Busy, busy place our little fibro home. Teenage children crowding: two minute noodles, friends, music: loud! And me, the middle-aged dad, knowing less about life than ever. This learning curve about me is steep and getting steeper. ‘How are the children?' my on-the-phone wife asks the voice at the other end. Wonder who she's talking to? ‘Where will they stay?' she asks. Ah! This is about old mate who's on the way out with cancer. His wife and kids need help. Something clicks! inside me. ‘They'll stay with us,' I almost yell. ‘All with us, the mother, all of them—forever!' Where did that come from? I nearly lost it right there. The day wears on. They're coming to stay. Great. Back at my screen in a dusty, cobwebbed office, something's not right. The heart's pounding, booming out of the chest like in a rugby game. This is no ordinary palpitation. Had those for years. This is like running hard: thumping, thumping, thumping but not out of breath. Walking in the yard should fix it. Nope! Still going hammer and tongs. Lying down, pressing on the eyeballs—the Vagus nerve trick—which works on palpitations. But no dice. Finally, it goes away of its own accord. Days pass and it's all good. The children come to stay. Meanwhile, we're sorting the logic of the click! and the pounding. It has to be something to do with when Mum got sick. She and Dad went away and me and the brothers went to a hostel. I was six. It's an emotional trigger event. That's all this is. Back at work. Talking to young adults about life and faith. Taking a lost boy for a long walk at night. He needs to let some anger out. Meanwhile, under my own skin: ships sinking, spaces filling with a hurrying, flooding ocean. What the hell? It's a new day. I'm caught out. Can't stop it. Here it comes: a gigantic black crate seeming to drop out of the sky. A caged monster crashing around, flames shooting out the cracks. And me the little boy, terrified. I'm supposed to flip the latch, to let it out. It goes away like a truck passing on a highway. Maybe it's medication and lock-up time. ‘It's imagination,' I say. 'You've been helping one too many traumatised kids.' But I know imagination. This is not imagination. It's real. And there's my wife and lover praying with and for me—and both of us hoping for a way ahead, that this won't be some dead end street. Not now, we have enough on our plate. Days drag on. ‘This is embarrassing bullshit,' I murmur. ‘I'll fix it myself.' ‘Whatever you do,' a friend says, ‘don't try to fix it yourself.' ‘So,' my prayer to God voice says, ‘What do I do now?' Maybe there's someone out there who could help, the idea returns to me. I laugh, thinking of all the disappointed people I know: stories of quacks and healers. Maybe you're not ready yet. Don't lose your nerve. ‘God did not give us a spirit of fear,' I say, quoting an old verse, ‘but a Spirit of power, of love and a sound mind.'* So, here we are, walking the dog down to a rippling brown river and wondering. Is there such a thing as a prayer or a question that's before its time? Or things that need to be allowed to have their day? We stop. Under a cold grey sky. The dog looks at me. What the? Did I just hear a murmur of dissent from my false-self? That middle aged—well educated—voice: offended at the suggestion that there's something on offer that I'm missing out on: terrified of the chaos this might unleash, or, if truth be told, the freedom. We reach the river, water rippling over stones and the fresh, sweet smell of a sandbar. On the haunches now, head bowed. The dog licks my hand. Before we try to sail this ship on the next Big Life Journey, perhaps we need to allow things in the harbour to float out to sea: half-formed dreams, faces running with tears, premonitions and prayers. Grievings of the Holy Spirit, longing to have a voice in the space, time and matter that is me? We make it back to the house. The un-pulling is heavier. Remember, don't lose your nerve. Trust. Pray. So tired. Have to sleep. Everyone's out, thank goodness. Here comes the lying on the floor part, paralysed. And a flashback dialogue with a fourteen year old girl, of which I'm speaking both sides—seeming to gather information about the six year old me in a trauma hell-hostel. Like a video replay. ‘Father in Heaven,' I pray. ‘What do I do now?' Relax. Lie here, wait and let it play. You're not crazy. This is real. ‘Trust in me,' the words seem to be spoken directly to me. Days and weeks pass with more monster in the cage moments, flashbacks: waiting, thinking and praying. I talk with a friend about the monster in the cage. ‘I remember that,' she says. ‘I was sitting on a huge box: all these tentacles coming out.' Oh. She's one of the sanest people I know. Maybe there is hope. ‘I had to choose to open the lid,' she says. I knew she would say that. ‘So,' she continues, ‘You're ready to open it are you?' ‘Yes.' * 2 Timothy 1:7

Infinity Story... Two months later after the last virus, and today I hear about new viruses. Today is exactly two months since the last quarantine. And every day I wake up at 8:30, then have my breakfast, after which dress my clothes and went out. Often, I go to visit my dad. So, today I am planning to go to his office. I have time till 10:00, so I decide to watch TV, though usually prefer watching YouTube. I turn on the TV set and start looking for movies or something entertaining, but after switching the third channel I suddenly stop on the news channel. There was a report about new virus. Oh, no-it's already two months that we are in quarantine and now again? Should the lockdown be prolonged for two more months? I turn off the TV and left to dad's office. While passing the station I suddenly remembered that exactly two months ago, after last quarantine, when the public transport was about to start working, I turned on the news channel and like today, there was a report, announcing about the new virus is coming, so ban on public transports continued. I wonder if today's news means, that public transports again will be shut down? It was announced before, that starting from today the ban on public transport is lifted and buses will resume their work. Strange, there are no buses on this street, neither I noticed a single bus on my way to dad's office. After five-ten minutes' walk, I was at dad's office. I was upset and told him about my concern about the lockdown, but he said, that it is hardly possible and there is no need to worry about new quarantine. I stayed in the office till 13:00. I turn on my notebook and till 12:00 watched the movie. Then after watching the movie I decided to listen to the news. Again, all news channels were talking about new viruses. It was so boring, I shut down my notebook and left to my lessons. On my way to English class, I pondered, what if the news about the new virus is just gossip? I wanted to check and verify the information, so I go to the bus station and decided to wait until the bus will come. I wait for 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 20 minutes...NO BUS. It becomes obvious, that bus will not come. It's true, we have a new virus and will be locked down again. I feel totally lost.. Since I was late for my lessons, I decided not to wait anymore, but suddenly heard the sound of the bus motor. I heard how the bus approaches the bus stop. It was very good, as I was late for my class. After riding the bus I was in an excellent mood all day. I called my friends and parents and told them about the bus, and about the end of the quarantine. They all were happy. On my way home, I bought food to celebrate the end of quarantine with my family. I was happy while I was walking home. TV was turned on, my family was watching the news channel. Right after I entered the room they tell me, that news about viruses is true and that lockdown is prolonged for two months more. It was killing..... -So, what's next? Are we all locked down again? My sister was completely indifferent. She stared at me and said: -Yes! Nothing changes. Why you bring all this food? What we are going to celebrate? It's not the first time. Why are you doing this stupid thing every time? -Why? Why everyone just accepts all this situation as it is? Why you all get used to being "imprisoned"? Is it only me, who wants to put a finish to all this mess and escape from this? Is it only me who dreams about freedom? My sister continued in a very calm manner: -Because you know, that quarantine is never to be finished. It was like this all my life and it should be like this all your life. What is the reason for you to expect something else? Accept it! Whom you are fighting against? I looked at her and said: -I will do it as long as it required, until the end of the quarantine. I am not going to give up! I run away..... Nerses Danielyan

GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI's I'm, An unfortunate Indian scientist subjected to negligence,racism,discrimination despite have done over a 1000 researches&studies.But all my researches were ignored&darkned. You can get my researches either by searching my name GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI in all websites or by sending your email to my email id girlapati@aol.com. I am now making my life's last journey with hopelessness and sickness (severe medical complications)and disregard&despair. Under the aforesaid circumstances, I urge the world scientists that kindly publicize&recognize me as the Originator of Global Monsoon Time Scales&National Geoscope Projects by making references in your research papers&by postings on social media. GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI

My heart used to pound at the thought of seeing them, my face would burn bright red and I would quickly lose my train of thought, I had ideas trapped in my head with no way to release them into the world, no way to bring them to life and let them control me. I wasn't quite sure if I have the right to feel or keep these thoughts in my frozen brain, everyone is looking at me waiting for my words to be told, I wasn't sure if they are ready to hear them but positive whispers get close to my ears telling me how unique my topic is, and even if my words hurt the truth must always be accepted by everyone. I was hoping to inspire my peers and take advantage of every second in every moment because we need every inch in life. I'm walking to the podium on the stage in the big room, my hands fluttering the papers clenched tightly between my fists, my voice shook and the words start coming out silently, slowly, and then perfectly. People actually care to know what I had to say except the haters"THE GROUP". The Group was there my heart starts to pull up, their eyes were directed to me and the speech was made for them, yes today is the day no more fear anymore. My memories start coming to my head, as they were recorded scene after another, how they used to bully other students, how they loved the idea of being the best RICH group in High school, a group where their requests considered as orders, no rejection no detention no restriction, We were stuck in their Crystal Maze. I started seeing and feeling the scene when I was studying so hard to get good grades, while the glitterati was having parties and leisure without bothering themselves to study anything because they are already in a straight A+ team no judgment no inquiry and no objection. And the saddest scene was when I was checking their Instagram and see how they were squandering money and traveling wherever they want with a huge amount of delicious food. I literally cried when I have seen this, especially when I have been tagged with an embarrassing naming. #Here's How Money BUYS You Happiness (WEIRDO NERD). looked in the sky and with an immersed tears I said: "Why money goes to this kind of people, isn't money made for those who need it, aren't we suppose to use it in an appropriate way, am I wrong as usual, I'm not saying give it to me God, I just wish that poor people get what they really deserve. I have never complained about anything God, I have always accepted all my struggles, problems, and the idea of not having parents or this amazing life, why them not someone else?" Yes, my speech was a bunch of harsh memories but the good thing is that I get used to it, because I'm finally graduating and I have learned a lot of beautiful lessons. The only thing I regret is the way I talked to God about stupid things, that I thought it is going to bring me happiness. I started giving my last words, suddenly something has sparked my interest, it was actually a girl who was crying during my speech, I realized that she was a reflection of my feelings and my thoughts that I was too afraid to say too blind to notice that world is listening and too deaf to hear my own voice. I wanted to end this speech but after seeing her I knew that she was a victim of self-esteem problems because of some stupid people; so I decided to go for some additional spiritual words that were not in my speech. I wanted to remind them all, that we can shake mountains with our minds by sharing our ideas to change the world into a better place where everyone is equal. because I believe that every individual has a valuable opinion but it takes Drive and Confidence to express it. These were my last words in High school where I finally had the chance to express and release what had always made me sad and uncomfortable. After one year, 2020 had knocked our doors, I finally went to college, at the beginning we all thought that it is going to be another perfect year full of success and happiness where we will see same people traveling, celebrating, and working to get more. but life, as usual, keeps surprising us with a long rest from humans, but no one knows till when... Last month I got horrible news from my friend, she told me that the RICH GROUP that used to bully us, is in the hospital right now and Adam had died, and the reason is one of their friends gets affected by the virus and he transmitted the infection to everyone in the group. I did not know what to say whether to feel sad or happy about what happened to them, but the day when they have tagged me to see how much money can bring happiness was one of the toughest moments that I have experienced in my life? A great lesson had been taught that day because I've realized that nothing lasts forever and no matter what can money bring, always put hope in other things as they say: "a small leap of faith has made all the difference". ask yourself this question always: It is right that money brings happiness but TILL WHEN?

I am an unfortunate Indian scientist subjected to negligence racism,discrimination. Governments and organizations didn't support&provide research opportunities to me.I built a small lab at my house and over a 10000 researches and studies have been conducted on weather problems&natural calamities and more than 1000 research papers are prepared and published.Mainly I have formulated the BASICS OF GLOBAL MONSOON TIME SCALES, IRLAPATISM-A NEW HYPOTHETICAL MODEL OF COSMOLOGY, GEOSCOPE,INDIAN MONSOON TIME SCALE.I am now making my life's last journey with hopelessness&sickness.Find out my researches in all websites by searching it's aforesaid names or GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI and bring me into light by making references in your publications.

I look myself in the mirror, I can discern the decay of my face. There is no smile anymore. The stasis of my lips offers satisfactorily lust in my thoughts that torment my mind with Medieval methods. I touch my idol in the mirror and I hurt. I try to close his eyes, but I cannot. They stay open and still and they look morbidly. Chainsaws echo from the overlooked cemetery, tear into pieces mercilessly the marble crosses. What have I done to myself so he looks at me like this? Why my sharpened teeth do not appear on the glass surface with sole purpose to bite her? Sorrow hallowing my forehead with sorrow. Indestructible thorns jab more deeper in the flesh of my skull. Bloody tears sparkling in my hands' palms. If I scream I will die. If I die I will have to kill. If I kill I am obliged to leave. If I leave, I will return. God, why, the sorrows of people transmute into ebony coffins that are buried within my heart? If only I could soothe my consciousness for seven days… I feel something to choke me. My throat is asphyxiating while my glass idol laughs horrendously. I can't stand the howling. No, yell at me no more. Reigns powerful silence, and then spasms commence recalling me in my starting position, before abyssal darkness arrogates my senses. Maybe fate leads me in a deathly destiny, which in case it happens, will become the salvation which is the highest virtue for a tormented soul like mine. No, I don't murmur. The existing circumstances of life have tired me insurmountably, because as I try to open a way out to the future, it ricochets me to the past. Death is the physical continuation of life, and I will be delighted if it happens to the days of my youth, for the simplest reason, that I cannot avoid him. To speak the truth, I don't want to avoid him. I want desperately to remain alive and to feel whatever joy I can, but they don't let me. In which attempt I give or trying to be present, they find ways to chain me and isolate me. The only thing that will never succeed in accomplishing is to handcuff my mind. A free spirit clearly suffering, but in no way it can be imprisoned. A free spirit prefers death so not to lose innocence, insight, respect and prestige. I have thought many times while I stroll in the city, how life would continue if I committed suicide… For sure there will be consequences and repercussions to people who they love me , however they would continue to exist without me, and with the flow of time the rift of pain would heal in desired spots. The verb “die” does not fit here, so, reasonably I use the verb “suicide”. Suicide is not an act of cowardice as some falsely believe. Because nobody knows how much pain a single human has within his soul. Nobody knows the spiritual boundaries and the stamina in a daily routine that open wounds that cannot be healed. How many people we see daily that smile whilst inside them are literally devastated… How many people we see daily that seek a kind word, a velvet touch, an understanding breath, and the only thing that get is disdain… How many people daily we place of the beam of desperation without remorse…Here is a key word which provokes pathogenic causes with fatal results. Suicide as a meaning and as an act certainly is the ultimate hybris against God, though requires determination and courage to turn yourself against yourself and violently remove the coveted life in that way. How many of you have done this macabre thought at least once… In this theater of paradox we daily live, the incarnation of life to life seems like an unreachable dream. Loneliness, disappointment, sorrow, wrong choices, guilt, remorse, unemployment, compulsion, hatred, unfairy tax policies, lies, eradication, violation of human rights, greed, selfishness, stab democracy that all people worship. The rule of law which could be, turns into a cradle of powerful coldness where everything collapse upon the enormous steel walls of human separation. Undead people wander everywhere aimlessly. They stamp upon dead bodies, seeking comprehensible sunrays of justice and transparent water to wash away their sins. How would it seem to the violators of this planet, who have elevated the obedient lobotomy to a profitable enterprise, a universal peace, which it would dismiss forever the wars for interest and people would live happily? A universal peace will destroy forever the human funnel grinders of annihilation. Only by thinking of it, my heart shivers from hope and expectation. A universal peace would give meaning in words and prestige in actions of future generations in a planet which agonizes… The only thing that is needed is an incision of kindness into the hearts of men… An incision that will bring back long-forgotten feelings, good deeds, smiles, hope… Hope for a palatable future life. We need love to live, not pain. Tears drop from my eyes as my words breath on the paper. What I wish for, what I want is, my words breathe inside your psychic dreams…

Dear Friends. I feel so sorry for the people of California. It has been said for many years that this will happen and now it is. There may be another quake yet to happen and when it does California may be all gone. I really hope people make it out safe. My thoughts are with them and I hope you'll join me in a small prayer for those who have passed away that they make it home to heaven as fast as possible. Wherever you are please Take Care. Julie Ann

Southern Virginia, circa summer 2016. Beautiful warm days mixed in with just the right amount of extremely hot days to make the summer perfect. Long days merge to short nights, each day better than the last. In the town of Danville, Virginia, at Averett University, a Christian summer camp takes place. Campers spend their days studying the Bible, their afternoons working on mission sites, and their nights partying in worship. A small youth group from the next county over, Halifax, spends the week as they usually do: having the time of their lives. They spend their time bonding over the time they get to spend together and with God. In July 2016, my youth group spent a week in Danville doing mission work for Passport Missions, a camp dedicated to bringing teens closer to Christ. Christian teenagers spending a week dedicated to the worship of God. I, however, was an anomaly. At the time, I was a devoted atheist. The God I had known my entire life had abandoned me, left me to the wolf, Satan. He had let me fall away from Him. The question permanently on my mind was “How could God, the creator of the universe, the lover of all, the Father and Hope of my so-called Christian life, have abandoned me?” I blamed Him for my depression, for my anxiety, for everything that was wrong with me. Hatred coursed through my veins as if it were my blood, anger taking the prime seat in my temporal lobe. Three years later, I have grown to understand why God had put me in that camp, no matter how much I didn't want to be there. He knew I needed a push, something to bring me to the edge and push me so close to Him I could never not put everything in Him again. This push would show me that He had me, and wouldn't be letting go anytime soon. The last night of worship, I was a mess. It had been hard to be surrounded by good Christians all week, a perfect model of what I should have been. Of what I could have been. These people were so filled with love and patience, and I had none of it. I wanted it all, but something was holding me back. The only thing in the world I wanted was to be loved, and God had offered but I hadn't accepted. Silently, I started crying and praying. Mutters of helplessness came from me, tears flowing like never before. I asked God for everything. I needed something, even the smallest thing in the world, to show me His love. Three years later, and I still don't even know if this really happened. I don't know if the Spirit has convinced me that it did, or if my mind played tricks on me to push me that last step of the way. But in my heart, in my soul, deep down I know what happened. I was seated on the far left of the auditorium where they held worship, no one to my left but the wall. Through my tears and prayers, I felt a weight on my left shoulder. Where no one was standing. At that moment, God Himself had touched my human body, as if to tell me, “Look up, kid. I've got you. As I said, my brain wasn't sure what it was. But my heart and soul knew. God had spoken to me. He knew me and wanted me to know that everything was going to be alright. He spoke right to my soul and said, “Be still and know that I am God.” My youth leader had made her way over to me when she saw me crying. She held on to me and let me cry on her shoulder. She didn't know that I wasn't sad or upset, but happy. She comforted me and held me and treated me like her own child. I'll never be able to put how much my youth group means to me in words. Those people mean more than the world to me. We've been through a lot together, and I love them with everything I have. One thing has changed tremendously throughout the years for me: my love, hope, and faith in God. I've been through a lot in sixteen years of life, but that not only has made me stronger but has grown my faith to levels I didn't think was possible. I'm planning a future in ministry, hoping to one day become a preacher or a missionary. This all started because of my lack of faith but has left me with so much more. I thank Him every day that I got the chance to redeem myself, that one day I will get the chance to say these things to Him in person, that one day I will lay everything at His feet and live in the Promised Land. “Throw your burden upon the Lord, and He will sustain you. He will never allow the godly to be upended.” Psalms 55:22 NET.

Do you remember your first love? Were you filled with butterflies in your stomach? Did you blush around them, or stammer when trying to speak to them? Did you dream of a life with them, getting married and having children together? Many of us often remember our first lovers or crushes. Some may regret being with them, some miss that experience with them, and some never got to be with them. Now that last part might not seem important. However, consider this: How many times has it happened? Most of you might say, "Well, only a few times. I didn't have that many crushes growing up." That's perfectly normal. Some people fall easier than others.Yet, can you imagine what it must be like if you had so many crushes that you can barely remember them all? About 110. I have had 110 crushes, some of them on the same person multiple times. That's just a quick estimate. It might have been more, maybe slightly less, but can you guess how many of them liked me back? Only about 15--despite dating 16 people, one had fallen for me but I only wished to give them a chance because of our beloved friendship--had fallen for me as well. Do you know how many were loyal to me until the very end, and vice versa? Only three. Tony: boy #1. Cause of breakup? Died tragically in a hospital at 3 in the morning during late August two weeks after we started dating. He was shot attempting to save a man being robbed, received surgery, and his body rejected the transplant causing him to die. I was only around 11 or 12 at the time. Bryan: boy #2. Cause of breakup? We slowly drifted apart after nearly a year of being together. I don't know what went wrong, but we just stopped talking. We mutually agreed it was for the best if we saw other people. Finally, boy #3: Dani. My current partner. We had dated once before, back in my freshman year and his sophomore year. It was less than ideal and I left after almost a month. We continued to be friends after that. Then, late into my sophomore year after a traumatic event, something had sparked again. I'm not sure how or why, nor do I know now, but in early spring I started to develop feelings for him again. I had held it off for a good few months believing it was just a fluke. I told myself, "There's no way. He's just being nice, that's all. It'll go away eventually like it always does." Yet, the feelings never left. They grew and grew until I started to see signs that I had been trapped with possibly unrequited love for him. I remember how rumors began to spread, and he had admitted to them, that he had his eyes on a particular girl in our friend group. Shamefully I admit that I was outraged by this. It had happened so many times before, and I was a fool to continue to love those people for prolonged periods of time. Like my childhood friend, and a girl we both knew from another school on the campus grounds. I didn't want to be hurt again. So I continued to push those feelings away. They didn't stop. They pushed back, and I was forced to feel this way for so long. Then I had made a decision: sink or swim. He either loved me back or he didn't. I had yet taken another unsure dive into an unfamiliar lake in which I had drowned in many times before. I wrote him a small note at first, telling him my feelings in French. He returned to me and asked me why. I could not give a proper response. We left it off at that. A day or so later I gave him a longer note explaining in full detail what I meant by those small words. He took it, read it, and said not a word to me afterwards. I had believed myself to be rejected, and like many times before I was heartbroken. "What else did you expect?" I told myself that evening. "Of course he doesn't want you back, idiot! Why even bother?" I had prepared myself to be content with the loneliness I felt that day. That was why I was taken by surprise when he acted unusual the very next day. It's hard for me to recall everything that day as I write this, but I do remember one thing: that kiss we shared spoke more to me than words can ever manage. Now we are content and happy with one another, lasting a total of about 6 months, but that fear I felt back then still lingers in my mind. The fear of now losing him like the others. The fear that something will come between us, something neither of us can control or stop, and I'll be alone again. My mind works strangely in these situations. While I am outwardly happy with my life now on the exterior, my mind races with endless possibilities all ending with me being left forgotten and abandoned. I suppose that is my reason for not wanting to fall. All the failures pile up until it's too much for me to bear any longer, and they begin to haunt me day in and day out. My only hope is that this time is different, and I can finally share my love with someone properly again.

Hi, my name is Alyssa Griffin. I'm seventeen and I live in Tennessee. To be honest, I'm not sure what to say about myself. I've never been a social butterfly like my mother and grandmother. I'm not carefree and outgoing. I would rather spend my time reading, writing, or listening to music. In fact, if you were to put me in a room full of people and tell me to make friends, I would probably stand there looking around unable to form a coherent sentence. I'm not overly pretty either but I think that if I was a cabbage in the grocery store, I wouldn't be the last one to be picked. I have a very, very complicated and crazy family and there just isn't enough time nor space to delve into that story. But all in all, I'm okay I think. Sure I don't have an extravagant life nor do I have a whole list of adventures. But what I do have is stories. Stories that will make you laugh and cry. Stories that can inspire you and build you up. That is what I do. I listen to people as they tell their story because most of the time, that's all we want. We all want someone to just listen to us. Not talk, not interrupt, but to listen, truly listen to us. No judging. I listen as people tell me what their lives were like and their childhood and then I go home and write about my own because I can't fully explain mine to people. How do you? How can you tell someone what you have been through in life and have them fully understand the emotions and feelings you had. It's why some people write songs and others sing them. It's why some write, like myself, and others read hoping to escape their present to look for hope in the future. We just want to be heard. I'm not perfect by no means, but I listen to those who want to talk and I will be honest with you. I have practically no social life, and I don't have the strongest spiritual life either. Despite my many flaws, I have a family that I love, a brother whom I adore, and passions that I hope to one day follow. I could spend this time going on and on about how life has just been a gigantic bully but I would rather talk about dreams. I hope to be an author one day. Whether I make it big or don't, I don't care. I just want someone to read my book and love the story and the characters. I want to sweep someone from reality and have them live through the characters. I want to play the violin and the piano. I want to learn Spanish, German, and French. I know that the possibility of me actually doing this is slim but I'm hopeful. I want to spend the night in an ice igloo hotel and have a beautiful home one day where I can just be myself. This is my life, and It has taken me this long to realize that I can do with it whatever I want. With a little patience, hope, and determination, I can do anything. So I'm going to keep getting up when life pushes me down and keep in mind that the harder the journey, the more beautiful the scenery will be when you reach the top.

I still remember the smell of his skin, the stench of cheap brandy on his breath, and the specks on the ceiling that I counted each second hoping that by the time I counted them all this nightmare would be over. I remember the exact moment I thought my life would end. The look of hatred in his eyes as he took away my dignity is something I can never forget. I had never been too religious but if there was a God, now was the time to make me a believer. Between counting the infinite specks on the ceiling and countless “Hail Mary's” it finally ended. I remember my lifeless body being moved upstairs. My head ricocheting off the walls in the narrow stairwell. Who cares that this girl was just violated? The party must go on. I'm carried into the bathroom and thrown in the tub. I wake up empty and full of shame.The memories of the night before haunting me, my body aches.I wake up wishing my life had ended in that moment. I look in the mirror and can't recognize myself. I find my purse and use my concealer to hide the bruises, hoping it can somehow mask the shame. I find what is left of my clothing and cover myself up as best as I can. I make my way through a maze of people who are passed out all over the floor. I wonder if he's still here, or if there's any more of me among them. I think that if I pretend it never happened that it will all just go away. The pain, the shame, the hurt, the disgust- maybe it will all just disappear. As I walk home I tell myself “it never happened” over and over. By the time I reach my house I almost believe it. I make a promise to myself that no one will know. I promise myself that I won't let him win. I will put on a smile and walk the halls at school pretending that nothing bad has ever happened to me if that is what it takes. I promise myself that no one will see my cry, except the shower as it perfectly camouflages my shrieks. But lying to yourself for months is hard. Keeping up your image is hard. Pretending you're ok when you're not is hard. Looking behind you to make sure he's not following you home from school is hard. Seeing him in the hallway, at the store, in your nightmares- is hard. School is hard. Sleeping is hard. Living is hard. I will take a pill each time I remember what he did to me, what he took from me, and what he made me. I will lock my door at least seven times just to be sure. I will stop going to school, unable to cope with seeing him. I will stop leaving my home out of fear that it could happen again. I will know what the human species is capable of doing to one another firsthand, and I will stop living. I will merely just exist. Between constant high and the night terrors that have me screaming out in my sleep, my mom knows that something is wrong. But I can't tell her. I can't tell anyone. “I can't live like this.” My mom constantly tells me. I have become a burden that she has to bear. My mom puts me in therapy and I sit there in silence each Thursday for forty-five minutes. Silence has become my specialty. I don't even acknowledge the existence of another person in the room. Instead in am trapped within the thoughts inside my head. “it's all your fault.” “Why would such a young girl go to a party?” “Why would you drink so much?” “Are you stupid?” “Just end it all.” Each day I become closer and closer to gathering the nerve to kill myself. The thoughts in my head have me spinning out of control. Some weeks I don't even leave my own bed. I lay there in a catatonic state wondering if my death would even mean anything. I write my suicide note about once a week. Each one starts the same. “I'm sorry.” I can't have my family blame themselves, it's not their fault. The silent therapy sessions just weren't cutting it- and the therapist tells my mom I'm not progressing quickly enough. But how are you supposed to progress when you're broken in two, when you don't care if you live or if you die, and when it seems like suffering is all you now know. When the shame takes over, and emptiness and disgust is all that fills you. When you dream about death and are discouraged to wake up and find out you're still alive. I tell this all to my therapist. I break my year long silence. I break my promises to myself, and I tell her everything. I tell her I went to a party I shouldn't have went too. I tell her I drank myself into oblivion. I tell her I was raped. I tell her that over the past year I haven't gone a single day without using and that most times I hoped I would just overdose. And I tell her that right now there is a suicide note tucked underneath my pillow. I leave my therapy session and go home to pack enough clothes for “about a month.” I'm being sent to a treatment center that specializes in trauma. I was diagnosed with posttraumatic stress disorder. I never thought a label would give me so much comfort. After a year of living alone with my demons, I feel relief. Relief that it's not a secret anymore, and relief that the silence is over.