I wasn’t brought into this life so you can understand my journey. I was sent here for the soul purpose of trying to understand yours. When the voice of reasoning escapes your mind I wish only to give you my hand. Most others want to shine so bright that others are blinded. Me? I just want to use your light in order for me to be able to see. The only thing I have ever cared about is the way that other’s suffer and if I can do anything for them it would be to help them ease their pain. From the very beginning of my story I feel I was sent her to accumulate others pain.

Growing up I was very finite and incredibly selfish. And in most ways I guess I still am. I am selfish in the sense that I guard my feelings in the sense when it comes allowing somebody close to me I never let them in. My journey I made public if I could I would write it across the sky. Nobody should be alone in their suffering, not even I. Although I embrace the tranquil silence broken only by a wayward tear. The cleansing wash of desperation washes out of me as it hit the Earth and begins to prepare for another life. For as long as I remember I was desperate to find acceptance and all I wanted was my true love. With every failed relationship I would cry diminishing what was left of my self worth. I wanted what everybody else had. The husband, house and two cars. But if I couldn’t obtain that dream I wish that somebody else could I guess I grew accustomed to being alone and in pain. It gave me an excuse to carry hate and made me feel justified when I chose another Friday night at home.

Try being nice to people and it’s almost guaranteed a bite in the ass. How and when did life get so difficult and why are we continuing this great divide. The more I know about the lives of others the more pieces my heart breaks into. My curse is that I can visualize almost anything up to and including anybody’s last days. When I read about the POW’s or Anne Frank or any other hero that left this heart too soon it is like I am right there with them holding their sweet little hands. I want to scream at the humans that believed that they were greater than God. Where did you come from and why did you do this? Every sculpture in history needs to be brought down to the ground. Those slabs of stone and marble are somebody else’s tormentor right here on Earth. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to have to see these evil monsters immortalized this way. The men who raped me throughout my life already haunt my dreams now they are erected into monuments to celebrate their great worth. Any human should be able to see how morally that is a little f*cked up. Close your eyes and visualize a priest standing in front of you and you are a scared little sweet boy. Somebody came and stole you from your family now they are making you engage in horrific deeds. Then as they have had their immoral ways with you they make it so the stories of your torture you can never repeat. I don’t feel right that so many died this way and so many turn a side eye. How do you help heal that pain? Can you be still long enough to hear their cries?

I am scared of what I am going to find in between the pages of horror that have been written by survivors. I need to honour their stories. I have to live through them so I can help see them through the other side. So many people say oh I stand beside you in support. Stop standing beside and get behind they have been in our shadows for far too long. Do you honour their existence and what was done by man although it is out of our control? Or do you say what is done is done I didn’t do it and go merrily on your way? What I know is that those on top of done some very horrible things there is no denying that. The only way to hit them where they hurt is to take away any future spending. There is so much truth to decolonizing your mind, spending, heart. Who are you and what do you stand for because this is the time when one person truly matters and actually counts. I see those judgmental comments flooding my inbox for smoking weed. Is that what most concerns you when there are thousands of our own people in unmarked graves. We are all connected the minute we come alive. If somebody hurts a hurt now every tribe across this Nation is suffering and we all know why. We have to celebrate their courage that it takes to want to be successful in this life. The idea that Brothers, Sisters, Fathers, Mothers, Uncles, Aunts, Cousins, Siblings, Friends were sacrificed by those hiding behind the Holy Cloth fills me with such rage. I want to banish the Church and all it stands for. I used to want to be loved by all, now I don’t care if I am hated.

My thoughts grow rancid in my mind and they will surely push me over the edge. Here’s my thinking then burn me at the stake. I know how society works. When the church of Notre Dame suffered fire damage tons of billionaires came to it’s aide. Even Canadians donated $4 million dollars to help with the damage. Thousands of Indigenous Children found in unmarked graves in Schools that essentially should have been put into place essentially to save them. Imagine your child in the grips of a monster being taunted with candy, laughed at, ridiculed; all these things we preach about but turn a blind eye when we are confronted with it in mass proportions.