One long eternal nightmare.

Everywhere I go, you are there. Whenever I sleep, you linger in the corner of my mind, always looming. But why?

After all these years, you are always there.

You are always there.

Watching me.

Lingering in the shadows of my life.

Why? Why me? After all these years and the tears I have shed, why are you still here?

Is this your sick, perverted dream? Is this why you never wanted me to leave you? Do you see me as your property? Am I just some pawn in your game? A toy for you to control whenever you get bored?

But why?

Why do you constantly sink your claws into me whenever you get bored? Why do you constantly desire to drag me into the depths of your personal hell?

But you are always there.

A permanent, constant, eternal fact of life.

Last night, I felt you in the room, watching me sleep. I felt your eyes undressing me. I felt your fingers trace the outline of my body. I felt your breath on my neck. You whispering in my ear.

Taunting me.

Haunting me.

You are why I keep a knife under my pillow and a gun in my nightstand.

I fear you.

I hear you.

You are the shadows in the dark of night. You are the light on the brightest day. You are everywhere and nowhere all at once. You are in my arms as I write my fears. In the bathroom when I shower at night. You are the reason the lights flicker, and why my plants die. I feel you, I see you, I fear you.

Leave me, please.

Is this all you wish, though? For me to run through life, no home to go to, and no one to call safe. For you always find me and you chase them away. Stripping me of my name, my purpose, my love, my soul.

You always find me.

You always find me in this life and the next.

Should I just give in? Stop the fight? Should I let you in? Claim my body and have your perverted way with me? I know this pleases you, watching me. You are the grand masterbator, for your orgasmic cries reach out through the silence of my life, and dance within the folds of my brain. I pleasure you.

I hate you.

I love you.

I hate you.

I love you.

So, one day, when you break me enough, I will give in. I will stop the fight and let you claim your prize, your broken and beaten prize. After stripping me of my name, my purpose, my love, my soul, you can finally have me.

You can have what you want.

I will give in. I will stop the fight.

Come to me, oh great masterbator. Oh, shadow in the corner, come to me. Continue your perverted pleasure; continue to stalk me forever.

Does this happen to everyone? The ghosts of your past haunting you till you break? Watching your every breath, lurking just out of sight, driving you crazy with their insensate taunting. They are always there.

Always there.

You are always there.

So, take me. Break me. You perverted angel, take me. Step out of the shadow, show me your face. Let the past come to life again, and destroy me again. The scars were the marks of the beast; you branded me.

Shame is sharp on my skin, and your claws cut deeper. Puncturing my flesh. One swift motion. One self-aggrandizing act of pleasure for you. One who is always there, marring my body, readying it for the sacrifice.
I will no longer run; I will no longer flee.

You are the pervert, and I have succumbed to your ways.

Slice the cord, sever the line. Spill my life unto the floor and fulfill your desires. I am not man, nor am I woman. I am not a person, nor was I ever one. I was never given an identity from God; I was only given one by you, the great masterbator. So, step forth, do what must be done. Take my knife, take my gun. Aggrandize yourself to my rotting fate. Become who you are, the onanist.

The Great Masterbator.

For I have no name. No being. No true form.

Goodbye, but not forever. Pull me into your world, your darkness. Give me a name, and finally make me a whole in your corrupt, yet divine image. This sacrificial slaughter will be made pure, as the cyclical balance of life ordains it to be such.

Haunting, taunting, breaking, bleeding, coitus, slaughter, ejaculation.

The eternal dance we are chained to. The cycle ever continuing, ever consuming. Round and round we go, on the wheel of eternal damnation and salvation. No beginning. No end. No True start or stop, just one fluid cycle guaranteed forever.

Buy me a coffee

Share

“Do you want to see something special?” Elias spoke with a soft, certain tone. No fear, no anger, nor was there any indication of love either. It was neutral, and that scared me, as he rarely speaks that way.

“I am willing to see, but it won’t be something illegal or dangerous, right?” I spoke, almost scared, for I can never truly anticipate what he will say next. That is also partly why I love him, for he is unpredictable. “Please, Elias, tell me this isn’t going to get us, or someone hurt. Please.”

He tilts his head slightly as if he was caught off-guard by my comment, but without making a noise, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his embrace. “Aadrian, I have told you many times, I would never let anything hurt you, I swear…” His voice trails off into silence, and the only sound that remains in the room is the cracking of wood in the fireplace.

As the silence grows, I feel a pit in my stomach continue to grow, and I feel a subtle tinge of guilt, as I never wished to hurt him or insinuate that he would never protect me. He always has. That was what sparked our relationship: the day I met him, I was attacked, and he saved me, even helped pay for my medical care and more after I left the hospital. Elias has been my rock since that day, and he never left.

He never faulted.

“Elias, I’m sorry, I never meant to imply that you would never protect. You always have protected me. You have always kept me safe, and I am eternally grateful for all you have done for me. I love you, I swear. I am just scared of what this surprise could be. Please, I swear…” I bury my face into his chest, all in an attempt to hide the look of shame creeping across my face. I wish I could take it back, as I never wanted to imply that he would never protect me, but I fear surprises more than I fear my own safety. “Please, I am sorry…”

He holds me tighter, a soft reassurance that maybe I did not say the wrong thing; however, I still feel guilty. I never wish to hurt or upset him, and I have done this once before. I never fully realized that my words could be taken the wrong way, and though I may have been cautious of the surprise, I did not think I would outright imply he would put me directly in danger. I always try to do better, and I always try to ensure I never hurt him unintentionally. The first time I did this, I cried myself to sleep at night as I never meant to hurt him, but I didn’t know that joking about who is the better cook would cross a line, especially when I said he was the better cook. I never saw it as me tearing myself down; I saw that statement as a fact, but I didn’t think. I didn’t know he would take it differently.

“Aadrian, I swear, I would never harm you. You have my word, I swear.” He rubs my back gently as he speaks, his usual reassuring action, and though it normally helps, it doesn’t right now. I am consumed with guilt. “I know you mean no harm. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I just am scared of how you will react to what I wish to show you. This is the one thing I have kept a secret our entire relationship, and I feel guilty for the lies. You should know who I truly am, and I want you to see me for me. The real me.”

The real me?

What does he mean? We have been together for six months, and I thought I knew everything about him. I met his parents and his siblings. We celebrated together at the company holiday party last month, and before that, went on a trip to upstate New York just to get away from work and our daily stressors. What did I not know about him?

His favorite color is royal purple. He loves gnocchi. His favorite movie is Steel Magnolias, and he always cries at the end, which I do agree with. He prefers white wine over red, but will not complain either way. Elias enjoys a late-night run to the local pizza shop so we can cuddle on the couch and watch bad shows on Netflix. You cannot play Celine Dion around him, as he will start singing, and nothing will be done until the song is over. I have spent six months with him; I have learned so much about him. I have watched him cry and helped him relax during stressful business deadlines. I never thought that I would be privileged to see who he realistically is.

I look up at his face, scanning it for a sign as to what he may have been hiding from me, a hint as to who he may be. The part of his identity he has kept hidden from me over the entirety of our relationship. What has he not told me?

“Elias… What have you not told me? Is everything okay?”

“Aadrian, I swear I never meant to hide this from you, but the last six months have shown me a part of my life I have been missing for years.” He pauses, gently brushing the hair off my face, allowing him to clearly look me in the eyes. He takes a small breath before placing a gentle kiss upon my forehead. “I spent so many years of my life without someone to love, someone to call mine. I did not have a partner by my side to watch me grow, or comfort me whenever I failed. I spent so many years alone, as I believed that was all I ever deserved in life. Then… I met you. I found you, and everything changed. I found my purpose in life, my reason to live. I kept one secret as I feared you would hate me. I feared you would never understand who I was.”

“Elias, I don’t care who you are, or what you are, or whatever this secret may be. I love you. Please, please tell me. I just want to love you more and properly know who you are.” I keep my eyes locked on his, trying hard not to cry at the thought that he feared my reaction to showing me his true identity. Could it truly be that bad? Who could he possibly be? How will I even react in the end? Can I possibly stay calm and hide all negative reactions? I try to break our gaze, as I know he will likely see me thinking about what he is about to tell me.

“Come, let me show you.”

Grabbing my hand, he walks me toward the bookshelf next to the fireplace. He says nothing else and makes no other sound. Again, the silence is deafening, and the fireplace cracking is the only noise to break that silence. It is not much, but it is enough.

Elias grabs an old book from the bookshelf, and as if it were something out of a movie, the bookshelf creaks and slowly slides back into the wall before moving to the left and revealing a hidden staircase made of stone with a few candles lighting the way. It shocks me, as I never knew this was here, nor did I expect this to be revealed at all. As I try processing this, he guides me through the opening, and we slowly walk down the stairs. The only thing I can think of is if he was maybe a murderer, and perhaps I may be his next victim. That possibly can’t be true, but what else could he be hiding from me, though?

The staircase is long, narrow, cold. No handrails to help provide stability, and the only light to guide us is the few small flickering candles that appear occasionally. As we walk, Elias does not let go of my hand, and though I am only a step or two behind him, it feels as though we are drifting far apart. I try not to let fear consume me, but my mind continues to wander. There is no sound other than our footsteps and breathing. It is eerie, and though Elias promised he would never hurt me, I fear that it may have all been a lie.

No! I push that thought out of my mind as hard as possible, for I love this man, and he spoke so openly about how he loves me as well. Elias would never lie to me, right?

I try to speak, call to him, but every time I open my mouth, I shut it just as quickly. My body will only walk, following him like a lamb to slaughter. I fear I may have fallen into his trap, falling in love with the man who would be my inevitable death. I have caused my own death unknowingly.

With each step we take, I feel a single tear form and slowly roll down my cheek. I remember the day Elias saved me and the days we spent in bed where he nursed me back to health. When I first met his family, they greeted me with open arms, showering me with love. The days we spent in upstate New York walking along the St. Lawrence River, looking at the beautiful towns, walking through Boldt Castle, spending a few days at Singer Castle, and more. Each memory comes back to me, and I try to rationalize the red flags I may have missed, the fault that he may have hidden behind his perfect and charming smile.

“Aadrian… Promise me you will not hate me… Please?” He stops, turning to look at me. I could see the fear on his face. It wasn’t anger or pleasure, but he was in a state of pure fear. His eyes, which are normally soft, but now, they looked broken. Wild and hurt, as they frantically searched my face for any sign of what I may be thinking. A sign that I hate him. The air has become tense, and the air grows cold. “Please… Aadrian, I love you. I swear…”

“Elias, please, what is happening? I love you, but you are scaring me. Please tell me…” I struggle to fight back tears, but the hurt look in his eyes breaks my heart, though I fear for my life at the same time. His hand is still in mine, and I give it a gentle squeeze, trying to also assure myself that this is real life, this is not a dream. “Elias, please tell me something. Say something, please. Where are we? What is happening?”

Through the soft candlelight, I can see a shift within him, but the fear remains plastered upon his face. Though it is not contorted, if anyone has been with him long enough, you would notice the subtle changes, where his eyes become cold. The natural blush on his cheeks becomes more minimal, and small wrinkles form around his mouth. Subtle, but it is there; that shift. He is looking for his confident, reassuring aura and strength to reappear and speak up. For once, he is unsure of what to say or what to do.

Finally, he moves toward me, wrapping me in his arms, and I feel him silently cry into my shoulders. I wrap my arms around him as well, gently rubbing his back, reminding him I am here and present as well. We are both here together in this candlelit stairway, and though I am still scared, I remind myself I am here with Elias. I love him.

The silence drags on, and we continue to stand there.

How much time has passed? How far have we even walked? What is this secret he is scared to tell me?

I long for answers, but I long for Elias to simply speak to me. Even if he will not answer any questions I may have, I just need to hear his voice. I need him.

“Aadrian,” as Elias speaks, his voice sounds hoarse, struggling with simple words, “In life, there are many unknown things that have been written off as fairytales. Old wives’ tales used to scare children for centuries. Some of those stories are steeped in truth.” He pauses, catching his breath. Still, keeping his face buried in my shoulder, either out of shame or disgust. “I am not who you think, and one detail about my life I have kept hidden because I feared you wouldn’t understand or believe me. I can no longer live this lie. I need you to know the truth. Aadrian, I love you, and that is why I am scared. I do not want you to hate me, leave me, or view me as a monster. I would do anything for you, name your price, but please, give me a proper chance to explain and show you the truth.” As the last word leaves his mouth, I can feel him start crying again; this time, it has an audible noise.

“Elias, I love you. I will always love you, but please, tell me anything. At least tell me you aren’t some crazed killer.”

The moment those words leave my lips, he moves, looking directly in my eyes. He no longer looks scared, but disgusted that I would even insinuate such a thing.

“A killer? You were scared I was a killer? Really?” A slight smirk forms, and I can see he is beginning to chuckle. I will take it as a sign that he thankfully isn’t, hopefully. But at least I made him laugh. “No, I am not a killer, but we are almost there. There is a room up ahead, and I will explain everything. But you have my word, I am not a killer.

Dear God, I hope he isn’t lying…

Without another word, he starts walking down the stairs again. Leading me into the dark unknown. Soon, he will reveal all to me, and I will see Elias for who he really is. He is no longer just the man I love, but a stranger I love. I never knew him completely, and with each step we take toward the truth, a knot continues to grow in my stomach, morphing into a deep pit of sorrow that almost wishes to swallow me whole from the inside out.

Seconds turned to minutes, and it kept passing by. Time felt to freeze almost with every step we took, for I became more uneasy. Nothing felt real, nor did it feel right. I wanted to trust Elias, as I was not sure why he would lie to me. He had never lied to me before, at least… that is what I assumed. The more we walked down the stairs, I eventually saw there was a pale blue light ahead, and I assumed this meant we had finally reached the end.

The truth.

“Elias… What is that light?”

“It is what I need to show you.” He turned to me; his eyes were still full of hurt and fear, yet his blue eyes appeared to glow brighter, as if there were small pools of light embedded within them. I knew the glow coming from beyond the archway was not the cause, as it was behind him, casting his shadow upon me. “This, this is who I am. Please, come and let me finally show you something special. Let me show you the truth.”

Buy me a coffee

Share

The engagement party was underwhelming, as I feared there would be issues caused by my late arrival and the dress I was wearing. Though Alexander was initially upset about the dress I wore, as it was not the pink he had selected, he was pleasantly surprised to see me in the royal blue dress I wore instead. Though it is also beautiful, it meant I was no longer matching Alexander, but instead wore a color that complemented Flora’s dress. This did spark small chatter to occur, but many were in awe at the beauty and adornments on my gown. Sapphires sewn into the dress along the skirt and bodice made it eye-catching. Many strangers and business partners did approach Alexander and me, saying we are a ‘beautiful couple,’ and will have a long and happy marriage. This did bring him some joy, as the attention is what Aleander does crave.

My parents, however, saw it as an attempt to cause issues, as they felt that arriving late and in a different dress color was inappropriate. Though I was not lectured by them, as it would cause quite the spectacle to do so in such a public setting, I could feel their eyes upon me the entire time. Alexander’s parents, Viscount and Viscountess Bezier, remained quiet and did not speak to me much, which was a small blessing. Normally, our conversations feel as though I am on trial, and I must defend myself from a crime that I did not commit. I am grateful it was not a disaster, and there was no major fighting. Though I did get pulled aside and lectured by my mother as we were leaving, that is rather small in the grand scheme of things; I cannot be upset.

Even the arrival back home was met with no real issues either, as mother and father were in good spirits, retreating to the drawing room, and Alexander scurried off to the library for late-night tea. With everyone going to different rooms, Flora and I could have privacy and truly talk about our future. Talk about our conversation from earlier in the barn. Talk about the promise of forever.

With her hand in mine, we slowly walk up the stairs toward my room. Our private sanctuary. One of the few times that the fourth-floor exile is beneficial, as we are left alone, as the only visitors are Ella, Quintessence, and Constance. This privacy gives Flora and me the chance to talk in secrecy, pouring our hearts out to one another, exchanging kisses and promises of forever. Once I was able to, I spent a large amount of money on remodeling our rooms, creating a space that would be heaven for us both. The turret room located off my room was adorned with plush furniture, velvet curtains, and stained-glass windows. This is where we often take tea, and tonight will be no different.

“Catherine, wait!”

As I turn my head, I see Alexander walking toward the foot of the grand staircase, and he has a look on his face that I have not seen before. A weird mixture of anger and satisfaction. His dark brown eyes almost appeared to glow, and a half-crooked smile crept on his face. I was unsure if I should be scared or happy to see this, as this was an odd situation.

“Yes? Is everything okay?” I hold Flora’s hand still, treating it as a lifeline in this moment. I turn slowly to head back down the stairs toward him. I try to keep my expression neutral and my voice steady, “Whatever is the matter?”

“What is the matter, you ask?” He walks up the first three steps before stopping, “Do you know what today was? The official announcement of our engagement, do you know what that means?”

“It means that we are to be married soon, and once that occurs, I shall bear you many heirs. I will stand by your side, bringing honor and blessings to both our family names.” I try my best to lose the sarcastic tone, as this is not truly a blessing to me, but a fear. This is hell. I fear being locked in a house forever, as I desire my freedom, my happiness.

“Cut the attitude. Yes, you are correct, but it also means this, behavior, must end now.” He gestures toward my hand, as it is still holding onto Flora’s hand, “That inappropriate behavior can stop now. It was fine when we were courting. However, if this continues, people will talk. Additionally, we theoretically should start spending more time together. We can at least try to put on a show and allow people to believe we are happy to be getting married.”

The more he speaks, the more I can feel my muscles tense up, and my heart jump into my throat, slowly strangling me. His eyes are piercing right through my soul, and any moment, the floor will come out beneath me, and I will be dragged deep into the various circles of hell. Flora squeezes my hand, snapping me back to reality, and though that small gesture stopped me from crying, calming my racing heart. This also caused my heart to break, as I am trapped.

“I apologize, Alexander. I will ensure this behavior stops, and going forward, we shall spend more time together. Shall I come sit with you in the library later, or will you call for me?” My hand starts to loosen its grip on Flora’s hand, and as my body simply acts without thinking, moving because of self-preservation. The moment our hands separate, I can feel a tear begin to form in Flora’s blue eyes, and without a sound, I hear her heels click away up the marble stairs. The entrance hall is slowly filled with an eerie silence, and a devilish grin appears on Alexander’s face. Clearly, he is satisfied to see Flora upset, and my happiness gets crushed.

“Good, don’t forget this talk. That said, I expect you to join me in London next week when I travel there for business, and going forward, we will take dinner together in my private drawing room. You will arrive on time, or there will be consequences.” He turns and starts to walk away, leaving me on the stairs alone, frozen in fear, in obedience. He knows I will obey his every word; I will never talk back, speak up, or make his life difficult. “Also, don’t call me by my name, simply refer to me as ‘my love’ or ‘darling,’ it sounds more affectionate. Now you can go to bed. Goodnight.” He then slams the library door shut, and the echoing sound does not linger long, as I am left in the grand silence of the marble entrance.

I have become a shell of the person I once was. It was in this moment that I felt the weight of every decision in my life fall upon me. I failed, I lost everything, sadly. I cannot live a life that will keep everyone happy, and this means I cannot keep Flora, but if I try to keep her, I will lose everything in the end. This life I have grown accustomed to will be stripped from me, and my name will be. Unrooting my feet, I turn on my heels and start to move up the stairs quickly, as I must find Flora and speak with her. I cannot live with myself if her heart breaks tonight due to my actions. I need to save her, as I cannot lose her. She is my only constant in life, and I refuse to lose her.

As I move up the stairs, I see Ella and call out to her, saying, “Please meet me in my room to help me get undressed and into something more comfortable. Also, can you ask the kitchen to have some tea and wine sent up, please? I need to get undressed quickly, as I need to speak with Flora tonight.”

She nods, then quickly runs off to flag someone down to send my request to the kitchen, before meeting me upstairs to help me get undressed. From there, I move quickly, as I need to reach the fourth floor and speak with Flora. I made a mistake, and I need to rectify it quickly. Though moving is quite cumbersome due to the various layers of clothes I am wearing, I know I have to move quickly. This shall be my Sisyphean task, as I need to decide now what life I wish to live.

Upon reaching my room and opening the doors, I am met with a moment of silence. Flora is sitting in the turret room on the couch, her face in her hands. I close the doors behind me and move slowly toward her. With each step, I find it harder to move, and the floor begins to swallow me. This is clearly my punishment for my crimes, as I shall suffer through every lifetime for destroying the heart of the purest person ever born. She has a heart of gold and only desires to see everyone around her happy. She is gentle and loving, which is partly why I have always been fond of her.

As I sit next to Flora on the couch, I reach for Flora’s hand, trying not to disturb her too much, but I long for her touch. I grab Flora’s hand, giving it a soft and gentle kiss, before pulling her in and wrapping my arms around her in a warm embrace for only a moment. In the moment, the world seems to pause, and I finally feel free. I feel free from the guilt for what I have done tonight, the lies I have told, and the betrayal I have caused as well. Since the day Flora moved in, she has always brought me safety and peace, and every chance I can be near her, I find it to be a small piece of heaven.

“I’m sorry, please believe me, I am sorry…” I bury my face in her shoulder and try not to cry, as this sinner should not cry now, for I am not worthy. I caused this pain, I caused her heartbreak. I pull her closer, and I feel her shoulders start to shake, and the soft sound of her beginning to cry reinforces the crime I have committed. I tighten my grip, pulling her into my embrace more, and let the soft sound of her cries fill the room, the reminder that I cannot have everyone in my life happy.

As I continue to hold her close, I lift my head to kiss her cheek, but I am stopped as the bedroom doors open and in walks Ella.

“Oh, I do apologize, Lady Catherine. I should have knocked first. Do forgive me.” Closing the door behind her quickly, she darts toward the wardrobe to begin preparing to help us remove our dresses and get into our nightgowns.

I stand up, holding Flora’s hand in mine, and walk toward Ella, as I know what I must do, and I need her help to help me make things right.

“Ella, can you have someone start the fire and light the candles as well? I would like some warm but dim light as well.” As I speak, I grip Flora’s hand tighter, scared that somehow it may leave mine forever, “Can one of the twins come and help, please? Additionally, have them bring in extra pillows and blankets, please. Flora and I will be up late talking.”

“Of course, I believe Constance is next door in Flora’s room anyway, ready to assist her when she is ready. If you like, I can walk Flora over and deliver her the message? Then once she is done, both can come back, and she can take care of doing that for you, and I can make sure the tea and wine are set up for you in your turret room?” She looks up with a smile, knowing almost what I am thinking, as if she has seen my inner thoughts. She knows why Flora and I will be needing our privacy.

“Thank you, Ella, that would be perfect. Can you and Constance please help Flora first? I want a moment alone to collect myself.” I take Flora’s hand, placing it into Ella’s. “Also, have the kitchen send up some food as well? Possibly some pastries, thin cucumber sandwiches, and more? I would be truly grateful if you could do that for us.”

“I can do that for you. I will make sure the kitchen staff brings you a glorious spread for both of you. Depending on what other things they have prepared, I will have that sent up as well.” Ella gave me a nod before turning towards Flora, “Come with me, please. I wish have Constance start assisting you while I run the message down to the kitchen.”

As they start to walk away, Flora turns and looks at me. In that moment, my heart begins to melt. I wish to grab her and hold her in my arms and beg for forgiveness. I did not intend to hurt her, nor do I wish to live without her. I muster the last remaining strength. I must resist the urge to stop her from leaving, but I need the silence to ponder what I will do. Once the doors close, and I am alone, I slowly crumble to the floor, and tears begin to roll down my cheeks.

What is the right decision to make? Does this mean I should ruin my name to spend an eternity with Flora? How can I marry Alexander and still somehow keep Flora close by my side, especially after what he just said?

Poor Flora has no suitors, as no man has called on her in years, and since she is also eighteen years of age, you would have assumed she would have many potential suitors. Alas, she has none. I do not want her to be alone, and I promised to be by her side forever. I do not wish to lie to her, but I am not sure how to keep her by my side forever, sadly.

This is not an easy choice to make, as my life has never truly been mine to control, for I must bend to the will of my father. For he makes any kind of demands, and I must listen. My marriage was planned before I even knew what the concept of marriage was. My father wasn’t even the person to inform me of the marriage, either. I never have a say in my life. What outfits I shall wear for the day, what I will eat, or when. Very rarely can I take control, and whenever that happens, I am scared.

As I let my mind wander, I stand up and walk toward the turret room and look out the windows toward the flower garden where I shared many special moments with others—my first introduction with Alexander, my first kiss with Flora. The day I was given a bouquet of red roses and white lilies by Alexander, and the day Flora and I went running toward the lake to go swimming. Over the years, I have fallen in love with both and wish I could be with both forever. I do not want to choose between the two people I love, as that is not something I can do.

I want to spend my life with Flora, as she has brought me comfort at times when I thought I was going to die alone. However, I do love Alexander, at least, I love the person he was years ago. I love the memory of who he was previously. He has changed as we all do, and his affection has become cold and distant. The gifts became less frequent, and he would not call for me like he once did, either. He has pulled away, and always states he is busy due to work, expanding the businesses, preparing them for after we are married, as both shipping companies would be merged. This means he will often travel to London or Yorkshire for weeks on end, always traveling alone, saying it is for the businesses.

Due to this, Flora has become a safety net to catch me every time he pulls away. Each time he travels and pulls away from me, she has been there to hold me close and keep me from losing faith in love. I do not want to make any decision, but I also know that soon, I will need to. I will finally have to decide how I wish to live my life in the future and what risks it may entail.

“Flora… Alexander… I wish I knew what to do…” I rest my forehead against the window, “Dear God, please, grant me strength and guidance on what I should do, as I do not wish to hurt anyone…” As my voice trails off, a tear begins to roll down my cheek, and I can clearly see the image of Flora leaving me forever. As the image of Flora fades away, I feel my heart jump and lodge itself in my throat again. Strangling me, snuffing out my life, my resolve.

The sheer thought of losing Flora is worthy of death, as she is a being crafted by the hands of God. By causing her pain, I have clearly shown I am an unholy being, and I should be cast down to the pits of hell, as my betrayal will decide my punishment. Each tear Flora sheds will be counted, and add one year to my suffering. What have I done? I press my forehead against the window harder, wishing for a divine intervention that could save me or smite me.

“Dear God, please, grant me strength and guidance on what I should do. I am an unworthy servant, for I have sinned many times and betrayed those I love many times. Vows were made, and each promise was broken.” Steadying myself, I make the sign of the cross, hoping that this hopeless prayer will be heard, “Dear God, I pray for your mercy. I shall repent and rectify my mistakes, for I shall make amends with your favorite creation, and heal the wounds I have caused within her heart. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

I know this prayer will not save me, and it will not help, but I wish to lie to myself in this moment. I realize the true gravity of the situation I have found myself in, and in this moment, I must beg for forgiveness. As the tears continue to roll down my cheeks, I lift my head, looking out at the setting sun dancing over the lake’s surface. A utopia that I created over the last four years, it was all done to create a sanctuary for Flora and I to hide away from the world that wishes to rip us apart.

The first time we kissed, we were lying under a wild cherry tree, and the lake was lightly kissing the shores, as the birds in the treetops serenaded us. The sun peered through the leaves, casting shadows upon us. It was a heavenly moment we would often recreate, sneaking away under the guise that we would be reading the bible in nature. My parents never suspected anything, but Ella seemed to catch on. We became chums, and for a while, with this knowledge, many didn’t mind how close and affectionate we were. Many said it was practice for when we finally get engaged and married, and so, we fed into that lie.

Each memory of the life that Flora and I were creating feels like a kiss from the angels above, and each kiss feeds the delusional mental state I am drifting into. Flora is my God, my divine love. Her touch brings me to my knees, crumbling all my defenses and driving me into a mercurial high. Her love keeps me addicted to her soft soul, and every time I stare into her blue eyes, I can see the heavens above staring back at me. Maybe this sensation I am feeling is a sign from God that Flora is the life I need to fight for. The more I think about this epiphany, a warmth fills my body, revitalizing me.

“Lady Catherine, are you okay?”

“Oh, Ella, I didn’t hear you walk in.” I turn away from the window, quickly wiping the tears from my cheeks before I begin walking toward the vanity so the layers of dress can be removed. “I am well, no need for concern, I promise. I just have a lot on my mind after today. Can we please just help me get undressed quickly? Flora and I need to have a private conversation soon.”

“Of course. Constance has gone down to the kitchen to grab the food and drink for you both, as it should be ready shortly. Now, come here, and we should have you more comfortable shortly.” As she finished speaking, she walked behind me and started untying the layers of clothes covering my body. Ella has done this frequently and can help me remove layers of clothing quickly and effectively. In a few minutes, all that is left is my corset and bustle, and by the time Constance is walking into the room with the food and drinks, I am slipping into my silk nightgown.

“Constance, can you place that on the coffee table in the turret room, please? Flora and I will be enjoying the food in there.”

“Of course, Lady Catherine, Ella had informed me of your plan already. I do hope everything is to your liking.”

I watch her place the large tray of food on the table before placing a bottle of wine down. Constance looks up at me, giving me a gentle nod before walking over toward the fireplace to get it lit. It is at that moment I see Ella has lit most of the candles, and has opened the window at the far end of the room near the attached washroom. Even as the sunsets, the room is filled with a soft, flickering warmth. The added light and warmth from the fireplace begin to fill the room with a soft yellow-orange glow, creating an inviting and romantic atmosphere.

“Flora, come. Let us eat.” I extend my hand toward her. After her hand is in mine, I turn to Ella and Constance, saying, “Thank you both for everything today. You can have the rest of the night off. Please let Quinny know as well. Rest up, and please know I am thankful for everything you did for me today.”

I guide Flora toward the couch, so we can sit, eat, drink, and be alone. In that silence, I found myself not eating, but only watching her. Not just admiring her beauty, but her humanity. She does not fear the perception of the world outside the estate, as she only worries about the quality of life others have. She wants everyone to be safe and happy, and never worries about the whispers of society. Flora is a wonderful person in my eyes. She can make anyone feel safe, almost as if the weight of the world has melted away.

In that moment of silence, that was when I knew what I wanted, and the promise I shall make, with God as my witness. I shall spend an eternity by her side. I will risk it all for her, so I can spend a lifetime admiring her smile, as she is the greatest gift in my life, and the only source of happiness I have ever known. I move closer toward her on the couch, and I grasp both of her hands before I make my declaration of love for her. I study her face first, looking for any sign of what she may be thinking or feeling, looking for any sign of the truth. The words resting on the tip of my tongue anticipate the moment the truth can be set free, but recoil at the thought of her rejection.

“Flora, I love you more than all the gold in the world. I would happily besmirch my name in the eyes of God for you. You are all I desire in this life, and I will love you in every lifetime going forward. I will go to the ends of the earth searching for you, as you are all I will ever need.” I pause, pulling her closer into my embrace. One arm around her waist, I let the silence linger. Our lips barely touching, the anticipation building as we both wait for the moment we finally share a kiss. “I would give up all of this and heaven to if it meant I could spend eternity forever next to you.”

As I finish speaking, I notice a tear slowly rolls down her cheek. I wipe it away and leave my hand there, gently caressing her beautiful face. Even in the soft glow of the pale moonlight, she is the light of my life. More radiant than any heavenly body in the sky, and more divine than Gods themselves. I have never been surer of anything in my life, but I know in this moment, I wish to be with Flora forever. I do love her deeply. I wish to hold her in my arms in every lifetime, kiss away her tears whenever she cries. I wish to reassure her that I will never leave her. I will love her always

“I love you, and I will love you till my last breath.”

Flora leans in slowly, and a kiss is placed upon my lips. This is not the first kiss we have shared, but this one feels different. My body feels lighter, and I can feel my heartbeat quicken with a euphoric realization: this is love. I pull her tighter to my body, and just the passionate revelation lingers through the air, as I hope the hands of fate will bless this union forever.

Her hand finds mine, and our fingers intertwine as we continue to softly kiss one another. The moonlight was still pouring in through the window of the small turret room, giving everything a gentle blue tint. Flora’s typically dark brown hair seemed to glow, and took on a heavenly deep sapphire color. Her sheer lace nightdress was no longer white either, but even that shade was perfect on her. Everything about Flora is perfect. When our lips part, I gaze upon the face of the woman I love, and bask in her ethereal splendor. My hand is still caressing her soft, rosy cheeks, savoring the moment that I have been blessed with

“Catherine,” Flora spoke, her voice was soft but strong. “Do you truly mean what you say? Do you love me the way you claim? Forever?”

I smile, giving her another kiss, not just on her lips, but one on her forehead as well. “My darling Flora, I swear on my life I mean every word I say. I will love you till the day I die, and in every lifetime we find ourselves in, I will find you, and I will love you still. That is my promise.” Kissing her softly one last time, before I slowly stand up. Her hand was still in mine. “Now come on, my love, let us go to sleep. I will hold you close while you sleep, and I will protect you from every fear you have.”

She rises from the sofa we were on and follows me into my adjoining bedroom. The cool blue light from the moon is traded for a warm yellow from the fireplace. It felt like a dream. The curtains that draped around my bed gently swayed in the breeze coming through the window, and that same breeze caused the half-dozen candles to flicker as well. The soft scent of roses and lilacs fills the room, as Ella placed fresh cut flowers in here earlier today, and now, the fragrance is stronger. Romantic.

I guide her to the bed and help her get in and under the covers. Her hair falls freely over the pillows, and her eyes lock onto mine. I brush the small pieces of hair out of the way, ensuring her face is no longer covered, and I can truly bask in the divine glory of her beauty.

As I pull my hand away from her face, she grabs my hand and says, “Please don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave me.”

“My darling, I will never leave your side. I refuse to leave your side. Soon, we will talk, and we can properly plan our lives together.” I lean closer, placing a gentle kiss on her lips, letting the moment linger. I place my hand on her cheek, giving it a soft caress, and as our lips part, I whisper, “But I will never leave you. I swear. I will find you in every lifetime, and I will love you till my dying breath.”

From this day forth, Flora will be the love of my life, though Alexander was once an important part of my life; that season of my life has ended, for the Gods have deemed it so. When I travel to London with Alexander, Flora will come with me, and we will plan our escape. We will run away with whatever we can carry in our steamer trunks and create a new life. A new oasis where we can create new memories. This is a risk I am willing to take, as I know my family will not take this injustice lightly; however, this must be done.

Alexander will likely hunt me down and have me thrown in an asylum, and my parents will support him, as they have seen him as the son they never had. No matter where we go, we cannot be recognized, or we run the risk of being caught. We can go anywhere, start a new life with a new name, and live somewhere where we are not known at all. We can start over and officially create a life worth living. I’ll work, start a business for us to survive off us, though I am not sure what, I will risk everything time and time again for this. We could move to America, run off to the Western Territories, buy up some land, and vanish from the world we once knew.

I do fear what will become of Ella and the twins, Constance and Quintessence. Will they be questioned regarding where we have gone? I cannot tell them as that would only mean we must run away even further, but no matter what, they will be seen as accomplices in our getaway. I wish I could take them with us, but if I took all three to London, that would raise many questions about why they would be needed. Though I could also lie, saying they are needed so Flora and I can be dressed appropriately to attend the opera. That could potentially work, and when Flora and I board the ship to America.

I would hate to leave them behind, as they have been my true family since I was young. They were the only ones who showed me any kindness until I eventually met Flora. They were paid help, but they became my family. I cannot truly abandon them, but it would be hard to bring them with us, given the cost of the boat and the arduous task of traveling from London to Southampton to board one of the ocean liners, possibly. This is not something we can easily do, as five women traveling alone would leave many to question what is happening.

In the end, when Flora and I run away from everything, leaving this estate behind. We leave everything behind. The memories that I have made on the family estate. The school where Flora and I first met. The fading memory of my brothers. By being with Flora, I will lose all of it forever, and likely we will need to be on the run for quite some time. Hiding from my family and those influenced by their money. We would be fugitives theoretically, forever living in hiding from the persecution that society will deem appropriate due to our unsavory relationship.

Each thought of what the future may bring causes a lump in my chest to form. As it twists and writhes, my emotions begin to grow as well. I do not wish to be alone, and I do not wish to live in fear of those around me. I wish to live a simple life with the person I love and feel safe. I do not want this decision to cause us any trouble, or hardship. I do not want Flora to be in fear of our neighbors, or those we may meet. Can we ever go out to shops together? Visit the opera? Will we be allowed to have friends again?

The unknown causes my body to tense, and the lump in my chest to strangle my heart. I do not wish to cause Flora harm, or ruin her life, sadly, this is the only way we can be together forever. This is the only way we can have a life together. Though, is a life full of fear worth living?

“Catherine, is everything okay?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, “What is wrong?”

“Nothing, I promise. Soon, we will run away from this life and start over. Just you and me together forever. No fear, no judgement. Just us.” I kiss her forehead before I stare into her eyes. The most beautiful shade of blue. More precious than any stone found on earth or in the heavens above. I hate lying to her, but I also do not wish to cause her any worry. I just wish we could be together forever.

Starting tomorrow, everything changes. Flora and I will be alone, isolated from those we love, as no one can know the truth. We cannot tell anywhere where we will live, or what goals we have in mind. No one can be close to us anymore, but that is a risk we must take. I want to spend my life with her. I wish this were an easy decision to make, and I wish the risk were minimal. I wish my family would love me and let me live the life I want, but sadly, this is not a fairytale, and I likely will not have a happy ending. We will be thrown into a world of fear and anxiety. There is likely no one we can trust anymore, as neither of us wants to be dragged back home. I do not want to be ripped away from her.

“For our future. For you, my darling Flora, I will risk my name and public perception all so I can walk by your side till fate deems we must be torn apart.” My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her into my embrace before I pull the covers up over our heads. Hiding us away from the world that wishes to tear us apart.

Dear God, watching us silently from up on high, know that I have found my love. I found my life. For in this moment, I have realized that if we were to die, I would die hers in every lifetime.

Buy me a coffee

Share

It’s always been you.

We were high school sweethearts, and I thought that one day, we would get married and live a perfect life together. A big house by the ocean, as that was always his dream. A large white house, surrounded by flowering plants like lilacs and forget-me-nots, with a decent-sized zinnia garden overlooking the sea.

Alex had big dreams for the future, and that was why I loved him. He was my dreamer. Every time he went quiet, it meant he was deep in thought, dreaming of a new world far away; a new future or possible life for us. You could tell if he was happy with his new fantasy as his eyes seemed to glow and sparkle like the stars in the night sky, turning his already bright blue eyes into a small galaxy. No one understood his dreams the way I did. No one tried to understand him at all, often ignoring him altogether.

One day, though, he just vanished. The only note that remained was a note that simply said It’s always been you. The note was tied with a red silk ribbon and lay on his bedroom desk next to the novel Wuthering Heights.

His mother, Mary, found it in the morning when she went to wake him for school. It was a week before our high school graduation, and he was the valedictorian. When I begged for others to help me look for him, I was always met with the same answer, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that is.” Every photo of us together was useless, and I was told no one named Alex ever lived in this small town.

When graduation day finally occurred, George gave the valedictorian speech, and Alex was not mentioned once. As a result, I turned down my college acceptance because I spent my time combing the area for any sign of where he might have gone.

After all these years, I still have not stopped looking.

After he vanished, within a week, Mary left town as well. The house was empty, and every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust. Even though she was gone for only a week, you would think it was always abandoned. Now, I was truly alone.

Alex was gone, Mary was gone, and the town acted like his family never existed. Whenever I pleaded for help, I only received a few weird looks. But I never stopped looking; I never gave up hope, holding on tightly to that hope, praying he would be home soon.

Time passed by, and I stayed in place. Waiting. Reciting those words as a lifesaving mantra.

It’s always been you…

By the time I finally woke, the day finally hit me. It is Thursday, June 6^th, and tomorrow will be the third anniversary of Alex’s disappearance.

“Alex… Please… Give me a sign. What should I do? Where should I go? Where did you go?” Lying there in bed, a tear rolls down my cheek, and I continue to sit in silence. Nothing in my room has changed since the last time he visited. It became a silent memorial to him.

Soon, a noise causes me to stir, as it sounds like a tapping on my window. Soft, but steady. I turn to try and see what it may be, but I don’t see anything at first, so I get out of bed completely, and I am greeted by a strange sight. A large bird is at my window, and it is adorned with a red silk ribbon.

It is an albatross.

For a moment, we make eye contact, and then it flies off, leaving the red ribbon behind, floating through the air.

“Alex, is this the sign? The sea?”

I get dressed quickly and get into my car, heading toward the ocean town we always dreamed of living in. It is a five-hour drive to Stonington, Maine, and though I have never done the drive before, I fear this must be where I need to go. This was my sign.

Why else would a bird of the sea come to me? What else could this possibly mean?

I bring a few photos of him with me, along with his note and the two red ribbons. Additionally, I play our favorite album on loop, praying it will give me the courage for whatever I find. Will he be dead? Will he be alive? Will I find anything at all?

As the hours pass, my anxiety begins to grow. I am blindly driving into the unknown, yet I embrace the fear with open arms, as this is my only hope.

By the time I make it to Stonington and park at the Opera House, I see an albatross again, flying off in the direction of the water. On foot, I chase after it, not sure if this will lead to Alex or my eventual insanity. As the water comes into view, I see a pier in the distance as well, and someone standing at the end looking at the ocean. I walk onto the pier slowly, as I do not wish to scare whoever is standing there at the end, and then my heart drops.

The figure turns, and I am greeted by Alex.

“It’s always been you, the love of my life.” He still has the crooked smile and starry eyes. He hasn’t changed at all in three years. “I’m glad you finally found me.”

I run into his arms, and I feel the cold rush of the ocean waves wrap around me. Soft and loving. It was dark. It was freeing. It was suffocating and all-consuming.

I was free; I was with Alex again, finally. I was free. I was one with the sea.

The calming sound of the albatross in the distance, as life fades away.

Buy me a coffee

Share

This poem is part of the same world as my Historical Romance Novel, and it is from the perspective of Flora. This is her way of communicating her feelings regarding Catherine.

I

Hide with me in the Flowers,

Under the shade of the trees.

Let us listen to the birds sing,

And hear the river as it flows by.

Let us hide from the eyes of the world,

From the Gods above,

And the mournful screams below.

Your hand in my hand,

And the forgotten moments we once had,

Let us find forever a new,

And watch our life forever bloom.

The painful truth slowly falling from your lips,

Your marriage is set,

Your fate is planned.

I, sadly, am not a part of the future.

Oh, my darling Catherine,

“Please,” I beg,

“Let us stay here forever,

Hidden where the grass is green,

And the beauty of our love is eternal.”

I long for the moment when you hold me close,

The first kiss we shared,

The first touch…

A blessing,

A curse.

II

Five years.

I’ve been by your side for five years.

Meeting at Mrs. O’Leary’s finishing school,

Rooming together,

Living with you.

That day,

I was crying under a flowering tree,

I think it was a wild cherry,

That was when you found me.

You truly saw me for me.

My fears,

My dreams,

My tears and hollow screams.

You, my darling Catherine,

You held me tight.

You let me cry.

No beating,

No teasing,

No punishment.

Just a gentle kiss on my forehead,

And a warm embrace.

That was the day I fell,

The day my heart was taken.

Your eyes a soft amber,

With supple rose lips.

Hair rich like mahogany,

And a voice more beautiful than the angels above.

You stole my heart within a moment,

As it only took a moment,

To be loved a whole life long.

You were my salvation,

My blessing from the gods.

III

Please, lie with me in the undergrowth,

Lay with me here for a lifetime.

Let us watch the world pass us by,

Let us forget the troubles of life.

Become my hero,

My ill-fated lover.

You can play Orpheus,

I will be Eurydice.

Our fate has been determined,

Our love cannot be.

You are to wed Alexander.

I am to disappear in the shadows.

Forgotten.

Unwanted.

Abandoned.

Did you ever love me?

Was each tender kiss a lie?

Painful; beautifully painful love –

I shared my soul with you.

Every suitor who came calling,

I chased them away.

I told lies, ruining my name.

I spoke out of turn – broke the silent code.

For I only wished for when I could sit there with you,

For your love is enough.

IV

Catherine,

My angelic Orpheus.

Please, turn around,

Look at me for who I have become.

Condemn my soul to the pits of hell.

Catherine,

My loving Orpheus.

Remember us in the undergrowth.

Flowers in your hair,

The beautiful silence of your eyes.

Catherine,

My darling Orpheus.

Forever we will lie here in the flowers.

We will be surrounded by beautiful colors,

Beautiful proclamations of the hidden truth.

Aloyosia Citodora,

Anemone and Anemone Nemoras,

Red and White Dianthus Caryophyllus.

Each arrangement brought to our rooms shares the same message.

Showing beautiful white Lilium

Rosa Carolina and Rosa Damasca,

Dendrobium and Rosmarinus Officinalis,

With beautiful accents of Vaccinium Oxycoccus.

I ensure every message is clear.

Every proclamation is only known to those who look closely.

To those who desire the truth.

My darling Catherine,

Please, look at what I am saying.

Look at the truth,

All that is unsaid.

Look at me,

Your Eurydice,

And let me fall forever.

Silent and alone.

V

The truth has been said,

A promise has been made.

Catherine,

My darling Catherine.

Do not lie,

Do not torture me.

The Gods saw this promise,

Blessing it in their divine eyes.

Fated to die,

Fated to suffer.

My dear Orpheus,

Lay with me in the undergrowth.

Lay with me till time has stopped.

I await the embrace of sorrow,

And shall pillow my head with Urtica Dioica,

And wipe my tears with Gardenia Jasminides petals.

I will always wait,

For we know how this play ends.

Buy me a coffee

Share

Simple. I wish I were not alive. I wish I were not born into a family that wishes I were dead. A family that gives me so little respect, I may as well not even exist. Each day I try, and I try to be their “perfect” child, but I may never be enough. I am the one they call when they need help with anything. I am the one who always helps.

If the garage keeps getting messy due to my parents’ hoarding. I help clean the mess. My dad’s health takes a drastic nosedive. I am the one making a phone call. I am always there, and it has been that way for years, but I am also told I am a failure. The mistake. The one they never wanted to have. My mom wanted kids, and my father already had two. He never wanted my sister or me, but he said my mother “forced him.” Now, I am thirty years old, and nothing has changed, ever. It is the same old bullshit and disrespect time after time, and I always, in the end, just smile. I always sit there and let it happen because I know if I fight back or show my backbone, it gets violent. A good example was on Super Bowl night, 2026. Bad Bunny is performing, and my keeps making racist remarks, and I lose my cool. I tell him repeatedly to shut up and never say that horrible shit again, as he has no right to hate immigrants when he is the child of one and moved here from Germany when he was twelve. He threatened me, all because I asked him to stop being racist.

This always occurs, and in this nasty, violent behavior, my father hides the truth time and time again. No one knows who he really is, and because he is seen as an upstanding man, the lies are seen as the gospel, and all who oppose are deranged liars. I am labeled as insane, and everyone will follow suit because they have no reason to believe otherwise. My mother has no backbone now, and so she bends to his tyrannical rule. The man who shot a small dog simply because he hated poodles, and because his ex-wife bought it, trading his dog away for this poodle. Even if what the x-wife did was wrong, my father did not need to take the poodle out back and shoot it. He does not need to recount the story as though it were a fond memory.

This is a normal occurrence, and this is one reason why I cry often. I was never wanted. I was a failure, and in that failure, I was never enough for them. I will never be enough. My entire family has been poisoned against my fiancé and me simply because I am a transgender individual who is outspoken and does not fear confrontation. I call out poor behavior, and I will not accept injustice. I question their view on life, and so, I am deemed useless.

So, I cry softly and silently at night because I must live with the idea and fact that I am not enough. My existence is unwanted and unworthy of love.

Often, I pray for sweet release as I hate the harsh truth of who I am. I hate every inch of my physical being. I hate remembering that each day I am unwanted, not just by my family, but society as well. The current administration in America has made it clear many times that the transgender community is evil incarnate and is only worthy of death. Now, I will do anything to harm myself? No. I’m lazy and simply wish I could disappear. I am just in a position where I wish I could go away and ignore life forever. Just vanish and no longer be a burden to anyone, as I feel that would bring peace to the world as well.

My family does not want me. The world does not want me either.

Can I be honest? Am I even allowed to be completely honest with you all?

I always feel as though I need to ask permission to speak my mind, as I never believe my presence is wanted. I never feel as though I am allowed to have an opinion, or be honest, or real, or show that I truly am human.

So, I need to ask if I am allowed to share who I am, and let you into my mind.

This brings me to now.

I am a failure, at least that is what so many have told me. All my writing is an “insult to the art” according to my one published friend. According to my parents, I am a failure and shouldn’t exist. I can have a 4.0 GPA in college, and my family will say it is not enough. I can be happy in a relationship and planning a wedding, and it is a disgrace. I just want to be happy, but in this life, in this country, I am not allowed. I work hard toward my college education, and it gets me nowhere. I work hard for my future, and it gets me nowhere.

I spend weeks devoting myself to an art that I would die for, as this is my greatest passion in life, and yet, it is told I am idiotic. I am a waste of space. I am ruining everyone’s life, and it is all because I am transgender. I just want to be happy, and yet, I am banned from events due to my parents fearing being seen with me, as I embarrass them. Having a child who is transgender is clearly a death sentence in their eyes, so they verbally abuse me. Minimizing my every accomplishment and minimizing who I am as a person.

My dreams are not real, and my life is not good enough.

I am never enough. I could sell 1,000 books tomorrow, but it would not be enough. I am worthless, and though I should not believe it, I often do.

I often believe that I am smart, funny, and creative, but then people remind me that it is not true. I am a nobody. I have no friends and no real prospects in my future. Those I admire love to constantly remind me how I am of no use. My family loves to remind me of that as well. I am unwanted and unworthy of love. I am unworthy of recognition, as I am not deserving of praise. I am a burden, a disgrace to my family’s name.

All because I am transgender.

Because of that, I am verbally and physically abused by my family.

So, I sit in silence, tell no one my fears, my dreams, my goals. I tell no one my pain or my truth, because no one cares. Once I came out as transgender, my voice was silenced by all around me, and I had to start living my life forever muted by those who once claimed to be my loved ones and family.

I am not Robert, I never was.

I was never happy, I was never proud of anything I have ever achieved in my life because I was never allowed to be. Soon, I will have my virtual commencement ceremony, and the entire day will somehow become about my parents, and what they have “sacrificed” for me, and my education. The sad reality is, my parents gave me nothing. No support, no praise, no encouragement. I was told it was a waste of time and a debt for nothing. No real goal or reason. But, come May 23^rd, while I wear my graduation cap and gown, and try to be proud of what I have achieved, I will be told I didn’t do enough fast enough. I will be told I could have done better. I could have been smarter or graduated sooner. I should have a job lined up already. My name won’t even be announced yet, and my moment will be ruined by my family, as I can never truly be proud of what I have achieved.

I am and will always be their punching bag. I will and will always be their failure. Their mistake.

So, I hide my life away and cry in silence late at night. No one is awake to see or hear me, and I cannot be called bothersome. That is why I cry in the shower, as I can hide the tears even from myself. I do not want to be seen as weak or annoying, as I need to be robotic, emotionless. I must remind myself that I am not wanted, removing sadness from my body, and substituting it with happiness. That is the only emotion I am allowed to show.

This is why I cry. This is why I vanish often. This is who I am.

Buy me a coffee

Share

Subscribe now

I have shared my memoir on here many times, and many small chapters here and there, but I never gave a date as to when it would be available for publication. Now I know. Now, I have it figured out, hopefully.

Thijs is a very loose idea, though, as I may pull this memoir again and add to it, continuing to show growth and how I have changed over the years. This book is not a set-in-stone project, but rough and jagged, similar to me. I am broken and perfectly imperfect. I want this story to be raw and open, and let all the little broken pieces show through. Each chapter is a separate essay or letter from me to you, as an honest confession about who I am as an individual. Maybe that isn’t smart, but it is something I want to do; I want this story to be perfectly raw and a complete reflection of who I am.

Either way, I will be a bit selfish, and I will truly talk about me, and only me.

I am publishing my memoir again on April 27^th, 2026.

Upon release, I would have published three books on my own. No agent, no help, all me. Truly just me. I have self-published two poetry collections already, but I never talk about them, and I do not want to sound too selfish and only focus on myself. So, I stay quiet about it all, but now, I want to finally share it all with you.

Some of the poems I have shared with you are from those books. My memoir chapters are part of a massive book as well. It is all real, and I spent days stressing about it. Months of crying over it because I never wanted to speak up and share what I had created. Not because I am not proud, but because I don’t want to be that person pulling attention to myself, demanding everyone look at me and listen to what I have to say. I like to stay silent.

No more.

I am publishing my memoir again on April 27^th, 2026. So much of my story needs to be shared with others as a reminder to NEVER give up. I am not a saint, nor do I claim to be perfect. This book was originally a suicide note. Simple at that. I hated my life so much, I did that. Now, the story is sharing the truth. Who my family is, who I am, what I want from my life, and more. The truth will maybe set me free, or at least make me aware of who I am in this world.

I am finally sharing my truth, again, and I will not remove it in the end. I am proud of what I have done, and I am proud of the person I have become.

I cannot wait for you all to read my memoir, as it will all be yours soon.

April 27^th, 2026

Essays From Me – The Addendums

Pre-order link!

Buy me a coffee

Share

Subscribe now

The novel Resistance by Tori Amos, released in May 2020, covers many topics, ranging from love, motherhood, fear, growth, and inspiration. Sometimes, we need to look at the hard topics in life and speak up, raising awareness in times when other voices are actively being silenced. Many times within the novel, Tori discusses how the “muses” spoke to her, demanding she speak on important topics. Demanding that she use her voice, her platform. On page 147, she reflects on an interaction where her team was at a diner near New Orleans. One of the team members, Karen Binns, was being targeted with unjust hate because she is mixed. Tori spoke up.

The hateful rhetoric used during the 2016 election reminded her of this moment in the diner. Those days during the album shoot for her third album, Boys for Pele. That hateful rhetoric caused the muses to speak, and a new song was born, and she continued to use her voice.

Why do I mention this?

Over the last couple of weeks, many artists have used their voices to speak up for what they believe is right. They have used their voice to speak up for marginalized communities and defend those who lack a platform to speak for themselves. We have seen this with artists such as Lady Gaga, Madonna, Olivia Rodrigo, Green Day, Beyoncé, Guns N’ Roses, Kehlani, and more. When you are given a global platform, you are obligated to speak up. It may not be easy, and yes, living in the current political climate in America is quite terrifying, but each voice needs to speak out against hate.

In my very first post, I mentioned that Resistance is one of my favorite books, and this is why. Tori Amos has stood up for what she believes in, and when needed, she knows that she must speak out, as silence can be interpreted as complicit behavior.

I have a voice, so I must use it. In the current political climate in America, injustice needs to be spoken about, and awareness needs to be raised. Speaking on something I am well-versed in, the rights and lives of many trans people are under attack, even by people within the LGBTQ+ Community. Many people feel that if you are transgender, you are sick in the head, or there is something wrong with you. Others believe that you are trying to groom the children and convert them. Speaking from my own experience, that is not the case, mainly because I hate children, but I also strongly dislike people. I don’t want to be where people are, and would happily push someone down a flight of stairs for a burger. A bit harsh, but you hopefully get the idea. Even the data statistically shows that people who are transgender are not monsters in that way.

According to data published by the USSC (United States Sentencing Commission), we can see who typically commits these crimes. 93.6% of sexual abuse offenders were men. • 57.5% were White, 16.1% were Black, 12.1% were Native American, 11.8% were Hispanic, and 2.5% were Other races (United States Sentencing Commission). The document does not mention people from the LGBTQ+ Community as a demographic feature, and when searching, I cannot find data at this time to support that my community is in danger.

Currently in America, in 49 out of 50 states, 1,020 bills that involve anti-trans legislation have been introduced. 124 have passed, 514 are still active, and 382 have failed (Trans Legislation Tracker). That is the current state of America. It is under the guise of save the children, yet it is blatant hatred. If you look at the website linked through the citation, you can visit each bill by state, and you can see how the bill is written. Some say it is to prevent children from easily gaining access to gender affirming care, but what research do these legislators have that this is occurring? They say children are mutilating their bodies, but anyone with a quarter of a brain cell can do accurate research and know that is not correct.

When I started transitioning in 2021, I had to have doctors sign off on everything and provide two statements to my insurance just so I could get my prescription medication. That took three months of work. Logistically, I can assume it would be a lot harder for any kind of insurance to approve any surgeries, and if it is paid for out of pocket, that is a hefty debt being taken on. But it is about protecting the children?

Anti-drag bills are about protecting the children because drag is overly sexual. Right? One of my favorite videos of a drag artist was of someone dressed as a game of Twister singing a modified version of “Memories” from the musical CATS. (If I can find the video, I will link it.)

Oh, but why are drag queens reading to children? Can kids that young read for themselves easily? I have a nephew who is 3 years old, and he still has a very limited vocabulary, so he cannot read a book on his own. Plus, drag queens are colorful and get dressed up in fun and bright costumes. It keeps the kids entertained. Well, why aren’t they reading to the elderly? They are, but the elderly can read for themselves. But Drag Queens do performances for the elderly. In 2018, The Oregonian/Oregonlive posted an article about a drag show done at the Rose Villa retirement community. This crowd, however, had anticipated a vastly different show, one more typically found at CC Slaughters nightclub than in the stackable chairs and beige walls of a retirement center auditorium. On Thursday, four drag queens graced the center’s stage and the aisles for a two-hour cabaret-style show that featured comedy, skits, dancing, and music ranging from show tunes to modern pop (Oregonian/OregonLive). If you go to the linked article, you can see it was fun for all ages, and was not sexual at all.

So why are we a scapegoat?

It’s easy. That is why. Look back at history, marginalized communities were often the reason something bad happened, as it was done to shift blame from the true perpetrators. It is easier to blame others than to accept the blame of one’s own community. Growing up in Southern Delaware, I saw many people blame marginalized communities for “stealing jobs” or “stealing state benefits.” My father was one of the people who said this often, and still says this occasionally at times. Blame is easy to point at others, as it makes us look innocent in the end.

This is unacceptable behavior, and that is why I am writing this. Racism is on the rise in America. Homophobia, Transphobia, Xenophobia, Islamophobia, and more are all on the rise. Hateful rhetoric is given a national platform, and it is becoming acceptable behavior as well. We cannot allow hate to consume us, and we cannot allow history to repeat itself.

This is why we must use our voice. This is why we must speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. Something I have learned to do over time. Something Tori Amos reminded me of that I need to do as well. I have learned in the last decade the power we have when we speak up against hatred. Our voices have power. Our action has power.

Tori Amos wrote a book that details her life, from the very beginning moments of her career, up to the current moments in her life. The throughline message, the throughline theme, is the idea of resistance. Resisting the language of hate. Resisting the status quo. Resisting the disenfranchisement of others. We must not bend to the pressures we experience, and we shall not let hate destroy what we love.

Speak up, and be heard.

Now, real quick, I need to add something that was not planned for originally, but one of my mutuals posted something very problematic. It encouraged the idea of traditionalist values while also attacking the LGBTQ+ Community. So, since she is entitled to her opinion, I want to share mine again here. This is my response to her post. Enjoy!

Additionally, here are screenshots of this feud, and more, showing all of this came from Adnarim around December 22nd, 2025.

Okay, I am aware you are entitled to your opinion, and that is fine; however, I have a few concerns regarding this post. Remember, you are entitled to an opinion, and so am I.

1) Where is the evidence to back ANY of these claims? Yes, this is an opinion piece, and that is fine, but with the statements you are making, I would assume you would have evidence cited that can be fact-checked and seen as credible or not. You mention that we should be grateful to our fathers for working crazy hours so our mom can stay at home and take care of us all those years ago. That is fair, but what was the economy like then compared to now? Can your lifestyle support a one-income household? In 2008, when the recession hit in American, my dad lost his job and was unemployed till 2015 because the construction industry was still struggling. We almost lost both cars and the house during that time. My mom was still working, and that wasn’t enough to feed us all easily. At one point, you say, “Are you going to keep being a man-hater? Are you going to shame your blue-collar father for being a gruff, white, old-fashioned man when he worked 16-hour days for 40 years so that your mum can afford not to work so she can babysit your kids while you frolic around at pilates?” Where is the proof that this is happening? Where is the correlation? If you are going based on social media, then that means you have bought into a lie, something I assumed you would have noticed already. Having your mother babysit your kids so you can go to pilates is not that bad, plus you don’t know if that was and agreed upon arrangement, and maybe the mother is paid as well. Again, you are linking ideas with no evidence. Not a good look.

2) The lack of a cohesive thought process within the post is off-putting. This does not read like a well-thought-out post or article, but one thrown together using stereotypical conservative talking points. This feels like something done purely to rage-bait for attention. Again, since you are entitled to an opinion, I am as well. This does not scream someone who is educated because I would not dare share anything with bold and toxic claims with any credible sources to save my neck. Even if it is an opinion piece. I want to reference the single-income household again because if we look at $1 in 1913, it would be about $32.61 due to inflation. If we move that to 1940, when my grandfather was born, that $1 would be the equivalent of $23.01 again, due to inflation. Oh, but let us say it is $50 in the 1940’s for groceries or something, that would be the equivalent of $1,150.31 due to inflation.

The 1940s, a decade of recovery from the Great Depression and World War II, witnessed a resurgence in the housing market. After a slump in construction and homeownership during the 1930s, homebuilding began to pick up in the early 1940s. The median U.S. home value stood at $2,938, equivalent to over $30,000 in today’s U.S. dollars. Despite the increase in construction, a shortage of homes persisted due to the substantial population growth experienced in the previous two decades (Wolfeco, 2022). If we take that $2,938 and use the same inflation calculator, we get $67,592.46 due to inflation. Median household income was $83,730 in 2024, not statistically different from the 2023 estimate of $82,690 (Bureau, 2025). That is the Median household income in the US. Mean people make more and less than that, but that is the HOUSEHOLD income, meaning all working able-bodied bodies are counted. See what I am getting at now?

3) Regarding the inclusion of Trans people in this roller coaster of a post. Why? The narrative you are painting does not have a clear through line and lacks evidence (which is a major red flag in my opinion, remember, I am allowed that), but trans people do not fit the narrative. You said, “Are you going to try your hardest to empower everyone in your life aside from anyone who is male, and keep shouting for equality and the overthrowing of oppression when instead you’re bouncing off the springboard of male leadership into a world where ideally, men are seen and not heard and everything imbued with manliness is scrubbed out of society with bleach, testosterone blockers, and top surgery? Where are all the good men gone? You told them they weren’t good enough, so they killed themselves.” Again, where is the correlation? In that same paragraph, you attack gay people as well, but when this was brought to your attention in the comments, you attempt to minimize this behavior by saying you are entitled to your opinion. Are you going to minimize my comments as well? If so, that is very telling of who you are as an individual who claims to be “non-judgemental” yet you are judging others for the way they live their lives. Ironic.

In the comments you said “I wouldn’t say I made transgender people the butt of my post, because I actually never mentioned them... and I mentioned testosterone blockers and top surgery only once as a metaphor... a metaphor which is pretty accurate I would say, as testosterone blockers and top surgery do by definition erase manliness - it’s kind of their whole point!” If that was your goal, the metaphor did not land well. If I were grade this metaphor, it would be a 0/10, and your reasoning does not make it better because a metaphor should be something that is understood and makes sense. This does not make sense, but reads like an attack on trans people. Now, I know you said you know non-binary people, and that’s fine, but do they know you think this way? You throwing that out there felt like an excuse people make to give a reason for their poor behavior if they say something racist or homophobic. I am transgender, and this “metaphor” reads like an attack on trans individuals for no reason. They say think before you speak, maybe think before you hit post as well. Mind you, while the precise number of transgender people in most countries is currently unknowable, the available data seem to indicate that the percentage of people who identify as transgender tends to be roughly consistent around the world, ranging from 1-3% (World Population Review, 2024). Again, this is data showing that your metaphor idea is weak, lacking, and irrelevant. Trans people are between 1-3% of the world population, but is it a “perfect metaphor” for the idea of erasing manliness? Noted.

4) The psychology of it all. Where is it? I am a psychology and creative writing double major. I maintained a 4.0 GPA for 2 years, and only watched it drop due to math. I can tell you there is no psychology seen within this post. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is at the end, but even that is horribly out of date for modern times, and I provide you with a research-based essay that I wrote for my college classes that got a perfect grade to show you why it is no longer valid. You could maybe argue this is a philosophical question that is just poorly written, and maybe you are right, but even that is a poor excuse for the lack of evidence provided within this post. If I were to share this essay in my college classes, I would fail right away because it is poorly written and lacks supporting evidence. This is an opinion piece trying to masquerade as an educated and deep psychological essay.

I will leave it that for now, and will clearly be keeping a close eye on you, as this is a bit off-putting. Have the day you deserve.

Sincerely,

A Trans person.

Her response.

Hey, thank you for your comments!

This is not supposed to be a cohesive piece of writing or an objective one. I did not want to use sources because I did not want to try to make this piece into something it is not.

I can write a killer academic essay, and I can write a killer opinion piece. I can write in APA style, I can interact critically with primary and secondary sources, and I can use facts. I’m a distinguished student at my university, and my professors have trained me well. However, the whole point of this platform for me is having a place where I can sometimes dive into the tumultuous ocean of my own brain and see where the currents take me - even if the result is a post that is an objectively ‘bad’ piece of writing. This is my own type of authenticity - this is my own type of creative writing.

The only evidence I have is my own experience in the world we live in, and my observation of others. And like it or not, the world I see IS filled with pain, with confusion, with anger - and with chaotic messiness which cannot be calcified into orderly prose.

Yes, I included the LGBTQ+ community in my post - albeit briefly. And why not? Because the reality is that anyone who is interested in masculine and feminine is probably at some point going to start thinking about the plight of that particular community. And the truth is that that particular community - your particular community - seems to be, from the outside, one plagued with pain and confusion, which still struggles to find its place amongst the traditional feminine and masculine. By including this community in this piece, all I wanted to do was demonstrate this tension it has with the traditional feminine and masculine - I did not mean to offend anyone.

Psychology is everywhere in this post. What else could this mess possibly be, other than a long, painful, chaotic exploration of the human psyche?

I encourage you to take five steps back and read between the lines a little. Don’t take it so literally.

This is not going to be the only post like this. And I will say, to you and to everyone else, that to get anything out of these kinds of posts, you’re going to have to embrace them warts and all - no matter how uncomfortable they make you feel. Otherwise, I suggest you avoid them...

Thank you very much for your time and your comments, and let me know if you have any other questions!

Oh, and by the way - everyone deserves to have a good day, even if you don’t agree with them. So, have a great day.

My response to her:

Thank you for your response, though it is very similar to the initial post. Lacking.

Your entire analysis of the human psyche, as you put in uses only one source, and that is your experiences. I don’t think that is something you can cite in APA formatting, nor is it seen as truly credible. I don’t think we can cite “trust me bro” as a source. Also, you didn’t want to make it longer, yet the entire point of your essay was completely lost due to the incoherent nature of your rambling.

You state you like discourse, yet you are politely telling me to go away or suck it up. That is very interesting as well. Why say this is a safe space, where we can have a healthy conversation, yet the moment someone challenges your thoughts and the quality of the post, you become defensive.

Was I a tad rude in my initial comment? Yes. Why? I was matching the dismissive attitude you showed to another who commented. They did not understand why you worded this essay the way you did, and you decided to dismiss their concerns and treat it as something minor.

Again, we can all have an opinion, and I would have maybe agreed with yours if it were an intelligent essay. This is not that.

Now, to tackle what you said. “Yes, I included the LGBTQ+ community in my post - albeit briefly. And why not? Because the reality is that anyone who is interested in masculine and feminine is probably at some point going to start thinking about the plight of that particular community. And the truth is that that particular community - your particular community - seems to be, from the outside, one plagued with pain and confusion, which still struggles to find its place amongst the traditional feminine and masculine. By including this community in this piece, all I wanted to do was demonstrate this tension it has with the traditional feminine and masculine - I did not mean to offend anyone.”

That is not a true apology; let’s make that clear. Plus again, look at what I said before. A good metaphor is something people can understand. What you wrote made no sense and lacked context. This essay truly reads less like an intellectual think piece, and makes me wonder if you have unresolved issues with men, and you are projecting. Do you have issues with the “traditional idea” of masculine and feminine? If so, you need to work on that, and you cannot be angry at others for not conforming to your desires.

One final question, if you actually cared about men, why do you only platform white men and their pain? Do POC not experience something similar? If their life different? Do you not care about how they think, or feel about this situation? I just find that very odd.

That said, I will take your advice and leave since you clearly don’t like an actual discussion. Have a blessed day, and bless your heart.

A post she made on her own - Now deleted.

Dear Substack.

I was naive, wasn’t I, coming on here with my grand ideas about freedom of expression and empathy… I was rather childish and foolish, believing I had finally found my fantasy land where I could be myself free of judgement… I was pretty silly, too, thinking I’d have nothing but open-minded discourse free from name-calling…

And I get it! Ever since I started having unpopular opinions about the world during the Covid pandemic I’ve been called many, many names… bigot, Nazi, white supremacist, terf, pick-me, narcissist… I’ve had many people say I’m disgusting, disappointing, hateful, harmful, angry, defensive, dismissive, immoral, unethical, fucked up… I’ve had people say that I’m someone who should not be tolerated by society and who should be mindful of how exposed my neck is in public…

And am I any of these things, Substack? You tell me! You get your readers to take a look at my writing and to ask me questions about my beliefs - surely then we’ll know for sure whether Adnarim truly is a piece of shit!!

I mean, I cried when Charlie Kirk died, but still think he could have done a better job of marketing himself to the young women of the world…

My top podcast for 2025 was Joe Rogan, but I don’t think I would ever take psychedelics…

I’m a zealous fan of Jordan Peterson, and I love his personal style, but I understand why the progressives of the world don’t find him very appealing…

I think I would have voted for Trump, but I also think he is a lascivious misogynist…

I feel like the world needs to be kinder to the transgender community, but I also think the transgender community need to be less prickly and more resilient…

I think poverty is a real bummer, but I also think that capitalism isn’t the monstrosity the left would have us believe…

So, tell me Substack, am I a piece of shit?

Maybe I am. But even if I am, I feel I have to keep going in my messy, chaotic, emotional, outrageous fashion. My writing may not be pleasant or easygoing, but I feel like it might like the lyrics of Roman’s Revenge: fierce, profound, and maybe even a little bit necessary.

I’m just trying to figure out this fucked up world of ours in my own fucked up way. But is most of the writers and readers on here don’t want to support me, I’m cool with that.

Hate away! This girl is tough.

I’ll just do this by myself - with the precious company of my tiny group of friends along the way.

Anyway.

Merry Fucking Christmas.

Another post she made - Not Deleted.

Dear writers and readers of Substack.

I posted something yesterday about masculinity and femininity in the modern world, and ended having lots of lively discussion in the comments about some metaphors I used that involved the LGBTQ+ community.

So. I figured I’d ask the wider community a couple questions, so we can get the most out of the opportunity for discussion these comments have created!

I’d particularly like to hear the opinions of members of the LGBTQ+ community, though of course everyone is welcome to participate!

The link to the article is included.

My first set of questions is:

Do you think seeing posts like mine as harmful is part of the reason there is so much pain and confusion present in the trans community? Do you think the bar for what is ‘harmful’ to the trans community is simply set too low, and so members of that community find themselves in a position where reasonable, creative discussion is seen as hateful and threatening, which leads to trans people feeling harmed when this is actually not the case?

My second set of questions is:

How WOULD you like me to talk about these issues, if you thought the way I talked about them in this post were offensive or inappropriate? Is there some kind of methodology or set of rules that you think I - and others having these conversations - should follow? If so, what are they?

Like I said in the comment section, all I want is to create an arena where we can creatively and intellectually explore the problems of the world together. However, I fear doing so must involve being bold and controversial, and by exploring ideas that might be uncomfortable or unpleasant for some.

I wish this wasn’t the case, and that this whole endeavour could be easier and more pleasant.

References

Bureau, U. C. (2025, September 9). Income in the United States: 2024. Census.gov. https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2025/demo/p60-286.html

Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis. (2025). Inflation Calculator. Www.minneapolisfed.org. https://www.minneapolisfed.org/about-us/monetary-policy/inflation-calculator

Oregonian/OregonLive, S. S. | T. (2018, June 24). When drag comes to a retirement community, that’s progress (Commentary). Oregonlive. https://www.oregonlive.com/clackamascounty/2018/06/drag_show_comes_to_a_retiremen.html

Trans Legislation Tracker. (2023). Trans Legislation Tracker: 2024 U.S. anti-trans bills. Translegislation.com.

https://translegislation.com

United States Sentencing Commission. (2021). Offender and Offense Characteristics . https://www.ussc.gov/sites/default/files/pdf/research-and-publications/quick-facts/Sexual_Abuse_FY21.pdf

wolfeco. (2022, December 1). A Look Back at the Housing Market: From the 1920s to Today. Winter Homes. https://www.builtbywinterhomes.com/news/a-look-back-at-the-housing-market/

World Population Review. (2024). Trans Population by Country / Transgender Population by Country 2022. Worldpopulationreview.com. https://worldpopulationreview.com/country-rankings/trans-population-by-country

As long as hate lives within the world of Substack, we will never know peace, and we will all be victims.. Below is the link to a Change.org petition. Please sign it. Please share it. PLEASE RAISE HELL! Speak up and help others, as we demand justice!

Change.org Petition

Buy me a coffee

Share

Subscribe now

lettersfromafeminist

an open letter to the substack team- a platform slowly turning into a sanctuary for online abuse

UPDATE: SIGN THE PETITION NOW…

Read more

6 months ago · 791 likes · 282 comments · lettersfromafeminist, ೃ࿔Write sober, edit soberೃ࿔, ❤︎ Sara Krane ❤︎, Luciana Cole they/them, emma 🐞⋆˚꩜, Marie Rose🌹, and ⋆˚࿔🅐🅛🅛🅨𝜗𝜚˚⋆✮

lettersfromafeminist

SUBSTACK, YOUR SILENCE IS DEAFENING

Sign the petition to hold Substack accountable NOW…

Read more

6 months ago · 118 likes · 30 comments · lettersfromafeminist, ೃ࿔Write sober, edit soberೃ࿔, ❤︎ Sara Krane ❤︎, Luciana Cole they/them, emma 🐞⋆˚꩜, Marie Rose🌹, and ⋆˚࿔🅐🅛🅛🅨𝜗𝜚˚⋆✮

Change.org Petition

Can I be honest? Am I even allowed to be completely honest with you all?

I always feel as though I need to ask permission to speak my mind, as I never believe my presence is wanted. I never feel as though I am allowed to have an opinion, or be honest, or real, or show that I truly am human.

So, I need to ask if I am allowed to share who I am, and let you into my mind.

The last few months have been rough, and there have been many times my depression and fears have caused me to often feel completely inadequate at times. It has been hard. The world is a horrible state, and each day I wake up praying it is a terrible nightmare, and it will all be over soon. I do not wish to die, but I wish that this is all a fucked-up dream, and we are not repeating history, and the economy is destroyed to the point where no one can truly afford to live a comfortable life, let alone to live.

Currently, I am a college student. I have said this many times, and I am grateful; however, that blessing has hurt me many times. I cannot get a job, sadly, despite trying day after day to get one. I am almost begging each day for a job, as I need the income to afford college, but also to help my fiancé afford life. He has been laid off recently, and that has added a new level of financial stress to us both, as we are scared about the future, our bills, and so much more. Due to all of that, I turned to TikTok to sell products as a way to try to make some money.

Does it help? Barely.

Do I like it? No.

It is weird because I never like asking for help, not just because of pride, but because I do not want to be perceived as a burden. That is how I view myself. A burden.

I do not see my emotions as logical or valid, just annoying noises that remind others that I am a burden to society. I do not show myself the same grace I show others, and that is because I do not like myself. At all. I never have, and at times, I do not think I ever will. I wake up every day and don’t like seeing myself in the mirror. Even when I do my makeup, I don’t like my reflection at all. When I get a shower, it is with the lights off. I don’t want to be seen; I refuse to be perceived. I do not see myself as worthy.

That is who I am. A 6’1” 30-year-old trans woman who is full of self-hatred.

I have been in therapy for years, and I have learned nothing. Each day, I try my best, and I still live in absolute fear, and then add in the other stressors, and I still feel like I am a failure. This all connects back to the previous post I made regarding comparison, but as of late, a lot of what I do revolves around others. How can I make myself worthy of love, but also how can I make myself worthy of others’ acknowledgment?

I do not know why I do this, or why this occurs, but within my mind, I want to be perfect for others. I want to be happy and free, but I do not think I will ever feel that way. At least not in this lifetime.

Living in Fear

There are many times I live in complete fear as well. Right now, as many of you know, America is a hellscape. It is alarming what this current administration is doing, not just on a global scale, but also within the United States. The administration is attacking everyone they do not like, and ICE is going door to door now to get anyone. Now, I live in fear and never leave my house. Ever. I live in fear. Why? Because I am transgender.

The current administration has taken many steps to target minorities, not just immigrants. *Just so we make this clear, Immigrants built America, and you cannot be illegal on stolen land. Thank you.* That said, there have been many movements where we see that anyone can be targeted simply because they were in the right place at the wrong time. There have even been rumors that ICE will be going door to door now to find people, potentially breaking down doors and more. That’s where my fear begins.

If transgender individuals are targeted, what does that mean for my family? Will we be targeted soon? Do I need to panic? What should I do then? Do we need to move far away and hope that everything will be okay? Hell, do I just detransition in an attempt to hide myself a bit more as a white gay man?

These thoughts have been running through my mind the last week or so, and each time I think about it more, I become cripple with fear, and shut down mentally and physically. The idea that I may hurt my family simply for existing leaves me riddled with guilt. Despite all of the family issues, I would do anything for them, so I fear that if they start coming door to door, what would happen to all of us? I cannot protect us. I cannot protect anyone.

I mention this because I live in America, and currently, our world is a horrible state of decline. Since everything has started collapsing into a corrupt world where murder is allowed. Rape is allowed. The Epstein files are seen as a joke, and we are completely desensitized to it all. We are allowing the pain to continue and allowing injustice to spread. This is sadly America now, and no one seems to care at all, as every voice that screams for justice is ignored. This is a common occurrence, and it hurts me. It scares me. I do not want to live in a world like that, and every time I see the news and watch how more and more people are being violated and attacked, I want to curl up into a ball and die. I want to vanish because this is not a world I want to live in.

I want everyone to be happy, healthy, and safe.

I want everyone to be loved. I want everyone to be free.

No one is illegal on stolen land.

February 26^th, 2026

A lot has happened since I first started this, and in that time, I have watched Substack die in a way that proved to me time and time again how horrible people are. Racists, Nazis, and more have appeared, and the joy I once found here has died. It was quick and painful. I cried and felt a piece of who I am get ripped from my body. A community I crafted to love one another, and defended before, back in December 2025; it was tainted again. It always is.

In December, I was scared, hurt, and betrayed by someone I thought was a good person, but they felt it was appropriate to equate the idea of someone transitioning as a way to destroy one’s masculinity. They said that trans individuals are destroying “men.” I was irate, and I hoped for a true answer and resolution. I never got that. They walked away untouched, and I was left feeling hurt, betrayed, and scared. A week on Substack, and I was conversing with a Nazi who was kind to my face, yet wished ill upon me and my community.

Now, I am here, lost. Hurt. Scared.

What has this space become? Many of the people I am mutuals with have been attacked in ways that make me feel violated, and the silence from Substask is deafening. Does anyone actually care, or are women truly seen as such lesser beings in the eyes of men that they cannot be bothered to intervene? Hundreds of individuals have spoken up, yet… silence. Why? Why do these men feel the need to show us time and time again that they never cared about others? Is this a genetic defect that causes men to lack empathy at times?

All of this is occurring, and I’m sitting here feeling powerless and broken. This is a fight to save the site that was for the arts, and it will never be easy, but this fight needs to happen. It needs to be done.

I don’t want to make this about me, but it is affecting me in a way that I have to speak about. People I am friends with are being harassed, and I cannot sit idly by and let this continue. I also cannot sit by and let this site become destroyed by racists, nazis, bigots, xenophobes, and more. This cannot occur. This was once a safe space, and despite struggling with the idea of comparison, I still loved coming onto Substack daily, even if it just meant I was lurking and silently supporting everyone. This was a haven that I enjoyed, and kept me inspired to write, and was what helped push me to strive to become a better writer as well. I loved it every day, but now, it is ruined.

I want what once was, but even then, that was a beautiful lie. No space on the internet is truly wholesome and free from these incels. I know this, but I love to live in denial and assume that there will be no issue at all, and possibly the old Substack will return. That is not possible, sadly. Hate is forever, and as long as there are no consequences for those who are vile to all. So, while my mental health declines due to stress, anxiety, and chronic depression, I ask you all to speak up. Please.

As long as hate lives within the world of Substack, we will never know peace, and we will all be victims.. Below is the link to a Change.org petition. Please sign it. Please share it. PLEASE RAISE HELL! Speak up and help others, as we demand justice!

Change.org Petition

Buy me a coffee

Share

Subscribe now

This is my story: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am not going to hide the truth anymore. I have lived many different lives in the short span of my life. Hiding from myself and due to fear of love. Fear of being weak when people see who I am—a broken and terrified little boy who just wants to be loved.

Back in 2018, I started a blog. Just a little something simple to start sharing my truth. I shared quite a few things, such as how I was raped. Stating it so bluntly now, it still leaves a sting. It is a wound that I ignored for three years until I finally wrote that post. In my mind, I figured if I ignored it, then it never happened. I was wrong. I let so many “wounds” sit and fester, creating a deep void inside of me, tearing my body into multiple different identities and personas. I never thought that it would all happen like this, nor did I think it would all catch up to me in such a way that would drive me to insanity.

So much has caused me to love someone, simply for saying ‘hello’ to me. This is not about how I loved the wrong people; it is about how I lied to myself the entire time while doing so. I would claim that life was fine, and everything was perfect, yet when the chips were down, I could never explain how “perfect” it was. I put on my rose-colored glasses and made them a part of my soul for so long. I became numb to everything to cope with everything.

Now, I am not saying that my life is the absolute worst; however, I am saying that I treated myself so damn poorly, for so damn long, that the only thing my brain can comprehend is talking about it all in extremes. There is no longer a neutral ground in my mind; I only register heaven and hell. Living in extremes is not so bad all the time, really, but it is also extremely hard on the mind because you are pulled in two different directions. Imagine the angel and demon sitting on your shoulders, but they have their talons driving deep into your skull, and with each passing scenario, they tug on your head. Slowly over time, this tug-of-war starts to cause a split, causing a complete loss of reality and your senses. You then start to live in a state of loss and bliss, all wrapped up with a bow to hide the pain and help you put on a pretty face.

Not anymore.

This memoir is me trying to reclaim my past, present, and future. This is me mourning the loss of those dear to me on both a physical and metaphysical level. From my friends to my family, even my innocence, this is my chance to return the favor and remember them all for who they are. All things considered, the entire memoir will truly just be a stream of consciousness. There is no true linear path, but a collection of small essays, you could say. Each chapter is a frame of thought around a singular concept or feeling. This is truly a chance for a moment of healing for me, and embracing the pain and beauty of healing.

This entire book is just a collection of essays from my mind, and they are all my opinion on different subjects. Some affected me personally, while others are me looking from the outside, but either way, these are all very important Such as matters of love, race, sexuality, mental health, rape, eating disorders, and abusive relationships. Life is not pretty; it is time to bring out ALL of the ugly features and call out shitty things in life that continue to happen so we can learn and grow as a society and prevent these atrocities from continuing to occur.

I want to use this as my most honest confession. This is my first ever confession, really, and it is all from my point of view. Twenty-four years in the making. Twenty-four years of living have led to this moment, where I can share everything I have seen in truly just a stream of consciousness. There is no linear path that this book takes, despite my trying many times to steer the book in many different ways, and it has taken so many different forms that some chapters are truly a slapped-together mess that, to me, makes the most sense based on everything mentioned. Sometimes I felt that chaos is the most beautiful way to convey a message, so I did just that. Breaking chapters up many times to share a poem or show journal entries, a suicide note, or even an open letter to my parents.

All in all, I feel this book is very true to me in many ways, and I hope this honesty does not cause you to hate me. If it does, I am sorry you feel that way. This needed to be done for my sanity, and I hope you can accept that, and see that I need to hold myself accountable for everything I have thought or felt or even done. I have lived the love of my life as a show; it’s been all smoke and mirrors. So much has been done to keep everyone at bay, so no one knows who I am or what I think. When I tell people anything, it is always a small detail, and the “same” information, depending on the person, I may share more or less, so that way people don’t have to know my life. I have spent so much time lying about who I am, I need to change that, and just “beat” everyone over the head with this poorly written book, so you have no choice really but to acknowledge who or what I am, and I have no choice but to finally one clean and finally break a cycle and heal.

The Addendums

This book was originally written from October 2019 to August 2020, as it was truly finished after my stay in a psychiatric hospital. So much has changed in the past four years, and it truly forced me to wake up and learn how to take care of myself in an appropriate manner without going through life in a half-assed manner. I have been forced to grow up, finally, learn who I am, and accept where I should be going in life. I still am trying my best every day to learn who I desire to be, but one thing I do know is that life does get easier with time. Life does not stop for anyone, sadly, so there will come a point in time when I will, unfortunately, be forced to make a choice. Change or suffer.

Life is very cruel in that way. We are not always given a choice, as factors outside of our control will force our hands to grow and adapt. That is what happened to me. I was not mentally ready to face the trauma in my life, but I had no choice but to sit down and listen to what the demons in my head had to say. I had to listen to the message life was trying to tell me, and that message told me I needed to finally wake up and stop living in the nightmare of my creation. I lived in a delusion of pure chaos and torment, as I was so deep in my self-hate that I still struggled with the idea of whether I deserved love of any kind. I am finally able to maybe consider that I am worthy, but this is going to be something I will always struggle with.

This brings me to now. Present day, where I am sitting here re-reading what I wrote and proud of the progress I made, while wishing I could change it all. I cannot remove the pain I experienced, but I can share one simple sentiment.

It gets better.

I know that seems like a beautiful lie, but I can honestly say it is very much true. My hand was forced, and I had to learn to swim, or I could just let myself drown. I chose to swim, and I am here today, still stumbling through life. I have learned the power of forgiveness and am finally learning how to grant that to myself. Forgiving others is hard, but learning to forgive yourself is much harder.

This brings us to why I wanted to rewrite the book, making it more coherent while adding more context to my thoughts on everything I had to say. A lot has changed in the past few years, but I still feel as though I am the same person I was when I first started writing this story. I still feel scared, and I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. I just wait in fear for my life to blow up, and oftentimes, I feel this primarily with my relationships. I know that I can, at times, wear my heart on my sleeve, and often, this can be a bit misleading, for I don’t even know what my emotions are. I spend most of my life in a constant state of fear that I will mislead others, all while living in fear of the love others want to give me. Every person I meet is enough for me to fall into a state of panic mentally because I feel I will be the reason their life falls apart. I know deep down that is not true, but to be completely honest, anxiety and I are best friends at this point, and the way it holds me close.

I think back to when I wrote this “book,” how depressed I was, and how I was mentally ready to end it all any day. I still joke about how crazy I was back then because that is how I process my trauma and how I heal. I have to joke about what occurred, as it helps me remove the pain from the past, as I no longer see it as the root of my trauma but as the punch line to some self-deprecating joke. I love that I was honest and said what I needed to help me heal, though I do blatantly call this book an overly glorified suicide note. As I stated at some point in the story, I made a deal with myself where I would not self-harm or attempt suicide until my story was written. I kept my part of the deal, and I wrote my story in 11 months. However, I left many parts out, and I also attempted to be optimistic at the end. It was a pathetic attempt, as it was all a lie at the time. I did not see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I was fully convinced that any day I would die soon.

I do still view this book as a suicide note, and I do not think I will ever view it differently. This book is the purest depiction of who I am and where I was mentally. I am human. I am flawed, and I make mistakes. I have hopes, dreams, and fears just like everyone else. I show it all here. I show how the mind can spiral when you are backed into a corner, and the only way out in your mind is death. I was weak and scared. I was mentally and emotionally ready to leave this world, and sadly, I attempted suicide many times, but I never saw it as an issue. To me, it was a sick joke.

Flash forward a good 4 years, and as I have said, I still struggle at times, which is okay. I am not trying to deny that I struggle to this day, but if anything, I am far more aware of how I feel in my day-to-day life. I do not mince my words, something that has always been part of my identity, as I am very bold and loud. I then use that “talent” to show off both the good and ugly sides of who I am, as every aspect of me is valid, as they help create my identity. I may not be suicidal, but I still have bad days. I still have moments in which I do not want to get out of bed ever again and wish I could run into the woods and live with a family of raccoons. Life has its ups and downs, and I do not wish to diminish what I felt prior, but I want to explain where I am now mentally. Life is a truly unpredictable ride, and you never know what to expect or what can happen next, but life is also about learning how to adapt in the face of adversity. I may never know who I will be tomorrow, and I may never know what I will become next week or a month later, but I do know that I will always keep growing and pushing forward through life. I will never give up again. I have learned so much about myself and who I want to be in the future, which is why I have been working hard to better myself. I now set goals more often and push myself to reach them, but I make sure they are realistic goals. From that goal, I then create multiple benchmarks and avenues for me to ensure I get where I want in the end. I ensure I stay busy, I ensure that I am active, and I do not let negative thoughts take over, as I am constantly moving, focusing on becoming the best version of myself. That may not seem like a very healthy thought process. However, it works for me as it reminds me of everything I have accomplished and the progress I have made towards the goals I have set.

This brings me back to the purpose of writing these addendums. I am still alive, thankfully, and I have learned so much through the assistance of therapy and life experiences. I have started to give up more on having a perfectionist view and have learned to try to be more realistic and practical. I am only human, so I can only achieve so much, and that is perfectly fine. If I happen to fail at anything, I need to learn from it. I do struggle with that at times, but I know I cannot succeed and be the best at everything. A good example is my college work, as I often worked too hard to try and maintain a certain level of perfection, such as getting only a perfect grade on each assignment I completed to maintain a 4.0 GPA. I do not need to keep that GPA, and I am grateful I have learned that eventually, as I was becoming physically sick due to the high levels of stress I was putting upon myself, I can keep a grade that does not matter in the end. Once I have my degrees, all jobs are not exactly worried about the GPA I graduated with, for they are more concerned about whether I know the subject material or not.

Yes, having a high GPA, in the end, could say I know the necessary subject material so I can act as an expert in my field, but it does not inherently mean my qualifications are better than someone else’s. As long as I show I have met the qualifications needed to become an instructor at a college, or be able work within the literary world, and clearly show I am capable of learning and doing better with the information provided, my GPA does not matter. Maybe I have the logic wrong, or I am wording it incorrectly as well, but I am worried about my grades and ensuring I learn everything I can and more. I just am not going to stress over keeping a high level of perfection if it means I put my well-being at risk. I do hope that makes sense.

Currently, I still have no idea what I am doing, and I doubt I will ever know. That is the beautiful thing about life. Nothing is certain besides life, death, and taxes. I will never know where I am going in life, nor will I ever know if I am living my life correctly. All I will know is that I am alive, and I am doing what I can to put one foot in front of the other, and I will continue the constant march forward in life toward a goal I hope to eventually obtain.

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

I have not been here for some months, as I have been walking throughout the lands of Arnstall. Searching for answers, searching for vengeance. My feet are sore, and my body is weak.

Years before this plague ever swept through the lands, corrupting the minds of all, Kesper was a beautiful location to visit. Sitting right on the coast, with the Coral Woods nestled close to its borders. It is impossible to forget how nature is a pivotal part of what made this village what it is. Back then, we used to come here often and watch the large ships being built while our children would play in the sea. Laughing loudly, as their joyous noise echoes throughout the town, and would be met with the gentle, approving giggles of onlooking adults. Those days seem like a faint memory after five years of a deadly curse, and it only stings more as it has been a year since they were violently taken from me.

As I slowly walk into town, I set my sights on the local tavern, the Suffering Sparrow. Prior to everything, it was a vibrant hub for the town, busy at all hours of the day, but now, it is a shell of its former self. Though Kesper may not have seen the true horrors like the other neighboring towns, all remaining townsfolk in the small hamlet are ready for the end. I don’t blame them, I pray for the end as well, it would be better than the cursed lives we are living now. I pray we can all find peace in death.

However, this night, the weather was turning dark, and a storm appeared to be brewing on the horizon, leaving an eerie silence throughout the already plague-ridden streets. The gas lamps outside flicker in the wind, casting shadows in many directions, only adding to the eerie aura, for the only steady and unwavering light came from the tavern and the small chapel sitting on the hill overlooking the town.

“Fuck...” I said as a gust of wind moved between the remaining buildings, leaving me with a chill that cuts right to my core. “I hope the Sparrow is warmer, and I hope they have a bed available as well.” I pick up the pace, moving a bit faster, as the tavern is at the end of the street, so only a few buildings away, thankfully. The last time I visited, more of the houses were in better condition; however, it appears more have been boarded up or completely collapsed.

As the wind moves through the streets, the faint sound of a voice seems to be carried over to me. Drowned out by the impending storm, but I think I hear the faint sound of “...found you...” This catches me by surprise, making me stop in my tracks and look around. I thought someone was right behind me, but thankfully, no one was there. However, that does not truly leave my mind at ease. I try to push it out of my mind, assuming the eerie atmosphere has me on edge, and being so tired is only exacerbating the situation. This only makes me move a bit faster towards the door so I can finally enter the Sparrow and get out of the horrible weather. By the time I finally reach the door, I hear the same thing again, “...found you...found you...”

I refuse to turn around this time and instead push the tavern door open, and I am greeted with a wall of heat radiating from within, thanks to the large fireplace. Once in, I see Alexanya working the bar like normal. Despite everything, she doesn’t look any different, and thankfully, she is still sane. I walk up to the bar and take a seat, waiting for her to finish up with the other customer before I walk to her. The conversations within the tavern are soft, and from the few words I can make out, people are tired and scared regarding what is happening these days. No one seems concerned about the impending storm, at least that is the vibe I am getting right now.

“Why hello there, stranger. How long has it been since your sorry ass last walked into my tavern?” I looked up, and Alexanya walked over to me with her big, toothy grin. “You look good for living on the road. Every time you leave, I am scared it is the last time I will ever see you, so I am grateful that you are still kicking.”

“It’s good to see you, too, but it has only been a month since I was last here. Thank you for the concern.” I give her a half-hearted smile, trying my best to hide how tired I am. “How have you been? Hanging in there?”

“Only a month? Fuck... I guess I lost track of time. But I’m glad to see you again. I’m well enough, the kids are good as well, thankfully. My neighbor died last week, so I have to keep the kids with me wherever I go since they used to watch them for me, and it helped a lot.” She turns to the wall behind her and pours me a large mug of mead, and grabs a small plate of meat and bread. “I can make sure a room is ready for you later as well. I figured I would see you soon, so I always try to keep a space ready for you. Now, eat. I’ll check on you in a few minutes.” She places the food and drink down in front of me, giving me her toothy grin and a pat on the shoulder, before walking off.

In the last month of walking, I have learned nothing, sadly. No reason why the world has become this way, and no logical reason as to why my family was taken from me. For the last ten years, I’ve been dedicated to the Goddess, Khenramun. I’ve been loyal to my oath to her the entire time, and yet, her divine blessing did not keep us safe. But that blessing means nothing if they are not me, as I am the only one left. Each member was snuffed out quickly, and on silent nights, all I can do is weep.

Why them? Why not me? Why did my kids have to die so young?

Despite it all, I still pray. I still have faith that one day, everything will be normal, or I will wake up from this unending nightmare. I am tired of death. I am tired of the endless suffering we are all bearing witness to. I want peace again. I want to find safety. I want everything to return to normal and have this obscure plague just disappear.

But until then, I will walk from town to town, see if others are okay, and looking or answers. Performing last rites to those who need it, and funeral services as well, when I can. It is the least I can do, as I can hope those who died may finally find peace away from this hellish island.

As I drink my mead and drift further into my thoughts, I hear that voice again. At first, I thought it was just my imagination, but it was louder and right in my ear. “We have finally found you. Now, you will listen to our command, or you will be consumed.” As the voice drifts away, a small crimson butterfly lands on my mug, flaps its wings before vanishing before my eye.

Before I have a chance to properly react and process what I just saw, a loud crash of thunder sounds in the distance, and as the sound starts to dissipate, the door to the tavern is slammed open, and in runs Mrs. Luvena Carpenter, screaming and begging for help. Running up to Alexanya, she begs for her help, the tavern owner tries to calm her down, and has her say what exactly happened.

“Alexanya, listen please! Beasts! I saw them again! By the shipyard! They have come back to our town for blood! We are all dead!”

“What do you mean? What beasts?” Alexanya asks, but before Mrs. Carpenter could answer, she faints and collapses to the floor. “Luvena! Fuck. Alfred, can you help me please! Children come here now! Fuck can anyone come here and help me move her to somewhere off the floor, please?”

I rush over and start to move Mrs. Carpenter in a way that will allow me to safely pick her up and move her. One arm under her knees, the arm wrapped around her back/ “Alex, go and get a space ready for me. I’m about to move her.”

“Over here, lay her on this table for now!” One of the patrons starts moving stuff off the large wooden table. “You lot, don’t just sit there! Fucking help you lazy sods!” The two men who were at the table started helping, moving chairs out of the way, and clearing more of the table off as well.

“Thank you boys! Alfred, place her over there, please! I’ll go grab some towels and blankets, and hopefully my children can help you as well,” Alexanya turns to her kids, who just walked in from the supply room attached to the tavern. “Okay, kids, you remember Alfred, please listen to him, as we need to help Mrs. Carpenter, okay? I’ll be back in a minute. Please be good!”

“Thank you. Clear the way, I’ll move her now. Kids, can someone grab some water, please?” One of them nods and runs off, and at that moment, I properly lift her and start to slowly walk across the room towards the table. Whatever she saw clearly bothered her, but she said it was beasts, again? I’ve never heard about this before, as Alexanya has never mentioned it before.

I lay Mrs. Carpenter on the table and check her pulse, and she appears stable. Thankfully. “Oh, thank you,” I grab the mug of water from one of the kids. I do not remember their names, sadly, but I am grateful they grabbed this quickly. “Is there a small towel nearby you can grab as well? Please?” They give a nod and turn and run off toward the supply room. I hope everything will be okay, and it is nothing truly serious, and all she did was faint. I say a silent prayer over her and watch her breathing, hoping all is well.

“Alfred, I am back. How is she?”

“Oh, she is fine for now. Her breathing appears normal, and the same can be said about her pulse.” I grab one of the towels, dampen it with the water, and start dabbing Mrs. Carpenter’s forehead. Softly, as I do not want to cause shock, but all in the hope of seeing if she will wake up soon. “She spoke of beasts. What was that about? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“The last time you were here, we had a similar storm roll through. That night, something came out of the sea and slaughtered her entire family. We still don’t know what it was or if it was real, as she is the only one who survived the attack somehow.” She pauses and looks down at Mrs. Carpenter’s face. “We all assumed maybe the plague had gotten to her, and she was going crazy, so we all started to pull away more as a way to save ourselves. A few townsfolk did look over her house after the attack, and they saw large claw marks all over the walls, but still, we lived in doubt about it all. Maybe she planned the attack, or was the beast. We weren’t sure, we were scared...”

“Do you think it is real now?”

“I don’t know, but if she ran all the way here, then it may be.”

“Okay. Watch her, I’ll go and see for myself.”

“You? How will you defend yourself?” Alexanya jumped to her feet, and a small tear rolled down her cheek. “Please, don’t. I don’t need you getting hurt.”

“Alex, please, I must. If the town is possibly in danger, the least I can do is try to help. I have been walking this island for the last two years, and I can defend myself if needed. Khenramun will help keep me safe.” I turn and walk toward the door. A bit of fear grips me, but I cannot let anyone see that, as I need them to stay calm as well. I grab the door knob, but before I leave, I turn and say, “please keep an eye on her, and don’t let anyone leave. If there are beasts out there, I don’t want anyone else to be in danger.” Before she can respond, I push open the door and step out into the foggy streets of Kesper. The rain is soft for now, but the wind is strong and is howling through the streets. She said they were seen by the shipyard, so I do hope they are still there.

“Dear Khenramun, guide me to safety, and may your flames keep me warm.” As I bow my head in prayer, my hands become wrapped in thick black flames, giving me the warmth I asked for, but a reminder that she is still here with me. “Thank you my Goddess.”

I learned this many years ago, as only high-ranking followers of Khenramun can summon her black flames. Since gaining this power, I have been safe wherever I travel, as the flames only destroy those who are unworthy of the Goddess‘s mercy. I will never be hurt, nor any cloth or material I touch. It cannot light a torch or fire, but it is the guiding light of darkness. Flames dark like ink, crackling as I walk toward the shipyard. I am safe. I am the Goddess’s loyal follower. The last living member of her church. I shall not die.

“We have finally found you. Now, you will listen to our command, or you will be consumed.” That damn voice, I hear it louder again, almost as if it were in my head. “Now, dear Alfred, complete this trial, and more will be revealed. If you die, you will belong to the void.”

“Be gone, you voice! I do not know who you are or what you want, but the people of this village are safe, as the divine power of Khenramun will protect them!” The flames on my hands crackle more, as if they sense not just my unease, but the presence of another.

“The shipyard is waiting... Do not fail...”

The voice disappears, and the fog leaves as well. The rain comes down harder, and lightning strikes hit the ground before me, and there, before me, stands the abandoned shipyard. Half sunken boats litter the docks, and the buildings are falling in on themselves. The Carpenter’s manor is still in decent shape, though a large portion of it has collapsed as well. Overall, it is in decent shape.

I walk slowly through the shipyard, trying to stay alert for any noise or “beast” that may be lurking in the shadows. Hoping to hear a noise that will guide me in the right direction. Anything that can help me know if these beasts are real.

The rain keeps pouring, and the sand is becoming wet and hard to move through easily, but I have to keep walking, and eventually, maybe I’ll find something. The wind continues to whip through the buildings, causing different parts of the broken buildings to creak. Shredded flags continue to fly, hanging on for dear life as the wind batters the remaining fabric. The storm is rough and powerful, and I know this is just the beginning. I need to find out if anything is here, and I need to find it quickly, as this is not a safe space to be during this storm.

“Just a little further, and all the answers you want will soon be yours...” As the voice fades away, a shadowy figure appears in the distance. It appears like it may have a hood on, but there is no real form to be seen. A good 20 yards ahead of me, just standing there. I try to keep walking toward the figure, but the wind and rain whip up, obscuring my vision and hiding the figure, as if it has completely vanished before my eyes. I close my eyes and cover my face as rain and sand, and by the time I look back, four crimson butterflies are fluttering in place where the figure once was.

“Who are you? What do you want? Answer me!” As I yell, the black flames covering my hands grow bigger and start to emit and un-natural light, casting a gray light over the surrounding area. It feels as though the voice and the butterflies are taunting me, speaking to me in riddles. I don’t have time for this, as I am outside in this storm trying to ensure that the townsfolk are safe, but now, I am being given riddles and tasks.

My eyes stay fixed on the four butterflies, and a rage builds deep within my core. “Tell me who you are! What do you want with me! Answer me damnit! Stop playing these games and give me an actual answer!” My rage builds, and the flames grow, slowly engulfing my entire body, wrapping me entirely in the inky black flames.

“Follow the butterflies, and complete your task... Do this, and pass... Show us your worth...” Then the butterflies start to fly further up the beach, completely unaffected by the wind and rain. floating gracefully through the air, further along the beach, far past the docks and broken buildings.

Despite it all, the rain and the wind, I start to run, chasing after the butterflies to see what this task is that I have had thrust upon me without my knowledge. The sand moves beneath my feet, and I stumble a bit, but I press on. I need these answers. I need to know who this person is and why they keep saying they have “found me.”

The farther I move, the more the storm intensifies. Soon, lightning is striking the land a few feet from me, but I remain unfazed, as I must press on. I will find the end, I will find the truth, I will end this madness.

Trying to keep pace with the butterflies, the lightning strikes the ground, right where they were, and a bright, blinding light consumes everything. As the light moves over everything, I feel a new warmth cover my body in a blaze of pain, somehow negating the blessing of Khenramun’s black flame. The light slowly begins to fade, and as my eyes begin to adjust, I see four figures standing before me.

“Let your task begin. Satiate your blood lust... Kill them...”

By the time I can see clearly, the figures each gain proper form before my eyes, and reality hits me. This task is a cruel joke, and clearly the Gods are testing me, as my family stands before me. Their rotting corpses stand before me, and the sight of my wife for the first time in two years causes me to crumple to my knees.

“Kill them... Now...” The taunting makes sense now, as they are wishing to torture me with the memory of my family. I would rather die, as I refuse to lay a finger on my family. I cannot hurt them.

“Khenramun, please have mercy upon me. Please, spare my family. Please spare me,” I pray hard, begging for mercy, and as I pray, tears start to roll down my cheeks, and the harsh reality of the world comes crashing down upon me. I no longer feel the rain or the warmth from the light. I no longer feel the blessing of Kheramun either, as I only feel empty. I feel the world crumble around me, and I have one simple wish. “Khenramun, please. Kill me. Let me die and be with my family. Please...”

The Goddess’s black flames cover my body again, and soon the world goes black, and the faint sound of chapel bells rings in the distance.

“You have passed... Follow the bells...”

In the dark, a crimson butterfly appears and slowly flies away into the void.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy, consider subscribing so you can be notified when any new post is released. Also, consider sharing this with someone who you think may enjoy what you have read. Consider sharing it with them as well.

Thank you again, and have a wonderful day!

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

As I enter the kitchen, I am greeted by women who all shower me with compliments and words of envy. This is something I always hear, for these women are never permitted to leave the kitchen, the evil doing of my parents. I love them all, but because they are poor and seen as street rats, Mother does not trust them. She fears they will steal from us, and when I found out that, I would often run down to their rooms at night and give them some of my money. I wanted to provide them with a way they could have a chance in the future, or buy something for themselves if they ever went into town.

I have always tried to be kind to them, though I have yet to learn their names. I always forget to ask, as whenever I see them, it is quick, and I cannot be seen. Even now, as I walk past the kitchens to step out through the back door, I am trying not to be caught being kind to them. I worry mother would fire them because they are kind to me, and that is not something she approves of.

Stepping outside finally, I began the short walk to the carriage house. These walks are rather infrequent; however, whenever I can find a way to slip out of the house without a chaperone, I cherish the silence. These are the few moments when I can let the truth of life wash over me. I will marry Alexander in the coming months. I will take his name and give him many children, and this will allow the wealth of my father and Alexander’s family to live on. These walks to the carriage house, or through the gardens, are the only time I am ever allowed to be free of their gaze and control, and thankfully, though Flora will often accompany me on these walks. She is the only person in my life who genuinely cares about me. She holds me when I cry and wipes the tears from my eyes. I am never truly alone, even if I feel that way.

By the time I arrived at the carriage house, I took another deep breath and walked in. I see the carriage I will be leaving in is being readied, as the driver is performing the final touches, wiping everything down, and ensuring everything is in good condition.

“Lady Catherine. If I may be so bold, you look truly enchanting. Mr. Alexander is truly blessed to marry a woman of your beauty,” as Alfred spoke, he gave a slight bow out of courtesy.

“Oh, Alfred, thank you. You are too kind,” I give him a polite curtsy before walking toward the location of the adjoining stables. “Do you think Spirit will be okay to take up to the party?” I assume Alfred would know, as we are both aware that Spirit is not fond of pulling a carriage, but I am hoping he can work with us today.

“I believe he should be willing to work with us. I did give him a few carrots as a way to bribe him to work with us. I intend to disconnect him from the carriage once we arrive, so he can relax, and it will not add too much stress. He was all given a nice bath, so he is groomed and looking perfect for today.” Alfred spoke with confidence, and that does put me at ease a bit. Hopefully, this does not cause him much stress, as I would hate to put that on him. “He is inside, go in and take a look. He is cleaned up and eating some more carrots.” He waves his hand in the direction of the stables before going back to cleaning the carriage exterior of dust and dirt.

Walking in, I see him there, happily eating his food. Though he is not showing it, you can tell he is smiling. That makes me happy in the end, as that is all I want for him. He is an older horse now, so I know this is not going to be an easy task for him in the end, but I am hoping he can pull through quite fine. As I walk over to him and start to pet him, he stops eating and gives me a few playful nips at my hands, then a few kisses before going back to eating.

As I continue to pet Spirit, I hear some talking outside. It is soft, which is odd since I am not that far away from Alfred, but he is clearly talking to someone in secret. I assume it may be a stable boy or worker within the carriage house who he is asking to fetch something for him. I am curious, but I pay it no mind.

“Oh, Spirit, thank you for being a good sport. I do hope you can work with us and get us to and from the party safely. It should not take that long, and when we get back, I will make sure you have all the corn, carrots, and oats you could dream of.” I know that will make him happy, hopefully.

“Catherine, are you in here?”

“Flora? Is that you?”

“Oh, Catherine, good you are here. I was worried about how you were after you walked away. I had some come find you.” As she walks in, you can see that she has been crying a bit, as her eyes are slightly red, and her cheeks are a bit damp. “I’m sorry. Ella is gathering the dress like you asked, but I had to come and see you. I would not be at peace until I was sure you were okay.” She walks over to me, wrapping her arms around me, holding me in her warm embrace. She does this often. She is my chum, at least that is what we tell everyone.

“Dearest Flora, I will be alright. As long as I have you by my side, everything will be okay.” As I speak, I take my right hand, placing it under her chin to lift her head so she can face me. “Please look at me. You know I care about you. You are my friend. My chum. My love.” I wipe the tears from her cheeks before giving her a gentle peck on each of them.

“I know, but I worry. You are to be engaged officially in the matter in hours. We theoretically cannot be chums anymore, as you have been properly courted. I want to be happy for you, but I know that in the end, you won’t have the life you want. Will you actually be happy, Catherine? Tell me the truth?” Flora is begging, and I can see the tears welling up in her eyes more. This breaks my heart, as I do love her and care about her deeply. I wish I could give her an honest answer to put her mind at ease, but I am unsure what to say.

I am unsure of what would even quell her fears, let alone what would quell mine. The last five years have consisted of Flora by my side in every way. She is my friend and someone I care for deeply. We attended finishing school together, as I demanded it be allowed by my father, or I would purposefully find a way to be expelled. As time went on, we became closer, not just friends, but more. We became affectionate with one another. Holding hands and sneaking kisses when no one was looking, but we stopped hiding it more and more. As that happened, that affection only grew more as time went on. Often she would share the same bed as me and lie in my arms, even if Alexander was present. We would get odd looks, but we were simply called “chums,” or it was said we were “chuckaboos,” but nothing more was said.

It was not a simple relationship. It was not a friendship. It was much more than that. Flora lives within my heart. Carving out a space for only herself and her love and adoration. She made herself at home in my arms and my heart.

“Flora, my dearest Flora. Look at me, please. I do not know what this may mean, nor do I know how this will work in the future, but we will make it work. Wherever I go, you go. We are one. I promised you that many times when we kissed each other goodnight. You are my love, and I will not leave you simply because I am to be wed to Alexander. Where I go, you go. I promise.” I take a step back and grab Flora’s hands with mine, holding them tightly.

I can finally take everything in, not just her saddened face, but the way her light auburn hair cascaded gracefully down her back, with some small curls lying on her shoulder. I never even noticed that her dress was sky blue, with a tinge of grey. French lace adorns the ruffles and layers, outlining her delicate frame, while also adding more life to the beautiful silk gown. This is the same dress she wore when I first met her all those years ago. Though this is likely an altered version, it is very similar. She looks beautiful. Her pale skin flushed as she had been crying, and the slight tint of red contrasts sharply with her gown, but complements her hair.

I take the glove off her left hand and lift her hand to my lips, where I then kiss her ring finger. “Flora Godwin, you will always be in my life, and you will always be by my side. I promise you that. Please believe me.” I kiss her ring finger again, before opening my eyes, and catch a glimpse of tears slowly rolling down her cheeks again.

“You swear? You swear that you will never leave me, Catherine? You are all I have, and I cannot lose you in the end. I do not wish to be alone again. I want you to be happy, but if that happiness is with Alexander, please let me stay by your side. Please don’t leave me,” she continues to cry, and it becomes increasingly clear to me that she does actually love me. Though this revelation does excite me, I cannot risk hurting her, as I am set to be wed to another. How I wish I could prevent this heartache and keep her in my arms forever. Keep her in my heart till my last breath.

“Come. Cheer up, please. We need to finish getting ready as we need to leave soon, my dearest Flora. I cannot have the world see you crying. Let me take you inside and have Ella clean you up a bit, then we can be off to that dreadful party,” I lean in and kiss her soft, rosy lips, letting the moment linger, before I kiss her one more time for good measure. “I will never let go. I Promise.”

As I turn to walk, holding on tight to Flora’s hand, I look at her and see that she is in real pain from her heartbreak, while also trying to enjoy that I kissed her. I give her hand a gentle tug, motioning that we need to walk together back to the manor quickly so we can leave. I am not even worried about getting changed. I need to make sure Flora will be okay. I need her to help put her mind at ease and allow her to feel safe and loved. This may not be a day she wants, and it is not one I am quite fond of either, but we both need to put on a brave face and not let the world see us cry.

I started for the door, flung it open, and was relieved to feel the cool, calm air of the rest of the house —the natural beauty of the place when my parents are no longer present, bickering over simple, quarrelsome things. There is always an eerie silence that falls over the halls of the manor the moment my family is no longer present, and though it may be a bit unnerving. It is always welcome. Passing by the kitchen staff, they seem even happier, a true confirmation that the Lord and Lady of the house are gone. Finally.

“Come on, darling. Ella should be up in my room waiting. Let us get you cleaned up and hide your tears. They do not deserve to see them. Just hold my hand, and I will lead the way, my love. Please, Flora, please trust me.” Her hand still in mine, I guide her up the winding servant stairs toward the fourth floor.

Normally a forgotten realm where I was banished to, but my sanctuary where Flora can be in my arms at all times. Sipping tea in the turret room that is connected to my sitting room. Plush sofas for us to relax on, and watch the world pass by as we live in our fairytale. Lock away in a tower. Cut off from the world around us. Normally, I am not allowed to enjoy many luxuries, but on occasion, I have had things brought in to make exile more livable. Each item I have brought in is selected not only to make life comfortable, but also to make Flora happy as well. I love seeing her smile, as it is bright enough to light up every room she walks in.

Ever since the day I met her at Ms. Hannigan’s Finishing School, she has never left my side. She became my friend and my world. The only reason I am still alive at this point. Every day, more of my life is stripped away, no prospects of a future, no chance of happiness. I will only be a wife. No more, no less. But with Flora, I don’t worry, and those fears are not a major concern. I am enough in her eyes. I have no flaws, and she sees me as someone worthy of love.

“Ella! Ella, come here, I need you to help us quickly!” I shout as we reach the fourth floor, hopefully she will hear us, but I also hope Constance and Quintessence will hear as well. I need everyone’s help. “Ella, please come help me quickly! Flora, don’t you worry, we will make sure everything is perfect. We will get you cleaned up, and everyone can bask in your beauty and grace. Don’t worry, my darling.” I am a bit nervous and worried, but I still want to ensure see is okay.

“Lady Catherine? I thought you had left already? What is wrong?” As Ella comes into the hallway, she sees me, but eventually, she sees Flora in my arms, and her focus moves to her. “Oh dear Flora, what happened? Why have you been crying? Constance, Quinny, come here now! I know you can hear me, you nosey twins. Now is not the time to be nosey, you need to come here and help us!” Ella is typically a kind and sweet individual, but she can also have a sharp tongue. She can see something is wrong, but she will not ask questions, as she understands what the goal is currently.

“Ella, please take Flora and help me not only calm her, but clean her up a bit. I need the twins to help me get changed. I don’t want to crimson dress, but the royal blue one instead. It will look beautiful and complement the lighter, more icy blues Flora is wearing. Also, ask for a small thing of tea to be brought up for Flora as well. Thank you.” I take Flora’s hand and gently place it in Ella’s before rushing by toward my bedroom so I can be changed. “We need to move quickly, as I cannot afford to be too late to this damn party. I am already in trouble enough as it is. I cannot make it worse than I know it already is. Please, we need to move quickly. Where are the damn twins!” They are always around, whether you need them or not, but now they appear to be hiding.

“Coming, Lady Catherine. Our Apologies.” Constance runs into the room and starts helping me get my dress off, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Quinny run to assist Ella.

“Thank you, Constance. We need to get me changed into the royal blue dress, and please bring my sapphires as well. I want to make sure I match Flora in the end.” I make sure I am standing in a way that will allow Constance to untie my corset more easily, as I steady myself against one of the posts on my bed. My eyes still linger over toward Flora, who is sitting in the turret room with Ella. My heart is breaking, and the only concern I have is how I can prevent hers from breaking more.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy, consider subscribing so you can be notified when any new post is released. Also, consider sharing this with someone who you think may enjoy what you have read. Consider sharing it with them as well.

Thank you again, and have a wonderful day!

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

I want to make this post to share with the world who you truly are. I want people to know you the way I know you, and finally remove the veil of lies you hide behind. I want to let people know the true monster you are. What prompted this is the last few years of making nothing but racist remarks and saying everyone needs to be like you. But what truly prompted this was your racist remarks about Bad Bunny at the Halftime show. You call him illegal, yet he is a citizen. Why? Is it because he is not a white man like you? Maybe, but that made me realize you need to have the truth be made known.

You are probably wondering why, and that is simple. I hate you. I always have. Nothing is redeeming about you, let alone lovable, as you are a narcissistic asshole who works tirelessly to drive division within the family, as we know you would kill us if we spoke out against you, and I’ll explain that in greater detail as well.

But I am also doing this because the truth should be made known.

So, let us begin.

You were born in Germany, and your father was a U.S. military member, which was the only reason you were granted U.S. citizenship, but that still appears to be “in limbo.” You lived in Germany for many years, cussing out the nuns who taught you, but you spoke to them in English, as you knew they did not understand that language. You lived on a farm and also stole from your neighbor’s farm. Smashing their chicken eggs, taking their ilk, and anything else you could get your hands on. But you were a kid. You found a small family of ducks and put them in the fire oven to keep them warm. But you were a kid.

You moved to America at the age of 12 and were still a menace, but now, you spoke to everyone negatively in German, because they did not understand you. You would get in fights often, still steal from stores, and cross state lines often to buy alcohol when you weren’t of legal age. But that is fine. You were 16. You were young and dumb. Who cares! Right?

By the time you were 19, you got your first wife pregnant out of wedlock, so before my older sister was born, you married her even though you hated her deeply. Eventually, would have a second child with her, and that is my older brother, and he had many health issues when born, and you did try to be good to him, I will give you that. However, you were horrible to your ex-wife. You used your Doberman to scare her and keep her trapped in the bedroom for long periods of time, often causing her to miss work. But one day, she sold your dog and traded it for a poodle, and that angered you so much that you went out back and shot the dog multiple times.

How do I know? You told me many times, and my mom hates the story of you killing the poodle, but you find it “funny.” Odd. Oh, by the way, why did you initially want to join the military? Wasn’t it because you wanted to go to the Middle East as a sniper and kill people? What did you call them? Sand N-word? But you didn’t get your way, and the military saw you as more valuable as a guard for the US Embassy in Germany, but you didn’t want that. You wanted to kill people. You didn’t want to be a good person; you just wanted to kill people. This is something you often joke about wanting to do. Again, odd.

Eventually, you divorced your ex-wife, and you did not try to keep the kids away from her, despite knowing she was an alcoholic and drug user. That wasn’t a big deal, I guess. But you did move to Florida for an unknown amount of time, as the time frame you were there changes often. You also said you got a degree from Florida State University, but as to what your degree is in, that also changes. One minute it is in English and is an Associate’s Degree, but then you have a Bachelor’s Degree in Construction, but then that changes as well. Nothing about the time after your divorce and when you got with my mother is consistent. It never was.

But let us jump forward in time, but a lot, as both my little sister and I have been born. My sister is in 8^th grade, and I am in 10^th grade, and there is drama. Why? Oh, my sister was caught potentially dating a black man. You heard that rumor and had one of our friends’ mothers jog around town and follow my sister just to see if it was true. Why? Oh, because she wasn’t allowed to date someone like him, as he was “ghetto,” as you put it.

You did this again when I would go on to date a Hispanic man, and the racial slurs poured out of you heavily, and you threatened me MANY times, as I was being a “disgrace” to the family. All of that anger because the guy I was dating was not white. Yes, I was a gay man (not out as trans yet) dating another guy, and that already pissed you off, but this made it so much worse. Then, when I would go on to date a 21-year-old white man, you had no issue with it. Why? Oh, he was a great WHITE man. I was 17 at the time, but you didn’t care.

But you did still threaten me a lot, and even tried to kill me often as well. Why? Because I had a smart mouth as a kid, and you didn’t like that. So, you would choke me out, slam me into cabinets, and punch holes in my bedroom walls, making it clear that you will kill me and enjoy it. Hell, many times you told me to kill myself, as you said it would finally make the family proud. Remember that? I know I still do. But everyone said it was okay, so who cares, right? You were just a father disciplining their child, and the threat of death is just a joke that’s all. Right?

Wrong.

So, we will jump forward in time again, and look at the day my sister brought some of her friends over, and they were in the backyard. I was at work, and was told to stay there late because you were going to kill them. My boyfriend at the time locked himself in our room upstairs, you were threatening to kill my mother if she didn’t move out of the way, and you were ready to kill my sister and her three friends. Why? Because you hated how one of the guys was a piece of shit, and cheated on his first wife with another military member, started dating my sister before his divorce was finalized, and when he moved back home, he brought the mistress from the affair home with him. I know that is a lot of information, but the point is, this guy is trash, but that doesn’t mean my dad should threaten to kill him. But my dad tried. My mom did hold her ground and blocked the door, and you almost punched her lights out, but you missed by an inch or two. This was either an accident or on purpose, depending on the mood you are in when you retell the story, but you broke bones in your hand, and that still didn’t stop you. You wanted their heads, and after an hour of fighting and them finally leaving, you calmed down enough to walk away. You then got drunk and made it clear you wanted a gun to kill him in case you ever saw him out in public, which was ignored by everyone.

That event caused us to go to family therapy, and you made it impossible to go. No one could say anything about you because you are “perfect” and have never done anything wrong. Your anger is just part of your horrible charm. You will bully and harass anyone around d you, but the moment your behavior is discussed, you become irate and claim it is all a lie, and how we are trying to hurt your name. You never did anything wrong ever.

All these stories are simply a lie, right?

But let us continue with the “lies” then, shall we? Tell me, Dad, what do you call jerry rigging, because I didn’t know the word started with an “N.” I didn’t know that the N-word would ever leave your mouth as often as it does, and you see no issue with it. Shocking. You say people who are upset about the whitewashing of American history are fine, especially when it comes to slavery, as people need to “get over it.” You will try so hard to say you love the Native Americans and feel bad for the horrible things that happened to them, yet, the moment slavery is mentioned, you will try to say it never happened, or how white people had it harder.

Additionally, the way you spoke about the Black Lives Matter movement is disgusting. Openly hating the Black Lives Matter movement, and wishing you could run protesters over for sport. Again, here you are wishing you could kill people just because they don’t agree with you. How bizarre. I openly supported the protests, and you hated that, so you threatened me as well. pulling a kitchen knife on me at one point, simply because I spoke against you. All because these protesters have a backbone to speak out against police brutality, you hated them and wanted to run them over with your car.

But your racism doesn’t stop there, as you work in construction. Something you have done my entire life. You work with people of a variety of cultures, and whenever you work with someone Hispanic, you go on a major rant about how they “are in America and need to speak English damnit.” That is just odd how you are shit-talking immigrants and the languages they speak in, when you are also an immigrant, and that is why you were not able to replace your SSN Card easily, and your citizenship was questioned for a bit. You are an immigrant. Your mother was never a US Citizen and only had a green card until the day she died. But you would get home, and bitch and moan about the workers you would meet each day, all while drinking tequila and tacos, as Mexican food is your favorite. You visit a Mexican restaurant weekly, as you love it so much.

You just hate when these people have broken. English or speak Spanish because it offends you? How? I mean, you spoke in English to cuss out nuns when you were a child, and then once in America, spoke in German to do the same thing? How is that different? Oh, I know, because it is you, and you can do whatever you want.

That is what you say, at least.

You can’t, sadly, and so this is Karma.

The truth should be made known. You tried to kill me many times. You tried to kill us all many times. You killed a dog simply because you hate poodles, and you hated your ex-wife. You joke about how you want your current wife dead soon, just so you can have the insurance money. You made my mom feel guilty for leaving with my sister for the Bachelorette party, all because some of the information was not completely known to you, so you assumed that meant my mom was cheating on you. You tried to sell me a lie about why my sister’s wedding was getting certain funding, all to make me feel like shit.

You cause issues so you can feel better. That’s all you want to do in life: start a fight so you can smile, laugh, and poke the bear. You will call our neighbors “ghetto” simply because they are African Americans, and assume they are selling drugs. You say this because you don’t care about anyone but yourself. We have MULTIPLE Hispanic neighbors, and you shit-talk them and the language they speak, as it makes you feel better. I played soccer with many when I was a kid, and you hated them as well.

Let’s not forget the way you spoke about anyone Asian during the COVID lockdown, as that was very endearing. You stopped eating Chinese food for a year after that happened because you called all Asian people “killers” and assumed they were all here to destroy us with this disease. Remember that? I do. One liquor store you love is owned by a Middle Eastern family, and you call them wonderful people to their face, but in the car, you call them Sand N-words. How charming

So, dear father,

You are a racist, narcissistic piece of shit. I hate you, and I always will.

.I will see you in hell, and just know, there are so many more stories I could share about how horrible you are and have been. The countless nights you would fight with mom till 3 in the morning, breaking things and telling her to die, divorce you, or both. My sister and her now husband saw this as well. My fiancé has seen and heard this as well. But I will leave this here for now.

Do better, and may you have the life you deserve.

Karma will get you, and mom, you are next.

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

You were alone, and so was I.

Though our pain was different, we still had scars visible to the world. Your fears were hidden, and mine I never acknowledged until I met you. That was a side of me that I always said was a lie.

An impossible possibility.

Prior to you, I knew no fear. I was emotionless. Hollow.

Dead inside and out.

But you changed it all, from the first time we locked eyes. You sat next to me in class and ignored me for weeks, but one day, you broke the silence. From that day on, you have always lived in my mind. You still do.

Do you think about me? I think about you…

I remember the day you were with me, and we got closer than I ever thought. It was New Year’s Eve, and as the clock struck 12, we silently made a vow to one another. Our lips met, and it was the first time in my life that I finally felt wanted. You took me in your arms, and the gray world I lived in before was bright with life.

As the months went by, and our tryst became more enthralling, I stayed hopelessly devoted to you. The passion; all-consuming. Reality was gone.

You traced my body with your fingers, and I made your heart my home.

But we lost contact, and I love faith.

My world lost its color and became a dull shade of gray. Lifeless. Emotionless. Hollow.

There was no more laughter or love letters written. We no longer had picnics in the park. I no longer watched you practice piano and plan original songs. I would never watch you smile or hold you when you would cry.

There was no more you. There was no more us.

So, I wrote. I cried. I dreamed.

Maybe, just maybe, I could hold you one last time.

So, I wait. I still stand at the edge of town, praying to God that you’ll return. I cry every day, and the alcohol only worsens my situation because you were the only one I was never afraid to confide in about my pain.

All it took was a moment. One moment, and my heart was sure and strong.

It only took a moment, and I knew I would be in love for my whole life long.

So, I will wait and ponder the simple thought.

Do you think about me still? I still think about you…

A decade of waiting, and letting life pass me by. Slowly. Painfully.

I sit and wait, and every day, I think of you…

I think about you…

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

I want to make this post as an apology to all, but also to take accountability for the flawed being I am. Why? Because of a post I made in my Subscriber chat (message seen below). I complained about the interaction I have gotten on my page, after hitting post, and talking about it with , I realized how stupid I am behaving. Yes, my feelings are valid, but I have fallen into a mindset that is toxic and destructive, as it also tarnishes my name and my goals.

Can I please vent for a minute? Sorry, this will be long, and a bit bitchy, but I need to say my peace... The last few weeks, I have felt incredibly discouraged to post on here, as pieces I am incredibly proud of, and love with my entire heart, get no attention, unless it is a poem. My stories primarily get ignored, and yes, I am aware that not everything I post is going to be for everyone. But I still feel a bit disheartened. The only posts that get any MAJOR attention are my poems, and very rarely a fictional piece. Yes, being a creative is not always the most rewarding task, and I also know I cannot rely on numbers for validation. I am very much aware, yet I still can’t help finding myself looking at the numbers. I can’t help but compare myself to those I admire on here. I sit here and write my heart out, and put a lot of myself out there, and I feel I am wasting my time. Maybe this is the fault of the algorithm, who knows. What I do know is that I feel like a fraud on here, and I truly believe I do not belong here. According to the algorithm, I’m not that talented, and I should just give up. I know this entire message or post may be annoying, but part of me thinks I need to just be the cheerleader on here and give up on writing. Again, I don’t know, but I have a lot of mixed emotions. Sorry for bothering you all.

As you can see, this is where it all started, and what brings me to the current post. I do not want sympathy, but I want to be honest with everyone, as I feel I crossed a line with my attitude and this negative mindset.

I am truly sorry.

Numbers. Algorithm. All of it.

In the age of social media, we naturally see a big number and assume that it is a good thing, and oftentimes, that is the case. It makes our brains happy, and so we jump with joy, kick our feet, and rejoice as we all assume we have done the right thing, and finally, we will be seen as successful. Every time numbers and analytics are involved, we all try to see how we can “min-max” our way to the top. How can one try to reach this alleged level of success that is seen by others, and that is the issue. We are looking at others and making a comparison.

That needs to stop.

Yes, and I am very much guilty of this. I will not sit here and act as though I am some perfect being who has never done this. I can’t do that because I am not a liar. I am delusional, but I am not a liar. Besides, I posted an entire thing about it in my subscriber chat because I want to be honest with all of you regarding how I feel. I am making comparisons to others like , , , , and more. I look at their work, and I feel inadequate. I’m not even talking about numbers, but the quality of their work. What I create is nothing comparable, as I truly believe my published pieces are works of garbage when I see the beautiful stories they have created. I feel like a fraud.

I say all of this because comparison is a bitch.

We are all guilty of it, so don’t lie. We all compare our lives to others, even if they are our sister, neighbor, or a stranger. We compare ourselves all the time, and we stupidly believe we need to do this as a way to “get better.” It is a beautifully crafted lie that we put so much faith in, as it is the key to our dissociation, as we reject the truth, and substitute it with a fantasy. We substitute reality with envy and jealousy. We are the key to our own undoing. We are the victim and the villain in this story.

This is the harsh truth of comparison. This is the harsh truth of life.

Comparison is a bitch.

I say all of this, not for sympathy, but so I can continue to be honest with everyone, while also holding myself accountable. This is a jagged pill we all must accept one day, and learn that in the perpetual bullshit of reality, we must stop looking at others for validation. We cannot do that, or we will forever be left empty. Hollow. Bitter.

So, this is a post based on accountability, realization, and a promise for change. I am human, and humanity is flawed. In those flaws, I find myself falling into old habits. Habits filled with anger, sadness, and envy. I never claimed to be perfect, nor do I claim to be innocent in the matter. I am human, I am flawed.

I was raised in the age of social media, and my mind has slowly been programmed to look at all analytics in the hope that one day we can crack the code and become the next “big thing.” I witnessed small creators on YouTube grow up and become massive, household names. I have seen creators start small and eventually have millions of dollars to their name, with businesses and massive success. I was one of the many people who fell into the belief that one day, that could be us. Just be “camera ready,” and “sell a fantasy.”

Watch the numbers, and that can be you. Watch the numbers, and one day, you too can make it big. We have seen it many times, even as social media has gotten bigger, and our access to the internet has grown, we have learned that anyone can get big IF lucky enough. We have witnessed this. During the COVID lockdown, many authors who were not household names reached massive success as new genres, such as Dark Romance, became the new hot thing. Now, small indie authors can piggyback off this idea and reach new heights of success, but their job is not just to write, but to watch the numbers. Especially if they are a one-person team, with no agent or anything, they must write, but they must also watch the numbers. Track them. Learn from them, and see what works and what does not. Learn how to make the algorithm work for you, so you can cast a wide net and reach as many new eyes as possible with your content.

New followers, subscribers, and new readers.

All of it was to make the algorithm happy. All of it to make the machine happy. That is what social media of any kind demands from us. Blind obedience to the numbers and the analytics we are given.

How does this all connect back to me, and this random post? Simple. The mindset I have been “trained” into is the reason why. All of this is part of a mindset I have unfortunately found myself living in that is incredibly toxic. That is why I have said it often in this post. Comparison is a bitch. This post is so I can hold myself accountable, openly admit my flaws, and openly show that I want to try to become a better version of myself. I did the same thing with my memoir, as I wanted to share my every flaw to do better, and from that day on, I have worked tirelessly to ensure I kill off my old self daily so I can grow. This is an attempt to do the same thing again.

I am sorry. I am guilty of being envious, and I am guilty of being human. I have fallen into a flawed system, and I have let it destroy the way I look at each creative piece I share. I have started to see only the numbers, and I have forgotten why I write. Why I love this so much, and why I became a Creative Writing major. I want to be an author, and I know that until you finally “make it,” this is not a field filled with instant gratification. It takes time, patience, and practice.

So, I need to do better. Change my mindset and apologize for my attitude. On that note, again, I am sorry, and I hope going forward, after a short “break” and some more reflection, I can do better and actually change the way I view Substack and everything I publish.

Thank you, and goodbye for now.

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

The moment I saw that face.

Dim light at the coffee place

Stolen glances would cause me to blush

And you knew it too

Enjoying the moments and the nonsense said

Just to be so bold

And make a reservation right there

Take me to dinner?

That’s such a crazy turn of events.

This was to be a simple coffee date

No more

No less

And yet you took my hand

Pulled me closer to you

And met me at the restaurant

But I came to your car before we went in

Talked in the silence

Then you looked at me

Pulled me in

That was our first kiss

That was the moment I knew

You took my hand

You loved me like a secret

And I kept you like an oath

In my heart

In my heart

In my heart

You smiled at me

And I kissed you back

Lying my head on your chest

Keep you in my heart

Keep you in my heart

Keep you in my heart

The very first night I saw you

And held your body in my hands

And learned the shape so well

I found my home

Someone to call my own

The softest lips

I’ve never kissed

They traced the shape of me

Moments of bliss

Trading places and feeling so safe

I knew you were mine

And I was yours

We were for each other, and that was all we needed

And that was the very first night

That was the very first night

And the moment I heard you speak

The moment I saw your place

The moment I touched your face

The moment I knew

The very first night with you

Has to be my forever

Forever you

The very first night when my body was yours

And your body was mine to love

That was the very first night

When two strangers became one

And our past was no longer a barrier

It was just us

Alone

The very first night was truly

The moment I knew I found one

Woke up next to you

And pulled you closer

Feel your warmth and say a prayer

Let this be real and not some dream

Let you be here

Let me be with you

Let me be with you

Let me say this silent prayer

Let me be with you

Garden dates and garden parties

Plans were made, and oh, I loved it so

Thoughts of me and you

Traveling upstate to a new location

A mini vacation with you

That’s All I needed

That’s all I need to be true

I need you

But those plans were canceled and we stayed inside

And I held you close

I finally knew

I am truly home

The dream has broken

And you haven’t left

The passion is growing

And you kiss my hand

Bath me when you go and worship me

This is so new to me

Being wanted in such a way

Dinner many times

With wine and more

Kiss your every time you open a door

Or pull me close

You call me cute

Or do I feel alone

I never felt so at peace

Lying with someone who could break me

In the chaos of it all

I broke the promise

And sacred oath

I fell for you and pushed too much

Ruining the afterglow

“What are we?

Please tell me.

Am I a lover?

Am I a friend?

And a Hole for you to use now and again?

Please tell me?”

I spilled it all

Cried out loud

I pray I’ll still see you now

I miss you

I miss you

I miss you

And the moment I knew

I risk it all for you

Break my heart

Forever in two

Just to see you again

Just to hold your hand and maybe

Be enough for you

Forever loving you

Needs

That's all you speak of are

Needs

Will mine ever be met by you

I want to see that through

If you listen when I speak

I promise I will do the same

Don’t let it end this way

With fear tearing us apart

From your barely healing heart

Loving is fun

Until you lose someone

But I promise I won’t be like them

It’ll be good for you

Just stay with me

Let’s make this work

It’s easy if we try

Please stay

Like the very first night

Push me away, that’s all that’s on your mind

You fear to love

So you force me to cry

Over heartache, tearing me

Limb from limb

I know work needs to be done

I want to be the one

To hold you and guide you through

This journey called life

Make you feel the way I feel

Every night

Safest when I think of you

My fears all melt away

Then you changed the tone

And I don’t know where to go

The magic fades

And the air grows cold

Winter sets in and hugs my core

The thought of you gone another night

I can’t take

I found someone I care about

I love you

I’ll say…

I know I need some work myself

But I’m not scared to try

I’m not scared to love

So please just let me hold you close

Even one more time

I don’t want this kiss to be

The ending of a life

So I’ll just remember it all

From the very first night

This was the moment I knew

I could love someone again

I could even lose a friend

The heart mends and breaks each day

With a simple hello

I gave you my heart

So you could make it your home

Let you keep my everything forever

I’ll go where you go

Blindly, maybe I fell for you

But each day I feel the same

You tell me about your past

And I don’t pull away

Tell me about all the scars you have

I’ll hold you close and tell you that you are safe

I’ll never go away

But fate plays so many tricks

And now you want me gone

Say You’re not enough

You say you can’t love

I’ll never accept goodbye

When you can’t say why

I know you are scared

But please don’t leave me

I want to love you for

All time

I want to love you for

The rest of our lives

Finally, someone who can

Save me from myself

Erase each fear I have

You make me feel at home

So let me do the same for you

I swear it will be okay

I’ll love you either way

I know it’s hard to say

Just don’t leave me here

Don’t leave me standing

Don’t leave me here

Waiting for you

Waiting for you

The memories will mar my mind

And haunt me all the same

And each kiss on my body

Will linger till my final breath

The passion was more real than we were

The emotions were more honest than we could ever be

Masks were held high, so no heart had to be revealed

The brutal sting of an eventual goodbye

Was our undoing

I wish that we could go back in time

I love you like the very first night

But I wish we could go back in time

On the very first night

And never go past then

Just freeze our hearts

Our pain

And stay

Forever holding you

That very first night

Silently wanting you

To be the one

That was the moment I knew

Forever is for the movies

And goodbye always comes to greet me

I’ll miss you every day

I’ll miss you in every way I can

Hold you in my mind

Hold you in my heart

Never say goodbye

Never let you go

Never accept goodbye

Waiting here for you to return

Waiting for you to be my one

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

Je t’aime comme ça.

Like the sound of cracking firewood,

And the insects crying late at night.

The stars at night,

Glittering on the ocean waves,

As they kiss the sand nearby.

The whiskey kisses that flow between our lips,

And the sky a comforting velvet blue,

One I never knew could exist.

From all the fear I’ve carried in my soul,

I am born again from the sea form.

Thank you for the healing waters of your love,

Bringing me from the harm of the past,

To be baptized in the cathedral of the sea.

Wash away the scars I’ve earned through the years,

You kissed away ever tear I’ve cried,

But I gifted you the new garden of Eden from those same tears,

As a sacred oasis for our young love,

Our fragile souls still learning how to call me by your name,

For you are my eternal sunshine,

The waters of life that saved my soul,

Bringing me a love so genuine to be true

Something so foreign to the likes of me.

Oh, jeune amour, une chose si effrayante.

My one for now

Tiens moi par le coeur,

Aime moi pour toujours,

Tiens moi près,

Et ne jamais lâcher prise.

Mon amour,

Je t’aime comme ça.

You are my wine,

My water,

My life.

The air in my lungs,

And the blood in my veins.

The birth of Venus,

From waters we are born anew,

Reborn from the ashes of torment,

Into the arms of someone I never knew.

The tears brought forth life,

And the rivers of time flowed through the night,

While we slept softly in a cathedral where we could not breathe.

No need to pray,

No need to speak.

Fractured moonlight was all we needed,

Forever hidden in the ocean deep.

Je t’aime plus que les eaux de la vie.

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

Hello, Dear Readers,

Let the journey through the past begin, as there is so much to truly unpack, as so much has happened in my life, and there is so much to reflect on when looking back at the various stories I wrote about. The first thing I want to address, and I will address it again, is that my life has improved drastically since I first wrote this book. I wrote the first sixteen chapters from August 2019 to July 2020, and I am now working on this chapter on February 23rd, 2025. Time has passed, and I have learned a lot of new things, at least I assume I have. Let us hope that I have grown. I am now 29 years old, and soon I will be 30. I have gained so much more information and a far better perspective on who I am as well. I never had this perspective all those years ago because when I first wrote this book and began compiling the first 16 chapters for this book.

Now, here we are with chapter 17. Let the Addendums begin.

I want to make it clear: I am not going to edit my prior chapters, nor am I going to backpedal and say that my prior statements are invalid or a lie or whatever. I said what I said, and I stand by what I said as well. That is my life, and that is how I interpreted each of these events. What I want to do now with the next couple of chapters is add context and clarity to each thing I have mentioned, and this will be done in a variety of ways. Sometimes, I will touch on two to three chapters at a time, or I will dissect one chapter at a time. It will mainly come down to the theme and messaging of the chapter. Again, I am not trying to remove from what was said but to add context and new information to each story as well. Going through therapy over the last four years, I have learned so much more about my past, and I have remembered events I repressed for years or ignored due to thinking they were not that serious. A good example of this will be the first thing discussed, as I want to tackle Chapters 1 and 7. These two chapters are heavily connected as they talk about a time I was sexually assaulted, but there is always more to say, and that is why I am making these additional comments. With age comes wisdom, and that wisdom can often be both hurtful and eye-opening.

Me Too, The Doctor, a Teacher’s Pet, and a Love for Life

In Chapter 1, I talk about how I was raped and the story of that event. I only told the story of the first time he assaulted me in November 2015. I never mentioned the second time he attacked me, which was in December 2015. I neglected to mention that event purely. After all, I wanted to act as though it had never happened because I still struggle with the events of the assault. Despite years of therapy and working through my trauma, I still have nightmares and live in fear of that college, as it is essentially my ground zero. It is where my worst memories lie, and despite everything, I cannot, in good faith, say I can easily forget or move past it all. I’ve tried, but sometimes I close my eyes to sleep, and I just relive these nights. This is why I often say that I do not dream, I only have nightmares. Those nights broke a part of me, and I am still struggling to put the pieces together.

I mentioned that on November 15th, 2015, I was raped by someone I hardly knew but was aware of due to being in the marching band with him. I had seen him all over campus during my freshman year, so by the time my sophomore year came around, I could confidently point him out and knew enough about him to say he was a very good acquaintance. November 15th was the first time he raped me, and that was the first time I reported those events to both campus safety and many of the executives at the college. I will not share the college’s name, but many who know me on a personal level are aware of the college I am speaking of, and that is enough for me at this time. Back then, I left the room untouched for an extended period, and if I had to sleep in the room, I would push a desk in front of the door so it would act as a barricade. I would then sleep on that desk with one eye open, as I lived in absolute fear. I wasn’t even really falling asleep; I completely passed out due to stress and exhaustion. I was completely broken, and I did not know what to do. I was convinced I was in a living nightmare or had been thrown into the darkest pits of hell. I was scared, hurt, and broken.

By the end of November 2025, I had decided in secret to start looking at other colleges, partly due to the treatment I had received when talking to the college president. I was politely called a liar and informed that my funding would be cut if I continued this story. I had no idea if this could or could not happen, but I started looking then, That was when I tried to transfer to a college about an hour away. I wanted to stay somewhat close to my boyfriend as he was my rock at the time, even though he was in the dark about the abuse. I wanted to stay close to him and our cats, so I tried to transfer to a college an hour away from his home. This was the idea, but I wanted to keep this a secret. My close friends within the fraternity had no clue what was happening, and it is shocking because I spoke with some of them daily, from 8 am till about 1 am the next day. My good friend, who is my big brother in the fraternity, knew nothing. I never told him till 2019. Four years of radio silence regarding what happened and what was going through my brain. He found out I was transferring to a new college when the next semester came around, and I was gone.

By December 18th, 2015, I was set to transfer to the new college, and I was beginning to pack as I would soon be taking stuff home to my boyfriend’s house to make the move quicker. I was always going to take a fraternity brother to Virginia so he could be with family for the Christmas holidays. That night, December 18th, he would rape me again.

I did not barricade my door that night as I was more focused on packing and the various things I needed to handle over the next couple of days. While packing and ensuring all of my clothes were put away, I heard the door to my dorm room close. I did not turn and look right away as I initially thought it was my boyfriend coming back from the bathroom or something. No. It was HIM. He got bold and decided to come back one day. I left my guard down, and that was the second time he would rape me. This was just as brutal as the first time. Leaving bruises on my body as he was beating me senseless. Part of me was convinced that was the night I was going to die. He bragged about how he raped me on YikYak, and those posts were only taken down after 24 hrs, but he made it clear the next time would be worse. Now, it is the second visit, as he promised, and all I did was pray I would die. He choked me with my belt and punched my body to the point I thought he broke some of my ribs. All while inserting himself into me and fucking me for hours.

I prayed I would die that night, and in a way, a part of me did die that night. It was violent and bloody. My sheets were stained, and my blankets were ruined. The floor was slick with lube, sweat, and small droplets of blood, and still. I was called a liar. Before I grabbed the rest of my stuff in the morning, I visited campus safety and showed them what he did, and they dared to laugh, as they believed it was good stage makeup. I did my best to tell them it was real, showing this was bruising, all while crying and begging for mercy. Wishing this was some fucked up nightmare. They didn’t care. They never cared.

So, I packed up my car, picked up my friend, and went on my day. I acted like nothing had happened and tried my best to hide the bruises and tears in my eyes. He never knew. My parents never knew. My boyfriend never knew.

I sat in silence and said many of these events never happened, but come 2019, all I would do was acknowledge the assault in November. By the time 2021 came around, I would finally accept the fact that the events of December occurred. Rarely would I talk about it with my friends and family, but I kept that in the dark because it hurt me that much and left me in fear for many years. What he did to me in December was not the only time I was ever raped, as he raped me the month before, but the severity was not the same at all. What he did to me left lasting scars.

I am clearly in a safe space now, so I can talk about this, and I will talk about what he did to me. I will no longer mince my words about what he did to me, and I will ensure the full truth and nothing but the truth is revealed as well. I still relive these attacks, and after each dream, I am left in a state of weakness. Functionally, I am useless. My depression became a lot worse after he assaulted me, and the reason I started drinking heavily is connected to what he did to me. Yes, I could likely connect the depression and excessive drinking to years of abuse or trauma, and the assault just exacerbated everything, making it worse.

That was my “first” time experiencing something like this, and the way I reacted and processed that pain would be something I would replicate over the next few encounters. Not just when I experienced some kind of sexual assault, but also when I was subject to some kind of trauma. But, as I mentioned earlier and discussed in Chapter 7, I would be raped again, this time by the man I lovingly call The Doctor.

The Doctor

For context about him, I had just gotten out of a three, almost four-year-long relationship, and this man was the first person to show any interest in me. I stupidly jumped into his arms. I was unaware of what would be there waiting for me, as his dark intentions were hidden behind his green eyes. The first two months were simple, easy, and safe. I was happy, and I felt wanted. It is crazy looking back on it all, but it was very much love bombing because I would be given gifts and taken out to lavish dinners where the bill would be over $300. It was like this constantly, and that was how he treated me for the first two months. He said I was the love of his life, and he would do anything for me, promising me he would pay for me to go to cosmetology school, as he would pay for it outright. The entire relationship was different from anything I’ve ever experienced in my life, but I loved every second of it because I was wanted. That was all I could have asked for. I remember there were many times I would stay there overnight as well, as one time I left my parents’ Christmas party to drive to his house to see him.

Now, more context. I was completely unaware of how toxic he was being in every second of our relationship. I was young and trying to rebound from that long relationship that had just ended, so mentally, I was struggling, and I was hurting. This man, The Doctor, is a licensed therapist. He should have known better, and he should have known what not to do to me. I should have known I was a psychology major, though, by that point in time, I was only a psychology major for about two semesters, but in that second one, I failed a few classes due to not being able to process the fact that I was raped. Still, like the world always says, it was my fault. I should have known the signs. I should have seen all of the red flags and raw away the moment I had the chance, but instead, I stayed with him and called it love.

The truth of it all is, I don’t remember much from when he raped me on New Year’s Day. That does make it hard to write about, and that is why Chapter 7 is so short. So much yet so little occurred, and I have mentally worked hard to repress a lot of the finer details. Despite years of therapy, I have yet to be able to reveal those memories that I have repressed. Most of the details of the night in which he raped me I have already discussed in great detail, as it was very simple. There was no violent attack; I wasn’t beaten, nor did I feel like I was going to die. The only thing that happened in the end was that I mentally gave up and shut down. He knew this would occur. He knew some of my past and knew that if put in a situation like this, I would freeze and never fight back. In Chapter 7, I never highlight the true nature of the relationship, and I never point out that he would use large amounts of love bombing to try and control me, and that is exactly what he tried to do.

The fact is that I have to mention this story because he never left my life. After that night, I tried to ensure he was cut off from my life, but he was always there, somehow in communication with me. Through a variety of social media apps, he would find ways to communicate with me, and there were many times I always wanted to just get with him again, so that way, I could avoid all the pain from constantly telling him to leave me alone. It was a weird time, and many times, I would just play along because it was easier than fighting with him or blocking him all the time. I heard many times that he potentially gained a drug addiction of some kind, but I could not confirm or deny it. I may have hated him for what he did to me, but I would not have wanted him to suffer or struggle with any kind of addiction. Maybe that is just me being too kind. Maybe I am always trying to send love and light to those who don’t deserve it, but despite it all, I cannot hate him. I cannot physically force myself to hate him, either. He hurt me, but I cannot make myself wish him ill. In the end, the Doctor is not someone I can hate. I hate what he did, but I cannot hate him.

I have adopted many mantras, but the one that has always saved me as of late is “If it’s meant to be, it will be.” It is so simple, yet so painful and almost life-saving. The last few years have kept me moving as life has forced me to remember the various parts of my past that I have tried so hard to forget. I remembered The Doctors. I remember the very first instance of sexual assault I ever experienced, only to eventually learn it was, in fact, not the first time.

I was the Teacher’s Pet.

What do I mean by that? Well, to put it quite bluntly, I had a relationship with one of my high school teachers for a little over two years, starting the summer before my junior year and ending the week before I went to college. I was 16 years old when we started talking in 2012, but he knew of me before the first text messages were exchanged. Now, I want to say the entire relationship is not his fault, but he should have known better, as he was older than me by almost 10 years. I was using an app I had no right to use at my age, but sitting there and lying about my age was easier than anything else. I found you. My future teacher, I would see you daily, but I would play dumb, and so would you. Our text conversations did not exist the moment we entered the school building. We played dumb for two years and acted like everything was normal, all while you had a public relationship with another teacher, and I would have public relationships as well. That was our cover and how we kept what we were doing hidden from the world, and it allowed us to live in secrecy. You were the one guiding me through the motions and helping me learn more and more about how to hide what was happening. Our safest moments were after school was out, and we could hide away in your classroom for an hour or so, and no one would notice, but that was also because no one ever noticed what I did. I could walk around school doing whatever, as I was a good student and was often forgotten as well.

It is sad, though; I never knew this was wrong. Despite everything I will often say, I will hold myself high and often fight for what is right and justice. I spent years not only ignoring that this relationship occurred but also lying to myself that this relationship was true and made out of love for one another. You were older and wiser, and I looked up to you for wisdom and words of encouragement, yet I was blind, young, and foolish to think this was real love. But what else can I expect when a 16-year-old is dating someone who is roughly a decade older than them? He said it was love, so I believed it. I had no reason not to believe it, though, so I said you were telling the truth. Now, I am 29, going on 30, and all I can do is cry for the younger version of myself, as I was taken advantage of by someone lying to my face. He would beg to hear about my dreams, saying I’m so mature for my age. He would say I was smart and funny, cute, and interesting. I was allegedly the highlight of his day as I made the class so much more interesting because he was able to see me while teaching. He made me feel safe, and every time I was in his class, I was distracted by him. I wanted to brag about how lucky I was to have someone like you in my life. Showing support for me and my academic endeavors, and other things I would do, such as the different theater performances I was a part of, or the winter and spring concerts where I was part of the band and select ensemble.

He was always there, hiding in the shadows, sending me his life, all while hiding it from the world. Even my homework had notes from you telling me to meet you after school so you could “tutor me.” I would listen and show up. You would lock the door each time, and you would hold me close in your arms, kiss my lips, my neck, and every inch of my body. You would fuck me time and time again, and it was all kept secret under the guise that you were tutoring me. It was beautiful and something I looked forward to. I looked forward to the nights I would lie, tell my parents I was going to see my friends just to use the car and drive to your place. We would relax, I would sleep in your arms, and while we talked about life and watched different movies, I was busy studying the shape of your face and how quickly your stubble had grown back in despite shaving earlier that day. Your arms wrapped around me, and I was calling it my heaven and my safety net.

The age difference never clicked with me that this was wrong or something I should not be happy with. I just saw you as mine. My man, my home, my love, my world. You tricked me and took advantage of me. I wanted to be yours and yours alone. Drop the act and proclaim my love for you so loud that the entire world would know. I wanted you, and for the longest time, I was fully convinced we were meant to be together forever. I was obsessed with you, and it is heartbreaking to look back on it and realize the lies I was fed for years. You made me feel wanted, and it was the first time I felt valued in my life. It was a blissful and intoxicating drug, and I always blindly begged for more; I always begged for your time, your devotion, and your affection. That is likely why, for so long, I never acknowledged what happened, as I was your helpless pet. I was hanging onto your every word.

You were my teacher. This relationship was completely wrong, yet I was lying to myself that our love was real, that we would be together always. You trained me to crave your touch and desire your kiss. For two years, we ran around in the shadows, and that was where we could kiss each other and be in each other’s arms. Those moments were when I would give my body up to you, and I would let you fuck me however you wished because I thought I was yours and yours alone. You knew my body better than I ever will, as you kissed every inch of my skin and worshipped me, per se. I was yours to use, and I stupidly enjoyed every second of it. You were the best and worst part of every school day, as I loved seeing you, but I hated not being able to kiss you. You were my teacher, and I made you my world, my muse. I just wanted to be perfect for you because you said I was all you ever needed.

We romanticized every aspect of the relationship, and it hid the fact that what we were doing was very much illegal. I was a minor when you first started to pursue me, and it wasn’t until I was a legal adult that you broke up with me because I was leaving for college soon. You sent me a text, canceling our plans for the night, saying we could never see each other again because I would be leaving for college, and once I left, it would be impossible for our relationship to continue and The realization broke me, as I wanted to be with you and continue loving you. I carved a part of my life for you, so by the time I finally got to college in August, I was so depressed that I stopped eating altogether and wanted to die. I wanted you in my life, and you ghosted me. You blocked my number, so I could no longer get in touch with you.

In July 2014, my world fell to pieces. Come August, I was at college, openly starving myself. Not just because I hated my body and hated who I was, but because I was not worthy of life. I loved you, and I lost you. It was never real, and even now, reflecting on it all, I can still feel the romanticism take hold and demand I ignore how abusive it was. I was not a legal adult, and I was not able to legally consent to anything that we did, but I spent so many years acting like nothing happened. I call myself the teacher’s pet not just because of how you treated me, but because I was also inspired by the song by Melanie Martinez. That song spoke of a similar story, and initially, it left me feeling some kind of deja vu. By the time 2023 had arrived, and I was in the middle of a therapy session, it finally clicked. I remembered you. Your name, the cologne you would wear, and how you liked to wear very form-fitting pants to show off your legs. I remembered how you hated Jane Austen but said she heavily inspired the first novel I ever started. I kept that graded paper for years, as I was so proud of it because it was a compliment on something other than my appearance. You saw my art as just that; you saw it as art. I had to finally throw it away one day, as I no longer remembered why I held it so tightly to my heart.

It has been 13 years since we first started messaging each other, and I have grown so much in that time. I know that what we had was not love; it was hell. It was abuse. You had me wrapped around your finger so tightly I never noticed the truth behind it all, and lost sight of who I was and what I wanted in life. I lost. sight of the truth and ignored all of the signs that this was abuse. That was all our love was; it was abuse and manipulation, and I see that now clearly. Just like the Doctor, I do not hate you. I don’t have it in me to hate you. I don’t think I could ever hate you, despite everything. I want to, though; I feel like I should hate youg but ill will towards you and your life for what you did to me, but the thought of it hurts me instead. Guilt chokes me up, and just like The Doctor, I ignore what happened and move on with my life, just to repeat the cycle of remembering it all again.

Reflection

I had to tell this story in conjunction with the others because this relationship was not a true relationship; it was one based on control and manipulation. I had no say in the end, as you owned me. I also had to tell this story because it is another instance where I was sexually assaulted, but I forgot details due to my mind trying to protect me. I spent the past 13 years telling myself that there was no way I could be a victim in a situation like this, as I “knowingly” consented to the sexual interactions that I had with my teacher, but I was 16 when it started. I was a minor. My “consent” was not real in the end, so I cannot call it anything other than abuse.

That is the message of these stories: abuse is abuse, no matter how it appears or how you try to rationalize it. I was a victim of each of these men, and that is something I do not think about that much, but I have to address it because it shaped who I am and changed a large amount of how I respond to people and my trust issues as well. Life is not always rainbows and unicorns; sometimes, we get hurt, and our light is taken from us. That is what I am talking about: moments where my joy was taken from me and ruined at the hands of those I once called my lovers, friends, or acquaintances. I never thought that one day I would grow up and end up in these situations time and time again, but this is a fact of life I have had to accept to move forward and continue to smile and just be fake happy as I continue to live.

That is the one main lesson I have learned: to keep living, even if it is to spite those who hurt you. This may not be great advice, but these traumatic events, which I have experienced, taught me that horrible things can happen to anyone, no matter who you are or what you have done. Life is not always fair, and I have had to accept that bitter pill, just smile through it all, and do what I can to keep living, even if that means staying alive just to spite those who have hurt me. That can seem incredibly bitter and horrible to say, but the main idea of the lesson is to keep living because life does get better, even if you do not think it can or will get better, it will. I am an example of that; it takes time, but once it happens, it almost feels like a complete rebirth of who you are.

That is just the lesson I have learned, at least, and that is the lesson I will take with me to my grave. Life sucks, sadly, and some moments hurt us to our core, but we cannot lose sight of who we are in the end. I have worked hard to get where I am today, and I have worked hard to show that I have a certain goal in mind as well. That is why I am currently attending college, as I hope to one day have multiple degrees and use each of them in a way that will allow me the opportunity to help others. I will get there one day, and one day, I will be there for others.

Go back and read old posts to gain more context. Those linked below are the older stories, written before the addendums.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy, consider subscribing so you can be notified when any new post is released. Also, consider sharing this with someone who you think may enjoy what you have read. Consider sharing it with them as well.

Thank you again, and have a wonderful day!

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

This is a sneak peek at the horror novel that I have mentioned a few times on here. This is the “prologue” or the backstory. These events occurred, and that is the catalyst that triggers the story and adventure that we will be reading. This entire story was born from a DND Campaign I wrote back in 2023, and I loved to much to truly let it die off. Now, I will make it live forever.

Now, I want to note that if you are reading this and are confused, that is good. When reading this book, remember trust everything and nothing at the same time. Nothing is real, but everything is real.

Prologue

The small island country of Arnstall is known for its rich spice trade, lush forests, and hosting one of the tallest mountains in the known world, which is said to be the home of their Gods, but it is also known to host an unexpected plague that is sweeping the country. Currently, this unknown plague is causing many unsavory effects such as madness/hysteria, sleepwalking, paralysis, large pus-filled cysts, coma-like sleep, death, and even the dead rising again.

Reports of the plague truly started, in the hamlet of Kesper at least, after the graveyard of ships emerged from the sea after the last major storm. Though many officials believe this is linked to the current situation, many also say this is not the case because the royal city of Lath Ny’ithar had several documented cases many months prior to the shoal emerging.

The Royal Government has currently issued a few bounties regarding this current surge of undead, but also the massive wave of fear sweeping the country, driving it into economic paralysis as well. The bounties are a way to motivate brave citizens to rise and help, as money is very scarce during these days. Since this plague is sweeping across the country, all the ports have been closed as well. No goods are coming in, and no money is being made. Many citizens are being driven to desperate measures.

Due to this, the Royal Government has currently issued a state of emergency, mandating that many people go into hiding and seclude themselves from the world around them, causing all the port towns, like Kesper, to become ghost towns. Though the hamlet of Kesper has not seen this yet, many other port cities like Kornnia have become victims of many crimes ranging from petty theft and robbery up to arson and murder of entire families.

Despite the prospect of a bounty, many citizens are reluctant to try to help. A few have gone and started chasing these bounties, killing those afflicted with the plague, but also trying to find the cause of it as well. This does not always end well for these brave souls who dare to investigate, for many do not return alive, and all the town folk have to remember them by is their missing person posters.

A year after the plague first started, a cloaked figure appeared at the royal palace gate one winter night. It spoke not a word but delivered a note and vanished into the mist. No one could track the cloaked figure, only finding a corpse a good hour’s walk away in the forest, slumped over a dried-out well. The royal family has kept the contents of the note a mystery, but since that night, they have never been seen again publicly. Though the lights are still seen every night at the palace, no one has truly seen a soul that lives beyond the palace gates.

News of this night spread quickly throughout the island, causing many to panic and fear the end of days was truly upon them, and the Gods had damned them, but others took this as an attack and went out on their own to find the identity of this messenger, though all who embark on this journey are never seen again.

Many who do leave their homes for anything other than the bare necessities congregate in their local chapels, begging whatever Gods may be listening to show mercy on their country and their families; they all still fear this is the end of days. As the cathedrals and chapels become more populated, the plague spreads more, and crime soon moves its gaze to these alleged houses of God, and the blood of many innocents is soon shed on those hallowed grounds.

Arnstall, a once-rich country, is now a land of nightmares, with the undead walking the streets slaughtering all they see, the Royal family potentially in danger from a cloaked figure, and citizens begging a potential God for mercy while their child lies in a coma. This nightmare has lasted for five years now, and the blood of the people continues to be spilled.

This is the start of a new era. The era of the afflicted, the era in which the sins of the damned must be atoned for.

The forgotten have made their presence known.

One Year ago

I can’t even fully remember the last time I ever truly felt alive or the last time I ever slept for more than an hour or two. Your memory clings to my skin so tightly that, at times, I still think you are here with me. I visited every healer I knew and almost broke protocol all to bring you back to me, but even the Goddess I work for has gone silent. The gods have left us. We are dead in their divine light.

I was only gone for an hour to check a claim that the chapel was on fire, but in that time, I was gone; you were truly the one in danger. Some lunatic broke in while you were tending to our kids and snuffed each of you out so easily. I failed you all. Upon your death, I took a new oath, not just to strengthen my vow to the Goddess, but to seek revenge on those who killed you. Destroy all who have caused this curse upon our land.

I will travel to heaven or hell to find all responsible, and I will bring you back. I will finally save you.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy, consider subscribing so you can be notified when any new post is released. Also, consider sharing this with someone who you think may enjoy what you have read. Consider sharing it with them as well.

Thank you again, and have a wonderful day!

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes

In the darkest moments of my life, I have always found you, and your warm embrace is what saves me each time. Your eyes look into mine, and though they are dark in color, they appear to glow brighter than the stars in the night sky. They are kind eyes, and one of my favorite features of yours.

It is always painful to say how much I love you, as I know I should bite my tongue and stay quiet.

I always know that my truth must stay a lie.

I always know I cannot touch your heart.

I cannot touch your mind.

I want to, though. I want to be a part of your life, feel your lips touch mine, and enjoy the sensation of your hands grazing my skin. You are so many things in my eyes, and each night when I dream, I see you. Though that may be a night of blissful sleep, I am greeted each day with tears, as you are never with me.

I am never enough.

Which I understand, as you are perfection, as your body was sculpted by the Gods above, divinely made in their image. You are my Heracles, my Perseus, and my Orpheus, a God among mere mortals, or an artist of a beautiful tragedy. You are what we desire to be: a heavenly being, a hero, a lover, and a God. When you speak, the world listens to your wisdom with joy and glee, and life sprouts. Each word is that of a lyrical song, with a cadence and rhythm we are so blessed to hear.

My hero.

My savior.

The reason for the air in my lungs, and why I desire to bathe in the golden rays of the sun. I want and need to be in your presence, as you are the light of my life and the wind beneath my wings. But every night, the tendrils of sadness hold me close, enwrapping me in a cocoon of sorrow, as the ultimate form of protection from accepting the reality that I will never be on your mind.

Another has caught your eye.

Another lives in your hearts.

Another sleeps in your arms.

I am not even in second place, as the competition was all a delusional fantasy I created to cope with the betrayal and heartbreak of knowing goodbye is always our hello. Drifting through the land of dreams and ‘what ifs…’ I can only pray each night at your altar, and wish that one day I will drift into your mind. I wish for the day that I can be your lover and be enough for your love.

My dear Heracles.

My dear Perseus.

Oh, my loving Orpheus.

You are my guiding light, and the object of my complete devotion.

Gorgeous.

Godly.

Everything my heart craves.

I want the sheer thought of me to linger within the folds and crevices of your mind. The idea of me should give you peace, just like you grant me life.

I am an unworthy mortal, and that is why I am forever cast aside in your life.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy, consider subscribing so you can be notified when any new post is released. Also, consider sharing this with someone who you think may enjoy what you have read. Consider sharing it with them as well.

Thank you again, and have a wonderful day!

Share

Share The World Through Robyn's Eyes