Sometimes I can't get out of bed

This morning was one of those mornings. The whole night I was trapped in what felt like a never-ending nightmare. It was horrific. Yea, I had class at 8 o'clock this morning. Yea. I know. But this morning when my alarm went off, all I felt was fear.  I just couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and face the world today. I just couldn't. So I didn't. Sometimes my mental and physical health trumps school.
Andrea Gibson says it best: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cEc3aQOP-o

The Fall: It Always Happens

I was doing relatively well. But because I'm a psych major and a human right minor, most of my classes tackle triggering topics, like sexual abuse and torture. After a couple of weeks of being bombarded by this stuff, I just couldn't handle it today. I didn't go to class today. I just couldn't. It's been too much. I just needed a break. I don't want to do anything. I just want to curl up in a ball and stay in bed all day, reading novels. But, no. I have to go to work. I have to facilitate a meeting. I can't just pause my life, even if I feel like I need to. I just have to make it to Thursday night because Friday I don't have class. Then, I can pause my life. Then. I hope I make it.

She Shall Go Free - Fight Human Trafficking

Hello!

She Shall Go Free is a growing non-profit organization dedicated to fighting against sexual slavery, human trafficking, and other forms of exploitation or violence against women and girls. We focus our efforts on awareness raising campaigns, fair trade and ethical consumerism, fundraising for anti-trafficking programs, and unique initiatives designed to make a visible impact in the fight against injustice.

Right now, we are in the running for a $25,000 grant from the Pepsi Refresh Project (http://www.refresheverything.com/ssgf).

Grant winners are selected based on votes from the public--the top ten project ideas in the $25k category will receive the grant! We were hoping you could help get the word out about our project and encourage your supporters to vote for our idea. Here is the breakdown for how SSGF plans to use the grant:


$9,500 will be used to print 1,000 t-shirts for their ongoing awareness and fundraising campaign. SSGF t-shirts are produced by women who have escaped from the sex trade. They are FAIRTRADE certified, made from 100% organic cotton, and printed with eco-friendly water based dyes. The t-shirt campaign is designed to raise awareness about the realities of human trafficking. The profits from the sale of these shirts will be used to fund other SSGF initiatives. So, not only is the initial production of the shirts benefiting survivors of sex trafficking, but the sale of these shirts will also go to benefit survivors and help fight human trafficking.

$6,000 will be used to create a scholarship fund to help survivors cover the cost of job training or basic education courses. These scholarships are intended to help empower survivors and help women stay out of poverty. It will provide women the opportunity to tap into their potential and improve their socio-economic opportunities as they rebuild their lives.

$6,000 will be used to establish a second fund to provide emergency financial assistance for women in need. These funds may be used to help cover basic needs during acute crises, cover expenses related to urgent medical needs such as medication, or other urgent needs that may arise. These funds will be distributed on a case by case basis.

$3,000 will go towards purchasing urgently needed items for local shelters and organizations that serve survivors of trafficking and gender-based violence. We are specifically interested in assisting with direct client services by providing items such as clean clothing, toiletries, bed linens, basic medical supplies, etc. We hope to fill in some of the gaps in donations and resources created by the ongoing economic recession.

An additional $500 will go towards maintenance costs for the organization.

You can vote every day for the whole month of September--and every vote counts. We would greatly appreciate any support you could offer

You can vote by using the following link: http://www.refresheverything.com/ssgf

You may ALSO vote by Texting 102193 to Pepsi (73774)!

Remember, you can vote every day! Please spread the word by sending this information on to your mailing lists and contacts. Spreading the word and encouraging others to vote every day will help us make this dream a reality for our organization! For more information on SSGF, please check out our blog: http://sheshallgofree.blogspot.com/


With love and freedom,

She Shall Go Free for Pepsi Refresh Project!!

Please vote for She Shall Go Free for the Pepsi Refresh Project to fight Human Trafficking and Slavery.  She Shall Go Free is a growing non-profit organization dedicated to fighting against sexual slavery, human trafficking, and other forms of exploitation or violence against women and girls. We focus our efforts on awareness raising campaigns, fair trade and ethical consumerism, fundraising for anti-trafficking programs, and unique initiatives designed to make a visible impact in the fight against injustice. Please Vote!

Breakdown....

I completely broke down yesterday. It was quite tragic. I was doing OK at work. In my cubicle. Minding my own business. Then... the weight of recent events came crashing down and I started crying. Weeping really. In my cubicle. And for a good 20 minutes. And no one, not a single person said anything. Now, I was trying to be quiet. And I'm not sure how I would've responded if someone had said something. And I guess I'll never know because I was completely invisible. That solidified my belief that no one at my jobs knows I exist, which just made me feel even worse and completely worthless. Then all I could think about was the tool kit in the trunk of my car... with the box cutter in it. A sturdy, sharp box cutter. I wanted it. As soon as I got to my car, I took it out and held it in my hand as I drove home, constantly thinking of a way to break so I could have just the blade. [I got into the habit of keeping whatever I used to cut with wrapped in a napkin in the case with my ipod because I always have my ipod with me.] I smashed it with the hammer and freed the blade. Then I did it. I cut. Then I cried. Ashamed because I hadn't promised to stop cutting. And here I was, in an act of desperation, cutting. Again. I still feel really ashamed for doing it, but I didn't know what else to do.

new poem: Love Letter

I can’t begin this with “Dear” because you like to rape open the pretty

Penetrate the innocence of sincerity

Turning words like “Dear into nothing more than 4-letter stab wounds

“Fuck you, you fucking slut!”

Funny how those become interchangeable with the 4 letters my mother named me

Jade – which you said meant dumb

Which in turn meant dirt

Too low to love – but low enough to fuck

Legs spread like slut – but I bled like girl

I spoke pain way too soon

You spoke thesaurus because it was always synonymous to love

You ran my life like a wordsmith

And I clung to every syllable like a popsicle stick

Sometimes nothing is stronger the grip of a child

You told me you’d hold me daughter

Give me all the love my father couldn’t muster

But no daughter should ever know what her daddy tastes like

I sucked you popsicle bone dry – and you called it love

Sometimes life is just child’s play

You always had a way with words

Your tongue was a knife dipped in sugar

And I had never bled so sweetly before you

Your love costs me way too much blood

But I craved you because you were all the love I knew

I still crave you sometimes – like a junkie craves needles

I still feel your words swimming in my veins

Maybe that’s why I cut them open

Maybe I miss seeing you every time I bleed

Maybe I just want you out of me

You carved fault lines into my dreams – so I’m gonna need you to stop shaking me

No nights spent trembling, tangled, tits twisted, sheets soaked with the smell of you

I hate that your aroma lingers in my nightmares

I wish you scent wasn’t so familiar because I always end up craving what I’ve grown accustomed to

I got used to the groping multiplied by heavy moans divided by every time you played arson

I’ve never been one for math but 3117

That’s how many time you burned my soul to ashes

But I’m learning to play phoenix

I bet you didn’t think I could breathe through cinder

Lungs black and smoky – but still expanding

Still pumping the air I need to proclaim my story

The story no one wants to hear but my soul needs to tell

Your tongue carved silence into my flesh

But I heal with every word I write

The smoke is clearing

Watch me as my wings unfurl – I’ve been practicing my take-off

You wordsmith – your voice is growing faint

Everyone eventually throws the popsicle stick away

I no longer answer to dumb, dirt, or slut

Call me by the 4-letters my mother forgets she named me

Sincerely Resilient,

Jade

Mother's Day

Hope. That's what her name would have been. Hope. She would be turning 7 soon. She'd be my daughter. I don't know if I wanted her, but I didn't really have a choice. And plus I was only 13. I still think about what she'd be like, what she'd look like. I probably wouldn't have been that great a mom. I was only a kid. I didn't even know what abortion was.  It's strange, though, how much I miss her. I miss her like I knew her.
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This day also makes me think of my own mom. She's quite a woman, my mom.  She's quite intense. She has sacrificed so much for me. And for that, I greatly appreciate my mother. And its because of that that I feel bad for hating her sometimes. I know some people claim to hate their parents for not letting them do stupid shit. That's not why I hate her. I know some kids who have a right to hate their parents because they fuck them up for various reasons. My mom was never a drug addict, never had a line a boyfriends come in and do what they wanted to me. She only hit me sometimes, and never too hard. I usually deserved it. I've always had quite a mouth on me when provoked.  She likes to provoke me.  But no, that's not why I hate her sometimes.  I hate her because she sometimes hates me. I'll never be enough for her.  Its a strange thing, never being enough for someone. I'm not pretty enough, smart enough, girly enough, skinny enough. In her eyes, I'm a poor excuse for a daughter. She's ashamed of me. But that's not the only reason why I hate her sometimes. She never saw the abuse. I spent a good chunk of my childhood enduring some of the worst abuse anyone get endure. And she never saw it. And I blame her. And now that she know about it, she gets upset when I want to talk about it. She's upset I didn't tell her sooner. And I hate her for blaming me. I blame myself enough. I don't need her blaming me, too.  I just need her to hold me and tell me that everything will be ok, even if she doesn't believe it. I need her to love me a little nicer. Her words cut me deeper than anything I could do to myself. I just need her to love me different from them.
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When I think of my own mother, I think about what kind of mother I would have been to Hope. What kind of mother I'll be in the future. I know I can't be like my own mother, but in ways I need to be. I wonder if I could've really loved Hope like I do now. Every time I would look at her, I would see her father's face, the man who raped me. I don't know if I would have been able to love her. I'll never know.
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Well in honor of mother's day, here's a poem I wrote:

"Mother, May I?"

I used my veins like construction paper
Cutting them into shapes I hoped you would notice
Bleeding truths in your favorite color into pretty little pictures I needed you to cherish
I was an artist
Painting bloody secrets on the canvas of my flesh
But you've never been one to admire art
Always found my childish musings trivial
Never saw the depth in paper snowflakes and finger paintings
You prefer the beauty of written words
So I peeled back my veins like the pages of a book
And extracted my pulse
With hands that created frantic incisions like run-on sentences with uncanny precision
I was a surgeon, then
But you only just books by their titles
So you never read the story my scars were writing
Every time the blade kissed my skin
I was reminded of how your lips carved doubt into my cheeks every morning before school
Every time I embraced that blade
I would recall the sterility of every hug you ever gave me
Every time I dug the blade into my skin
I excavated my memories
Trying to recall the feel of your metallic words in my mouth
I guess love's always tasted like metal
Cold - like your eyes
As you disdainfully gazed at the beauty of my muddy dresses and torn frilly socks
I must tell you - as I watched secrets bleed into white porcelain
Running down the sink with the endurance you thought I never possessed
I finally came to understand the pretty in pink
Tell me - was I girly enough then?
I was just trying to tell you of the painful realization of my own womanhood
I used the only coloring book you ever gave me
Giving life to pretty princesses
Their womanly figures outline in gashes on my skin
But I always made sure to stay within the lines
Stay within the boundaries you set
Tell me - was I good enough then?
I know I was never good at following rules
Always staining the fabric of time you had to spare
I guess I shouldn't have been playing dress up
But how else could I get you to see me unless I mirrored everything you wanted me to be?
I tried to mimic your language
Translating every word into skin tears
I mastered the art of conjugating every action into flesh wounds
My body spoke rupture eloquently
Tell me - was I smart enough then?
If I had hemorrhaged more womanly would you have loved me then?
I guess my veins are like puppet strings
Cut 'cause I couldn't move with the grace you demanded
I can no longer tell which one of us held the blade
I just know your love has left quite an impression
May I show you?