Sometimes we scream and shout and no one hears. Is it because it falls on deaf ears?
Are they not listening? Are we not saying things loudly and clearly enough?

Certain images will never leave me. My father on his knees beside my bed, crying as I am crying. Writhing in pain emotionally as I writhe in pain physically. These are images we are never supposed to see, or feel, or experience, or know.

I have never been in a place so dark. The fear that it will all come back again can be stifling. Being young has never been such a curse. Or is it a blessing? 151/97. 100/61. Before and after.

I will never be so thankful as I have been for the love and kindness of friends. I've learned over the last several years that if you do not give people a chance to stand up and care for you by telling them what is going on, then how can you discount them for not doing so. I've learned that to be cared for you must make yourself vulnerable. I've been so much more vulnerable. And yet, the closest people to me have not heard me shout and scream for help. Beg for aid, for relief, for someone, something to stop the madness.

In the end I learned, if you do not help yourself, no one else is at fault. We are responsible for our own fate. In the end I felt blasphemous. Stronger than God. Though I prayed with all my might to be saved.

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