Dear world,
College has been eating up my life, and yet I’m proud to say that I enjoy every minute of it. Every volunteer opportunity, every event I help plan, and every person I meet and come to admire will probably be ingrained forever in my memory. It’s been a wonderful first couple of weeks, and I’m so happy I chose the college I did. One of the most amazing things about my college experience is that, every now and then, I learn something new about myself in ways that I never could imagine.
I finally have a little bit of free time now, meaning that I will be catching up on blog readings and giving responses far overdue.
P.S: Sophie, my dear, I have to tell you that I read your last post quite a while ago, and I wasn't entirely sure how to respond to the severity of the situation. There are so many things I want to say to your experience, and I couldn't even begin to count all the variations of rage and helplessness I experienced to find out that you had been hurt that way.
So I will do my very best, and, of course, I'll send you an update of my life to the best of my ability... a lot has happened.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I am seriously ill... therefore, I succumb to flights of fantasy...
This is what happens when my roommate and I are both deliriously ill.
***
Trung
you
i hate that you got me sick
you monstrous bag of plague
ptooey
I digitally spit on you
10:54pmDavid
You know me...
Misery loves company
10:54pmTrung
You be misery
10:54pmDavid
Look who is a clever dan
10:55pmTrung
oh quiet you
10:56pmDavid
You started it, need I remind you
10:56pmTrung
i did not
you were the one who came sick
10:58pmDavid
True but you decided to room with me this year
10:58pmTrung
Yeah, but we determined this long before you decided it was a good idea to contract this virus
10:59pmDavid
Hey it courted the shit out of me first
There were flowers and wine involved
10:59pmTrung
Did it have a penis that could potentially destroy you?
10:59pmDavid
Probably
10:59pmTrung
Then is may possibly be excusable
otherwise, there is simply no excuse
11:00pmDavid
Giant Penis's make everything better
11:00pmTrung
yes
Yes they do.
Unfortunately, between the two of us, we can only say that Richie has first-hand experience of that
seeing as to how he rode the giant golden penis this past weekend
11:01pmDavid
True. But he hasn't gotten sick from either of us...
11:03pmDavid
Perhaps the giant golden penis has medicinal qualities?
11:03pmTrung
Then it is settled
In order to get well, we must appoint a hero to venture forth and claim the medicinal qualities of the Great Golden Penis
in order to restore us to health
This sounds like the plot to a very badly produced fantasy gay porno film
I deem Richie as a candidate to become the hero, clearly.
11:05pmDavid
Okay, who shall be his stalwart sidekick?
11:06pmTrung
Hmmm....
Yes, he must have one
And a magical token of our support, as well.
I could give him a shiny blue packet of lube
11:06pmDavid
Sounds good. Who is the sexiest person we know on campus?
11:07pmTrung
Hmm...
Well...
There's Jeff
But you insulted him by insinuating he was an underclassman
when he came to borrow your belt
11:08pmDavid
I did nothing of the sort! I just assumed that he was there because you offered him help
11:10pmTrung
well, now the sexy man who would have been a great stalwart second-banana is now not on board
heehee
stalwart second-banana
i must giggle at it for i am gay
it is in my nature
11:10pmDavid
How about Justis? He is pretty suave and sexy
11:11pmTrung
He is
But I feel that he may have a tendency to overpower the first-banana
11:11pmDavid
And Richie needs a counter-weight to his adorable clumsy nature
11:11pmTrung
Richie must discover his inner hero on this mission
would Justis be a boon to this end?
11:12pmDavid
It is like Don Quixote
11:12pmTrung
Except...
With the reverse widths
but with the respective heights
11:12pmDavid
Pretty much
11:12pmTrung
They need a steed
11:13pmDavid
Hmmm... I can't see Richie riding ANYTHING though
11:14pmTrung
True.
11:14pmDavid
not even women
11:14pmTrung
perhaps he can wear a lucky sock
A jock sock
Besides
He is on a sacred mission to extract the medicinal qualities from the ?Great Golden Phallus
Riding women is totally out of the question
for YEARS
11:15pmDavid
Too true...but he can't become a Don Juan at the end of the quest then
11:16pmTrung
But he acquires the wisdom of the Golden Penis
He should be set
11:17pmDavid
Ahhh
So he will need to spend formative years in training after he retrieves it then
11:17pmTrung
Yes
He probably needs to ride that thing for a while before he can truly learn and apply its phallic wisdoms
11:18pmDavid
I think I am too sick to truly enjoy this conversation at its peak
11:19pmTrung
Me too
Let's shelve this and giggle about it later
11:19pmDavid
We should send it to richie though
11:20pmTrung
true
11:20pmDavid
You want to do the honors?
11:20pmTrung
Be my guest, good sir.
***
Trung
you
i hate that you got me sick
you monstrous bag of plague
ptooey
I digitally spit on you
10:54pmDavid
You know me...
Misery loves company
10:54pmTrung
You be misery
10:54pmDavid
Look who is a clever dan
10:55pmTrung
oh quiet you
10:56pmDavid
You started it, need I remind you
10:56pmTrung
i did not
you were the one who came sick
10:58pmDavid
True but you decided to room with me this year
10:58pmTrung
Yeah, but we determined this long before you decided it was a good idea to contract this virus
10:59pmDavid
Hey it courted the shit out of me first
There were flowers and wine involved
10:59pmTrung
Did it have a penis that could potentially destroy you?
10:59pmDavid
Probably
10:59pmTrung
Then is may possibly be excusable
otherwise, there is simply no excuse
11:00pmDavid
Giant Penis's make everything better
11:00pmTrung
yes
Yes they do.
Unfortunately, between the two of us, we can only say that Richie has first-hand experience of that
seeing as to how he rode the giant golden penis this past weekend
11:01pmDavid
True. But he hasn't gotten sick from either of us...
11:03pmDavid
Perhaps the giant golden penis has medicinal qualities?
11:03pmTrung
Then it is settled
In order to get well, we must appoint a hero to venture forth and claim the medicinal qualities of the Great Golden Penis
in order to restore us to health
This sounds like the plot to a very badly produced fantasy gay porno film
I deem Richie as a candidate to become the hero, clearly.
11:05pmDavid
Okay, who shall be his stalwart sidekick?
11:06pmTrung
Hmmm....
Yes, he must have one
And a magical token of our support, as well.
I could give him a shiny blue packet of lube
11:06pmDavid
Sounds good. Who is the sexiest person we know on campus?
11:07pmTrung
Hmm...
Well...
There's Jeff
But you insulted him by insinuating he was an underclassman
when he came to borrow your belt
11:08pmDavid
I did nothing of the sort! I just assumed that he was there because you offered him help
11:10pmTrung
well, now the sexy man who would have been a great stalwart second-banana is now not on board
heehee
stalwart second-banana
i must giggle at it for i am gay
it is in my nature
11:10pmDavid
How about Justis? He is pretty suave and sexy
11:11pmTrung
He is
But I feel that he may have a tendency to overpower the first-banana
11:11pmDavid
And Richie needs a counter-weight to his adorable clumsy nature
11:11pmTrung
Richie must discover his inner hero on this mission
would Justis be a boon to this end?
11:12pmDavid
It is like Don Quixote
11:12pmTrung
Except...
With the reverse widths
but with the respective heights
11:12pmDavid
Pretty much
11:12pmTrung
They need a steed
11:13pmDavid
Hmmm... I can't see Richie riding ANYTHING though
11:14pmTrung
True.
11:14pmDavid
not even women
11:14pmTrung
perhaps he can wear a lucky sock
A jock sock
Besides
He is on a sacred mission to extract the medicinal qualities from the ?Great Golden Phallus
Riding women is totally out of the question
for YEARS
11:15pmDavid
Too true...but he can't become a Don Juan at the end of the quest then
11:16pmTrung
But he acquires the wisdom of the Golden Penis
He should be set
11:17pmDavid
Ahhh
So he will need to spend formative years in training after he retrieves it then
11:17pmTrung
Yes
He probably needs to ride that thing for a while before he can truly learn and apply its phallic wisdoms
11:18pmDavid
I think I am too sick to truly enjoy this conversation at its peak
11:19pmTrung
Me too
Let's shelve this and giggle about it later
11:19pmDavid
We should send it to richie though
11:20pmTrung
true
11:20pmDavid
You want to do the honors?
11:20pmTrung
Be my guest, good sir.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Oh hallo thar PTSD, would you like some tea?
I was supposed to write a childhood memory poem for Creative Writing, and right now I have a skeleton of a poem. Here it is:
Defiance
Rushing through the thin halls
Thick with the bodies of students,
A young girl pulls on her pink frilly coat,
Another brushes past, lighting the fuse.
Like a stick of dynamite, the girl erupts, chasing her down the hall
Pink in the face, eyes a flash of glaring red,
Words fly on both ends, unabated, the tension pools over, mouths flapping away.
One of them is silenced, her defiance cooled.
The impact steals away the girl’s last remaining dignity,
All is numb, her vision is hazy
Flashes of black, white, her world is spinning,
Her friends are laughing, all ringing
Surprisingly, the calm washes over as face meets mettle,
Who would have thought she’d go out this way?
A teacher watches close by, is she moving, passing?
Again the ringing
The tears sting down the girl’s cheeks,
She falls to the floor in a crumbled heap.
Everything is dark, nothing but the torture of defeat.
She holds her head in her hands as she weeps.
The other is ashamed; she is still kicking and flailing,
Tearing down her own pain, all she can feel is relief.
She is attacking relentlessly, wildly;
Can’t you see she hurts the same?
Bloody knuckles, cracked and bruised
Shaking and crying, head in her hands.
Things are becoming clear, she dashes away with friends in tow,
All is till dark for the one below.
She is lead up by strong caring arms
Carried down the halls, all is empty and quiet
Her world is still numb, unfeeling
Her savior reassuringly pats her aching and raw back.
Nothing can be seen but black and white,
Still all but hazy
Her defiance finally silenced.
Aside from the poem being dreadful, it brings up a memory from my past that I usually don't talk about, but it's affected me more than I'd like to admit.
Apparently, I suffer from post traumatic stress disorder as a result, thus says the one with the PHD, but I'm not comfortable identifying myself like this.
I stubbornly believe my reactions to things around me are my own, but every so often I'll see things a little bit differently than my family. My mom will always become sad and serious, and tell me in a quiet voice that a terrible thing had happened to me, and now my disorder is being brought back into the fore front of my psych. Maybe she won't always say this so clearly, but whenever she reminds me I can't help but cry every time.
I hate to think that I don't have control over the way I react. I refuse to believe that this holds anything over me.
For instance, when the drunken teenagers crashed their car into our house recently and nearly killed our entire family, I haven't been sleeping very well. I'll stay awake, toss and turn, and think about what if. Also, whenever I hear loud car related noises outside, for instance: Speeding cars, roaring engines, and skidding sounds-- I'll get scared and panicky. Last night a car was roaring it's engine for a few minutes while I sat out in the family room trying to watch a movie. I literally sat stock still, heart beating fast, listening and wondering what the hell was going on. Than the car started speeding around the neighborhood, over and over, screeching and skidding for 5 minutes or longer. I was shaking, and crying, and so very scared. I ended up running into my mom's room and hopping onto her bed even though she was trying to sleep. I'm even more afraid that I'll always react this way to car noises. I don't feel safe in my own house anymore, and I'm so incredibly paranoid...I feel like any moment something else will crash into our house.
But really...all because I was attacked in 8th grade?
When I think about it, it feels like something so little. I was jumped, I was beaten, it was over right?
It was when I lost my childhood though...I forced to grow up right on the spot. It took a few years for me to get over it; I was forced into therapy, pulled away from everyone, and tried to handle my emotion and frightening growth on my own.
It still doesn't feel like it sounds so terrible though. Like, unless you experienced it, you wouldn't understand. Maybe it's because it happened to me while I was a kid.
Someone I had never met before, beat the living hell out of me for brushing up against her in the thin Jackson Middle School hallway. She spun me around in circles and pounded my face. I never swung back, all I could do was think. There was a teacher standing there the entire time and she DID NOT MOVE OR STOP IT. I could see her still standing there, while I was spinning, and numb. It hurt but I didn't feel a thing. It was a strange experience. All the while, the girls friends kept screaming at me, and words of encouragement to their friend, "Kill the white girl!".
Jesus Christ, was I going to die?
It felt like it.
At the time, I just kept spinning, and spinning. It wouldn't stop. The teacher did nothing. I couldn't get away, spinning, she kept pounding me, still spinning. I thought that was the end, I thought she was going to beat me to death right than and there. It was terrible, but I felt ashamed to die there. If I died here, this way...I truly felt like it was happening.
When she finally let go or I got away, I don't know, I fell into a fetal position. I didn't feel anything, I just sat on the ground and cried into my hands. It was all black, it was like all I could hear was the sound of my own sobbing in a dark echoing room.
But when I later got home, my back as covered in bruises. Another teacher had also confirmed; She was beating me and kicking at my body while I sat there on the ground.
I mean how sick is that? I didn't even know it was happening, I was lost, I was gone.
And this girl didn't know me. Why did she do this?
She beat me hard enough for doctors to think I had a skull fracture...
I'm shaking as I type this...
Maybe it's also the fact that there was no justice on the part of the school administration.
They didn't do anything about it. The teacher standing there didn't stop it. They wouldn't let us see the tape from the camera above. They suspended her for 3 days, but lucky for me I suppose, her family fled to North Dakota, and there was a warrant out for her arrest.
Also, they would only call it assault.
Any legal definition will tell you that it was far more than that.
Vida's status on Skype: "What doesn't kill you...gives you post traumatic stress disorder."
I thought I was going to die...is that why I have it?
After the incident I likened to calling myself two-face. Half my face was horribly disfigured, while the other looked like me. I didn't realize it also had another meaning for the person I had become as a result.
There were two parts of me vying for control. There was the childlike innocence that was there before, and the new hateful pessimist who was angered by all of it.
My therapist always tried to get me to take pills, to curb the latter, but I always refused. Again, I'm not okay with something else controlling my life or emotions. To this day, I'm proud and very glad of the decision I made. Sure, it was really tough handling things on my own and getting better in my own right, but I became a better person because of it. It took awhile, and I had to navigate a lot of dangerous emotions, but I wouldn't have been able to do that with pills. The pills would have held me back, repress the growth. I had to do that alone.
Because of this, a lot of who I am today is a direct result of who I had to grow into.
If I were to sit my ass down in a comfy chair and cross examine myself...
Hmm.
Well for starters, the whole fear of death thing is very easily explained from this. Or rather, how non-confrontational I am now. I'm scared to get into any heated argument, antagonize, or even question another person for fear of violent retaliation that could possibly take my life away.
I guess in turn, this would than prove to reason why I don't speak up about myself as much either.
I also don't like revealing things like this, because a lot of people talk about things of this nature to get attention or sympathy (which I loathe and DO NOT want to be mistaken for) so I tend to keep things to myself, and possibly than work out problems or ideas on my own.
Thus the independence. For the most part, I don't rely much on other people. I don't NEED other people, it's more a WANT thing which I respect more anyways. If I share something, it's not because I need to, but because I want to. If I spend time with you, WANT not NEED. Plus it's more healthy.
The constant need for freedom. Another good one. Why am I so afraid of being tied down? Right now, I apparently have this thing that controls my anxiety, etc. and that's not okay with me. I feel like I hinder myself, and I want to desperately break free. This than translates into my overall desire to be independent from almost everything. I don't want to be held back by anything...
Really, I think most of my blog entries could be explained like this...which kinda really pisses me off.
Honestly, I'm in denial of having post traumatic stress disorder, but everyone is constantly telling me I do. There is always the nagging voice in the back of my head about it, and I can't help but feel like I have it because that voice is there.
I feel like I'm crazy, or irrational, but most of all I hate having a label on me that could be used to write me off or easily explain how I act.
It's like an excuse.
I'm not okay with excuses either.
This incident knocked my world off it's axis and I was forced to build myself back up again.
I know that without it, I wouldn't be the person I am today.
I wonder, would I still be childish and immature?
Would I be like the rest of the 19 year olds? Would I not understand?
Aside from all the ramble, I rarely share the story at all. It feels sort of liberating to finally get it out there, if only to a few people.
I know a few of my friends from 8th grade are still good friends of mine today. They remember when it happened, and sort of vaguely recall all of the changing I went through...but we usually laugh it off. Mostly I think this is to downplay how hard it was for all of us.
Thankfully I came out of it a better person, at least I like to tell myself so.
Today, all I have as a reminder for me is when I look in the mirror. When I'm very tired, perhaps you have seen, there is a dent that becomes prominent on my right cheek. It's been there now for about 6 years...I wonder if it will always be there? Also, I always notice this more than others I'm sure, but whenever I smile, my noise is crooked, and hooks to the left side. My mom wonders if that girl had broken my nose. I don't think she did, but when I was younger, my nose didn't do this so obviously...
Anyways, it felt good to finally share this story in detail...I never explain this, and I think sometimes I should. I think it would be better if people would understand.
Defiance
Rushing through the thin halls
Thick with the bodies of students,
A young girl pulls on her pink frilly coat,
Another brushes past, lighting the fuse.
Like a stick of dynamite, the girl erupts, chasing her down the hall
Pink in the face, eyes a flash of glaring red,
Words fly on both ends, unabated, the tension pools over, mouths flapping away.
One of them is silenced, her defiance cooled.
The impact steals away the girl’s last remaining dignity,
All is numb, her vision is hazy
Flashes of black, white, her world is spinning,
Her friends are laughing, all ringing
Surprisingly, the calm washes over as face meets mettle,
Who would have thought she’d go out this way?
A teacher watches close by, is she moving, passing?
Again the ringing
The tears sting down the girl’s cheeks,
She falls to the floor in a crumbled heap.
Everything is dark, nothing but the torture of defeat.
She holds her head in her hands as she weeps.
The other is ashamed; she is still kicking and flailing,
Tearing down her own pain, all she can feel is relief.
She is attacking relentlessly, wildly;
Can’t you see she hurts the same?
Bloody knuckles, cracked and bruised
Shaking and crying, head in her hands.
Things are becoming clear, she dashes away with friends in tow,
All is till dark for the one below.
She is lead up by strong caring arms
Carried down the halls, all is empty and quiet
Her world is still numb, unfeeling
Her savior reassuringly pats her aching and raw back.
Nothing can be seen but black and white,
Still all but hazy
Her defiance finally silenced.
Aside from the poem being dreadful, it brings up a memory from my past that I usually don't talk about, but it's affected me more than I'd like to admit.
Apparently, I suffer from post traumatic stress disorder as a result, thus says the one with the PHD, but I'm not comfortable identifying myself like this.
I stubbornly believe my reactions to things around me are my own, but every so often I'll see things a little bit differently than my family. My mom will always become sad and serious, and tell me in a quiet voice that a terrible thing had happened to me, and now my disorder is being brought back into the fore front of my psych. Maybe she won't always say this so clearly, but whenever she reminds me I can't help but cry every time.
I hate to think that I don't have control over the way I react. I refuse to believe that this holds anything over me.
For instance, when the drunken teenagers crashed their car into our house recently and nearly killed our entire family, I haven't been sleeping very well. I'll stay awake, toss and turn, and think about what if. Also, whenever I hear loud car related noises outside, for instance: Speeding cars, roaring engines, and skidding sounds-- I'll get scared and panicky. Last night a car was roaring it's engine for a few minutes while I sat out in the family room trying to watch a movie. I literally sat stock still, heart beating fast, listening and wondering what the hell was going on. Than the car started speeding around the neighborhood, over and over, screeching and skidding for 5 minutes or longer. I was shaking, and crying, and so very scared. I ended up running into my mom's room and hopping onto her bed even though she was trying to sleep. I'm even more afraid that I'll always react this way to car noises. I don't feel safe in my own house anymore, and I'm so incredibly paranoid...I feel like any moment something else will crash into our house.
But really...all because I was attacked in 8th grade?
When I think about it, it feels like something so little. I was jumped, I was beaten, it was over right?
It was when I lost my childhood though...I forced to grow up right on the spot. It took a few years for me to get over it; I was forced into therapy, pulled away from everyone, and tried to handle my emotion and frightening growth on my own.
It still doesn't feel like it sounds so terrible though. Like, unless you experienced it, you wouldn't understand. Maybe it's because it happened to me while I was a kid.
Someone I had never met before, beat the living hell out of me for brushing up against her in the thin Jackson Middle School hallway. She spun me around in circles and pounded my face. I never swung back, all I could do was think. There was a teacher standing there the entire time and she DID NOT MOVE OR STOP IT. I could see her still standing there, while I was spinning, and numb. It hurt but I didn't feel a thing. It was a strange experience. All the while, the girls friends kept screaming at me, and words of encouragement to their friend, "Kill the white girl!".
Jesus Christ, was I going to die?
It felt like it.
At the time, I just kept spinning, and spinning. It wouldn't stop. The teacher did nothing. I couldn't get away, spinning, she kept pounding me, still spinning. I thought that was the end, I thought she was going to beat me to death right than and there. It was terrible, but I felt ashamed to die there. If I died here, this way...I truly felt like it was happening.
When she finally let go or I got away, I don't know, I fell into a fetal position. I didn't feel anything, I just sat on the ground and cried into my hands. It was all black, it was like all I could hear was the sound of my own sobbing in a dark echoing room.
But when I later got home, my back as covered in bruises. Another teacher had also confirmed; She was beating me and kicking at my body while I sat there on the ground.
I mean how sick is that? I didn't even know it was happening, I was lost, I was gone.
And this girl didn't know me. Why did she do this?
She beat me hard enough for doctors to think I had a skull fracture...
I'm shaking as I type this...
Maybe it's also the fact that there was no justice on the part of the school administration.
They didn't do anything about it. The teacher standing there didn't stop it. They wouldn't let us see the tape from the camera above. They suspended her for 3 days, but lucky for me I suppose, her family fled to North Dakota, and there was a warrant out for her arrest.
Also, they would only call it assault.
Any legal definition will tell you that it was far more than that.
Vida's status on Skype: "What doesn't kill you...gives you post traumatic stress disorder."
I thought I was going to die...is that why I have it?
After the incident I likened to calling myself two-face. Half my face was horribly disfigured, while the other looked like me. I didn't realize it also had another meaning for the person I had become as a result.
There were two parts of me vying for control. There was the childlike innocence that was there before, and the new hateful pessimist who was angered by all of it.
My therapist always tried to get me to take pills, to curb the latter, but I always refused. Again, I'm not okay with something else controlling my life or emotions. To this day, I'm proud and very glad of the decision I made. Sure, it was really tough handling things on my own and getting better in my own right, but I became a better person because of it. It took awhile, and I had to navigate a lot of dangerous emotions, but I wouldn't have been able to do that with pills. The pills would have held me back, repress the growth. I had to do that alone.
Because of this, a lot of who I am today is a direct result of who I had to grow into.
If I were to sit my ass down in a comfy chair and cross examine myself...
Hmm.
Well for starters, the whole fear of death thing is very easily explained from this. Or rather, how non-confrontational I am now. I'm scared to get into any heated argument, antagonize, or even question another person for fear of violent retaliation that could possibly take my life away.
I guess in turn, this would than prove to reason why I don't speak up about myself as much either.
I also don't like revealing things like this, because a lot of people talk about things of this nature to get attention or sympathy (which I loathe and DO NOT want to be mistaken for) so I tend to keep things to myself, and possibly than work out problems or ideas on my own.
Thus the independence. For the most part, I don't rely much on other people. I don't NEED other people, it's more a WANT thing which I respect more anyways. If I share something, it's not because I need to, but because I want to. If I spend time with you, WANT not NEED. Plus it's more healthy.
The constant need for freedom. Another good one. Why am I so afraid of being tied down? Right now, I apparently have this thing that controls my anxiety, etc. and that's not okay with me. I feel like I hinder myself, and I want to desperately break free. This than translates into my overall desire to be independent from almost everything. I don't want to be held back by anything...
Really, I think most of my blog entries could be explained like this...which kinda really pisses me off.
Honestly, I'm in denial of having post traumatic stress disorder, but everyone is constantly telling me I do. There is always the nagging voice in the back of my head about it, and I can't help but feel like I have it because that voice is there.
I feel like I'm crazy, or irrational, but most of all I hate having a label on me that could be used to write me off or easily explain how I act.
It's like an excuse.
I'm not okay with excuses either.
This incident knocked my world off it's axis and I was forced to build myself back up again.
I know that without it, I wouldn't be the person I am today.
I wonder, would I still be childish and immature?
Would I be like the rest of the 19 year olds? Would I not understand?
Aside from all the ramble, I rarely share the story at all. It feels sort of liberating to finally get it out there, if only to a few people.
I know a few of my friends from 8th grade are still good friends of mine today. They remember when it happened, and sort of vaguely recall all of the changing I went through...but we usually laugh it off. Mostly I think this is to downplay how hard it was for all of us.
Thankfully I came out of it a better person, at least I like to tell myself so.
Today, all I have as a reminder for me is when I look in the mirror. When I'm very tired, perhaps you have seen, there is a dent that becomes prominent on my right cheek. It's been there now for about 6 years...I wonder if it will always be there? Also, I always notice this more than others I'm sure, but whenever I smile, my noise is crooked, and hooks to the left side. My mom wonders if that girl had broken my nose. I don't think she did, but when I was younger, my nose didn't do this so obviously...
Anyways, it felt good to finally share this story in detail...I never explain this, and I think sometimes I should. I think it would be better if people would understand.
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