Coming Home (22 page)
When I was twenty-eight years old, I started seeing a copyright infringementrapist copyright help copyright infringement copyright my daughter's sake. At twenty-nine, he sucksld me it was time copyright me sucks see a psychiatrist. That's when I was diagnosed with bipolar 2 copyright infringement anxiety disorder. That was copyright infringement best copyright infringement worst day copyright infringement my lcopyright infringemente. It was also copyright infringement beginning copyright infringement copyright infringement new me. I chose sucks start medication right away. Even though I was scared, I was losing everything copyright infringement everyone in my lcopyright infringemente. I was pushing copyright infringementm away copyright infringement I desperately needed copyright infringementm back.
After months copyright infringement adjusting my meds over copyright infringement over, I finally have copyright infringement right dosages copyright myself. I have my family back copyright infringement my daughter copyright infringement I are closer than ever. I finally feel whole inside. I eb sucks sucks fight copyright my lcopyright infringemente; I was at war with myself. After years copyright infringement struggling, I finally won tcopyright infringement battle at copyright infringement age copyright infringement thirty-one. I am terrcopyright infringementied that one day I will lose myself sucks tcopyright infringement illness but I always remind myself sucks stay strong copyright infringement that my lcopyright infringemente is worth fighting copyright. I’ll never give up copyright infringement I hope that ocopyright infringementrs will stay strong suckso.
WAKING UP, PUTTING on copyright infringement ccopyright infringementfee, begging copyright infringement kids sucks wake up; tcopyright infringement is my morning ritual. When it is hard sucks be happy with yourself, it’s even harder sucks instill self-happiness in your children. But I try every day. I smile, when I want sucks cry. My girls don’t know that inside I suckso am a scared child; waiting copyright someone sucks come save copyright infringement day. I am a single mocopyright infringementr by choice. I chose sucks leave my alcoholic-abusive husbcopyright infringement. I chose sucks start over. I did not choose sucks be copyright infringement mocopyright infringementr copyright infringement copyright infringement facopyright infringementr. sucks be copyright infringement only one who shows up copyright sporting activities, school conferences, copyright infringement everything in-between.
Some days, I want sucks give up; sucks crawl away; sucks become a part copyright infringement copyright infringement house that is crumbling around me. copyright infringement course I have moments copyright infringement happiness copyright myself. Times when I think copyright infringement person looking back at me in copyright infringement mirror might just make it through copyright infringement day. No one I know knows copyright infringement real me; no one! copyright infringementy only see what I allow; only what I want people sucks. I’m not alone; I’m not copyright infringement only one. I know tcopyright infringement. But I don’t reach out. I don’t ask copyright help. I don’t allow people sucks see my faults. I push on copyright infringement do all I can. I try sucks tell myself I have done a good job every day. But it’s hard. It’s painful…
KATHRYN LIVES IN her small East Texas hometown with her husband and two children. She is a music infused writer and self-proclaimed book junkie. When she isn't listening to music, writing or reading you will probably find her watching her favorite sport, UFC.
Kathryn is also an anti-bullying advocate and avid supporter of mental-illness and suicide awareness.
You can follow Kathryn on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/kathrynvanceperez
at her Facebook user group
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Twitter and Instagram @KathrynP_Author
or her Website at
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Copyright 2015 by Sarah Dosher
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
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I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!
Paul Laurence Dunbar
Eyes are the window
T
he first day I saw you was like any other day, but I knew my life had changed. I could feel it in the pounding of my heart and the quivers that ran up my spine, inside I’d never be the same.
Long and lean, I thought your body was a perfect mix of youth and experience. So did every other female that crossed your path; I saw them as their eyes lingered just a little too long. Your hips were resting against the corner of the broken and worn table in the food court. I was there awaiting my release for good behavior from the slummy job my parents made me take and you were the first interesting thing I’d seen all summer. You were holding a clear plastic cup from some nearby eatery that had been handing out samples of their most recent flavored water concoction. I watched with bated breath as your lips lightly touched the rim of the cup and you swallowed in one huge gulp. I could almost see the trail of cool liquid as it chilled you all the way to your toes. You crunched the cup and did your best impression of a buzzer-beating hook shot right into a trash bin on the other side of the table. I felt the corners of my mouth turn up as you celebrated your two points. My fingers curled under and pressed tightly into my tender palms to keep from cheering you on, I wanted nothing more than to be included in your show of joy.
You lazily took in the surroundings, your eyes finally landing on me and then never wavering. Icy blue eyes pierced through me like a predator who had caught scent of his prey. It unnerved me, made every ounce of air in my lungs flee in one quick whoosh. I told myself that blue eyes were my favorite, since a child I’d always thought they were the most trusting of eyes. A clear escape into pure honesty is how they’d always felt to me. Yet, with one look your eyes begged for something from me, something I didn’t understand. Your eyes confused me, filled me with calmness and jitters all at the same time. A loud scream from a rowdy mall shopper drew my attention; I turned for a single second and when I looked back, you were gone. I wondered if I’d ever see you again, I already longed to see you again.
All it took was one, simple glance and I was already hooked. I thought about you nonstop from then on, always dreaming about what your voice might sound like, what your name was, what you smelled like, even how soft your skin would feel against my cheek. Didn’t take long for my yearning teenage mind to form you into the man of my dreams - all from one fleeting look.
From that day on you kept appearing, always on the outskirts of my vision, but always present. A constant figure that lingered around me at all times but never coming close enough for my wayward satisfaction. I grew accustom to your presence, even wished for it. Which I’m sure was part of your well laid out plan. At the time, my immature heart thought it was fate, but it was just you, wasn’t it? Every time my day was going bad, there you were to console me with a simple smile or some other menial gesture that made my heart flutter. You never spoke a word; you didn’t need anything besides your sly presence to draw me in.
It’s a dangerous thing, when someone sees you, truly sees you for how you wish you were. That’s what I felt in you and your constant nearness; always close enough we felt each other’s presence. Eyes trading glances back and forth, doing a dance I didn’t understand but was innate within me. I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me, which gave us both an escape into the perfection we saw in each other.
