Exuding Warmth

There's something I felt when you smiled at me-
as you walked towards me on the sidewalk under evening glow.
Only a small smile escaped out of the corner of my mouth,
as I grinned from the inside out and had to look down
just to harness the flush that went over me.
There's a warmness that naturally exudes from you,
that left me slightly speechless in the first 10 minutes after
you greeted me with a hug and immediately I began
stumbling in my mind trying to find something to say.
Then as you sat down, across the table still smiling
gazing into my eyes, as if you could see what I was thinking.

Who are you?
What is it that has been left in me, ever since that night
two eves ago when we decided to meet.

Ever since that time you have not left my mind. 

You've caught me entirely by surprise, and

I'm not certain what has crossed my path,

or what has resided like a pit in my chest.

As I've talked to you once more,

it appears you've struck a chord;

hearing your voice through the phone

I still struggled at first to keep my composure.

What is it you have, for me to behave this way?

(written 9/20/15 and edited 10/2/15)

Life Cycle of Eight

Eight,
has followed me my entire life.
Symbolizing birth, life, luck, identity,
and synonymous with
Chinese and Japanese cultures; wealth.

Eight symbolizes infinity.
A promise of renewal,
and also a promise of life always
following a cycle; that returns
to you, what you have invested in it.

Eight has also seen a lifetime occur,
in as many times within my spirit.
Eight times I return to myself to bear witness;
to the burning of old, and fertile welcoming of rebirth.

In eight years I have grown, more than I ever could or would have,
had this day, in as many years...not occurred.
This very day, in several of the first eight years-
translated into suffering, hiding, and nightmares.

Today, with eight years worth of perspective,
I stand in remembrance of innocence lost, and honor the woman I have become,
despite and because of my losses.
The passion, the wisdom, the fierceness, the resolve.

My dreams grew so much larger and greater than myself;
because of the lessons I learned having burned to ashes,
picked up my pieces, rejuvenating the simplified remains,
and enlisting the masters' wisdom to be reborn, in each of the last eight years.

Here I am. On the eighth year, when perhaps I may feel sorrow,
for the shattered heart of the 25 year old young woman I once was.
May my tears fall briefly, as I recall how painful that time was.

May I also rejoice, as this eight bends, and I with it-
into the cycle of this life I have created, through my own blood, sweat and tears.
Into this life I was gifted, and have continued to be blessed with-
this life that I wouldn't change a second of, for all the money in the world.

Eight years brought me suffering.
Eight years brought me nightmares, flashbacks,
lost lovers, fits of rage, confusion, anger, despair...

Eight years now brings me perspective, gratitude, growth, faith, sisters and brothers in survival,
my Phoenix, my writing, coming into the love of my cherished family and friends,
courage, thriving and most of all, the woman I am today.
Who I love more than I ever could have if my 25 year old heart wasn't shattered into so many tiny damned pieces.

Eight years it's taken me to live and thrive in my own skin.
Eight years to look at myself in the mirror and feel proud of who is looking back.
Eight years to realize that I have nothing to prove, to anyone but myself.
Eight years to discover that much of my beauty lies in my ability to be myself.
Eight years it's taken me to learn how to unlock so much love in this world, that is meant for me.
Eight years it's taken me to know that I deserve it...to be happy, and to be loved.
Eight years that I can now cherish, as I'm learning to do for the most sacred parts of me.
Eight years not only to believe that I can heal, but understanding it by seeing how I can heal others.

Those same parts that I thought were stolen from me, I had no idea how they would blossom
right out from under my ashes.
Eight years, I survived- and even greater, I am thriving.

Forgiving Darkness

If it's impossible to know what love is, without forgiving someone's darkness-- that certainly explains a lot of why I struggle to love myself at times. If It's impossible to know someone, without seeing their darkness, that would explain why I feel so empty still. I'm acquainted with my darkness, we dance and philosophize sometimes. Other times we meet each other in silence, honoring each others' presence without dialogue. Still other moments, I curse my darkness - and insult my integrity and ability to persevere - at the expense of my attention, hope, and faith. Writing is my only honesty ticket for my darkness, my connecting flight, my opener. I've been searching and taking inventory of my fears lately to gain insight into why I can't communicate directly with them, why I can't bring them to the forefront and allow others to see them, and to know me in that way. Forgiveness seems to be the missing party, the lost luggage so to speak. I can't absorb the love of others, nor all of the love around me, or at least a large portion of it because I am waterlogged by disdain, disapproval and judgment of my own darkness.  Even more importantly, I haven't been able to further develop my own ability to love myself, and I see now why forgiveness is a majority of the reason why. Toxicity becomes my environment without the outlet for my darkness, and there is no guarantee of muse, no cure-all for writer's block.  I know now that I need another way in. I've lived a long time, 33 years without another way in.  I started writing at 11, to document my suffering that I didn't understand at the time.  As I got older, the writing wasn't enough, and I sought outside help.  I became more versed in managing my mental health, and then as expected, life became more complicated. Today, my skills to manage certain aspects of my mental health, have proven to not be enough -- and suffering is getting the best of me, rearing its ugly head as exhaustion and burn out.

I've had moments, periods of time in my life when I felt that I was very strongly loving myself.  But I find that these states are not permanent, and if you aren't careful, you fall right out of them; as I have. I've forgotten how to love myself, and I'm not sure I've ever been able to love myself in the wild way that I love others.  And I understand that my hopeless romantic way of loving some others in my life, will never be replicated in my love for myself- as would be expected as I don't have that same relationship with myself. However, should I be able to love myself with similar fervor? Is the love that I deserve, from myself, of a different variety altogether?  What is the sign that will show me that enough is enough? Have I ever seen it before? If forgiveness is the missing party, it would seem that shame is the vehicle for my lack of forgiveness. I don't let other people see my darkness because I'm too busy protecting them from it, or perhaps I am only protecting myself - and instead only robbing them of seeing me.  I hide because I can't be sure that I can function outside of my darkness enough to be what I perceive as visible to others. I hide because of how I perceive myself to be intolerable to others.  Why am I ashamed of my darkness? In some ways I relate this to others' in my life in the past who have shown disdain for the intensity of my emotions.  Other's who have not known how to bear witness to my emotions without feeling responsible for them, others who are unable to bear witness to my emotions without feeling consumed by them.  I don't want anyone to bear any burden of what I feel, as I truly believe I was given this ability to feel so intensely, for a reason.  I don't want anyone to be hurt by the intensity of my emotions, because hurting myself is enough.  Searching for my way in... meditating with all of you.  Welcoming submissions, as always.  Be well, and find your way in as well, as I am searching for mine.

-Phoenix

Mountain Dreamer

I'm in the throes of a memory

stuck in the eye of a storm.

You really took a hold of me,

but I gave of myself willingly.

Now that you've had your fill of me;

I just want to raise my hands to the sky

and scream, but I cannot breath so instead

I'm teaching myself how to be free.

I put myself in shackles,
clinging to a mountain,

chasing a mirage of family that

I longed for so fiercely that I lost

sight of my feet, and find myself slipping

with no edges to grasp on to,

only slick grass and puddles 

to land in, only mud to catch me.

Now my face is slathered in a film  

that I can't wash clean, 

instead I'm inciting my demons

and they're coming to cash in.
Ghosting just like you would do
to come out alive, to survive.
Now I'm dancing as only I know how
to end this slide, and to rise.

_______________________________________________________

“And I found that I can do it if I choose to - I can stay awake and let the sorrows of the world tear me apart and then allow the joys to put me back together different from before but whole once again.”

― Oriah Mountain Dreamer  

Once again as always, thank you to Florence as well, who has been my favorite muse in the last year.

Too Much is Never Enough

I acted as though my love was enough for two and
prayed that my huge heart could make up for you.
I dreamed that if I could only be consistent
you would wake up and forget the resistance.

Subscribing to the illusion that you would see
that I would never hurt or disappoint you;
I only wanted peace,
in the deepest, most sacred parts of you.

Like the stars chase the sun,
over the glowing hill, I will conquer.

Alas, some wounds run far too deep,
and some things never sleep.
But I never stopped trying
even when inside I was dying.

Even still, you are headstrong
unwilling to bend, unable to bond.
Uncomfortable with staying, too conflicted
to leave.

I know that you loved me, and
I know that you still do.
But something bigger grips you
than my efforts can break through

And my love is no good
Against the fortress that it made of you.

To which only you have the key.


**Tip of the hat to Florence & the Machine's "Queen of Peace," off of the album shown below**

Avoiding Voids

You cannot find happiness
while focused on avoiding
being unhappy.

You can't stay for fear
when holding on to a part
of you that is gone.

The harder you hold
the quicker you'll drop
what is destined to no one.

If it visits you, cherish it
for it will never repeat.

As the blood that runs through your flesh

you are alive, so live

as you are blessed.

Inspired by Verse 24 of the Tao Te Ching and Florence & the Machine

My personal favorite translation, that I own, shown below.

Tourniquet

There are many different kinds of heartache.
The visible, earth shattering, volatile shriek;
The quiet, slow leaked, suffocating blister;
The banished, unfathomable, piercing vice;
The unassuming, shadowed, marooned wail;
The jailed, wild, storming stampede.

Like a virus, splitting once and then nursed,
Only to replicate into magnificent cells of heat
That burn like a thousand suns
That no amount of shelter can shade.
There is no antidote, no escape route.
No "x" marks the spot, no finish line, no parole.

There are many different safeguards
we craft to soothe our fears of losing
that which we could never own to begin with.
Yet no parachute could ever brace
the impact of knowing it is gone.
The only guarantee in life
is that it will change.

It will hurt like hell,
and it will change.

Seven Augusts

Every August comes with a disclaimer, in each of the last seven years.
Each unique in the shifts it spawns, and
every instance comes with a price.

Only now can I decide differently, as
all yesterdays disclude wins and losses.
In all moments of the present day,
only the truest ambitions thrive.

 

Each eighth month, the number of luck and irony,

pain is inevitable, yet joy is my mission.

An addiction for putting my face through the clouds

tasting the newborn fog on my tongue just

to remind myself that I am alive and well.

Seven years felt like seven suns when searching

the history to discover the path forward.

 

In each August of every year I find a store of pain.

Be it pain in my heart, pain in another, pain in my universe

each year I find that there are lessons to be learned

that shake up my world and unsettle my mind.

Where are my bearings in this world of change?

All I can feel is that I'm being sent a message

and I'm trying to listen and trust that I'll know what it means.

 

 

Aint No Way

Take it to the pyre
and I still won't back down.
Even when the screams get so loud
that my ears bleed and my eyes burn

Just keep raising the stakes
I'm waiting and ready
even when the fight is gone
I still won't back down.

Call me stubborn
and I'll tell you I'm proud
throw tornadoes at my feet
I'll still turn it around.

If I know one thing at all
its that their aint no easy way out
thankfully I am seeking to stay
will you be there when the smoke clears?

"Ain't no way for me to love you, if you won't let me. Ain't no way for me to give you all you need, if you won't let me give all of me." - Aretha Franklin

Regenerating

Pleading to my heart to slide down from the upper Milky Way
and safely back into my chest where it belongs.
From where it sprung into action, propelled by waves of intention
as clear as a river bed under ripples from a splash.
My mind, is as open as the Grand Canyon,
but its difficult to pinpoint reality when you can't find your footing.

So much has happened, yet so much has stayed the same.
It's amazing how much can change in fifteen days,
and what can transpire in five minutes.
I found myself in the space before me, waiting with open arms-
And the kinship I've been grieving for weeks, reborn before my eyes. 
Isn't it strange, when we feel betrayed,
it's common to discover our owned abandonment?

Live Each Day

"We sang our hearts out like we wouldn't have to leave this moment." -For The Year (band)

They always say you should live each day like it's your last;
like the fear of death should be what moves us to appreciate each moment.
On the other hand, I think we should always live our life like we won't ever have to stop living at all.
Isn't that what joy is? The release of fear from what it will feel like when it's gone?
Joy is the release of the oppressive fear of vulnerability, otherwise known as the "unknown."
How can we ever really appreciate today if we're already thinking about when it will be over?
In this moment, does it ever truly matter how long it will last? Joy can never be measured in length, time, volume, pitch, intensity, weight or speed.
Joy is the beauty in the immeasurable, the treasure in the untouchable, and the epiphany in the intangible.
So why waste our time trying the unattainable, yet undesirable result of grasping that which we are not entitled?
Joy is a gift that only gives for an undisclosed amount of time.
We might as well fly by the seat of our pants and ride out each crazy second of bliss while it dances through our line of vision.
And if we do, may our lives in turn be blessed by the awareness that freedom is real, and possible.
The heights of having everything, bottled up in a moment licensed to no one, but available to anyone.
May our taste for joy never dampen by the trail that it leaves behind, for instead we can use it as a light-
to guide us through each moment knowing that it will greet us in good time as long as we remain open.

The beatings that life can bring make us all want to close our big hearts to the world,
yet its our entourage of protective walls keeping us from feeling the flight of wholehearted living.
The world tells us: don't feel, just live. Don't get caught up, hung up, let down or held down. Keep moving.
Joy tells us, stop thinking so much, let it go, lighten up, open up and breathe into the beauty. Open your eyes.
Open your heart, and don't be afraid to lose your mind every now and then,
because when you get it back clearer, you can never know what depths of joy available to you unless you're willing to take that leap into the unknown, and do so with reckless abandon.

Love you Bro.

Out of the Embers

There's always so many words
when there's no time or room to say them.
So many wakeful nights spent spinning
with the thoughts in my head
and like the dial on a Fortune wheel
I find myself in perpetual wonder
towards what, when or where my
thoughts will lead me.

If in a few words I could say
what amounts to a thousand-
from my heart of hearts
I would be a rich, wise woman.
Until then I'm wrestling to come out
on top of these competing themes
eating at my ears and setting
the hairs on the back of my neck on alert.

See, there's a fire in my heart, and
I know I'm due to love it...
but when I approach I haven't quite
mastered the art of not getting burned.
This fire burns so beautifully and I know
unlike live flames, it will never die.
Yet I cannot strain to step out of the embers unless I learn to dance with the flames.

You left your mark on me

Or so you thought

I left my heart

Temporarily

You left your mark on me

Or so you thought

I came back to find it

But somewhere in between

I lost me.

I left more marks on me

Or so I thought

I found myself again

I left more marks on me

Mistook blood for emotion

And I’m jump starting endlessly.

I’ve got my eyes on you

You’re everywhere that I see

I’ve got a circular devotion

To all that’s been failing me.

I gave you everything I feel

Yet nothing that was real

When I went to assess the damage

The marks were gone

But the pain was obscene

It was as if I could taste it

If I ever uttered a word

I might not embrace it

But I can’t help but face it.

Frequencies of Protection

Tell me why,
have I been running in circles
for so long now?
Tell me why,
when I look at you
you don't know me anymore?
Tell me why,
after all this time
I am asking myself the same questions
while the answers often land
in such distance from the truth?

In the end,
when so much depends
on finding the truths
within ourselves;
tell me why,
we spend so much time
and expend precious energy
creating fantasies of grandeur?
To decorate, elaborate, accentuate
and feed our egos...
...a perfect decoy for the truth.

Tell me why,
I often find myself
so far outside of my voice,
that I cannot decode my own
frequencies of protection?
Tell me why,
it's become so difficult
to ascertain the difference
between what I've been
telling myself and what's recorded
in spiritual transmission?

I find it rather unsettling,
that I could step so swiftly
outside of my center,
that I leave no footsteps
for my heart to follow home.
Tell me why, I can sit here
grasping at straws
gasping for clarity
ready to lunge at a moment's notice
just to land in a spot that feels
even remotely like home.

Rumination on NY Times' article, an exposé on "The Brutality of ‘Corrective Rape’"

We as Americans write articles like this and call it anthropological research. We enter a foreign country, study and interview her people, traverse and welcome ourselves in others homes, and into suffering "others'" lives. Then into their lives we inject our analysis, our "educated" opinions, and then report back to America; and into the minds of those who read this story, and ingest it as truth because it comes from a reputable or scholarly source. We can be thorough, scholarly, and even considered "courageous" for telling a story about a "far away place" with a "problem" so severe, that we believe the world's (mainly our) shame is the only prescription to "fix" it. Those might be well deserved descriptions; but of course this, as with most things, is debatable.

What I want to know is, why are we so blind to the ways that these "others" and their stories represent themselves in our own culture, in our own back yards, in our own schools, and in our own homes?  Why do I have to explain what 'rape culture' is, almost every time that I use the term?  Why is it that people look away quickly, as if I've offended their sensibilities, when I tell them that much of my volunteer experience focuses on rape prevention?

With this being said, there is something unmistakably courageous, about giving the voiceless a voice. Rape is a particularly violent form of oppression that is exacerbated by the fear that lives inside of all of us.  The same fear that causes family members to hide and/or condone assault of their loved ones out of shame, in an attempt to "protect" that which they consider sacred.  In allowing the fear to steer the ship, the "sacred" that they were desperate to hide, created the "corrective" action that perpetuates the violence, and sinks the ship. When we hide from the stories, and inside of denial; we're solidifying and empowering the very source of violence that created the stories to begin with.

Can the effort to give a voice to the voiceless, a platform for the forgotten "other" in an often underserved, struggling area, country or society-- veer from courageous, and slip into exploitative? I think so, especially when that "voice" that we are trying to give, is preemptively quieting and redirecting the voice from within, the voice from inside of our own walls. What is it about the voice of our own women, here in the US, that makes us look away, shrug off, make "rape jokes" about, use derogatory terms like "slut," or write off as "feminist ideals?"  I do not intend to discount the value of reporting sexual violence in an effort to expose oppression in its most insidious forms, wherever this report may originate.  In a world where the last thought is placed on the survivors of sexual violence, in a society where we're spending too much time about what the survivor was wearing, how many partners a survivor had in the past, or how many drinks this person had; exposure is the first step to creating change. The value of said reporting notwithstanding, what can we do to create awareness, respect and commitment to addressing, understanding and placing value on the issues in our own backyards? I believe that begins with using our anthropology, to place the same attention and analysis at home as well. That begins by admitting that we have a problem of epidemic proportions; but can we as Americans step out of our self-absorption? I'd like to think that this is possible. What can we do to create a better understanding of our own issues?

Breathing Phoenix - Reincarnated (revised)

(I decided that the poem needed further work after my first edit, feel free to comment on the two! NOTE: This poem was written/revised for One Billion Rising. Read original Breathing Phoenix here if you wish)

After your invasion,

I thought that I would break.

Me and my big old heart,

what would be left, once I got back up?

Those words were never uttered aloud

but I heard them in the quieted reflections and

muttered memories like amplified whispers.

Sure, I've learned a thing or two about pain

over the years since the terror of your shame.

I lost my innocence on a fateful day, that remains

a distant memory, despite the demise.

I encountered a darkness I had never seen when

I faced the demons incited by you.

But I've learned a thing or two about me as well,

about what is inside me, beyond what you can tell

beyond what others see, or can even hear

underneath my heartbeat, underneath my chest.

Outside of my bleeding heart, yet holding it close.

It pushes me to stand, when my heart wants to rest.

It gets me out of bed, when I want to shut the world out.

It gives me back my smile, when I struggle with my fears.

It encourages me to do my best, when I feel beaten down.

It gives me comfort when I need it the most,

and it understands when my anger roasts me.

It picks me up when I've lost my ground,

and gives me faith far beyond what is "sound."

It's the fire that feeds me when my body runs cold,

and it's the mist that cools me when my passion burns.

It's the reason I stand, and permits me to stand down.

It fuels me when I lose my will, and shows me how to stop when I've had my fill.

It's the reason I'm alive; despite what I do, how much I get hurt

or how much I've been through.

It's stronger than my intuition and even my heart

the spirit inside me will never die.

(My inspiration for this revision)

Breathing Phoenix (Reincarnated)

(I was recently invited to speak for One Billion Rising, and while looking through material I was inspired to reinterpret this piece, as it seems to have taken new meaning in my life over the years, with new vision and growth having occurred since I wrote it. Feel free to share your thoughts!) 

After the invasion,
I thought that I would break.
Me and my big old heart,
what would be left, once I could get back up?
No one ever uttered those words aloud
but I heard them in the quieted tones and the
muttered glances like amplified whispers.

Sure, I've learned a thing or two about pain
over the years since your shame.
I lost my innocence on a fateful day, that remains
a distant memory, despite the demise.
I encountered a darkness I had never seen when
I faced the demons incited by you.

But I've learned a thing or two about me as well,
about what is inside me, beyond what you can tell
beyond what others see, or can even hear
underneath my heartbeat, underneath my chest.
Outside of my bleeding heart, yet holding it close.
It pushes me to stand, when my heart wants to rest.
It gets me out of bed, when I want to shut the world out.
It gives me back my smile, when I struggle with my fears.
It encourages me to do my best, when I feel beaten down.
It gives me comfort when I need it the most,
and it understands when my anger roasts me.
It picks me up when I've lost my ground, and
and gives me faith far beyond what is "sound."
It's the fire that feeds me when my body runs cold,
and it's the mist that cools me when my passion burns.

It's the reason I stand, and permits me to stand down.
It fuels me when I lose my will, and shows me how to stop when I've had my fill.
It's the reason I'm alive; despite what I do, how much I get hurt
or how much I've been through.
It's stronger than my intuition and even my heart
the spirit inside me will never die.

Electric Veins (sister poem)

(Sometimes when I post, unfinished... "poems in flux" it is a catalyst for change. This poem has been on the tip of my tongue for a long time, and I'm not sure where to go with it so... here it is so far.)

Charged energy courses through my veins
sparking capricious frequencies in my spirit
that unscrew my consciousness, and set my mind ablaze.
Despite the status quo, my state of being or my life...
When it courses through me...all bets are off.

When the hair on the back of my neck
stands up like the arched back of a startled cat
the air feels thick and appears more sudden
more vulnerable, less connected.
I don't know whether to go to the source
or run for cover to the nearest tree.
Either way I might be stopped by lightning
seizing the wiring inside of me.

Should I be brave? Or more certain for sure...
I'm a self-made woman, fit for the fight.
But I'm tender around the edges
prone to condoning deceit.

Layover

Where has my muse traveled to?
Perhaps it packed my motivation in a carry on
I've been driving along, ambitiously thriving
as my dreams are unfolding before me
but I can't seem to find my luggage
perhaps it landed in a unfamiliar city
and I'm just on a scavenger hunt, minus the list.

I'm on a non-stop flight, almost two years in
The horizon even blesses me, as the sunrise keeps sneaking in
why am I not on the same plane as my dreams?
Where did I go? Why am I flying, if my heart is a no-show?

(to be continued...)

Using the trauma, so it will Never Use Me.

I know...deep within my bones that because of my own experience with trauma and being a survivor.. I am endlessly compelled to prevent and help heal trauma in others. Nobody deserves to suffer like that, and certainly not alone. It's an urgent need in me that feels almost tangible, that I can't explain....that moves me beyond any intention that I could ever have. This need in me moves me without my having to decide to stand- it is a part of me. It has been ever since I refused to let the trauma break me, and this need is as central to who I am as the heart that beats in my chest- and the spirit that keeps me alive.

Because of this and countless other reasons; the composition of who I am has changed more in the last four years than in the rest of my years combined. Everything from the complexion of my skin, to the way I walk, the way I hold myself, the thoughts I bear, the words I share, and the decisions I make. It almost seems...unfair... to say that anything good can result from the terrible traumatic events that I experienced. However, today- on this fourth anniversary.. I want to make a promise to myself that this year will be a year I can look back on and draw from. Not because I expect or even think that this journey is over for me, because it definitely is not. I know there are difficult days ahead that I can't predict or even understand right now. But I do want this year to be different; and I want it to be different in the way I work to heal myself, and believe in myself.

Sometimes it is difficult to believe that I have the knowledge and ability to defeat anxiety and other symptoms of PTSD. I feel disconnected, and fragmented today in ways that feel new to me. Each time I find myself on August 25th, it's like the first time I've ever been there. The symptoms aren't the same, and they aren't quite as severe or scarring as they used to be. However, I never can prepare myself for exactly how I'll feel. I can't even guarantee to myself that I'll understand why I'm feeling some of the things that I do, some of the things that I am right now. But if nothing else, I want to love myself a little more this year. I want to love myself in the way that I need to, to get through this day and all of the ones ahead. I want to know that next year, when I feel lost- I can think about today and realize- I'm okay. I'm okay... I'm okay. I'm doing this, and no matter how frightening this may feel. No matter how disturbing it is to know that some of the scars are still inside of me, even after all these years. I've been told.. "I bet you wish you could kill him" and "Don't you want to just cut him (the memories) free?" But this isn't about him anymore. It hasn't been for a very long time.

The emotional aftermath from what happened four years ago from today, was far more harmful and life changing than the actual event itself. I harmed myself in ways that I could not control, and emotionally it felt as if I was literally tearing apart, breaking into pieces. I couldn't rectify the broken parts inside of me, and I couldn't fathom living with the kind of pain that resulted from being violated, and shamed. I couldn't bear the state I lived in, I couldn't bear the feelings I had, and I couldn't cope with the memories without pictures, the sensations in my body that couldn't be explained with images or words. It tore me apart. And when I started to stand up again, started to brush myself off, I was so, very lost. I didn't know myself anymore; I felt like the person I was before, was gone. It was as if I had to learn to walk all over again, learn to relate to others, learn to share myself, and learn to let other people in. It was a painstaking process that took a good portion of the last four years. I still struggle to let people in at times. Eventually I figured out that my spirit was there all along, and if it wasn't, I sure as hell wouldn't have survived. But I did.

Today I want to say, I am still here. I am still in love with life, and I always will be. I still hurt at times, I still have fear at times, and I still am shaken at times. But each time I fall, I get right back up again and I want to use my ability to be strong- to lead me throughout my life. But even beyond that, I want the strength that I've also received from the love others have offered me, the support and the kindness- to bolster that need in me to give to others. There are so many other survivors out there and I feel as if you are a part of me, and I am a part of you. We're in this together- and let us share the light in ourselves that WILL NEVER GO OUT.

With love, tenderness and faith in the collective power of survivors--- be well.
-Phoenix