Battered & Abused Yet you still chose to Rise A man you thought you knew wore an ugly disguise Teeth kicked out your mouth what an ugly demise Battered & Abused Yet you still chose to Rise Through the ashes and the pain You changed Filled with Rage Of a Woman Trying to protect her Kin His Sin Was Unacceptable and your Grace so Impeccable Battered & Abused Yet you
I Am Adam Lanza, Dec. 14, 2012 A decade ago I lived a frivolous, spoiled, privileged life. An International fashion model, I worked in more countries than I can count. Freedom was something I took for granted, until the earth fell from under me and my whole world shattered. My first psychotic breakdown took away everything I knew to be true and buried me whole. The paranoia, delusions of grandeur, mania,
I often wonder if I have enough faith to navigate my way in the world. I’m pretty sure I don’t. It’s the stubbornness that keeps me here, keeps me hurtling forward, running too fast to ever actually slow down. To just be. I’m a runner, I get that. I’m not in denial, pretending to be a different me. Have you ever stepped foot inside a temple of worship, and truly
I see how the majority lives. Kids dying in the streets, devastation runs amok, earth’s temperatures off-key, disaster abounds, the homeless discarded, the invisible caged, wailing migrants. I don’t want to be part of the blind percent. I’m awake with a heavy heart. Maybe I should take a happy pill, or drink the cool aid and blur the ugly vision. I will not. I refuse to sugar coat the words
Behind every face, there is a story of despair and of strength. Behind every face, there is a tear of joy, and regret. Behind every face, there are dark caverns of shame, desperately seeking out the light. To wash over the pain, to wash over the fear, and to wash away the doubt and dramedy that fill the day. Twenty-four hours does not seem like enough time to cleanse, renew,
There are a few things I know now by trial and error, when attention comes your way embrace it. Be brave enough to embrace and enjoy five minutes of some kind of fucked up fame, to be seen through the camera lens even while it steals a piece of your vulnerable heart and sacred soul. It’s okay to try on different versions, experimenting behind platinum blond and a fuck you,
Don’t worry if they don’t like you, worry when you despise yourself. In a world where you’re taught that pretty fits inside some prefabricated box, grab some scissors and create your own unique shape, one that your most comfortable in. Leave room for growth and femininity, as you navigate the highs and lows. Do not cower, quiver or apologize for being a strong woman with a voice, dream and vision.
When they zapped my brain, I did not recognize the nurse who had been there all along. I recalled my mother’s face, worry lines and all. Too familiar. I forget sometimes with all these cells coarsing through veins, tripping up emotions that things came easier once. Life was uncomplicated, and I took it for granted. It was the little moments I shrugged off, the nothing less than important. Vital lessons