your story

i took some advice from Cathy & created an e-mail account: mystory.the.connection@gmail.com password: mystory1


i then composed a "note" on facebook expressing my ideas & hope for the e-mail account. i created this account so people could send in anonymous e-mails with "their story." it worked. that night i started receiving e-mails. 
here are some parts of the stories i have received.

Part of Story #1:

This was the lowest point I had hit in life since high school. I felt completely worthless. I was absolutely terrified of being alone in life and felt that I had caused my entire life to turn upside down. I began to turn inward with my emotions, as they had turned against me so many times before. I zoned out into my music, mainly Angels and Airwaves.
Their music was about hope. About dealing with the past and putting it behind you, while at the same time dealing with loss. It seems contradictory but it was exactly what I was going through: contradictory emotions. I wanted to be cared about, to be loved. At the same time I was not willing to open myself up to return the same emotions. I dove head-first into any dating relationship I could find, desperate that it would make me feel the way Meghan or Heather did. I was searching for a way out. I was searching for an escape, in all the wrong places. I was searching for an external escape, not knowing that the only way out was to turn my focus around and work from the inside-out...

Part of Story # 2:

I was in love with you as a person and friend, and  simultaneously I fell in love with the boy you were in love with......that's why we fell apart. I know it.

Part of Story # 6:

...our father is homeless.
he got kicked out of an old retirement home, and now lives in his car.
but he would never tell me this, mom was the one who told me.
i almost started crying when i found out about this.
why can't he just help himself sissy?
all i want is for our father to give mom HER money.
just because she has a friend that is a man doesn't mean that he can treat her like the dirt on the bottom soles of his holey shoes.
please don't let this ruin your day sissy.
i just wanted to let you know how i feel about life.
i love you.

Part of Story #7:

...next morning- headache. body ache. black hole. no memory. no recollection.
what happened?
once again i will hear the story from a different mouth, but they are my actions. my decisions.
i'm sorry. again. again. i'm sorry.
i won't do it again. i promise.
promises are meant to be broken.
like i am every time i look back.
i can't stop.
maybe someday, when it's too late. maybe then i will realize,
looking down.
some days it is better.
sometimes i don't black out.
sometimes there is hope.
sometimes there isn't.
good. there were no hurtful words.
bad. i'm afraid something will happen tonight.
forget.
i will.

Part of Story #8:

  Thrown into a world of confusion, embarrassment, shame and terror I needed my escape more than ever. I understood the severity of my incident but told no one.  It began to eat me alive, the notion of what had happened tore me to pieces. There was no escape that could do justice to what I needed. So I searched, for reason, I was lost and alone, looking for an escape. Sleep walking to the edge of the bridge, to the end of my life. Waking up at the edge, looking down...

Part of Story #9:

... It was a Sunday afternoon and the normal routine was in order. My father woke us up early for 8 o'clock mass. My parents began fighting on the way home from church and continued when we arrived home. My mother used to threaten to leave him on a regular basis. She would often times pack up all of her clothing into brown paper bags from Big Bear and put everything into the back of her Izuzu Rodeo, but always came back. On this particular Sunday, the fight began to get louder and louder. I remember covering my ears and crying. After hearing a loud noise my brother, who was about 17 at the time, left the room and we all followed. I heard my brother swearing and my siblings yelling at my mother "what did you do?" My father was covering his face and trying to calm everyone down at the same time. He kept saying the he fell. He was bleeding and his eye was swollen. I know now, years later, that my mother had hit him, and that it was not the first time. This became routine with my siblings and even with me in the years following. I remember seeing my oldest sister being dragged down a flight of stairs by her hair, I remember seeing another sister pushed against a wall with her arms up trying to cover her face as my mother tried to beat her with whatever object she had in her hand. My first time came in the 6th grade. We were on our way to school in the morning. A fight had broke out between my mother and older sister. I was in the front seat. My mother liked to speed when a fight broke out in the car, it scared us to be driven so recklessly, so, I spoke up to try and stop them. The next thing I knew there was blood running down my white school sweatshirt. I had been hit aross the face and my nose began to bleed. 

These are the stories from real people, from real life, some of them go to school here, some across the country, and some out of the country. I encourage you to share your story. Go to mystory.the.connection@gmail.com. password: mystory1.


If you go to this web address you can read the stories that people have bravely shared with the world. 


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