It Starts Inside

We trauma survivors can have a little habit. Avoidance. I know. I’ve been there. For many years I burrowed myself into every other person and/or project that distracted my mind away from myself. I was so frightened by what I had to face in myself; the pain, the anger, the memories of a tortured childhood, … Continue reading It Starts Inside

Child Abuse Injuries

These are the days when my childhood haunts me; when my hips ache like they've been beaten with a mallet; when my neck goes tight all the way down to my lower back, and the irritation sits deep in my throat. These are the days I hold private, away from the possibilities of careless minds. … Continue reading Child Abuse Injuries

Motherless On Mother’s Day

by Vennie Kocsis I don't quite understand these constant holidays, dedicated to moms and dads and bunnies and love. I see them as marketing scams, a way to boost economy almost every month, by throwing in a Holiday. But hey, maybe I'm bitter. On these days I am reminded of my absent mother. See, not … Continue reading Motherless On Mother’s Day

Around My City She Sleeps

There are people who learn to trust the streets. I think of their lives, how they have made darkness their day and daylight their night so they can stay alive. Where is the safe space when the alleys are teeming with the unloved at night, ravaged by the anger in their souls, screaming out their … Continue reading Around My City She Sleeps

The Constant Ebb of Impending Doom

By Vennie Kocsis To untangle the web of my current occasional States of Being has required a process of retracing the steps into my past through the portal of my present behaviors and emotions. Growing up in an end-times cult, I was taught two main death concepts. 1. God was going to end the planet … Continue reading The Constant Ebb of Impending Doom

My Childhood Is a Graveyard of Ghosts

I wonder if my mother ever felt the rejection and pain of her children. Did she ever cry? I can't recall in this moment, ever seeing my mother cry. I wonder if she'd care that I love pictures of my family; to document moments of happy, because no one ever did that for me. I … Continue reading My Childhood Is a Graveyard of Ghosts