You always said, 'I'm telling you what my father told me, don't wait too long to have kids.'

When I turned thirty, you took me on a long walk - and explained my own dwindling fertility to me - as if you couldn't understand why I hadn't yet produced a child. Another disappointment I suppose. I made many excuses - my low wages, my high rent, my partner's reluctance to become a father, the increasing conflicts within the world, the collapse of ecosystems, pollution. All of these reasons were real - but none of them is what was truly keeping me from motherhood.

The truth is - I didn't feel equipped to become a parent. I was painfully aware of my hair-trigger temper, my disproportionate reactions, the undercurrent of violence that flowed through my veins, always threatening to come to the surface.

My own world felt so unsafe that I could never imagine willingly subjecting an innocent being to it. Because children are supposed to be nurtured and kept safe. They are supposed to be encouraged and loved unconditionally, so they can grow into the beautiful and unique (and yes sometimes frustrating) person they are supposed to be. And I didn't get that from you as a child. The home I grew up in felt like living on the edge of a volcano. Sometimes dormant, usually spewing lava - but occasionally blowing up and destroying everything in it's path.

Now I am healing and learning healthy communication and emotional maturity. Maybe one day - with the right partner, I might feel safe enough to nourish a child. Maybe not. Either way, I am determined to break the pattern here.

I just wish you would take the time to come to terms with your own childhood trauma - I can't imagine what you have suffered to make you as you are.

Sunlight stirs green thoughts,

coming alive instead of still props.

Pushing from the bottom.

I cannot pull from the top.

Dirt is pounded endlessly

till it's solid as rock.

There are high mighty,

have always been.

They’ll be struck low

as always will.

When the people break,

the country remakes,

and the soil is tilled.

So we can take our fill.

A few weeks ago I had a panic attack. I had been suppressing my feelings for a while and I guess that's what caused it. I had rushed to the garage so my parents wouldn't hear. I sat on our golf cart sobbing. I was hyperventilating, and shaking and I was fuggin terrified. (Ug reliving this is not fun) I kept getting up and walking around. I was muttering the words 'just stop' over and over again. Then, I suddenly felt like someone was there. I felt like I was actually in danger, I backed myself into a wall to make sure I would see everything. God, I was so scared. Now I know I was being irrational, but in that moment, I felt like I was back in my childhood, defenseless and constantly in danger. (I really hate thinking about this, but I kinda need to right?) So yeah, that is a time I was truly terrified.

I used to feel lost, gone. I used to wake up every morning and feel the heaviness in my chest. I used to take walks to clear the fogginess in my brain. I would write daily in my journal about how scared I was.

Then I would stop writing. I would realize that complaining wouldn't get me anywhere. I would stuff everything down. The sadness, the fear, the loneliness, and the pain would all be stuffed and pushed down, down, down, until unrecognizable by my peers.

Then, somehow, the feelings rose. They took control and found a way to make me pay. They were sneaky, these feelings. They guided me to do very very impulsive, reckless things. Like reaching out to a person bad for me, or to do self-harm.

Then, the self-criticism came. I would ridicule myself for being so messed up. I mean wtf right? Everything that happened to me was years ago, and yet here I am drowning in the same shit. I know, that's PTSD for ya, but I just hate that I can't seem to move past this. I'm stuck in this cycle of self-destruction and I really, really want out.

Because if I don't get out, I just know I will turn out like my bio mom. I KNOW it. I seem to be becoming more and more like her every day. I have so many goals too, and I can't waste all the resources I have now just because of this godforsaken cycle.

I'm a pretty smart kid. Straight A's (except for the freaking B I have, aaah). I do sports and plan to go to college. But lately, I've lost the drive to keep focusing, I don't care as much. That scares me because I am going to high school next year where grades actually matter. Ug, sorry to go all nerdy on you.

Yeah well, I feel better now so I'm going to stop rambling. I had a plan for this journal thing, but it got away from me so this is fine, I guess.

I wasn't always like this.

Broken, I mean.

I used to be good, and innocent.

He ruined that for me.

He ruined everything.

Before him, I was popular,

Some might even say I was loved.

Now, I'm just a failure.

A fake, a fraud.

I used to love taking runs as the sun rose

Feeling the sun redden my nose

Now,

Now, I'm just clinging to the high.

He destroyed me.

Like he will soon destroy you.

Note: (He) is supposed to stand for drugs if that makes any sense. This attempt at poetry horrifies me, but at least I tried right? Thanks for reading, any opinions are welcome! :)

Am I happy?

No.

Am I broken?

No.

Am I ok?

Oh hell no.

But am I broken?

No.

I am stuck in the middle between broken and dead

But I am not broken.

There's this friend of mine with such an incredible memory. She remembers everything that happened years ago, date, time, who laughed and who didn't, the grade we were in. When she starts to narrate stories about me, I think, this is so funny, God I was so stupid and wow, how embarassing but it's always like she is talking about someone else, someone that's not even a distant memory for me even though she is me.

And it's sad because it's not like I don't remember stuff. I do, just not the good ones. I remember the terrible things, some crazy mean stuff some adult or mate said to little innocent gentle me down to the time and the way they were sitting or standing when they said it. But I never remember what came after it or what was before it. Just that one terrible sentence and what it did to me years after.

It is kind of funny because the little me was hurt, yes, but it wasn't until I had grown up enough to know how broken I should be because of all those hurtful little things that I truly became broken. Those things happened to me as a kid but I was still okay. And now I am not.

It's like there's this big hole of despair, low self-esteem, physical and verbal abuse right in the middle of my memory. Hole so big I can't even decipher what good ever felt like or what being a child ever felt like.

But it's all good. I'm making new ones now and I hope that years from now, the fact that I'm, was, ever sad or broken, the bad times will be the distant memories. I just really wish things could be okay really quickly.

Anyone know where I can find a time machine? Anyone? No one?

Fine I'll just wait.

Under this streetlight

I wait for you

maybe I know you'll never come

but I'll stand here until my legs give out

and turn to dust

because I can't forget

the way you can

what's funny is 

the darkest part of the night

is the darkness around the light

I'm afraid to walk out

from the streetlight

I don't know what awaits me

in the darkest part of the night

what's sad is 

I'm starting to think that

I might as well forget

the way you did

it seems everyone

wishes they could

start over.

from the beginning.

but to start over you have to

end.

so why not try it backwards?

how about,

starting from the end,

not the fantasy

you wish

your world

could

be.

and then step back

all the way to what you wished

your life

would be like.

and take a second

to rethink

what your future

wants.

not the

fragments

of your past.