Hurt. Angry. Tired.

Originally posted on Stories that Must Not Die:

The following post was submitted anonymously.

When I first read through the following submission I was struck by the raw power of the words, the pain, the confusion, and the sense of hope that is there underneath the surface.  Please show the writer the support our community is famous for.

Potential trigger warnings: drugs, alcohol, abuse, violence

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I gave a homeless, bm, a hand up, not a hand out and he assaulted me and gave me vaginal herpes, possibly HIV.

I am an attorney in another county. He spent 5 days in jail, DA dismissed charges. He has been seen in the area, 2.1 miles from my home as latest of Friday, Dec. 11 at 11:30 pm.

Hurt,

angry,

tired,

but still fighting for other known felons.

Fighting for myself too.

Had an emergency court hearing Dec. 15, 8:30 am. Sleep with pepper spray, butcher knife and phone…

View original 117 more words

Hurt. Angry. Tired.

The following post was submitted anonymously.

When I first read through the following submission I was struck by the raw power of the words, the pain, the confusion, and the sense of hope that is there underneath the surface.  Please show the writer the support our community is famous for.

Potential trigger warnings: drugs, alcohol, abuse, violence

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

I gave a homeless, bm, a hand up, not a hand out and he assaulted me and gave me vaginal herpes, possibly HIV.

I am an attorney in another county. He spent 5 days in jail, DA dismissed charges. He has been seen in the area, 2.1 miles from my home as latest of Friday, Dec. 11 at 11:30 pm.

Hurt,

angry,

tired,

but still fighting for other known felons.

Fighting for myself too.

Had an emergency court hearing Dec. 15, 8:30 am. Sleep with pepper spray, butcher knife and phone on 911 speed dial.

Afraid of the dark.

Lost faith in mankind, and the system. Not my faith in Christ though. I’m closer to Him than ever.

Have new bf who claims to love me.

Joke.

Old bf broke off engagement when I disclosed that I have vaginal herpes. His loss, not mine…

etc.

etc.

etc.

etc.

I have no symptoms, yet. But will require HIV testing every 3 months for a lifetime. Have chosen not to be a victim, but an active participant in my recovery. Rarely drink and don’t do drugs.

Thinking of taking up one or, perhaps, both though…

My Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, Birthday and any other occasions, are cancelled,

indefinitely…

Your Post Here

You!

Yes, YOU!

We need you.  We need your story.  We need your voice.

The blogosphere needs you to spread your words of truth, to start discussions, and build a community, to helps others understand they aren’t alone, and set your torments free through shared testimony.

If you have a story that isn’t right for your normal space, or that you want to post anonymously, or that you think needs a wider audience, or, well, you get the idea, we’d love to hear from you.  We’d love to share your words on Stories That Must Not Die.

Send us an email at storiesthatmustnotdie at gmail dot com.  Use the Share Your Story link.  Or you can email me directly at djmatticus at yahoo dot com.

We can’t wait to hear from you, and our fantastic community is ready to provide feedback, offer hugs or shoulders of support, share their own experiences through comments, and otherwise continue to be as wonderful as Rara (and the rest of us) knew they would be.

The Me I Don’t Like, As Much (Redux)

This post was originally shared on Brother Jon’s Page, nearly two years ago. It’s nice to go back every so often and reflect on how our lives have changed, even in just a span of two years. Things are getting better, everyday. I believe daily reflection is important for us all. In the past we can find many, many things for us to learn from. But, it is also important for us to not get stuck in the past. Author John Green once wrote* “Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia.” Nostalgia, by definition, is a longing for the past. This quote turns it around and helps show the importance of looking forward in our lives. Or, you can just ask what Dory would do. Just Keep Swimming.


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Journey On

I have walked many paths, including this one...  Some are easy, some are hard, some are scenic, some are terrifying.  They were all worth walking.

Do I still have the strength to walk the path before me?

“Life’s a journey, not a destination.”

While that happens to be an Aerosmith quote from the song “Amazing” we have all heard this same sentiment in a multitude of other ways.  Stories.  Songs.  Fables.  Our societies and cultures are inundated with this simple truth.  I call it a “truth” because that is exactly what it is.

However, while we read these words, say them to our loved ones, sing along to them, and understand the value of them, we don’t always apply them correctly to our lives.  We judge ourselves too harshly.  We punish ourselves for not being perfect, for not having already reached that destination.  We hold ourselves up to the ideals of what we think we are supposed to be doing, saying, feeling, thinking and we forget that we should be enjoying the road towards those ideals.

Perhaps it isn’t always that we forget, but rather that we don’t think we are worthy of ever reaching that perfect state of being… at peace with ourselves, happy with every aspect of our lives.

I am very guilty of this.  I am quick to forgive others for their mistakes (though, there are some wrongs from my past that I will never forgive) but I am very slow to forgive myself, and for some things in my life I know I will never forgive myself.  (I’m sharing a story here on STMND in a couple weeks that discusses one of the mistakes from my childhood that I will probably never forgive myself for.)  This judgment of self leaves me seething with anger and that turns into a vicious cycle where I further berate myself for my inability to control my emotions, thus amplifying the loathing and disgust.

It’s a hard thing to live constantly under that strain.  And, I’m so very tired.  My thoughts are tired.  My body is tired.  I need to learn to let go.

In the spirit of embracing the truth of the importance of the journey, I’m going to try and come to terms with a new mantra for my life: I’m not perfect, but I’m working towards being a better person, and that’s exactly as it should be.

It will be a struggle, and I’d like to invite you to join me on this path so we can support each other.

Are you quicker to forgive others than you are yourself? 

Are you clasping painfully to some mistakes from your past?

Do you just need a new approach to your life?

Why don’t you take a minute this holiday season and set a new mantra for your life that also reflects these truths…

We are not supposed to be perfect.

We are allowed to make mistakes.

We should enjoy the adventure of living every day. 

Some days we will make giant leaps towards being better individuals, better husbands and wives, better parents and children, and better members of society.  And some days we will fall further than we knew possible.  And that is okay.

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Will you join me on this journey?  What will your mantra be?

3, 2, 1 Contact

Brother Jon:

Rara has been transferred, here is her new address. We want to encourage everyone to write her a letter, especially with the holidays approaching. If you can manage I’m sure a donation would be well received also.

Originally posted on rarasaur:

Big update.  Rarasaur has been transferred to the work program and a new facility.  She should be there for a while.  She’s been moved around a few times and keeping contact has been a pain.  For those of you who have written before or read the rules, they are pretty much the same.  Although, I’m not clear on sending drawings.  The wordage of the guide is poor, and it says stuff about smudged ink and colored paper.  To be on the safe side, I wouldn’t use either.

Please write:

Radhika Jaini wf0124

CIW RC136 1 UP

PO Box 8100

Corona, CA 92878-8100

If you want to ensure a reply, try including a self-addressed stamped envelope, and maybe some blank paper.

View original

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Thanksgiving Surprise!

I’ve heard that this time of year is sometimes a problem for those with depression and suicidal thoughts. I’m not sure if that’s actually true or not, but if it is let’s have a happy post as we begin the Holiday Season. I searched for “Thanksgiving Songs” and What a Wonderful World* really jumped out at me. I hope you  like it too.

This past weekend I traveled home for Thanksgiving. My Mom recently moved back to South West Missouri, making it easier for me to visit everyone during the Holidays. My expectations for this weekend were fairly normal; Dinner at Mom’s on Thursday, followed by a day of catching up with old friends and then Dinner at Dad’s on Saturday. I had it all planned out, even my trip to the local Chinese Restaurant for the dish that can only be found within a seventy-five mile radius of Springfield, Missouri. Little did I know that my plans were all in vain.

The weekend started out very normal. I left Texas around 5:30 pm Wednesday night. I arrived at my Mom’s house right at Midnight. She has a full second bedroom, with a very nice bed, but for some reason suggested that I sleep on the couch. That was perfectly fine with me, and I didn’t have a second thought about it. The next morning I headed to my hometown to see some old Church buddies who were playing the yearly “Turkey Bowl”, Church flag football game. After that I went on to see my dad. I spent a couple of hours there and then decided to head back to Mom’s because I didn’t want to be late for dinner. I stopped at Wal-Mart for some ugly sweaters and cups, and then was on my way to Mom’s.

Before I go any further I should mention that this coming January 20th will mark two years ago when my Grandfather died. Since then my Grandmother (Grammie) has done really well in keeping busy and always looking at the bright side of things. We always joked though, about getting her to visit us in Missouri. She’s a Seattle girl, and our little area of the State is WAY slowed down when compared to Seattle. She usually spends her time in Denver or North Carolina and even Paris, but not little ole Missouri. Until…

I arrived at Mom’s house and walked through the front door. Mom and her boyfriend were standing there nonchalantly. I gave her the cups she needed and was asked what else I had in the bags. I told her it was just stuff and headed for the spare bedroom to set it with the rest of my stuff. I rounded the corner and came face to face with Grammie. All I could say is “Oh, Wow.” We hugged and she asked me if I was surprised, which I was very much so. Come to find out they had planned this since the first of September. Myself and my brother knew absolutely nothing about it. It was a great surprise and made for an excellent Thanksgiving.

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Mom, BroJo, Grammie and Brother in the back. Here we’re taking a tour of where my Brother works. Pretty cool job, huh? That’s a Blackhawk Helicopter.

My brother showed up a couple of hours after I did. When he came in it took him a little longer to round the corner where Grammie was, but the payoff was a little better. He took my “Oh, Wow” and raised it to a “Holy Shit!”

We spent the weekend catching up, telling funny stories about Grandpa, eating good food and even went to the movies. I didn’t keep hardly any of my plans, but that’s okay. I didn’t mind one bit.


Featured Image is Brother, Dad and Brojo.

*I claim no ownership of this video or song.

Happy Thanksgiving

All of us here at Stories That Must Not Die wanted to take a moment today to thank all of you, our faithful and wonderful readers and contributors, for helping grow this community. We appreciate you for who you are.

Here are some additional things we are thankful for:

Matticus

I’m thankful for the Queen and Little Prince and having this forum to tell the stories that don’t have a home anywhere else. I’m thankful for the respect and patience I’ve received from the blogosphere as I grow my words.

DaydreamsInWonderland -
I’m guilty of taking certain aspects of life for granted this year. Health, friends, and time were some privileges I ignorantly assumed would be there. Life woke me up. One of my friends who always helped me see my strengths was pulled away from me and others that love her, due to some unfortunate (and dare I say grossly unfair) circumstances.

My family’s health was tested, and time slipped away from me.
Somehow, through all this a dim light emerged. I was thrust into that light by the friend that was sent away. In that dim light, something magical happened. I found others in similar boats all torn to bits and missing that same person. Together we found some peace. Together, we became each other’s strength.
That dim light grew brighter. With this newfound light, we began to welcome others in. A safe haven was born.
I’m so unbelievably thankful for that.
There is so much more I cannot even begin to list. So, I’ll just say I’m grateful that the people in my life are still in it.

BroJo -

I am thankful for all of you, admins, contributors and readers. Without each of you we wouldn’t be here and we would all miss out on potential healing opportunities. Thank you all for that.

Jaded -

I’m thankful to Rara for founding this forum and to you all for supporting it. I’m thankful for every act of kindness as each brings hope that all is not lost. Personally, I’m thankful for the slow repair of a key relationship. Peace to you all.

goldfish -

I’m thankful to Rarasaur for giving us a forum to tell our hardest stories without fear or judgment, and for tagging me for the privilege of being an admin at STMND. I’m thankful to the other admins for being such a remarkable support network and to all of you for reading and contributing here. Have a safe and happy holiday season and here’s to more undead stories in the future.

Samara -

I’m thankful for this wonderful place, Bloglandia, where I am surrounded by friends. I shared some of the hardest stories of my life this year, in a safe place, with people who only gave me support and love. My soul was lifted and my mind unburdened, and for that, I am truly grateful.

I’m so thankful for Rara for uniting me with this, my blog family here at STMND.

And I’m thankful for Little Dude. My son gets the best part of me. And he inspires me to be my highest vision of myself, everyday.

I’m so grateful for the experience of having a child whose safety I cherish and take for granted. And not just because I love him more than life itself. But it his very safety which brings me to a higher state of awareness that others experience struggle where he experiences favor. I’m grateful that motherhood connects me to an awareness of this problem because it makes me feel, in some tiny way, that I can hope to be part of the solution.

New Resources Page

We are proud to announce the arrival of our new Community Resources page.

Everyone hopes that you will help us add to the resources presented here so we could update this page constantly.

Our dream is to see this safe haven with phone numbers, web sites, blogs, and social media links filled from every country and valuable resource on the web.

If you have a community resource or organization that you know of, belong to or simply think will fit in here at STMND feel free to contact us via our Share Your Story page or our Stories Twitter.
The links and numbers given will be submitted to the site page and updated here as a sort of community hub.

We look forward to these organizations reaching those that need it.

The Coward at the Door

This post originally appeared at The SisterWives site.  Please leave any comments, questions, feedback, etc… over there, and take your time in visiting with the other wonderful moderators and contributors there as well.  They are also building a fantastic community of support and understanding.

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I once had a friend admit to me that they wished they were more like me.  He and his fiancé had been woken abruptly the night before by a large man, obscured by the darkness beyond the peephole, knocking, pounding, forcefully on their apartment door.  My friend told me that he felt inadequate as a man and as a potential husband as he backed away from the door and went to hide back in the bed, hoping the man would disappear back into the night.  His voice quivered slightly as he recounted his tale and then claimed that he knew I would have handled it differently, I would have been brave enough to answer the door or at least call out to see what they wanted, see if they needed help.  My friend saw me as an ideal of braveness to live up to, an ideal he had fallen woefully, ashamedly short of.

I told him he was right.  I would have at least called out to the man to see if he needed help.  I wouldn’t have gone scampering back to my bed with my tail tucked between my legs.  Because I am brave.  Because I am a man.  Because it was the good thing to have done.  The right thing.  The human thing.

I lied, of course.  To my friend, at least.  I knew the words coming out of my mouth were bullshit.  I knew I would have quietly snuck back to my bedroom and laid shivering in my bed until enough time had passed that sleep might once again claim me, though that wouldn’t be likely to happen as my imagination would turn every shadow and bump in the night into a looter, a pillager, a raper, a murderer come to dispense their brand of mischief and evil on me, on my family.  As I lied, I realized that not only was I cowardly because I wouldn’t have answered the door but I was more cowardly than my friend because I didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth.  He could at least admit his cowardice to me.  He was braver than me.

My mind, not wanting to admit my cowardice, tried to rationalize my desire to remain quiet, to call out to the stranger, to keep the door firmly closed between us.  I would be doing it in the best interest of my family, I couldn’t risk their safety even if it meant possibly helping someone else.  Who doesn’t have a cell phone these days, if they truly needed help they could have called friends, family, the police in an instant.  Who knocks on a strangers door in the middle of the night, only hooligans, only the worst members of our society.  I would be doing the safe thing, the smart thing, by keeping my presence on the other side of those two inches of wood a secret.

I know that doesn’t make any sense.  Those men and women who use the cloak of darkness to hide their nefarious actions don’t announce their intentions by knocking loudly, firmly, confidently (urgently), on doors.  Who does that?  Surely only someone in need of help.  Surely someone who was hoping a kind soul would open that door and be able to help them make a phone call, or jump their dead battery, or spare a gallon of gas to get them to the nearest station, or…  They knocked, bravely, hoping to be rewarded by another brave person answering their hour of need.  They didn’t find one in my friend, and they wouldn’t have found one in me either.

My rationalizations about safety and risk don’t make me feel any better about it.  I am a coward.  I know it.  I don’t embrace it.  I don’t actively try to change it either.

Society glorifies bravery and demands that men rise to the examples set by the heroes of the past.  Children are raised on stories of knights leading charges, soldiers defying odds and rallying those around them, and astronauts risking everything to explore the final frontier.  Who wouldn’t want to live up to those ideals?  But then life happens.  Responsibilities.  Bullying (for some).  The shine of those heroes becomes tarnished by the truths of our present realities.  We compromise.  We deflect.  We hide.  Until, one day, we wake up and find ourselves lying to our friends about how brave we are.

I should call him, tell him that I lied, admit my fear matched his own and tell him it was okay to be afraid.  We don’t have to live up to those ideals of what it means to be a man anymore.  We don’t have to compare ourselves to what society deems it means to be a man.  Yes, I should call him, but I won’t.  I don’t want to admit the truth.

In my mind there is still a sliver of hope that I will grow up to be as brave as those knights, those soldiers, those explorers.  I’m just waiting for the right occasion to come along and test me and then I will rise up and prove that I am brave, that I am a man, that I am everything I should be.

I’m fooling myself, of course.

Apparently I’m a fool as well as a coward.