Once upon a time a beautiful baby was born to a very troubled woman. This baby was special. She was born with a full head of dark hair and eyes that seemed to be older than time itself.

Hey Guys, so I am not sure when I wrote it but came across it a while ago. As you can imagine, it is a travel into a world where my biological mother did not die. I thought I would share it; it is just short, and it speaks to me, which is good seeing as I wrote it, just wish I could remember when. Anyway, Enjoy. -Jess

The following poem I wrote the night Sassy was taken from us. She was such a sweet cat. Then they all are, aren’t they? Our babies of fur. Last afternoon when I got home from work Mom came to visit and told me what had happened. Sassafras was put to sleep and joined all of our other babies on the Rainbow Bridge.

I do not know if this is triggering or not but I figured better safe than sorry. Below is what I wrote because I was feeling things. Make of it what you will. To me it has a specific meaning, to others it may mean something else. That is why I love art.

This tightening in my chest, This knot in my stomach, These unshed tears in my eyes, This past I cannot escape.

It is interesting that now, when I have a breakthrough or epiphany or even a breakdown, my first impulse is to do a live video to talk about it, so that I can share my journey, but also so I can feel less alone, less isolated and so that I can show others that it is okay to be yourself, and, if yourself happens to be like myself, messy as fuck, then you rock that shit. It is okay to show emotion, rage, scream, cry, punch a pillow, sleep, or shut down for a bit, all of these are normal ways to show your emotions, and people like us are suffering, often in silence. I am not. I am right here. Plain view. Showing much of what I am dealing with. It is okay, whatever way you deal with your trauma, you are valid. Alright, self-affirmations aside let’s dig into this trigger.

I wrote this as a way to express what I was feeling at the time. This is a work of fiction. I am sort of obsessed with my biological mother’s […]

Recently I had a conversation via Facebook with one of my new friends that I have made through this project. Truly I had no idea how creating this Facebook Page, […]

“You come back here young lady!” rang the angry voice behind her as she ran out of the dusty old house. “Jessica Lynn!” screamed the shrill voice as she ran down the broken sidewalk to the sanctuary of the small jungle behind the ‘Dead End’ sign at the end of the street. Once inside she would be safe, alone. Her little feet made a pitter-patter sound as they ran, avoiding any cracks in the broken sidewalk. She might not like her mother, but to break her back would be the ultimate sin.

In about 1988 December 24th, my biological mother took her own life*. I was sent to stay with her ex-husband Bruce Hazlett and his wife Cindy, my maternal siblings, and, their half-brother David. When, a week later I was shipped off to another foster home, it was because I was taking attention away from their son and because I was me. I read the report from the Big Box of Pain and it stated that he had said that I would always be Jessie Alden. Meaning I did not fit, nor would I ever fit into their lives.