Product of Pain

“When there’s no more room in Hell…

…the dead will walk the Earth. “

I am the manifestation of two fucked up individuals. In turn, I am a fucked up woman. My fucked up Father is dead and my mother isn’t in the best of conditions right now. I am the product of their pain.

I’ve been living one disappointment after another all my life. I laugh to keep from crying. And I smile to hide the pain. I’m that person who has so much bullshit in everyday life that I try to be the sun in everyone else’s. I want no one to feel the emptiness and loneliness that I feel. But often times I’m shitted on. Subliminally I’m criticized and not just by my close friends but also my family. I don’t expect anyone to know how I feel because they never walked a mile in my shoes.

From the frequent inappropriate touching by my older cousin at the age of 7, to the abandonment and regret of having created me from my late Father, to the lack of emotional support from my Mother; to the gang rape in the Army, the threats to end my life if I told a soul, and the handful of meaningless relationships that resulted in heartbreak, distrust, regret and pain to include my 15 year marriage. I see how fucked up I am. I don’t possess the ability to be happy. I am the protype for unhappiness, pain and hurt. I always have stayed to myself without a lot of friends because people tend to use me for my heart. And then dispose of me when I’m no longer needed.

So when you’re living everyday as a human burden, which is better…To be alive hurting and adding to it daily or to die and not have to deal with it again? When you’re dead inside anyways why does it matter?

The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.

Mark Twain