Shattered Glass Life After Abuse

I hurts so much. When I try, when I reach out, when I am needing help, when I try to talk, when I ask, Why Do You Push Me, and laugh? It is not funny to me. It hurts. I know I am not always stable, not always right in the head. It is not by choice. You say I don't handle stress, but you don't do anything to alleviate my stress. You act like you have the answers, like you understand what is happening, like you have adjusted, like you are normal, like you care. You even say at times, "I love you." And that is nice to hear, because I believe. But when I call you, when I talk to you, when I am seeking help or need a change or to get on track or to move one step away from the edge or to make progress or to make life better... You PUSH me.. . you rattle on with jokes and laughter, it's a game, you twist my words and laugh. You make up riddles, jokes and play on words. You wont get serious; you don't take me seriously. Around, and around, and around ...

 Stop! Dangerous.... don't read if you hurt.... don't read if you are raw.... don't read if 'cutting words' tear you apart. This is raw... this is ugly, mean, painful...... but a gut honest moment frozen in time. Did you pick up your clothes? I told you to pick up the clothes? Why aren't they folded? Hang them up. Can you watch the kids? Just 4 hours. It is the least you can do. Everyone has to do their part. You forgot to feed the cat? Do you want him to die? I should have never gotten that cat? If he dies, its your fault. I asked you to water the plants, they're bone dry. I paid good money for those plants, water them! Why can't you do the things we ask? Why are you so slow? What is that look? You expect me to do something for you? Always about you? Push Push Push... to get your way, and then you sit on your butt. Your room is a mess. How can you live like this? After all we do, you even have your own room. Stop eating in the living r...

Trust - broken  - abusing dad stays by my mothers hospital bed - a little something everyone forgot to say... Come, Come Play Your Role, You are Casted in our Play! did we forget to mention that... did we mislead.... did we conveniently leave out that tiny detail... trust broken... how... how can you say you don't trust us? Oh, we didn't think it was a big deal, it is normal for us, we let bygones by bygones. We choose not to remember the past, we aim to live in the present. We move forward... You can trust us? Don't want to begin re-telling the source of my detaching desire to leave my feelings. That is why I start at numb. Not numb because I am unemotional - not feeling. This is not about you... its is about our dying mother. You can trust us? Yeah, we know... you haven't seen him in almost ten years... maybe longer... you have stayed away from weddings, new births, funerals, holidays.... but we were suppose to know it mattered... we were suppose to keep ...

Every time I try to be a mother... I try to guide, direct, lead... I am treated terrible. I don't know why you God made me a mother. I am not at all cut out for this. I have tried. I have failed. Nothing I do is right. I am ignored, disrespected, despised. Why am I here? I am certain someone else could have been a much better mother for my children. This is not a pity party statement - it is a statement of truth! A rare fool could have done a worse job then me .... and they probably would have been appreciated. I don't handle rejection well. Does anybody? It appears that other children listen and respect their parents. Is this true? Are is a just a charade everyone is playing? Is the Emperor Really Wearing no clothes in every home, and families just pretend they are real.... or Do real functioning families exists? I do not want to talk about it anymore. I am sick... I was going to say I was sick of it, but in reality I am probably really just sick..... I am one flew...

I started this website for those "Shattered Glass" moments in the life of people who are really seeking to recover from abuse and trauma. Abuse is very ugly...frankly horrid, disgusting, and often filled with terror. Healing from abuse and trauma is also very ugly. Healing is very messy, painful, and can be deathly serious. In the healing process, I felt strongly lead by God to be real and to use writing to express the emotions inside my wounded heart. God give different outlets and directions to each person, some people sing, draw, create sculpture, woodwork or take a run. Over the past month I have come to the finishing point of my healing, which I would not have believed possible 2 weeks ago. It always hoped to be finished the healing process, but I resigned that I would be always healing. As a Christian believer, I understand that I will  never stop growing and will always be developing personally becoming sanctified and more like Christ. So what do I do with ...