What world?

My world.

My inner world, which belongs to me.

My estranged, abusive, Satanic biological father no longer has that access. He has highjacked my inner voice and heart and spark for almost four decades and that access has finally been revoked.

“Grief is just love with no place to go.”

AND IT NEEDS SOMEWHERE TO FUCKING GO!!!!

I’ve been grieving my whole life, and I only now just realized it.

Now. Now. Now. All we have is “now.”

Yet all my “nows” are filled with “then’s” and I’d really like if “then” would go the fuck over “there” so the past can go fuck itself. Respectfully.

The truth is, I can’t live with these memories or this grief any longer. I need to get these thoughts out, I need them to live somewhere else besides my body and my mind.

I’m rebuilding my entire world for the third fucking time, and I don’t want to traumatize every new relationship I have with where I’ve come from.

I don’t want to be triggered or trigger anyone else with these horrific memories from the past.

I also still don’t want anyone to know what actually happened. Or find my journal God forbid I drop it somewhere. Or someone scrapes my Google Docs if I wrote it there. I want the past to disappear.

Let’s be brutally honest.

There are parts of me that are still protecting the people who never protected me.

And STILL that’s the hardest and worst part to explain.

And I’m sick of explaining it.

I’ve always been a writer and I’ve thought about writing a book, but for what? So more people get hurt? To “set the record straight,” for who? What does that accomplish? NOTHING except more hurt.

I considered changing all the real life experiences and characters and making it a fiction novel- just to get it out of my head- but I hate horror, so why would I re-traumatize myself? And then what? I get sued by people who abused me and have to deal with them in court? AGAIN?! Who the fuck would want to do that?!?!

The whole reason my family got into any of this trouble in the first place is because we were Italians, and Italians were loyal and didn’t rat.

And where did “not ratting out” and “staying loyal” to our abusers get us? Black eyes, fraudulent checks and FAKE Louis Vuitton bags. Not worth it.

Breaking the generational cycle cost me way fucking more than one black eye and I didn’t even get to keep a single fucking purse.

So I’ve decided. FOR MYSELF.

This will be my safe place, where I can actually make sense of what happened to me. I can appreciate my own writing, and my thoughts, and my opinions on my own without the threat of fear of hurting anyone. In contrast to popular, stupid, judgmental belief, don’t need an audience. I need to move on and finally turn, then burn, the page.

Literally. My goal is to finally get out all of these feelings so I can have space in my body to breathe. Then, I can (and I will) print it out and burn it in ceremony. Because, how fucking badass is that- to have this safe, secret with myself? Finally something for me.

The first promise I get to finally keep to myself.

I’m making a pact with myself that no one to ever be subjected to this story ever again.

No one will ever read this.

No person entering my life in the future will ever know or need to know what happened to me again. Because it’s not my story. And I DON’T HAVE TO TELL IT!

It’s the abuse the happened to me, which I’m calling the prologue. Which THANK GOD nobody reads or gives a shit about anyway.

For 37 years, I have carried way more than was ever mind to hold, and I am finally ready to put it down.

This is for 8 year old Alyssa who’s piece of shit father stole her journals because she was writing about the abuse. This is for 14 year old Alyssa who’s friends abandoned her when unknowingly writing about sexual abuse and coercion happening in her life. This is for 28 year old Alyssa who was judged and made to take down and remove her feelings online for her loser ex-boyfriend’s fear. This is for 36 year old Alyssa who was being berated and publicly shamed on the internet for saving her little sister’s life while her entire family lied, some of them ON THE STAND, and this is for 37 year old Alyssa who is still choosing not to respond to still protect her abusers who were also abused. This is for that Alyssa.. And no one else.

This time, we have no where to go. Every bridge has been burned, while I was dancing on them.

I might have “nowhere to go” but this grief finally does. And “nowhere” is way better than “back home” anyway.

What home? WE NEVER HAD A HOME.

I’m so sorry, Alyssa.

We’re our home. And no one is going to take that from us ever fucking again.

So let’s fucking go. I think 14 year old me would think not publishing this and telling the truth about all of these piece of shit motherfuckers is even more fucking cool and more fucking powerful and badass than I ever thought I was. And that’s all that matters.

I’m proud of you & this really fucked up inner child work you should never have ever had to do, Alyssa.

We’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. She’s okay. We made it. We’re okay.