Something I recently wrote for a Facebook and loved it so much, I wanted to post it here.
About me. I don’t believe in spitting out facts. And my bio is already available to read here…
And I’m a writer. Words are my bitch.
I live in New York. Not the gritty, bustling city crammed with people rushing about to fulfill their daily obligations… I love those people…
I live in the part of New York most people don’t know exists.
I live in the mountains. Everywhere I look, high rolling hills surround me. In the fall, those rolling hills of green, paint the earth with splashes of orange, red, and yellows. When you step outside you can smell apple in the air mixed with a hint of fireplace that floats on the wind. And it is very windy up here. The air is thin and many from sea level struggle breathing up here. The water is too high in mineral content to drink. That is how high up I live.
The sing song of the chickadee and vibrant reds of the male cardinal greet me every morning. And our winters here… you can smell ice in the air. Our springs are warm and inviting. But nothing is as pure and as perfect as our mountain rainstorms. Solid downpours last for three days at a time and, if you’re in the right location, you can gaze upon the world as it once was centuries ago when Native Americans traveled the Susquehanna River or the Tioghnioga in canoes.
I have my own touch of earth in my yard where I’ve planted gardens. To make up for all the death I’ve seen—and I’ve seen a lot—I surround myself with life. Nine gardens surround my home, a shade garden, Irish garden, hummingbird garden, butterfly, and bird garden, and a rose garden, spring bulb garden, and lilies. Inside my house you’ll find my tenth garden. We converted our central living room into a full functioning greenhouse where my three cats spend their days lounging in the sun.
I drink coffee, write books, mother my children, sing, dance, cross-stitch, play piano, and surround myself with everything I love everywhere. Above all else, I am a survivor.
You can’t see it, but if you look hard enough, you’ll see the scars that have marred my mind. I’m okay now. But recently, I wasn’t. I have been beaten, tortured, raped, enslaved, raped again, prepped for trafficking, and denied human contact, love, comfort, and protection for all of my youth, and most of my life when my only family were the cats who I had to rescue from torture. At one point, I had to choose between being beaten, and being raped. For the record, rape is better. In my case, I knew I could survive rape. I wasn’t sure if I would survive the beatings.
But the thing I am most proud of is my smile. Through it all, I have found me… I have healed, and I’m still smiling.
This is who I am. This is how I became Broken.