a daughter's humorous hope for a mom desperately missed OK, so first things first …of course Mom has Vidal Sassoon himself doing her hair and is looking fabulous! Mom met Nora Ephron at orientation and thought she was a cool chick. The two of them hitched a ride to the party with Ferdinand Porche in his 911. The excitement and grandeur was beyond words. Everyone was still buzzing about their Secret Santa gifts. Mom got a painting of a tree next to a cottage, all signs point to Thomas Kinkade. Soon after arriving Nora made a beeline for Helen Gurley Brown. "Are you seriously wearing nylons in heaven Helen?" Mom is definitely wearing "pantyhose" in heaven too, regardless of their extinction on earth. To the squish squash of rubbing thighs she approaches the ballroom in awe. Spotting an empty seat at Henry Hill's table, she goes for it. "This guy has to have great stories" Even in heaven, the scene is reminiscent of high school; the jocks sit at one table, the politicians, actors and musicians all with their respective cliques. The champagne flows. In one far corner Robert Bork, George McGovern and Arlen Spector can be heard having a spirited conversation about the recent election. Daniel Inouye is clearly the most excited. Ernest Borgnine and Larry Hagman haven't budged from the buffet. Sally Ride has clearly had one too many Tangtinis and is chasing Neil Armstrong around with mistletoe. Richard Dawson leads a rousing game of spin-the bottle. Phyllis Diller is thrilled to be the only woman this round. Andy Griffith, Jack Klugman & Sherman Helmsley don't seem to mind indulging the harmless fun until Zalman King takes things too far.James Herr stops by to offer some potato chips. Oh boy Mom, I know you're a sucker for a man in uniform but don't go stormin Norman yet, he just got there! And now, the moment Mom and everyone else in Heaven's Class of 2012 has been waiting for…Don Cornelius introduces Whitney Houston and Donna Summer! Let the party begin. Mommy could not walk for some time, now she grabs Robin Gibb and dances the night away. She never sits down and sings along to every song at the top of her lungs with boundless energy. Adam Yauch is teaching her to rap though she has no clue who he is. Davy Jones stands on a chair for a better view. Free from physical pain and mortal concerns everyone is smiling & laughing. At last, Etta James takes the stage and slows things down. Dick Clark presides over the big ball drop while the room counts down in unison. The Class of 2012 has graduated and the calendar begins again.

I am the black sheep. I am excluded from family events. Birthdays, weddings, holidays. I am talked poorly about. A teenage mother. College drop out. I am forgotten at birthdays. No card. No text or call. I am unclaimed. Not his daughter. Not her daughter. I am the black sheep. Generally, the black sheep of the family is the weird uncle who was convicted of child molestation. The cousin who is addicted to drugs - the one who never seeks help and disappears. The father who is an alcoholic and takes his anger out on his wife. The mother who cheated on her husband and got pregnant. Not the daughter who grew up, realized her trauma and is freely speaking about it. Not the niece who set a healthy boundary and left when the lines were crossed. Not the sister who moved her sibling in, when they had nowhere else to go. Not the daughter who dropped everything on the dime, to drive 259 miles in an "emergency". Funny how that works, isn't it? You're always the antagonist in the story, while they are the victim. All because you recognized the signs of a narcissist. You realized their patterns of abuse. You were conscious of their motives and their actions. They are always quick to tell others what you did wrong. Yet they can't take responsibility for their own actions. And so, you will forever be the antagonist. The unwanted. The black sheep. I'll be the first of them to admit that I've made mistakes. I'm flawed, just like any other human being to walk the face of this planet. The reason I can admit that is simple. I tried, they didn't. I went to counseling, I did the work, I forgave things I shouldn't have forgiven. Now I'm the black sheep for walking away; for bettering my life. I am the black sheep. For giving my children a better childhood than I ever had. For not allowing negativity into my life. For putting my children first. For setting healthy boundaries and enforcing them. For growing as a person, attending counseling and healing from my trauma. For telling the truth. For speaking out about my childhood. For connecting with others who've experienced similar things. For not forcing my children to be in the lives of people who talk poorly of me around them. The list goes on and on and on. I'm the black sheep for speaking my truth and telling my story. In the beginning I'll admit I was terrified. Then I realized that they are still out there proving my point today. My "mother" still a drug addicted, alcoholic nut case. My "father" still a narcissistic, ego driven asshole. I have nothing to be afraid of. I refuse to let them shame me for healing, telling my truth, and living my best life. Because I am the black sheep... and I'm proud. Sometimes the black sheep, is the only one telling the truth.

Aside from introducing myself, I'm really unsure of where to begin. This probably isn't the beginning of my story but it's definitely a start. Have you ever heard someone say, "I had to grow up too quickly" or "I didn't have a childhood"? Those simple statements are the literal definition of my life. At 9 years old, I didn't know how to be a child. I never played with friends, went to sleepovers, or had birthday parties. I was too busy taking care of my two younger siblings. Making bottles, getting them dressed, changing diapers, cooking meals, giving baths... the whole nine yards. I was raising children that I didn't create. I was raising children as a CHILD. My "parents"? They were drunk. They were high. They were fighting. They were passed out. They were somewhere else. One of my earliest memories includes packing lunches for my sister and I before school. We lived in a little trailer in Powell, Wyoming and we walked to school every day. Rain, shine, snow, sleet. We walked. One morning on our way out the door my sister asked for popsicles. Being a child myself, I grabbed us some popsicles and tossed a knife inside her backpack so we could open them on the way to school. Here we are two young children probably 6 & 9 walking to school, eating popsicles and minding our own business. That is until we finally arrived at school and my younger sister's teacher decides to go through her backpack in search of something - but what she finds instead is the knife. Landing my kindergarten sister in the principal's office. Before long the school officer is involved, my parents are called and all of us are sitting in the office. I can remember the tears rolling down her face as the school officer explains how serious this is. Little does he know, I'm the one who put it in there this morning. As he scolds my sister, I can feel the rage welling up inside myself. Because I know it was my fault. The only other thing I remember about that day is getting whopped later that evening after school. It was "MY responsibility" to get us both to school. It was "MY responsibility to make sure she was safe. It was "MY responsibility".... But I was 9. I was supposed to be the child, not the adult. It should have NEVER been my responsibility to set an alarm. It should have NEVER been my responsibility to wake up my younger sister and get us both ready for school. It should have NEVER been my responsibility to begin with. However, looking back now I realize I'd gladly take that beating all over again because it meant that my sister wouldn't have to. I was forced to grow up early. I never got a childhood. I was "mom" to my siblings. I was the adult in my home. Even though I was only 9 years old...even though I was a child.

If you have the privilege as a woman to never have been sexually abused or assaulted, it might be difficult for you to understand the mixed emotions you might have towards your abuser. Let me explain better. When someone you love or admire assaults you, you might not hate them immediately, heck, you might never hate them at all. It's difficult to go from admiration and love to hate. It's also a very exhausting process. When my favourite person in the world, outside of my nuclear family assaulted me when I was barely 8 years old, I didn't know how to feel. I was pretty close to my mum so I just had to tell her. Before I did, I made her promise to not flair up. I didn't want my abuser to feel ‘bad'. Obviously, she flared up and banished him from visiting or sleeping over. This was very difficult for all of us because we really loved this person. His mum (of blessed memory) was my favourite aunt and my mum's closest sister. My brothers also didn't know what happened at the time so they didn't understand why he was banished. The next time I met him at a family function, I was worried sick that he would hate me. To give context, this man is about 20 years older than me. I remember how relieved I was when he smiled at me. It meant he didn't hate me. It's been about 15 years since this thing happened and although he took the time to apologize to me when I was much older, I almost can't stand him. It was like one day, a switch flipped in my head and I instantly became angry. But even then, sometimes I still admire him. It's really exhausting. While interning in a broadcast outfit when I was 18, I went to get this exclusive interview with a (now dead) well-known and loved musician. Apart from the fact that he was loved by the general public, I also really loved his music. The interview took place in an apartment. First, we watched him play his instrument and I videoed the whole thing with a smile plastered on my face. I couldn't wait to show my father. I was watching this man play live! This legend! Throughout my stay there, this entertainer kept looking at me funny and making inappropriate sexual comments. I was starting to get uncomfortable but we were so many in the apartment so I didn't really feel threatened. While trying to leave the apartment, this man rushed behind me, held me behind and groped me. I tried to get away from him but he held me firmly. I almost had to be forced away from his grip after I raised an alarm and I immediately ran outside. I really admired this man. I loved his music but I was highly irritated. When I got home, I still showed my family the video before I dropped the bomb. I went to bed that night watching the videos of the talented musician that I really admired with mixed feelings. The days that followed weren't any better. I had to conduct vox-pops on this man, asking people what they loved about him. I didn't even know how to feel. When he died and I kept seeing the news everywhere, all I could remember was the humiliating incident. My best friend asked me if I was okay, and my mother told me how uncomfortable she felt seeing everyone worship the man and was wondering how I felt about it. How did I feel? Was I glad that he had died? Did I hate him or dislike him? Honestly, no. Do I still think his music is great? Yes. Would I listen to his songs? Maybe. Sometimes I think about these unfortunate experiences and I'm angry with myself for not hating my abusers. I should hate them right? Imagine not knowing how to feel about a terrible thing someone has done to you because you remember all the good that they have done. If you're feeling this way, I just want to let you know that it's okay to feel what you feel. Sometimes you hate them and sometimes you don't. But don't ever beat yourself up about feeling any type of way. If you feel like you can forgive them, it's fine but if you can't forgive them, that's equally okay. I've heard people talk about how it is impossible to heal from abuse if you don't forgive your abuser but I've also read too many articles that say otherwise. People shouldn't tell you how to feel about these things, it's pretty complex so it's okay to heal at your own pace.

Dear Grandpa, It's been 2 weeks since you departed from this earth. They say only time can heal grieving, but I find matters may grow even more sad with the passing of months. The more time goes on, the longer it's been since I heard your voice on the phone or experienced your laughter. I never want to forget the sound of your voice. The last time I talked to you, there was a problem with your phone. The last words of yours I heard were "I can't hear you dear" as I repeated, "Hello? Hello??? HELLO?". I didn't know at the time that would be the last chat I had with you. I didn't know that would be one of your last days. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. I remember when I was a little girl and would hug your legs really firmly from behind. That feels like a separate life, long in the past. Yet, it feels like a vivid, not so distant memory all at once. Oh, how time flies. You lived your life and you lived it well for 89 years. What more could anyone ask for? Now, I'm relived to know you're free from isolation, boredom, and pain at the nursing home, even though it aches my heart to accept you're not here. Writing may seem untrendy in this modern day, but as far as I know it's the only thing that helps me cope, a medicine. We must never forget our dear loved ones. I continue to write about our memories together. Grampy, watch over me and please stay in my heart. Love, Your Granddaughter

"When you truly reflect on life, you come up with such creations. I like the way Adiela has weaved simple poetic stories out of the complex strings of life in which humans remain entangled. From social to soul exploration, all has been done and depicted neatly in this poetic beauty. As a poet, I especially relate to the poetry style that is made very understandable, yet churned out of an ocean's depth." - Ruchika Pahwa Available here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Aloof? Aloof you say? I'm so sorry if I made you feel that way. It's really not my intention, Though the reaction is of my own invention. You see, long ago I built a wall, A defence mechanism as I recall. So for me to draw close, is still very hard, After misplacing that important trust card. #AdielaAkoo Get Lost in a Quatrain here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Excited to announce that I have been invited to do a poetry reading at The Alan Paton Literary Festival, being hosted at Eden Lassie, in the beautiful Tala Valley 🙏🌹 Come and get Lost in a Quatrain with me on Saturday the 7th March 2020 from 15h00-15h30 I will be reading poetry from my book as well as some new, unpublished poems Love to see you there 💖 💖#AdielaAkoo

Having Anger to Tea Hey there, Good Morning! You! Yes, You! I See You Lurking. Ha,Ha! But there is no need, Dear One. I would like to invite you in for a cup of tea. I See the shock and mistrust on Your Face. I don't blame You. I've treated You like a “Redheaded Stepchild”, As the Country Folk like to say. Really, though, thanks for giving me some Time Alone. You do wear a person out. Now don't get riled up! JK! I'll stop. I thought humor might Lighten things up a bit. But we will leave the Dawn to that task Here, I will come Outside in the Shadows with You. Aaah, what a Gorgeous Morning! That Breeze is Delightful. It was the Tree Frog in my Garden that Woke Me. I wasn't even irritated upon waking. Just curious as I woke up Light and Mellow And I wondered what it was that caused this Delicious Awakening. So Anger, You are an Intense Girl. But I Love You. Yes, You. You are Real. You Exist. You Exist for a reason. I just wanted that said, Straight Out. Now I would like to Give You a Chance to say something. How about I meditate, Go Head, Heart, Hara, then come back. Was that Roar on the Breeze a Sign of your discontent? I am staying Outside with You. I meant “back” as in back from within myself. So where have you been, my Friend? I asked my mind and it said “She's been here all along. She can snap at any minute.” Well, my Monkey Mind didn't even get a Banana, As that wasn't very nice. My Heart. My Heart said That I am addicted to You. Chemical responses emitted due to Your Presence. Affecting my Dopamine Receptors. Kind of Heavy for Heart. More of a Mind response… And then I went to Hara. Where of course it all made sense. The Hara allowed Your Voice to come through. And I heard Your Response. “I am Love.” Which at first I didn't get. But after a Moment's Reflection I realized all three, Mind, Heart and Hara, were correct. You have been here all along. And You certainly could snap at any time. But I don't think You will. I know You are born from Fear and Hurt. And that I fed You what We thought You Needed. And You became an addict Yourself. But I am Softening You back into Love. Back to Source. I am allowing the Power that is in You to come to Light. Yes, You are Light. You are a Powerful Goddess of Truth, Agnus. If I may call You by Your given Name. I Love Your Power. I can use Your Power for Good. To Create and Communicate all that is Wrong with the World, But more Importantly, how to Fix it. Excuse Me for Hating and Fearing You. That I wouldn't Acknowledge or talk about You. How Lonely and Sad You must up have Felt! What's that? Oh, Sweetie, I Know You were only trying to Help. Oh! I just heard the Roar upon the Wind! Not a Sound of Your distaste, but an Affirmation! How misunderstood You must always Feel! Like Gollum. Like Grendel. Let's have a Fun Nickname to go with Agnus. Because We aren't trying to Change who You are, But how You are Perceived, And My reactions to these Perceptions. Clementine? Well, that might be kind of long for a Nickname. How about Clemmie for short? I think this is the Beginning of something Beautiful, Clemmie. I'm going to check in with You throughout the day. I want to get to Know each other. Learn how to Communicate. Learn how to Understand one another. Because I am You, Kid. And I am Beginning to Love Me. And I guess that means Every Part of Me. Thank You for Being There from the Beginning, Agnus. Oh, You do like Clemmie? So it is. Thank You, Clemmie. For Helping me Survive. And Maintaining the Desire to Thrive. You can take a backseat Now, though. We can be in the midst of this Hurting World And Know that We are Loved Unconditionally. Do You want to Know a Secret? Between New Pals? We Always have been. P.S. Did You Notice it is getting Brighter already? Love You, Clemmie. XXX OOO

I began feeling a dull ache in the base of my left heel. Picture a horseshoe on the bottom of your heel. That's exactly where I felt the ache. After ignoring it for a few months, the pain increased to the point where I needed to see the doctor. He had an MRI done and the result was a large heel spur that was pushing against my tendon. It needed to be removed. He warned me that once the surgery was done, I wouldn't be allowed to walk for about 8 weeks. In order to remove the spur (knows as Haglund's deformity), he'd have to cut the tendon off the bone. That's what take the longest to heal. My husband rented a wheelchair to enable me to move around the house. Leaving the house was more awkward since we have a few steps to master. My friends know that being confined to the house, I'll go stir crazy. Our friends who know my husband know that he doesn't know his way around the kitchen. In order to make things a bit easier for us, they took turns bringing dinners for us to enjoy. Saying “thank you” won't even come close to showing my appreciation. The goodness of people, though, didn't stop there. I belong to a dance group that meets three times weekly with another section (the PC group) that meets in another town weekly. We often interact rehearsing for shows and holiday parades. I have been very blessed to become good friends with most of the PC group. A few days following my surgery, I received a call from one of the women. She asked how I felt and said, “We'd like to come see you. We'll bring pizza. Oh, and tell your husband he's invited to our pizza party.” I was awed. As I said, we are all in the dance group, but they are in the other section and I don't get to see them every week so when they volunteered to bring dinner and spend some time with me, I was beyond thrilled. The women arrived; we all had our share of pizza; we played dominoes. The night flew by and they left laughing. It was quite a night. One I certainly will never forget. While I'm still in the wheelchair, once my foot is healed and I'm back to walking and dancing, my plan is to treat all those wonderful women to lunch. It's the least I can do for friends who went out of their way to keep me company during my recovery. I also intend to make a habit of attending their dance class a few times a month. As of today, September 2, 2019, I am two weeks away from having the cast removed. For a few weeks afterwards, I'll be in a post-surgical boot but at least, I'll be walking. For those who have had any type of extensive foot surgery, you know how I feel and how enthusiastic I am to get my life back to normal. My friends, all of them, will be around to help me celebrate. They are wonderful people on whom I know I can rely. They also made me realize that you can never take friendships for granted. I know, I never will again. There is nothing like friendships.

If there's one thing I've learned in my early 20s, it's to never take your health for granted. My health means being able to get out of bed in the morning without any assistance. It means being able to walk down the block without feeling over-exerted. It means looking in the mirror and recognizing the person staring back at me. For me, my health represents my victory over a severe condition that once limited me from doing all of these things and more. Six years ago, I graduated from Howard University feeling like my next chapter would be spent in a coffin rather than a cubicle. Towards the end of my senior year, I began developing symptoms of severe fatigue, muscle weakness and swelling. Literally right after I crossed the stage on May 12, 2012, my condition took a turn for the worse. What was supposed to be the happiest and most exciting period of my life was instead filled with depression, misery and anger — mostly at God. After graduating, I returned home to Michigan with my parents, since there was no possible way I could work or live on my own. After being in and out of the doctor's office and getting a slew of tests run, I was finally diagnosed with dermatomyositis (pronounced dur-mat-oh-my-oh-sigh-tis), an autoimmune disease characterized by severe inflammation, muscle weakness and chronic fatigue. I was required to take medication for about six months before tapering off completely. Today, six years later, I am in full remission and am medication-free. During my journey to healing, I realized there were some things I needed to do — aside from taking medication every day — in order to witness significant changes in my life. These things included: 1. Talking to God: I prayed, a lot. I literally had full-fledged conversations with God about what and how I was feeling every day. The more I spoke to Him, the more I felt His presence. The more I felt His presence, the better I felt physically, mentally and spiritually. 2. Encouraging myself: I would literally force myself to think positively every day. I would wake up in the morning, look at myself in the mirror and recite a list of affirmations my family sent me: “I am healthy. I am strong. I am thriving. I am beautiful. I am grateful. I am flourishing. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I am powerful beyond measure.” 3. Listening to my body: I was extremely cautious about my intake of certain foods. Whenever I ate something, I paid very close attention to how it made me feel. I noticed that whenever I ate bread or pasta, it would drastically enhance my symptoms. That's when I decided to cut gluten — which is typically found in wheat-based foods — out of my diet. I discovered that other people with autoimmune conditions have a hard time consuming foods with gluten because it triggers inflammation in the body. So, I implemented a lot of anti-inflammatory foods into my diet, which helped improve my health tremendously. 4. Staying lifted: My theme song was “Sweet Life” by Frank Ocean, which stayed on repeat every day. I would listen and sing along to the cheerful melody, which helped keep my spirits lifted. 5. Focusing on my vision: I would literally sit for hours working towards my newfound vision, Free E.G.O. Apparel (the acronym stands for empowerment, gratitude and optimism). Although I was still trying to recover from my condition at the time, I became inspired to start something that would encourage others to develop and maintain a positive mindset and lifestlye. Launching an inspirational clothing line was my outlet to focus on encouraging others through my testimony instead of focusing on my illness. 6. Forgiving: Right before graduating, a friend and I had a pretty big disagreement that put a damper on our relationship. She was getting married that summer, so I decided not to go to her wedding. But as time went on, I let go of my bitterness and decided to support my friend on her big day. Although I was still battling my illness during her wedding, my health improved immediately afterwards. Oftentimes, we miss the fact that the act of forgiveness isn't for the people who hurt us, but for us. And for me, I believe forgiveness — along with the other things listed above — played a huge role in my journey to healing.

As I put the phone of one of my family friend's down the other day and murmured with a sharp satire, ‘We need to talk', I discovered that I am encountering this phase often and frequently now more than ever. Wonder what had I done to deserve to hear this so often? A lot! I had aged 26 and was not married yet. I was working in one of the biggest international development partner bodies in the country but was only a beginner and not at a stable and secure position and so that is easy to belittle and obviously does not matter. I did not know a thing about cooking, my job with frequent field visits had taken over me maintaining a healthy diet, beautiful skin and the life of a social butterfly. To me, none of these sounds too bad because somewhere lost and caught up with so much expectations of so many people, I sometimes feel that my only true identity is probably this struggling job. I don't really feel sorry for myself for not living up to other people's expectations, I don't kill the peace of my mind over increased weight and hair fall and stressed skin for I knew my inside was stressed from so many things and it is normal to show up on my skin. I pursued a yearlong full-time master's program besides my full-time job and that turned my average days into 14-16 hours a day which equals to two full times. I would leave early morning for my office, would complete my office by the late afternoon and would catch up soon for the evening classes. Coming back to the great family friend story, the phone call was mainly to remind me that I am not aging backwards with the passing time and how I needed to start thinking and expediating the thought and materialization process of getting married but in my own mind and conscience, was I ready for marriage just because I was about what they call past the age for marriage? No, I was not and to be frank that does not matter. It is difficult to explain to your family that how you are of the ‘marriage' age and are still not ready for it? People can get mean on so many levels but one of many beauties of being born as a girl to a south Asian conservative set-up is that ‘mean' means normal and justified and words like ‘considerate' and ‘civic sense' pretty much do not exist. In fact, the dominant conservative south Asian countries are a warehouse of interesting norms. When it comes to the girl in the family, everyone in the family think that they have a right to decide what she should wear- the length of her hair and her dress, what and how much she should eat, what should be her skin color ideally and if it is not that which it is not mostly then how she should achieve that, where and with whom she should go out and with whom she should not and at what time and by what time she should be back and most importantly, when should she get married, have her first child, have her second child and the list goes on. To tell them that they do not actually have the right to decide and more often, their opinions are not welcomed if not asked for, is a sheer audacity and is a sign of questionable upbringing. Not that I ever liked the phase ‘we need to talk' but the frequent encountering the phase made me realize the extent of dislike I possess for this 3-word sentence. I had just turned 26 and was struggling with my new job in the multilateral entity. I was struggling with almost everything and was looking for my breakthrough in the job through the bumpy journey. Wonder how I feel confessing that I was still a beginner at 26 and was struggling with my job instead of having it mastered by this age and heading towards at least a semi managerial position if not managerial? Well, the answer is proud. I feel proud of myself and all small accomplishments of mine. Through the fast paced 25 years of my life, I have learnt that the life we live is indeed very small and so if what we achieve in it are small too, it is alright. Not everyone needs to climb the Everest or make it to the space, the valleys in the countryside hill-stations can make a wonderful escape destination too. Another thing I feel while I write naked confessions of my weaknesses and difficult times and that is carefree and brave. I feel brave because I know from my very short-lived life experiences that not all of us have the courage to admit to our faults and flaws and I feel carefree because I love my flaws and dents as much I love my strengths and stamina. Little do I know that the road to my beauty is paved through my flaws and the road to my power is paved through my fears and insecurities.

The moment the diagnosis was delivered, my tears rolled down uncontrollably. The multiple hospital visits, a surgery, the myriad of tests done for my unexplained intense joint and body pain added up to the stress and emotional wreck. As I was hoping for it to be a short term pain which will be relieved with some shots and I am good to go the next moment, the doctor confirmed that I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. As a doctor myself, I know how debilitating it can be and the thought of controlling it with multiple toxic drugs for a lifetime just made me even more devastated. As a thrill and adventure lover, I saw my dreams being shattered and started overthinking of everything ahead of me. I was only 26 years old, and I had the dream of a typical girl if not more. I wanted to excel in my career as a specialist, go travel high and low and get married with beautiful husband and kids. Probably it is my immaturity, probably it is the medical knowledge that was ingrained in me, I saw all of this as impossible to achieve as my disease was rather aggressive and needed high dosages of medicine to control. Every joint in my body ached, and the 2 most important joints which I really value now, my knees, are the ones affected most whereby I needed help to walk and do my daily chores. Being stubborn and enthusiastically misplaced, despite the RA flare and having 3 swollen joints in constant pain, I decided that I will persist and finish my housemanship and indeed I did. However, the consequences were grave whereby my disease did not get into control and my knee joints got worse, I started hearing cracks in my knees and that was the moment I knew I had to do something. I was told that I will need a knee replacement but due to my relatively young age, the Drs were hesitant and gave me the impression that I should somehow live with it and hope the pain will go off with meds and exercise. However, exercises only made it worse, the more I exercised, the more swollen it got. I was trying so much to control everything that eventually I surrendered. All this while, despite praying, I realised I never once did surrendered to God and was trying to be in control of everything, the medicines I had to take, the surgery I had to do, the exercises, I questioned everything and only agreed to go on it if I am convinced after thorough reading. The moment I got tired and fully surrendered to Him, miraculous paths begin to open. I became less fearful and was more at ease and decided to go with the flow even if it means putting my job on the line. As a person who rarely takes off or medical leave, I have learnt to let go and took a long leave, went off on a voyage of alternative treatment and came across Ayurveda. That's when I came to learn about healing internally. It is rather a beautiful healing process. Our body is inherently designed to heal itself if only we listened to it. It has a right over us and it has its own limitation and we are responsible to not overuse it. The little pain here and there are not something to put off, but are little screams from your body telling you to take a break. When it does, I urge you, please listen. For instance, a simple headache may seem like something trivial to put off because of other seemingly important tasks and thus gets ignored. But, if only we heed to its signal and lay down for a 10mins power nap, the headache will vanish and our body would be thankful and last for another few hours. Following this simple rule of listening to the body, it will not then be a miracle that we live a long healthy life. I am currently in the midst of healing, however, it has not been an easy task with people around you who do not understand and you yourself doubting the process. I am guilty of abusing my knees due to circumstances and people surrounding me at that point in time, but I have learned to slow down and pay heed to my ever so loyal companion, my body. I have learned to say no more often and put my health as my utmost priority now. Ever since my diagnosis, it has been a roller coaster ride. I have been on and off the wheelchair and been in and out of hospital countless times. But I know that should not be stopping me. I had to put everything I have learned at the back of my mind and started surrendering to the process and of course to God, and am convinced that this can be healed with tapering down my medications and eventually be off it. I am eagerly waiting for my dreams to be fulfilled with having my health back on track. To the readers out there, no matter which stage of life you are right now, healthy or not, always remember, there is always a solution for every problem and there is healing for every disease except death. Do not give up and learn to let go. May God Bless us with His wondrous bounties and may we all be blessed with the wisdom of listening and paying attention to our wonderful companion, the body, the temple we all live in.

It started as a normal day. I was working in the library and reached up to put a book on a high shelf. That was when I left the first jab of pain in my side. I was in so much pain that my boss made me go to the emergency room. I went in and laid on a hospital bed, no one came in to see me for a long time. After a while the pain finally went away, the doctor said he couldn't find anything wrong and sent me home. I never told my father I had gone to the emergency room, I just shrugged it off after the pain went away. I had just graduated high school and my dad and I had planned a trip to drive from my home town in Los Alamos, New Mexico up to my new college in Spokane, Washington. I was so disconnected from my body that I didn't even think about the fact that I had been to the emergency room just the day before. I did most of the driving and the pain slowly began to creep back up. By the time we got to Oregon I could barely breath. This was when the pain started and never stopped, and still hasn't after 13 years. My dad was concerned but I didn't tell him the full extent of my pain. He suggested I get a massage while we were in Portland. I had never had a massage before and neither of us had much knowledge of them. I received a deep tissue massage and the pain only got worse. I couldn't drive anymore and I couldn't sleep, the pain was so intense that I could barely think. We got to Eastern Washington University, my new soon to be college and home and I couldn't enjoy it. I tried to walk around the campus and explore, but I was too distracted by my pain. I went back home and sought medical attention. I went to a chiropractor and had x-rays taken. I was told that one of my ribs was misplaced which was causing the pain. I got adjustments and went to physical therapy. The pain persisted. I had planned to work full time at the library during the summer to help save money before I left for college in September. I had no choice now but to quit my job of three years because the physical demand was too much for me. I had planned on driving up to Washington with my car so that I could have it while I was at school, but that was out of the question now after my first trip. I had to fly to up to Washington and take as much as I could in one suitcase. I got school and my entire life was different. I was in a completely new state, a new town and new school where I knew no one. I did the best I could in my classes, but the pain was always in the back of my mind. I had planned to work while I was in school, but it was difficult finding a job that did not require a lot of physical demands that was still flexible. My money started to run out and I knew I had to find work that would not hurt my body further. I ended up getting a job as an Alumni Associate. I took donations from Alumni of the University, it was a difficult job for me, mainly because I was not a sales person and I was not good at persuading people, and again my mind was always on my pain. I joined the gym and took exercise classes but nothing took the pain away. When I got brave enough I went someone in town for another massage. When I described what was going on my massage therapist told me that I might have something called Fibromyalgia. I went to the hospital and they confirmed his theory with the trigger point test. Since then I have labelled myself as having Fibromyalgia, I don't know if it's better or worse with my condition having a name. The doctor prescribed me Lyrica, and sleep medication, none of which really worked for me, in fact it just increased my depression and anxiety instead of helping with my pain. I also didn't want to constantly take over the counter pain medication since it wasn't really helping either. So I resolved to not take anything and simply deal with it as it was. About the third time I went back to the same massage therapist was the miraculous massage that cured my pain. I was finally okay again. I was pain free for all of a month. Then I went back home for winter break to visit my dad. We were out in a parking lot and I slipped on some ice, the pain came back all at once. I tried to go back to the same therapist, but he was never able to take the pain away again. It has been there ever since. It has been so long now since I have had this pain that I can't remember what it is like to not have it. It has been 13 years now and I have never found a cure no matter how hard I try. I feel like there must be a reason for all of my pain. I hope that I am meant to do something important with the knowledge and insight my pain has given me. Even though I have not found a cure for my pain, I hope that I am able to help others in some way and make a difference in peoples lives by telling my story and doing everything I can to discover a cure for chronic pain and Fibromyalgia and once I do that and I am able to heal myself I will be able to help others heal as well.

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.