After leaving the clutches of my family I still had a war to fight. They had given me everything I needed to survive. What were the correct tools for the job? I didn't know what was going to happen the last time I walked out those doors. All I was it was on me from now on.

I went home and sat down. Thought about everything I wanted to say to my family and started writing. The one tool I forgot to pick up is how to make an honest pay without killing myself. Sure I was good at many things. I could draw. When I wanted. I could paint a little. I had never mastered anything, because I had to keep moving. I wasn't ever able to sit down and just focus on something for as long as I wanted to. When I was finally able to stop all hell would break loose and all my progress lost.

Here I was alone, finally. My husband asleep in his room, or working. I'm not sure. I was able to look at my blank page and see one thing. I have a husband. We have a dog. We have a mink. We have a cat. We have a fish. We have a house, and if we lost it. We have a truck, we can load up what we need and go. That is where my story continued, but I still had questions.

What If I didn't want to go? What if we had to? These were important questions. Mom was paying the rent still, and the light bill and the satellite. I was paying for the phones and everything else. What could I do to fix this problem? I already proved I could give them the world. I gave them each other. Now it was time to convince myself I could do it on my own. Well yes I am alone, but I am wallowing in hell because of it. Why? Was it my husband, or was it myself.

I was fighting my own demons. I have been fighting my whole life, and now here I was fighting myself. I was given a truck and I wanted to give up? Stop moving? Why in the hell would I do that? I'm doing this. Something they said I couldn't do and I was going to stop, because they told me this was it? Time to go into a home. I couldn't let my story end this way.

Was I really going to let them take my life away from me exactly as they had before? I decided then and there I wasn't going to do that. I was going to fight. I wouldn't tell the word about them. I decided to tell my story. I would never let anything happen to them, because my message wasn't about who they were, it was about who I am. I typed on. Not telling anyone who they were. I've already lost everything, and gained everything. What is the one more thing, I'm not attached to it. I changed one little thing about myself. I would only tell everyone who I am.

I sat down at a computer and I wrote even more. I am the nothing they need, and I am everything they wanted. I have nothing, so I will make nothing. The words spilling out of me over the screen. I pore everything into this little slice of nothing I have. I play with my family, like a child stuck in time. I dance with my husband, like a spoiled brat. I beg for attention when i don't want any, to keep them away. I cry because I hate who I am. I sing because I love myself so much. I am crazy, I will be crazy and I love being crazy. Because this crazy person is happy, and she loves the abuse she inflicts on herself. Then why was I still wallowing.

I looked at my husband. Was he to blame? I love my husband, and I hate him at the same time. He loves to watch me dance, and I hate it when he looks. I want him to hear me sing, but I hate when he listens. I love the way he fights, but hate how dirty I fight. He lets me hate my self and love him. Because he gives me exactly what I give him. We stand eye to eye and toe to toe. Pushing each other to the edge. We reach out and grab each other when we reach that point. We wrap our arms around one another. We stand together. In that moment. We make love. Two war hero's standing at a draw. That is what we were taught love was. War, and we fight each other's war with one another. We remind each other who we are. Blow for blow, with out ever laying a hand on one another. Fighting off demon that threaten our happiness. Standing, not side by side, but back to back. Making sure all bases are covered. Reaching out and holding the other up when we are weak. Providing backup, and catching each other when we fall.

He became my right hand, and I his. He could do the physical labor, while I heal. I can do the driving. He can do the work. That way I can help. I can keep paying the bills. He gets the truck on the road. I help his family, and mine when they need it. He works to get us a house. I write our story, he paints it. Never telling anyone who we are, because we are everyone.

Everyone's story is the same. We all pitched our fits until we were happy. We all find someone who fits our perfect and we stand back to back with them. We all get hurt along the way and fight back. We all carry each other. We all pitch fits to get what we want.

I look around myself and see what is going on. We are mutilating out bodies, because we are wrong. We are wrong, because the world tells us we are. We become exactly what our families made us and we wallow in the acceptance of our rolls. We beat our women, and our men, forcing every one to fear each other, and we let this world empower us to keep moving forward. Keep pushing on, because some day, one day you might be happy. You will find God. You will settle down. You will be happy. It is all a rat race and we are slaves to it. Born to play parts for each other's entertainment. Born to bitch and wine till we are blue in the face. Born to tell everyone exactly what they know. Born to tell them everything they don't want to know about themselves. We are bred to play our part to fight our battles. The hard fact of life is, we chose to let it. We choose to play the right card in the right moment to get what we decide we need.

We choose to use people to get what we want and I couldn't stand living in this world. Everything, rushing by me so fast that I couldn't take a breath. We all run. We all run as fast as we can, by doing nothing. We do nothing by doing everything.

Until we see. Everyone is searching for a hero. One that will not come. Not until we figure out how to save our selves. We were the hero of our own stories. The villein, the devil in the gospel, but we were also the hero of our own story. The lead roll. It is our choices killing us, and none of us wants to stand up and realize it is our own faults. We created this, by choosing to continue to let it happen. Every time we play a part. Every time someone pitches a fit, we give in and give them what they want. We don't ask why, never ask why. We can not save some one with out hurting someone else.

Supper hero's weren't made because they didn't exist. They were made, because we keep getting bored with the saviors we have. There were the Gods in each mythology all over the world. Each one telling the same story, except its a little different. Strange things being found and everyone wondering why? We lost focus, and started pulling ourselves apart, wondering why. We live in hell daily, why?

Still we didn't want to see, everything that stares us in the face. We are unhappy, because we choose to be. Just like me. My choices had gotten me far in life, but it wasn't enough. I had a truck but it wasn't enough. I stood there proud of myself, and I wanted to kill myself at the same time. I was happy for us and I wanted to take it from us at the same time. I had slipped back into being a spoiled brat, and he wasn't going to share until I stopped. I am Crazy, and I knew why. I just didn't want to admit it.

My mind raced on. Why couldn't I use the truck? Why must I ask? Its ours right? No. It wasn't ours. I was walking around saying "my, me, I, mine" about something he bought. Yes, it was partly because I allowed him to live off me for a while, but he put in the work to get it. It wasn't my truck. It was our truck. For the first time I could hear myself. I heard it and I couldn't stand myself. How dare I take all the credit for our work. I had slipped, back into my old self. He was there to catch me. I went to war, he brought me home. He wasn't the problem. I was.

The fact of the matter is, my family would never see this. They will never know, I know I am crazy. They would never see how easy they made it for me. They whispered in my ear, and talked and twitched at me. They wouldn't let me talk to them together. Everyone had their own plans, and my plans weren't the right. I sat down and cried. I gave them the last of me I could, and I went home.

Here he was, holding the keys to a life we built together, and I was taking all the credit, not because I wanted to, Because I didn't want them to steal it away from me. I gave them a glimpse of what I had then burred it under the truth. I was still telling my story when I got home.

I couldn't figure out why I did this. The thing is why no longer mattered. It had to stop. If no one would listen to why I was killing myself, I would tell the world. In telling, I could let it all go. Its not like anyone would listen anyways, none of it mattered.

Here in my little shadow. My voice is so low compared to the voices out there in the world. Everyone screaming at each other, I'll simply whisper. That way, I can tell my story, to anyone who wants to hear it. Maybe no one will ever hear it, but that is fine with me. I'll be sitting here with my little family, doing nothing. Filling this blank page with my thoughts. Releasing my story upon any ear that dare's to turn my way. Pretending to be useless, because I am useless. Waiting for my body, and mind, to heal. Working to get stronger, so one day, we might stand on our own and find a way to heal the world.

Maybe one day everyone will understand what I am say. It doesn't matter if they believe, all that matters is it is right here in front of you. If you aren't happy, don't take it out on yourself, or someone else. Fix what is broken inside. Let everyone else do the same. Stand up for what you believe in, but be sure it is worth believing in. One of them may be right, and you go out with peace in your heart. Make your life matter to someone, somewhere, by simply saying I feel your pain.

What is the meaning of life. Its finding peace in all the noise, and being willing to pay the price for that peace. It's healing the world, by first healing yourself.

I come to understand death isn't a punishment, and that scares me. I also understand, death isn't the end. It is simply a new chapter in my story.

I will leave this one here to fade in the wind, and hope that maybe some one some where can find some meaning to my words. I give you my story for free, but it came at a price. That is a price very few are willing to pay.

I hope this helps someone, who is struggling with the decision to live or die. Wondering if they should just end it all. I would hope they would read these words of this crazy woman. I hope understand death is an ending. It would be easy, but then you would miss out on the best part. Death is our reward, but not until we find out peace. I've been there, more times than I can count. Don't end it. Put down that excuse and try again. If you fall keep picking yourself up. No One is coming, because someone is already there. You.

You are not alone. We are all fighting our own wars, in that we are all connected. It is when we stop, we see who is truly there. Instead of killing yourself, take a vacation from your self. Turn the page, change the story. Move in a direction that is towards something you want. Pick something you need. As my better half always says, "Just breath love. I got you. Are you done yet?" I didn't think so. Neither am I.

Let's write this next chapter together. Tell me who you are? Tell me your story in the comments. If my words touch you. Let me know. If they angered you, pitch your fit. Remember, the price I had to pay to bring them to you.

To love me is to hate me. I don't know who you are, but I will tell you the truth as I see it. Take it or leave it. You might not like what I have to say. I will let you throw your fit. I'm here for you. I'm here for the ones who need me. When they need me. Right before that final dive. A hand reaching out in a world where their aren't any. Lets Fight together, Just tell me what you are dealing with, and follow us as we live our life. Remember, we are all crazy.