My Rose-colored glasses may have Cracks- But I’m still wearing them

When did caring become such an undesirable quality?

It appears that kindness is oftentimes portrayed more to be weakness in this day and age instead of a cherished endearing quality. We were all born with a clean slate after all, so I believe that we are capable of this natural propensity. However when life throws unavoidable curve-balls sometimes an unnatural shift or learned coping behavior sets in to safeguard ourselves. So many people can reach a horrific point of being shut off completely. Is this a subconscious or unconscious choice as a way of self preservation? I often ponder that thought….

After recent discussions with friends and family who are so closed off and frequently chastise me for being so open it just hurts my heart immensely. Especially seeing plenty of humanity fall into this abhorrent trap of negativity. Albeit certain circumstances happen beyond our control such as: child or adulthood abuse, addiction, death, natural disasters, terrorism, and many other countless tragedies that happen every day. Instead of rising up against the surmounting obstacles it certainly is easier to wallow in despair (as I most certainly have done in the past and still struggle with when one or all of the balls in this juggling act I call life fall), and despite our best actions we may feel that we cannot recover.

Our hearts can become hardened much like how trans fats clog up our arteries- thus preventing life supporting blood we desperately need flowing throughout our bodies in order to maintain physical well-being. The waiting list for ailing hearts to receive life-saving transplant surgery is far too long and unfortunately not enough donors can reach debilitated ones in time. If healthy steps are not taken on our part to change then we could find ourselves rapidly deteriorating.

Philosophically speaking I want to be a child again…. carefree, unabashed to society, and joy-filled. Happiest over the tiniest of things because we inherently know who we are before we are told who to be.
The question begs to be asked then at what age does this unfavorably set in? High school, puberty, or even elementary school for particularly shy tykes (like myself)? Flash forward to adulthood and now the world beats its deafening indoctrination into us on a daily basis. Sinking it deeper and deeper into our psyche and most times we are not even aware of it.

Why shouldn’t we be allowed to follow the song in our hearts? March to our own drum beats? Dream our dreams and not be afraid to follow them to fruition or to failure? Thankfully my sweet son has shown me quite simply how joyful it is acknowledging the small wonders of life.
Appreciatively he reminds me daily of just how awesome it is to have the chance to act like a kid again! When you are a child you just do things because they feel good. Dancing, singing, swinging, jumping into puddles, and playing with our imaginations endlessly to name just a few! No judgement- No guilt – No shame or embarrassment. It reminds me of the quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the heart of the child”.

Look up at the sky every day. Notice the cloud variations, the sunrises and sunsets, or if you can visit the beach at night watch the stars light up that beautiful canvas- if you are lucky enough perhaps you may just catch a heat lightning storm dancing on display. If you don’t “Stop and smell the Roses” you are missing out on an indescribable monetary free amount of wealth for your soul. It is your choice and yours alone- Change your thoughts Change your world. So much happiness and fulfillment can be missed if instead of having on these seemingly silly rose colored glasses we are viewing the world through thick dark shades completely hiding the windows of our souls. If we only get one life I want to make sure that every day mine is filled with acknowledgement of beauty and appreciation. The gift of life is not a given right, and after all it’s called the Presence which is a wonderful reminder that life is indeed a Present!

One of our absolute favorite pastimes – Running along the beach to watch the sunset. He never seems to stop running or grinning and giggling!! He gets that from his Mama

Autism Moms are Tough as Nails

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Well I feel like I could bench press a semi truck!
The gravity of all the responsibility, care, and understanding that being a special needs parent entails is something you don’t realize you are handling so well at the time (I am always thinking there is something else I could be doing better for my sweet boy), but once you step back an Ah-ha moment of how rewarding it can be suddenly appears if you are lucky enough to catch that awareness.

I had the last 3 days off from my special needs single mama duty and something hit me like a ton of bricks- in an eye-opening enlightened way.
I finally get why people tell me such heartfelt things about how they can see the love, care, and patience I have for Lincoln with every photo or status I post. The best compliment I could ever receive in my life truly!
If your child is fairly non-verbal (like my sweet boy) then an inner private detective has to come out every time they are sick since they cannot tell you what is wrong. Imagine for a moment that you almost have to be like a veterinarian in a way since you have to sense what they are feeling without words and take care accordingly for their well-being.

Challenging? Yes. Rewarding? Yes. Indescribably so.

I sometimes see parents when I am out in public tell their kids to shutup-
It angers and saddens me beyond belief I must admit. Usually I just offer a consolatory smile to hopefully diffuse the situation a little bit however sometimes I feel the need to share a sincere dose of perspective…
Generally something to the affect of:

“You don’t know how lucky you are to hear your child’s thoughts- I would give the world to hear my sons thoughts!”

-This usually stops them dead in their tracks and makes them realize that instead of silencing their child(ren) they should enjoy the gift they do not even know they have. It is not meant to be condescending in any way shape or form- just a small reality check. A little awareness goes a LONG way. For anyone who either has autism, daily navigates the tricky road of autism parenting, and also for “regular” children and parents (I abhor using the word normal) as well. Appreciate what you have however you have it. Children are a blessing beyond what words can ever describe in a limitless amount of ways…

They say you don’t know true love until you have a child and I couldn’t agree more. It truly is a momentous occasion to forever have your heart walk around outside of you on this earth, and it is your given right thereafter to embrace that love with your whole heart chock full of gratitude. I believe with my entire soul that if I were to get hit by a bus tomorrow I would die content knowing that I gave my all to him.
Is there anything more you could ask for in this world…?

The day he realized he wasn’t scared of bubbles anymore at a therapy appointment. Bliss.

My love. My everything.

Is Honesty truly the best policy?

In this game of life (as with the actual game of poker) I put my cards all out on the table concealing nothing thereby having absolutely no poker face. Not exactly a strategic method of living. In fact it works to my own detriment more often than I would like to admit. I’ve been told by my best friends to not do this in future relationships (especially with the opposite sex) but are you supposed to just mask your true self in order to blend in with society or eventually find a partner? NO! How could that be?! Honesty is the fundamental basis for any real relationship- professionally, platonically, and romantically. Without trust there is nothing. Yes I may get taken advantage of frequently getting used/abused and speak too open/honestly when it would be easier to omit things. I have tolerated a lot from people I loved and I thought loved me only to constantly find my heart broken and left in pieces. But I believe a person is only as good as their word and actions that follow from their words. Call me an idealist, incredibly naive, or permanently clad in rose-colored glasses but I wouldn’t change myself for the world. Not having a heart would be a far worse fate than having one that constantly needs surgery to mend the lacerations.

It seems nowadays that it is much easier to not care because it is safer being tucked behind the walls you make for yourself. When I meet people so closed off I always picture their heart as looking like a castle surrounded by a moat. The actual definition of a moat via my beloved handy dictionary app reads as follows: a deep, wide ditch that is usually filled with water and that goes around the walls of a place (such as a castle) to protect it from being attacked. Choosing to live in a state of constant offense expecting to go into defense at any time…? No thank you! Yes I know I care and divulge too much but I would rather have an overflowing heart than one that is stopped up and unable to outpour. What a different world we would live in if more people adapted this seemingly odd way of thinking…

Can we not start a movement to encourage this shift? It might not be the easiest road to travel at first, but trust me it certainly has the most incredible views and rewarding experiences! John Lennon said it best – “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will be as one.”

Yes INDEED!

*Check out #30DOT

I don’t Need anyone But that doesn’t mean I don’t Want anyone

I try to not ever let my sweet son see me cry…
Currently he is pressed up against me laying across my chest and I’m crying the sort of tears that roll down your face but remain silent. Only the sound of my chest heaving and gasping for small breaths are heard (I mastered this in my previous marriage learning how to cry this way unseen so that I wouldn’t be laughed at, openly mocked, and of course so that my little man wouldn’t see me break down). Today though my back has broken. I awaited his gastrointestinal surgeries with no sleep, no hand to hold, no shoulder to cry on, and only support via Facebook friends after posting a status.

Being back at All Children’s Hospital yet again as I previously have gone for less invasive procedures by myself, but now surgery having him undergo actual anesthesia has shattered me to my very core. It flashed me back to being in this same surgical ward when my nephew was young and had to have a couple surgery’s for a hernia problem. My sister, her husband, his mom, my parents, and I were all there waiting together for this journey. Holding the pager waiting on pins and needles eagerly for the clearance to dash in to recovery with baited breath to see him and make sure our sweet angel was okay. We all sat together biting our nails covered in dread-filled love worrying that something could go wrong. It didn’t thankfully he was just fine. Is that not how it is supposed to be though- family coming together in a time of crisis?
Nope. Not for me. I sat alone in the recovery area before he was brought out and then waited the whole time he was asleep stroking his forehead talking with the post-op nurse.

When I say I had no one I truly had no one. This surgery had been in process for months of being scheduled then rescheduled as to conflicts because I wanted my family, ex-husband, and even his family there too for moral support. I had to cancel last months since it fell on that “2 year mark” of a previously blogged about atrocious traumatic incident that happened to me. Thankfully I was granted a couple days of freedom to embark on a semi grieving stage, so I wasn’t sure if I could even leave him after his recovery; however inquiring if he could be taken care of afterwards without me the answer was a clear resounding NO. I got the green light for the appointment time yesterday and didn’t even bother to message my family again. Every other previous time was filled with excuses and honestly I didn’t feel like being degraded any further begging for a little help. Why should it come to that? Should it not inherently be an unquestioned resounding YES when it comes to a matter of such severity? It’s not just this surgery today- it is all the accumulated weight I have carried these past 5+ years after getting him diagnosed on the autism spectrum having to handle every single thing in that gigantic can of worms on my own. I won’t get into any “woe is me” martyring session here. I have just decided that I don’t think I will ever ask for help again. Not from my family, my ex, his family, or even from my friends. Yes of course we all have busy lives- but when someone I care about is in need of help I literally drop everything to be there if/whenever possible. Apparently expecting others to be there for you through thick and thin when you have been there for them is about as pointless as debating whether the world is flat.

My heart has fallen and shattered into a million pieces and I fear that just like Humpty Dumpty “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men” cannot put me back together again.

The definition of Insanity – AGAIN

One would think that a person who was robbed and raped 2 years ago this month would have learned the lesson to not trust so easily. Yet here I remain an anomaly that repeatedly jumps into the frying pan time after time again. Putting your hand on the burner to test the heat is one thing however typically the act is not repeated….

A few weeks ago my “best friend” decided to rob and strip my house clean of everything with material value except for this computer I am typing on currently. All my incredibly expensive camera equipment, wall hangings, DVD players, 100’s of DVD’s, video game player and games, BUT worst of all my sweet son Lincoln’s Ipad (with his autism it has helped him so much to becoming more verbal plus semi easier to control out in public during meltdowns). An autistic child’s Ipad- How sick can one person be?? I had been oblivious and now horribly blind-sided to how much of a drug addict she was.
An unfortunate series of events went on these past few months when All of my prescription medicines would disappear. Stupidly I believed her when she blamed our other friend. Then it was her semi sketchy cousin next month. Then I caught her red-handed the following month but when I confronted her 3 times she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. I dropped it until the next morning and once again finding all my pills gone… ! This time I took a photo of all that was missing and sent it to her saying “How could you do this to me? I have PTSD for goodness sake?!”. Her reply was an immediate (seemingly) heartfelt response about how incredibly sorry she was since when she gets into that “zombie state” she doesn’t even remember how many pills she takes, and claimed to not remember stealing them even tho I assured her I had confronted her 3 times! “I’m so so sorry, I promise I will make it up to you” she says… And naively I believe her. Did that happen? Of course not.

The ONLY reason I had even let her back into my life after cutting her out for a solid 6 months after the rape was to angrily tell her off since I was shocked that she did not bother returning the repeated phone calls from the State Attorney trying to get ahold of her to corroborate my story. Since I had no memory of that night after being rufied (3 beers does not constitute a mind erase) my testimony was not enough because the grueling rape kit I underwent came back inconclusive…

My body told the story without any words needed from the fingered-tipped bruises all over my legs and arms I was covered in with a deep bruise on my butt. Which I was told later she heard loud noises coming from my bathroom so I can only assume I was pressed against my counter to explain that dark purple bruise. The shower curtain and towel racks were pulled off left on the ground. Piles of my puke covered the floor as well. My guest bathroom had indeed become a crime scene.

The night at the hospital getting that dreaded rape kit done I was thankful to have Christine from SPARCC (Safe Place and Rape Crisis Center for those of you that are not aware) come to my room and advocate for me helping me fill out the mountains of paperwork, and the scary stuff like stripping down naked being combed everywhere to collect any sort of DNA. I knew the chances of them finding anything there was slim to none since I do not have very much body hair, and even though I had not showered I did change clothes since mine had vomit stains. My nurse was a very kind woman but nothing like my fellow New Yorker Christine who helped distract me during all the antibiotics, anti-HIV shots injected, along with countless horse pills, and of course intense questioning. We had thought provoking conversations about philosophy, religion, and other topics to keep us entertained- even laughing despite the situation.
However when the moment came finally all prepped and ready for the doctor to come in for the pelvic exam, swabbing, and examination of my vagina the VERY moment his fingers touched me I instantly burst into tears. I hadn’t cried that entire time. The slightest touch from this male doctor (how insensitive in my opinion given the situation- couldn’t they have paged a woman?) sent me into panicked tears making my stomach heave so much that he had to stop momentarily until I could regain my composure. My nurse and advocate held my hands crying themselves and said “That is ALL the proof needed to know that you were raped”- you cannot fake an instant involuntary reaction like that.

Those words still chill me now even writing this.

In a former post about other details of that night I divulged the information that this guy had been a fellow photographer that I was close friends with for 3 years even while I was still married. Never anything romantic between us in the slightest bit. I knew him so well to know that he always had carried a condom in his wallet. So of course my kit came back “inconclusive” or rather an infuriatingly unfair insult to injury. My now ex best friend who just robbed me had told me that her boyfriend who was also there that night began to later tell her details… the heroin they bought with my money, stealing and damaging my new car, things he had done/joined in doing to me, but even more sickening is that he and this other “man” (I use that word with complete condescension) apparently both put me naked in the bath tub still vomiting profusely. The amount all over my living room, all over my bathroom, and bathtub is obviously what saved my life since the drugs were not able to stay in my system permanently- just long enough to completely wipe my memory and make me violently ill.

The silver lining to that is of course that I did not die. However waking up that morning can only be described as awakening in a foreign country with no idea how you got there and no explanation to the million questions whirling around in your head a mile a minute. If you have ever watched the show “The Living Dead” the very first episode the main character wakes up to walk out and see a desolate destroyed incomprehensible world, and that is the exact feeling I felt.

There will be no “Victim’s rights” brochures handed to me by the police again.
There will be justice this time. This I vow to myself.

The Worst 4 letter word: RAPE

Why do we as a society keep brushing off the torturous atrocity of rape under the rug? I have noticed that this word falls into this sad don’t talk don’t tell hush-hush category. I find that appalling. Every time I go to write abuse and rape on my I-phone it auto-corrects it to say abide and tape. Is Apple too afraid to use unpleasant emotionally devastating words? Shame on them. It’s conceptual ideology such as this that guides this generation into hiding an epidemic that everyone is too apprehensive to acknowledge. I find that very sad. Not just being a victim of sexual abuse but as an empathetic soul touched easily by others misfortunes. The Bureau of Justice Statistics states:

Rape – Forced sexual intercourse including both psychological coercion as
well as physical force. Forced sexual intercourse means penetration by the
offender(s). Includes attempted rapes, male as well as female victims, and
both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal
threats of rape.

Sexual assault – A wide range of victimizations, separate from rape or
attempted rape. These crimes include attacks or attempted attacks generally
involving unwanted sexual contact between victim and offender. Sexual
assaults may or may not involve force and include such things as grabbing or
fondling. It also includes verbal. (retrieved via http://www.bjs.gov/index.cfm?ty=tp&tid=317)

I realized that I actually have been assaulted and raped before but didn’t process it besides the time in Italy I’ve yet to divulge. MULTIPLE times.
Even last year around this time last year I found myself in a situation where I was pinned down by my wrists and repeatedly penetrated with fingers begging him to stop as he lifted me up effortlessly while laughing dragging me into his bedroom where again my wrists were pinned over my head. “I’m going to rip your panties off…” he said with no emotion again seeming entertained and amused. I finally said besides the countless repeated “NO Stop Please” that I had been raped around this time last year so sex of any kind would be completely off the table and then immediately burst into tears. I sat there on his bed sobbing and shaking. He then realized what an A**hole he had been and let go then offered to hug me!? I said “NO, no thank you” and finally found the strength and courage to bolt out the door.

Unfortunately I have plenty more equally and worse stories than that. That is just the most recent…..
What is wrong with this world? Had that guy (who I had photographed for head-shots that day and thought we were cool enough to hang out afterwards) treated me respectably who knows he might have achieved his goal without assaulting and almost raping me. I can’t even look at the photographs I took of him because I am so repulsed- not just by his actions but also letting myself get into a situation that could have easily landed me back in the hospital getting yet another rape kit done. It is quite sobering.

Do actual men exist that don’t think that abusing women is as much of a normal pastime like baseball or football? I may never know as my guard of course is up now having made SO many mistakes in my little life. Will I ever learn the lesson? YES, yes I do believe I will finally. It has taken me an eternity having been first assaulted and almost raped when I was 18 years old during my dream vacation of backpacking Italy. Sad to think that experience pales in comparison to what I have been through now.
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…. Well I have to wonder if who said that actually went through any trial tantamount to paralyzing ones such as these.

Let it be…

Sentimentality…. Oh what a double edged sword you are. On the one hand taking a stroll down memory lane promotes smiles, belly laughs, and a sense of joy from familiar memories. However the flip side of that coin is seeing pictures of yourself remembering how you were faking that smile and vividly can see the pain in your eyes. Or seeing photographs where a series of events play out that led to an eventual disastrous course- the look of joy and happiness in your eyes was real; yet it was soon to be replaced with sorrow.

Friends lost and gained…
Lovers lost and gained…
Jobs, aspirations, marriages, pregnancies, and *fill in the blank of something meaningful to you*
Lost and possibly never regained…

It is all there on your Facebook for a nice emotionally cutting experience.
Why do I/we do it? I know that I have always been the nostalgic scrap-booking kind of gal who enjoys remembering days and evenings that burst and overflowed with laughter and adventures. Even when I was younger I would keep every little momento- down to my first reciprocated loves guitar pic he had flung at me during a “jam session”. The bad times of getting over him passed by long ago, and we actually maintained a friendship that when we talk we end up being on the phone 3-4 hours. Then there’s all my Italy photographs I am able to look at now and only see the beauty (not all the near death stuff) instead of being too afraid scared that all the traumatic scars will reopen.
I am still actively working on getting the pain from my ex-husbands abuse gone (including cheating on me with the teenage girl he recently married) after realizing recently that I am not 100% over it all. These instances however of having my home and body robbed are something that I just currently have no hope of ever being capable of letting go. The pain intensifies and resurfaces frequently and just trying to shove it down and ignore is like putting a band-aid on a bullet-hole wound.

Let it go… those words roll off the tongue so easily from someone who either has no capacity to emphasize or has no one to relate the situation to personally. I would not/could not ever wish this pain upon anyone else- I just wish there was more compassion and less judgement especially when ignorance is the only foundation for no awareness.

I am not afraid to speak now….

Time heals all wounds… Well when?!

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
-Rose Kennedy

I have to share her sentiment as unfortunately I cannot shake these godawful wounds from having been robbed recently, and now this coming Thursday is when it will be the 2 year mark from when I was robbed and raped. It’s not about the tangible items that were stolen- it’s the part of my soul that feels it can never recover. I was violated in every meaning of the word. By people I trusted. How can I not feel to blame for being so naive to let myself get blindsided? I asked my ex-husband to take our son next Thursday so I can try my best to do some nice things for myself and stay busy so I can desperately try to keep my mind off of the tragedy. His response was “What are you going to make an anniversary out of it?!” laughing at me to my face. I said to him it’s called PTSD have you ever heard of it, plus what if this had happened to someone you actually still loved would you be so callous and have such unemphatic attitude …? His reply was less than cordial.

The wounds from 2 years ago are re-opened even further having recently been victimized. I despise how when you receive your police report and case number you are referred to as a Victim on tangible paper in your face and given information on your Victim’s rights. It’s like an extra jab into your already broken back and heart.

Sometimes I fear that I will never be able to let go of all my traumatic experiences…. Being attacked, nearly killed, and abandoned in Italy, my ex-husband who was abusive constantly but actually hit me for the first time when I was pregnant, and of course the robberies ESPECIALLY the rape. I was never able to press charges on my rapist because I had no corroborating witness since I was rufied, and then he died months ago. That is not justice. I wanted him to pay for what he had stripped me of literally and figuratively speaking.
I have tried everything… counseling, yoga, antidepressants, anti-anxiety medicines, positive reading, But it just isn’t cutting it. Hypnotherapy or Electric shock therapy sounds enticing at this point. This affliction can be debilitating to say the least, and I feel so much that NO one understands. No one that I know of has been through trauma like I have, so I feel absolutely lost most days and find myself just looking for ways to mask it.

Anyone remotely familiar with PTSD knows that anytime someone experiences a “trigger” they can be brought back to that place of horror instantaneously. Oh how I wish I could erase all of this from my psyche like the quote from Alexander Pope:

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d”

Perchance to dream. In the meantime I have no other choice than to take care of my sweet autistic son and eagerly await next week when I possibly will have 3 days to myself instead of the normal 1 & 1/2 day per week of freedom. Tie a rope and hold on right….?

First Poll Ever- so pull the band-aid off if you deem necessary

This was a particularly brutal and raw post that I wrote barely editing a thing (https://ariellemegan.wordpress.com/2014/09/)
It was basically  PTSD spewing out my vividly reopened experience. Again written in the hopes I may inspire someone who has recently been abused to reach out and get help! From me even too!
Leave me your info or look me up on Facebook and I would be more than willing to offer any/all help that I can!

The catch 22 of Karma.

 

The fear is back…

This weekend I became another victim of crime and I am in disarray still. This flooded back the moment when I was robbed/raped 2 years ago next month and the wave of shock and sadness. Thankfully this time my son wasn’t looking up over me smiling since that night they put me in his bed naked after everything violating that was done to me.
I will never forget that chilling moment. Never. It is burned into my nightmares.
Today however I have to deal with the realization that all the material goods I had saved and made payments for years to own for myself were now all gone. And my “best friend” was the one who did this beyond evil stab in my back. Ironically she was involved in that above mentioned atrocious incident. Having PTSD makes this even worse than an average person who just had their world turned upside down. I say that with no judgement, however this brings back all those horrific experiences like they happened last week. I would do anything to erase those memories from my head and heart. Sometimes I see people that have no defined mental illness and I think that it is unfair that I live with the fear everyday in the back of my head of something triggering my past and then the chance that I could spiral out of control into a dark place again. I’m not sure if I gravitate towards people that will abuse/use me subconciously, or there are just too many deceitful people out there in this world looking for the next person to victimize.

12 years ago a different former “best friend” abandoned me in a foreign country, laughing when I told her I was sexually assaulted, and left me for dead way too many times to count where easily I could have been killed. The coping mechanism I learned then was to eat. Not normal eating but eating for a family of 4 uncontrollably. You might read this and say “Yeah right” but that is how my brain short circuited. It was an addiction created in order to mask the traumatic feelings I could not deal with. To this day I still grapple with it… I’ve thought about going to Over-eaters Anonymous but have been too scared and I’m not sure why…. Maybe I don’t want to be labeled publicly. I am not obese by any means but just have body/self esteem issues, so maybe am afraid of being judged like “what the hell does this small girl know about it?!”, or maybe I am just too afraid that by telling my stories it will make my issues even worse. Now again for those of you who may not understand this- it is not something you can just easily say “Oh I’m full so I’ll stop eating”. No you eat for an hour straight to the point where your stomach is distended. The worst part about it is that I never had these issues until all those tragic things in Italy. I was a “normal” 18 year old girl that loved her hobbies, friends, had a craving for living life to the fullest, and loved being outside active in any way shape or form! However afterwards I would find myself hiding in my cave, not wanting to leave my room, even hiding my food (much like a drug addict hides their drugs), and trying to fake it when in public until I was alone at home “free” to let this overpower me.

I once discussed this with someone who is in Narcotics Anonymous- and when I described the cycle of how it completely consumes your life he understood that my issues were one in the same. It made me realize that virtually anything can become an addiction- food, alcohol, drugs, sex, and even working out too. Anything you cannot control in moderation is a red flag that you need to potentially seek counseling so you can catch it before it falls so to speak.

I am a photographer so having my at least $6000 worth of equipment stolen (that took me 4 years to acquire) hurt immensely, But the absolute worst was my son’s Ipad since he LOVES that thing to death. Honestly I would have rather been physically assaulted than knowing that both of the things that my son and I love the most were taken away. I was never able to press charges against my rapist so this time with this crime I want justice! I will stand up and fight because anything to do with my son brings out the “mommy claws”! He cannot speak so I will advocate for him so hopefully he at least can get his prized possession back. I will not be silenced this time by the previous failed efforts of the judicial system- No I have to succeed at pressing charges this time because I am not going to allow myself to sink down into a deep dark hole ever again. I will choose to live our lives to the absolute fullest at whatever the cost!