Childhood
My Easy Baken Oven
So many things bothered me in my life especially being the daughter to a Murdered father. Was not easy growing up hated by everyone, it seemed like. Took me 38 years to find out why, upon the knowledge of my father’s murder I immediately decided to change my life and made changes geared towards a positive lifestyle. So many years of wanting to disappear for the first time ever.. I wanted to live! Was not easy but I am happy to report that in February, we will be celebrating one year of wellness! Congratulations!! I didn’t know I could do it but I knew last year I needed to make a change.. (look at the world) the last thing I want after living a traumatic life was to be like them. And now even more the importance of a positive lifestyle because I have children who did not ask to be born, it is an absolute must that I do not fail. This time around, I’ve go too much to lose.
By The Vibe Podcast 4 years ago in Confessions
The Day I Almost Burned Down the House
Long ago on a quiet Sunday afternoon, back in the olden days of the 1950's, when I was only 9 years old, my parents wanted to go across town to visit my aunt and uncle. That meant that I and my 2 year-old sister would have to go with them, because in 1957, as far as I knew, it was unheard of for a 9-year-old to be left home alone.
By Joan Gershman4 years ago in Confessions
Play Nice
“You know Dylan only got with you because your boobs are the biggest?” The cafeteria was always busy at first break on Monday’s, full of students discussing their exploits from the previous Saturday. The boys would lean against the wall between the benches with one hand in a pocket and another around a babe. Girls would sit on the tables with crossed legs, twirling ringlets of hair, occasionally switching their legs with lethargic pace towards the wall. The door to the kitchen glowed despite the crowding and the smell of buttery garlic hung in the air.
By Abby Cunningham4 years ago in Confessions
The Girl And The Barn Owls Secret
As the Winter came there was no other place to go other than the old barn house. So away the girl went to hide from the tension and stress of her home life. It was a very special and secret barn. It housed a very Beautiful Barn Owl. She often went there for peace and comfort before the Winter. But, now since the chilling weather she now called this her sanctuary, her home away from home, A place to be herself, A place no one could find her.
By Tiffanie m Adkins4 years ago in Confessions
My adoption story
So, I wanted to make a part 2 to my first story. I thought I would touch on my adoption story a little bit. I was born in Brooklyn, New York to Sherilyn Weisberg and John Rizzo. (Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the people in the story.)
By Heather Heron4 years ago in Confessions
I'm Ok
Questioning the answer I’ve given allot lately. This is my confessions. Sometimes I lie to myself and say I'm ok. Most of the time I lie to others when I say I'm ok. The truth is I’m not ok, sometimes I just want to scream until I pass out. Sometimes I wish I had the balls to say, I'm not ok. I am twenty-seven years old and I just found out it is ok, to not be ok. I am now more aware of mental health. For years things I have felt I could not speak on. Due to my past, I was doomed at the age of 6 l. By the time I was 13 I had 3 sexual abusers haunting not only my dreams but my everyday life. Having to live in the world alone because I couldn’t trust anyone my mindset matured and my childhood was left behind quickly. I’m ok. I have repeated to myself through the years with tears running wild like ocean water down my face. I eventually blocked out my trauma enough to fail myself again. I trusted someone who I thought was an older brother figure to me. He became my 4th sexual abuser and yet I still have to continue to be Ok and remain a functional mess. But I’m proud to say I’m a step closer to being better because I acknowledge it. I know now that all those times I was not ok but I do want to be better than ok and that starts with the truth. I told my mom and dad what happened to me on December 2, 2021. I’m proud of myself. I came so far when I thought I would get nowhere. Some would say I was cursed because I now I'm a lesbian. But I do NOT think my sexual preference is based on what happened to me. In fact, I believe my sexuality is a blessing because I don't think a male could give me the love that was stolen from me the very first time my innocence became someone's option. The woman I fell in love with gave me the will to live honestly now more than ever now that my secret is out. It has been 6 years and throughout everything, she sits here comforting me using my love language and I cringe at the physical touch of anyone but welcome her's I am enveloped in peace. Saying what happened to me out loud is something I didn't think I would survive to do. I have social anxiety and can only be around certain people as well as if I do have people in my presence it's a limited amount of time. Now that I brought you up to speed with a few things that are going on in my life can you understand why I am now buckling down on my mental health, working on being around a family who should now see through my unauthentic smile, but has only shown me reasons why dealing with this alone could still be better. Both routes I have chosen are extremely difficult if I survived endless torture from others and myself for 21 years I think I owe it to myself to Live in my truth. I don't understand others' thought processes when it comes to this topic in but I can say there is no handbook on how to survive. There is no time frame on when you can speak your truth. Since the day you were born it was always supposed to be on our time and when we were ready. If you read this please understand it’s ok to not be ok. It’s ok to feel how you feel and express yourself. It’s ok to still have hope and try again.
By D.A.M.N Ent.4 years ago in Confessions
Reflections of My Sister
Reflections of My Sister I frequently gazed at myself in the mirror, contemplating the meaning of “self”—reflecting on who I was, and who I thought I would become, affirming the latter for the former. I’d summon the oracle behind the veil, but she’d rarely ever respond—because, she too, was bewildered by the confusion of necessity. After thirty-something odd years, my identity had remained concealed. I had lost it a long time ago—to be more candid…it was hijacked. I realize the mirror isn’t particularly the kindest teller of tales; though, authenticity isn’t one of its truest projections, in any case. Half of the time, I didn’t know whether to trust my inner self, or agree with what the mirror displayed; it’s still difficult to gather which of the two is more psychologically and emotionally accommodating. I constantly told myself that I was merely looking at an image, which couldn’t reveal much of anything—unable to perceive the truth, if at all. Mirrors are relatively unreliable consultants and can easily alter one’s perception of reality—hence, we proceed with caution, lest we forget that by virtue of it, objects [in it] are closer than they appear.
By RL Stevenson4 years ago in Confessions
Phobia
I don’t have the usual phobias that you hear about like arachnophobia or agoraphobia. Most people understand these phobias but Ornithophobia being a bird phobia is hard for people to understand. I had nightmares from time to time when I was a child where I was being attacked by all kinds of birds. They swooped down, surrounding me, pecking me, battering me with their wings all the while their loud, piercing cries deafening my ears. In the dream, I threw myself to the ground and the birds covered me, peck, peck, pecking with their strong sharp beaks, beating me with their wings. When I would manage to get to my feet and run, there would be birds coming at me from the sky, attacking my face and head making terrible, screeching cries. I would wake in a lather of perspiration, waving my arms about to defend myself. Yes, it is hard to imagine being terrified to hold a little canary or have a small wren sit on your hand, but unfortunately, that was my weird phobia.
By Elle 4 years ago in Confessions
The Boyfriend
His name was Rev. Homer Nathaniel Johnson, he was my mom’s boyfriend, and I didn’t like him from day one. I was about eight when they started going with each other and in the beginning, everything was hunky dory. Mom was enamored of this guy and thought he was great but I felt something different, which made me want nothing to do with him. He acted like he was the authority about everything. I thought: I know some things too, my ugly little friend. I know that I would rather have the mumps for a year than be around you.
By Addie Sealey4 years ago in Confessions
