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This shows you all in plain sight what is taking place in #ferguson Missouri!! We need to be praying for the innocence that a losing their lives because of these task enforcers want to be cops think that they can do whatever the fuck they want!! #pray4ferguson #freeferguson we will not be silent! #SpeakOut #DontBeSilent no one and I mean no one can silence your voice!! Speak out against what’s going on Ferguson get your voice heard!! They are trying to shut down the media when they can’t, it’s in our freedom of Constitution that we have every right to record the media and whatever’s going on this world! Keep praying keep speaking your opinion keep speaking out we will not be silent!! 🙏

Don't be Silent.

Something I don’t understand. I talk about God every chance I get. I will bring up prayer, or the bible, or the things God has done in my life. I joke about it sometimes, which is poor on my part, but I absolutely love talking about God. The most common response I get is “Oh. You’re one of those Jesus Freaks?" and they say it with the most disgusted tone.

And I think “Was that your shot at insulting me? You’ll have to do better than that.” 

Let’s face it. I am a Jesus Freak, and I am so proud of it. Call me a Bible Thumper, or a Radical. I am aiming to be a Radical Christian. Read the Bible! What we think is Radical now is NOTHING compared to what they considered the Norm. Of course a lot of things have changed over time, but nothing extremely drastic. I know I also say “Let’s start this now! Let’s make a change!” but I really mean it. Don’t be silent about your faith. Be bold, and courageous. Let everyone know who you stand for. 

Some people will call you a hypocrite. It’s a given because we cannot be perfect human beings, and we will make mistakes. Don’t you dare use that as your excuse and move forward. Let god pick you up when he tries to bring you back onto the path. Shine the light to everyone around you. 

Bullying.

It hurts. So the next time your going to dis’ the over weight girl..think to yourself, Do I know her story? Do I know..What happens behind closed doors to the boy with all the scars? Do I know the reason that little girl that goes to school with your little brother wears the same faded pink dress to school everyday?

The Answer? No you don’t.

Think before you speak, because when you do that could be the last straw.

#NMOS14 (National Moment of Silence) vigil in honor of police brutality at MacGregor park..Im so glad that @jazz_maniandevil & @ittybittyassata_ informed me about this event..hearing ppl share their same frustrations and sadness that I also have is beautiful, I feel empowered..it was very inspiring..their were a lot of things that ppl said that sparked but one thing someone said was that we don’t have to be Malcolm X or MLK to be a leader..we can’t just sit back and say its not our problem when our brothers and sisters are killed..the only way change will happen is if we all come together and not only preach & be aware but become proactive..this was my first event but definitely won’t be my last.. #Toodles #ImSleepy #IfIWorkedANineHrShiftnStillWentYouCanGoToo #TakeAStand #DontBeSilent #ItsTime

*** TRIGGER WARNING****

This has a trigger warning for rape and abuse. Read at your own discretion.

 

After a long conversation with someone today about coping with P.T.S.D and realizing I have never really faced what has happened to me I felt the need to write this. I’m only writing this here so maybe someone, somewhere will read it and know that they are not alone.

I was 4 when it started, I don’t remember much other than fear and pain. Thankfully I can’t piece it together from that early on. It continued up until I was 16, guess I was to old then at that point and had already taken on more of a male figure and mindset.

I only know bits and pieces, things that come in dreams or hysterical outbursts during or after sex. It makes things really difficult and hard to be close to someone.

Oddly enough no one ever caught on when I “fell down the bleachers at school” and received 4 broken ribs. Or when I “tripped in the yard and hit my head on the cement steps” that resulted in me being in a coma for a few days with my jaw shattered and wired shut… Baseball bats still freak me out to this day.

He left my mother finally when I was 11 and I remember the day he left feeling liberated and I had a sense of hope (I didn’t understand why I felt this way at the time). I thought life would be better from there on out. I was far from right. My mother’s depression and separation anxiety, mostly caused by the severe case of stockholm syndrome she had at the time, worsened by the day. I didn’t know he had hurt her as well for quite some time. I think with her it was mostly mental manipulation, although it is hard to say what her boundaries truly were due to how bad he beat her down. The twice monthly, court ordered visits suddenly turned into once a week, then several days at a time.

I still for the life of me can’t figure out how NOT A SINGLE FUCKING PERSON knew what was going on. Things progressed and finally my mother snapped not long after me getting out of jail, I think I was 14 then. Her Nervous break down meant a drive to Orange park (where he lived at the time) in the middle of the night, just before halloween. I didn’t see or hear from my mother again for six months. I still am not sure what happened with her during that time but I suspect that she had been institutionalized. This was even harder still because I had just lost the two people in my life who meant the most to me. Both dead and gone leaving me to stand alone. I know that sounds selfish but that is how I felt… I still feel that way sometimes.

Those 6 months were spent in hell.

Constant torment from the moment I arrived. It even led to me attempting to poison him at one point knowing he was allergic to mushrooms. I remember the last day I was there. He had stood in my door way like he always did, menacing, just a dark shadow back lit by the hall light. This night was different though you see, this night I ended my suffering myself. He stepped forward out of the door way, speachless and high on what I think was Meth. I didn’t freeze this time and met him before he had even reached the side of my bed, swinging franticly with all my strength, this didn’t do too much, I wasn’t yet the 2nd degree black belt that I am today. I caught a lucky shot, feeling the stiffness of his nose shatter under the back of my hand. It was just enough for me to get around him and bolt for the door. I swear I ran 12 miles that night. At first zigzagging and taking alley ways, then after maybe a mile or so when I realized he wasn’t following me my running became even more determined. I ran, and ran, and ran. I didn’t stop until I felt like my lungs might colapse. I ended up close to the mall, which was closed at this time, and sat on the sidewalk for a few hours. I didn’t really know what I was running from towards the end I think I was trying to leave that person that I was behind. Eventually a young security guard had found me sitting there and came up in her truck to talk to me. My face was stained with tears and I apparently had been cut some how during my run, as she pointed out the blood running down my leg. I hadn’t noticed. She asked what I was doing there and I told her I didn’t know, she asked if I had parents, I said “their dead”. She called my bluff but there was this knowing look in her eyes at that moment. She had the police come and pick me up and as I was sitting in the car, refusing to give the officer the address, I watched as she spoke to the older gray haired cop. I saw her grab his arm with a slight pleading look right before he turned to come try to talk to me yet again. I finally gave him the last number I knew my mom to have used and to my surprise she answered. A few hours later she showed up to the police station and took me home, just as if nothing had ever happened. I know DHS investigated her after that but no one thought to look towards the vile creature she was once married to. Not a single person. Eventually he stopped calling, I changed my name, I moved to NY, I ran away from all of my demons. It’s been 8 years since I have spoken to him now. 8 years and I can still remember the way he smelled. I hate that. I honestly feel now that I am older, that perhaps my P.T.S.D isn’t such a curse. They say I have disassociative memory disorder. I mean, I am thankful that there are some things I can’t remember. The thing is though, I got out. I escaped a very dark fate, and although it still haunts me, things did get better. I can’t dwell in the past. I’ll tell anyone that is going through a similar circumstance this. IT GETS BETTER.! Don’t lose hope, if you see the chance to run take it, and don’t do what I didn’t, SPEAK UP, SPEAK OUT. Tell some one… I’ll never know if because of my silence it may have happened to someone else. Don’t do the same. You have a voice and you are stronger than you will ever know.

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Epworth Fights For Women Abuse ✔✔ #epworth#interact#choir#1billionrising#fight#forwomens#rights#girls#dancing#black&red#breakthechain#dontbesilent#igers#instahub

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