by Band Back Together | Oct 21, 2010 | Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse |
[Ed. note: I’m leaving the grammatical, spelling, and punctuation errors in place since this was written by a young person. Correcting everything would take away some of the authenticity of this piece. -Adrienne]
I’ve been wanting to write a post about what I went through as a kid for a while, but I have not been able to sit down and do it the way I want. Instead I pulled out my diary I kept back then. I am going to write down the raw emotions I felt that day and maybe it will help me to get through some things.
June 17, 1995
Dear Diary,
I haven’t wrote in a long time but I have been really busy.
Well, let me start on June 10th….
Mom let me go to Dan’s sisters wedding and he gave me a gold bracelet (no it wasn’t stolen) and he also went out with Missy! NO JOKE!
I have confusing news too, K here’s what happened…
I was laying on the couch at Denises yesterday getting ready for bed because we were going to go to the lake today since I was babysitting the little brat Becca I needed a break.
Anyway, Ron came in to tell Brittany the dog good night since she was sleeping with me. He moved the sheet and I thought it was so he could pet Brittany, then he just started rubbing my vaginal area..My heart was beating 50mph then he started rubbing my chest and I was so scared to do anything because he had had a few bears and I wasn’t sure what he was capable of, but then I ran and told Denise and he left.
I didn’t know where he went but after about 30minuts Denise found him and he admitted he had done so then, I knew I wasn’t dreaming! Denise kept saying he was sorry from the bottom of his heart and he was gonna turn himself into the police tomorrow night and get counseling.
Why did he? I though I could trust him but now I can’t trust no one!
I’ll probably be real touch for a long long while! I never want to see him again! Not in court, at Sue’s, at Denise’s anywhere! I don’t want to go to court either!
Why did this happen to me again? I don’t understand why am I so confused? I need to spill my guts to someone who knows what I am going through.
I’m thinking about telling Krystal.
I better go now.
Confused and Sad,
Me
That is the same night it happened. I am also going to include the next few days…
June 20, 1995
Dear Diary,
I’m now in the car headed back to Moline. I just had to get away from that hellhole Peru! David beat Krystal for asking questions about what happened and told her if she told her mom he beat her, he’d beat her worse! Well she didn’t tell..D.L did, so now David is blaming Krystal’s nightmares on me and so was Sue.
I confide things I don’t even tell my best friend in you and I trust no one with read you, at least I hope
Well I better go.
Still Confused,
Me
June 2, 1995
Dear Diary,
Last night I wrote a letter to my mom about what happned and then I guess all my feelings caught up with me cause I have been holding them in for so long I guess. I just started crying for no reason at all, just because.
When Grandma came in I couldn’t tell her anything! I confessed all my feelings to mom though. Grandma would ask me a question and I could only move my head in circles. I couldn’t decide anything! I am scared of my own shadow and even the dark! I am 14 years old and acting like I am 2! I even feel uncomfortable around Uncle Scott! I feel so horrible and I miss my mom! The only time I am not or I don’t is when I am around Dan and Alisa.
Yes I know Dan is a guy too. But he’s so casual and calm he makes my whole body loosen up and feel really good, same thing with Alisa.
I miss my mom so much! I hear her voice and her car and car keys being laid on the table. I am so scared and confused I don’t know what to do!
Me
June 14, 1995
12:10 am
Dear Diary,
I talked to my mom tonight and I started crying. I felt so bad.
I feel funny when I’m around Uncle Scott. I know it’s sad But I can’t help it, it makes me feel uncomfortable when he even tickles me.
I am going to Peru next week. I can’t wait to see my mom again. I miss her so much!
Gotta Go!
Me
That is where I will end it. I don’t want to bore you too much with all the 14-year old babble.
Let me finish by saying that my mom had to stay behind to finish things up with her job. I understood that at the time, but it didn’t make it any easier. I can’t say I would make the same decision with my children. I hope I will never be in a position to have to choose something like that.
My uncle Scott has always been like a dad to me. He was there when my father wasn’t. I knew why I was feeling what I did around him and felt incredibly guilty about it. Denise and Ron were my mom’s boyfriend’s (David) sister and brother-in-law and I was spending the summer with them to babysit their two girls.
I was supposed to be home that weekend but they begged me to stay and go to the lake. I have regretted that decision a lot! Krystal is David’s daughter. She was my sister and I wanted to tell her because she had been through something similar. And when I say he beat her, he really didn’t he spanked her but you know…that was acceptable then.
I still struggle with what happened to me. I am terrified of it happening to my kids. I think sometimes I am too worried about it. And I try to talk myself through a lot of things. I can see where my problems came from and what happened and I just can’t seem to work through them.
So they get pushed to the back. I do the best I can without dwelling on the past.
by Band Back Together | Oct 19, 2010 | Emotional Abuse, Single Parenting |
People who know me refer to me as a single parent. I don’t really like that distinction because while I AM single and I AM a parent, the stigma attached to “single parent” is not a good one.
My Gigi is 5. She and I left her dad almost exactly five years ago when she was seven months old. He was mean and emotionally abusive. He seems to have changed a bit – or at least he loves his little girl more than he ever loved me.
He is involved. He sees her one evening a week, every other weekend and every other week he gets another shorter evening. It tears my heart out every single time she goes. Sometimes she cries and sometimes she runs away. Sometimes I tell her if she does either of those things she won’t be able to play with her friends in the neighborhood the next day because those things “hurt her daddy’s feelings.”
I’m sick of him and his feelings. My little girl wants to stay HOME. My house. Not his.
The other day a friend was talking about public schools in our area. She mentioned a school that is not particularly good and said, “well you know, all those poor kids have single moms and their test scores are horrendous.” Now, are there test scores horrendous because they have a single mom? Or what? The demographics of the school are not desirable due to the number of one parent homes.
Hmmmm…I’m a one-parent home. Does that mean my child will not be as smart? Or not do well on tests? Or will be a behavior issue or somehow not succeed because she lives in a single parent home? I choose not to believe that. You see, my daughter is MUCH better off with living in a single parent home. Her Mama may be messy and scatterbrained but she does not cry every day anymore or do things like look at her little girl and make the promise every single day that no one will ever hurt her.
I am a single parent. I did not choose this path, but I live this path. Would I like to have someone around to help pay the bills, cook the meals, clean up the kitchen and do a load of laundry? Yes. But I also would want to be in love with this person. And have that person love me back.
Another friend on Facebook had a status that said, “K is happy she doesn’t have to be a single parent anymore. Hubby will be home in three hours.”
You are not a single parent. You have a husband. Who works and makes money. He may be traveling for work or away from home but you are not a single parent. You don’t understand how much coordination it takes to figure out when and who will go to school conferences. Or what your child will be for Halloween or give her the choice of just having two Halloween costumes. You do not have to put a screaming, fighting, kicking child to bed when she has been up too late so she can have quality time with daddy. You don’t have to worry about your little girl looking at you and saying, “Mama, I love you the best. So much more than my daddy.”
I choose to not let the stigma of being a “single parent” define me. I try to wear the badge proudly and let my daughter know that we can do it ourselves. We are strong…Mama and Gigi against the world. I am raising her to be a strong woman who knows that her Mama can fix the sink or mount the shower head without the help of a man.
Don’t get me wrong…I’m not a man hater. I would love for Prince Charming to come in and sweep me off my feet. But at this point it would be a distraction from my most important job. My daughter. I can’t imagine having to share her with anyone else. I miss her when she’s gone. We have been apart so much I should be used to it. But sometimes I still cry because I miss her when she is gone for a weekend.
I am a single parent and I’m not ashamed.
by Band Back Together | Oct 15, 2010 | Child Sexual Abuse, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault |
I joke about it. I try to keep it light. I can tell when I mention it that it makes people uncomfortable, and they offer their remorse, their sorrow. It’s not that I don’t mind, I just don’t want it. It’s easier to joke about it, to laugh it off as something that just happened, not something that changed me into who I am. Sometimes, it’s harder to laugh. There are too many broken and damaged parts.
When I was fifteen, something was stolen from me. Something that was mine to keep and give out to whomever I chose. That right was taken away from me in a flurry of rage and hatred by someone I knew long ago. He stole it from me viciously and without remorse.
He raped me.
This shouldn’t have happened to me. I lived on a Marine Corps base. I was a good girl. Things like that don’t happen to girls who go home before their curfew, to girls who are saving themselves, to girls like me. It just doesn’t happen…or so I thought.
He followed me on my walk back home one Saturday night, and I, thinking I was safe, took a short cut through the woods near the train track by my house. He attacked me when we were surrounded by trees, knocking me down into a nearby sandpit, nearly breaking my already weak back in the fall. Held me down. Hit me. Hurt me. He used pressure on the damaged parts to keep me there.
A train passed, and I prayed there were passengers.
I started waving, frantically, trying to scream as he covered my mouth, I could taste the blood he was forcing back in. “Please, God, let someone see me, let someone notice.” We were so close, I could feel the wind rushing past covering my body with cool air on that stale, summer’s night. And then. Black.
Not long after, I woke up. Damaged and broken. My head hurt and was bleeding, my clothes were torn and strewn about. Next to where I laid was a brick splashed with blood. I limped the short distance home as quickly as possible. I was terrified, I had no idea if he was still around, watching me. I didn’t want to take long enough to find out.
My house stood, the only house in the area, the porch light shining a welcoming yellow glow. I tried to run, but was in too much pain. Inside, the lights were off, my parents had gone to bed. I quickly limped to their bedroom, and hidden by the cover of darkness reported I was home and going to take a shower and then bed.
In the shower, I tried to scrub away the pain, scrub away the smell and the shame. I cried. I tried to cry it down the drain. I discovered that pressure on the damage parts relieved stress. I pressed. I contorted my back to make it hurt. I sighed and was reminded I’m still alive, no matter how much of me felt dead.
In between then and now doesn’t matter. He went to jail, but not for my pain. My story was discounted by the charm of the man. I grew up. I learned that the best way to hurt him was to let him know I was stronger than him. I quickly learned to joke and laugh at it, about it. It’s the easiest way to talk about it.
Sometimes, when we’re in bed, my husband will ask me questions, partly out of his own curiosity and to try and help. I laugh, I joke. I speak softly protected by the darkness of our bedroom as he puts pressure on the damage parts to help relieve the pain that stays.
He puts pressure on the damaged parts to remind me I’m still alive.
by Band Back Together | Oct 14, 2010 | Abuse, Alcohol Addiction, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Intimate Partner Rape, Rape/Sexual Assault |
It’s your 27th birthday today. All day today, everything I signed and dated put knots in my stomach.
This is the first time in three years that I am not bending to your will.
The first birthday of yours that we spent together was the first time I felt truly afraid of you. It was the first time you made it entirely clear what you were capable of and willing to do to me.
I was to start my first post-college job that day. The night before you got drunk. You were throwing things, making degrading jokes, grabbing at me and my clothes, and cutting me down to size. You made it clear that I was worthless and that the job I was to start as a social worker was pointless.
That I had no worth…to society or to you.
After you destroyed our living room and kitchen, you began throwing beer cans and blasting your racist music. You kept me awake until three in the morning with the noise. Besides, I was too afraid to sleep and leave you unattended in the house. You came upstairs and realized that I was still awake. I tried to explain to you that I needed to sleep which you thought that was funny. You said that I had kept you up many a night when you had to work and that I would be fine.
You then proceeded to “do” what you wanted. After my first day, I came home and surprised you with a cake and a card. You thought they were both bullshit. You wanted booze instead. You did not ask about my day. Instead, you sent me a text in the middle of the day to pick up alcohol for you.
Now we’re done. So entirely done. And I still have moments where I feel worthless, useless, and unable to ever love or be loved again. I don’t trust men. I don’t like being touched. I have a hard time eating, sleeping is impossible, and romance makes me so angry.
My emotions are raw and I feel like I’m trying to swim out of the center of a lake. I can see myself on the shore but it takes one stroke at a time to get there.
Now you’ve moved on to another woman. I’m relieved that it’s no longer me that is the center of your “affections.” I’m hurt that it was so easy for you to move on when I’m stuck. I still hurt and rage and ache.
I didn’t expect today to be so hard. After all, it’s YOUR day, not mine. But I’m proud because I made it through. I’ll keep swimming back to myself and away from the sinking pit that you pulled me into.
I’ll find myself.
I will heal.
by Band Back Together | Oct 12, 2010 | Divorce, Domestic Abuse, Estrangement, Grief, Loss, Loved One in Prison, Parent Loss |
I found out yesterday that my biological father, Michael, passed away. I still don’t know how to process the news. I have been estranged from him for most of my life but he was always a constant figure on the back of my mind. My mom divorced him when I was a baby and married my step-father when I was three. My step-father is my father, he raised me, he walked me down the aisle and he has always been there for me.
When I was little, I would spend a little time with Michael and I have good memories of those times. As a kid you’re oblivious to the bad stuff. As I got older, I found out about all the bad things and I saw him less and less. He wasn’t a good man to my mom and my brother. He was abusive and mean to them. I struggled with that for awhile because I never saw that side of him. He was careful to only show me his good side.
When I was twelve, he went to jail.
That was the last of I saw of him. It was then that my parents realized he would never change so they stopped letting me see him. I went about my life. I’d occasionally get updates through the grapevine and I was fine with that. I would imagine sometimes that one day he’d be different and we’d be able to have a relationship.
When I turned 18, I tracked him down and gave him a call. I drove to see him by myself and spent the afternoon with him. It seemed like old times but was very awkward at the same time. We didn’t know each other any more, but we tried. We began speaking on the phone fairly often and were trying to get to know each other again.
It was nice, and I thought that maybe he really was a different person from the one my mom and brother knew. Then one day, I saw that side of him for the first time and it scared me. I never spoke to him again.
About a month ago, I received a phone call. He was in the hospital about to pass away.
I was devastated but I don’t know why. He was never there for me. He wasn’t my ‘dad,’ but I was still so upset. My husband convinced me to go to the hospital and make my peace. He came with me. I’m so glad I went, even though it was incredibly awkward. He was skinny and frail. He wasn’t the strong handsome man I remembered from my childhood. I stood and we spoke as if we were acquaintances, we didn’t speak of the past at all. We made light conversation for about an hour and then I left.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
My aunt called yesterday to inform me that he passed away. Apparently, he tried to smoke a cigarette while hooked up to oxygen and it didn’t end well. I feel awful that he went that way. I wish it could have been a peaceful death for him.
Since that phone call, my emotions have been all over the place; anger to sadness and everything in between. I still have the man I consider my father and Grace’s grandfather, but I still feel such a sense of loss. Mostly a loss of the future relationship I still thought I would one day have. I’m angry I didn’t have a ‘normal’ childhood with a regular family and a dad that wasn’t crazy. I have a lot of what if’s and they’re driving me crazy.
There is nothing I can change now. Everything is final. Our relationship will never change. He passed away alone, without me in his life and I feel like it was my fault. Like I withheld my relationship from him to punish him and he didn’t deserve it. The rational part of myself knows this isn’t true. He hasn’t tried to contact me once in the past ten years.
I can’t change any of that, I know, but I can focus on the here and now. I will focus on my daughter, Grace, and I will make sure she never has to go through anything like this as a child or an adult. I will focus on the father I do have in my life and let him know how grateful I am for all the love he has given me and that fact that he has been always there for me. He calls me everyday just to tell me he loves me. He IS my dad and Grace’s pawpaw.
I will chalk yesterday up to a bad day and try to move on with my life.
I can’t change my past but I can let it not affect my future.
by Band Back Together | Oct 12, 2010 | Abandonment, Anger, Blended Families, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Divorce, Estrangement, Grief, Guilt, Loneliness, Loss, Psychological Manipulation, Sadness, Self Loathing, Sociopathy |
I’ve never written for a blog. I mean, I tweet, but to share something so insanely personal? I can’t believe I’m doing this…but then hell, the guy with one ball had the courage to tell his story, so surely I can muster up the courage to tell mine! Single-jingle, you’ve inspired me! Well, okay, that’s a half-truth. Aunt Becky inspires me too; and can I say that I secretly want to be her when I grow up? (ed note: *blushes*)
I know you may be shocked with the title of this. I mean, come on, what parent would ever admit that they would give back their precious little heathens?
I am an eternal optimist. My glass is always almost-full & I can always find something positive in every person and situation. I am the oldest of six children, raised in a home that cherishes family. My parents are both alive and still married. My mother’s parents were married for 68 years and they raised eighteen children. My grandmother died first and when she did, my dear grandfather told me that he would die from a broken heart; and he did, six weeks later.
So, when my ex-husband (the charmer that he is) and I divorced almost nine years ago I was the second one in my mother’s entire family to divorce. As painful as the divorce was, little did I know that I would experience a pain so great, and so severe, that it would cause me to question my very existence.
My ex told me on 9-11 that he wanted a divorce; that he had never loved me. Great, gee thanks you asshole. He was psychologically and verbally abusive for most of our marriage. He wasn’t like that when we dated, or even for the first two years that we were married.
Honestly, it was as if a light-switch had been flipped the day we brought our daughter home from the hospital. He was angry with me because I was giving our newborn too much attention. WHAT?!? Are you fucking serious?? Yes, he was. That started the downward spiral of our marriage. He would tell me to do something, but when I did what he asked, he yelled at me because I either didn’t do it exactly as he thought I should, or he denied ever asking me to do it in the first place. In a nutshell, he expected me to play ball but kept changing the rules of the game without telling me.
I decided that I didn’t want our daughter thinking that our marriage was the example she should use as a basis for her future relationships. I knew our marriage wouldn’t last, but I had to wait for the right time. During our separation we worked with a child psychologist negotiating our co-parenting plan. Afterward, the psychologist told me that she believed that he was a sociopath. Perfect…and I have a child with this guy.
The first three years after we were divorced weren’t bad. We actually got along well and cooperated. Don’t get me wrong – the guy was still an asshole and thought he could/should control me, but I guess he was just less of an asshole. Well, that lasted until he met and married his current wife. Now, I’m not blaming her, but she certainly hasn’t told him to straighten his shit up. In fact, I believe that the two of them feed off one another.
You see, as parents, we all know that kids naturally try to pit us against one another, right? Well, it can be even worse with children of divorce. As soon as these two yahoos got together, they began telling my daughter what a terrible mother I am and how I must not love her because I don’t do this, or a I don’t do that. Step-monster has told my daughter that she thinks I’m a bitch; they both told my daughter that they think I dress funny, I’m stupid, I’m fat, I talk funny, etc…the list goes on and on.
I share this with you for you two reasons:
1.) If you’re a parent and pulling this bullshit – STOP THE SHIT NOW! You think you’re hurting your ex, but really what you’re doing is demoralizing and destroying your child. My divorce attorney said to us (before he would take my case), “it’s not divorce that screws up the kids, it’s the parents.” That was the smartest thing that man ever said.
2.) When I divorced, I made a promise to my daughter that she would never know exactly how I feel about her father; that while I may not agree with what he does, what he says, or how he lives his life, I would demand that she respect him as her father. I’m not perfect but I’ve done a pretty good job of this. I think I’ve called him an asshole a couple of times, immediately realized what I had done and asked her for her forgiveness.
Last July, after picking up my 13-year old daughter from an extended weekend with her father and step-family, she got angry with me and became belligerent and uncontrollable on our way home. I will say right here that I believe in corporal punishment, but only when it’s used sparingly. There are just some kids that need a good swat on the behind – mine being one of them.
So, I did what many parents have done and will continue to do and that was to swat (there IS a difference between a swat, a spanking, and a beating) her.
It was done to get her attention and only after I had pulled over on the side of the road in an effort to calm her down and talk through why she was so angry. I swatted her on the leg – she was wearing shorts – there was no redness, no mark, no nothing. That night she was hugs & kisses begging to do ‘girls night’ (girls night consists of us hanging out doing whatever she wants to do & always ends up with us giggling and snuggling in bed).
The next day she went back to her dad’s and thus began my personal journey in hell.
My beautiful, precious daughter accused me of beating her. Yes, beating her. I’ve never even kicked a dog, how could I beat my child? I may have had visions of killing severely maiming my ex, but I could never intentionally harm my child. Because my ex never questions anything that our daughter says and wants so badly to believe that I am the bitch that has made his life hell (it couldn’t possibly be because HE’S made his life what it is today), he believed her and hot-lined me.
Then, he took her to a therapist (which may just be the smartest thing the asshole ever did), and the therapist hot-lined me. It was at this point that I suddenly realized that if my daughter was so willing to make these false accusations against me, what would she say about my husband, her step-father? I emailed her father and suggested that until our daughter have several therapy sessions and we figure out what’s going on, that I thought it best that she stay with him. And there she has remained.
Working with the division of family services, or children’s division (whatever clever name your state has given it), is akin to having your annual exam (ladies) and inviting everyone in to see your vagina. They invade every freaking part of your life. Fortunately for me, the caseworker I was assigned to work with was thoughtful and compassionate.
I spoke with her on the phone and she explained to me that I was being accused of physically abusing my daughter. I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach. I wanted to vomit. How could the child I so dearly love and would give my very life for say such monstrous things?
The only logical, rational reason I could come up with was that she was being influenced by her father and step-monster.
The case worker then proceeded to tell me that after her interview with my daughter and her father, she had decided not to interview me. Her conclusion: “This is not a case of abuse or neglect, but a custody issue and I am closing the case.” Thank God – what a relief!
My hell isn’t over. I haven’t seen or talked to my daughter in over three months. While I retain joint physical and legal custody of my daughter, I don’t want her here if she doesn’t want to be here. Do you know the story of Solomon? If not, look it up…you’ll understand me.
So, why do I not want to be a mother?
The pain I have experienced over the last three months is so intense that there are many, many days that I just don’t feel like I can go on. I have been rejected. Repudiated by my own daughter. She won’t return my calls; won’t respond to texts or emails; won’t have anything to do with me. I sit down every Sunday and hand-write her a letter updating her on what’s happening in our family. I tell her about Buddy, the family dog she left behind and how he lays down in front of her door almost every day waiting for her to come home; I tell her about her new cousin Ainsley that has a hemangioma on her eyelid and may go blind; I tell her that all of her aunts, uncles and cousins ask about her every time I see them. I also tell her that we love her and miss her.
What I don’t tell her about is the intense sadness and pain my husband and I have inside as a result of what’s been happening. I struggle most days just to get out of bed. I don’t want to go to work, I don’t want to do the things I used to love doing, I just don’t want to do anything, or be anywhere. I cried everyday for two months. There are still days when all I do is sit with a box of Kleenex and cry all day. Seriously. All day. I hate coming home – because it reminds me of her. But where else would I go? Dying seems like an attractive alternative sometimes, but then I realize that would give my ex too much pleasure. Fuck him.
I don’t want to write to her anymore. In fact, I don’t want to be a mother anymore. There’s just too much heartache and pain. Where the hell is the reward? She doesn’t respond to any of my communications, so why keep up the charade?
Through this experience I am learning what it truly means to love another human being. To be able to look past the faults of another and still love them with all your heart and soul is an incredible place to be. I’m also learning what it means to forgive. Not to just say “I forgive you,” but to really feel it in your heart.
Wait, wait, wait a minute! I’m not forgiving that son-of-a-bitch father of hers, not sure that I will ever be at a point where I can forgive him for what he’s doing to her. I’m working on forgiving her. I realize that this isn’t all her…she’s torn. She is a true ‘daddy’s girl’ and adores her father. However, she needs to bear some responsibility in this. I have to believe that as she grows and matures she’ll realize what she’s done and she’ll be embarrassed and will regret her actions.
I’ve also learned that to be rejected by one’s child is perhaps one of the most painful experiences, other than the death of a child, that a parent can ever experience. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I tried that…there’s this guy that I really can’t stand, yet I pray that he never experiences the pain and agony I live with every day.
What do I say when people ask how my daughter is; how is she liking the 8th grade; how is she doing in school; what sports is she playing this year? Uh, hell if I know. Call her father. I’ve moved all of her pictures from public viewing at home – it’s just too painful. I put away all of her personal belongings in her bathroom and have redecorated it…again, too painful to see her stuff. Her bedroom door is closed and I haven’t been in there for two months. Too painful. When I go in there I am reminded of all of the love and the fun that we shared together. I am also reminded that she’s not here.
For all you out there that are divorced with children, please let this be an example of what NOT to do and remember what my attorney said, “it’s not divorce that screws up the kids, it’s the parents.” Your children deserve the best of what you have and that includes treating your ex with kindness, compassion, and respect.
I will see her for the first time next week in a joint therapy session. I’m sure it’s going to be awkward and I expect her to be cold and distant. I am going to do my best not to cry. I’m going in armed with drugs. Buspar and I have become very close friends in the last couple of months.
In my heart, my hope is that next week will be the beginning of the end of my personal journey to hell.
