The rest of the story

I cannot utter the words or hurt that has come upon me, upon this family. I sat with my computer looking for pieces and parts of this story that i had written before, begging God to allow me to find it so I do not have to rewrite it. I am sickened by this story. Yet this story is where I need to place myself.

The rest of the story

I can’t. I know I can, but it hurts too much. I just can’t I can’t. This story is at such an impasse, I fear the only way to even process it is to have Jesus return so I don’t have to fool with it anymore. I’m tired. Im exasperated. I feel used. Taken advantage of. Crushed into the smallest particles mixed into grout serving as a concrete binding for the children. Our child. This magnificent gift we were given. This beautiful creature that came from this disgusting beginning.

The rest of the story

There is a stranger in my house. Someone I do not know. Someone whom I love and am committed to. Yet the I cannot quite put my finger on why I even love him other than he is the father of our sweet blessing. Every reason I fell in love with him has been taken, vandalized, mutilated, raped.

Here it goes-maybe some will come out…