verge of breaking down again… just as I’m trying to start a new life.

I can’t let this happen again.

That’s why I’m here, The Band: to share and hear about others, to find comfort in stories that help me find the light again.

I’m hoping that by writing this, by letting it all out, I can start new again.

It’s never too late.