Here and Now

Dedicated to all of the women lost to eating disorders, trauma, and depression.  Lost Girls We will always wait for you arms outstretched fingers reaching wanting, hoping the air pulsating,  throbbing  our hearts heavy Plum, orchid, periwinkle waiting, dripping, bleeding Unable to lift the weight of your head away from your neck Your  chin rests against your heart steady thrumming like a kitten you purr Humming breath your pulse racing ahead of your words Breathe, Breathe, please, breathe Flashes of you ... l aughing, smiling, pleading, crying We are here now  to keep you safe our bodies filled with your voice we will speak...                                             ...

I often have flashbacks and dreams about the sick details of being raped, but I can hardly ever say those details out loud. I have told my therapist some things, but up until now, I never knew that I had also told my mother, and that when I told her, it was out of anger. Anger is a difficult emotion for me to be honest about, and I tend to shove it down as deep as I can get it. My mom said that it was before I went into treatment for the eating disorder, which means it would have been about four years ago. At that point, I had not told my therapist much of anything other than it had happened. I was in a dissociative state when I told her and I don't remember it at all. I haven't talked to my husband about it yet, but she said that he was there, and that later when she came back downstairs, I was sitting in his lap, crying. That tells me that I was back inside the mind of an eleven year old girl. I don't like to think that I'm angry with her about it. As I child, I don...

“In spite of language, in spite of intelligence and intuition and sympathy, one can never really communicate anything to anybody. The essential substance of every thought and feeling remains incommunicable, locked up in the impenetrable strong-room of the individual soul and body. Our life is a sentence of perpetual solitary confinement.” ~ Aldous Huxley There is deep within, a depth of despair that I cannot seem to find the words for… that I seem unable, or maybe it is unwilling to express. In desperation, I reach into my own silence, and I’m drowning inside. I tell myself that no one understands how empty and stolen I feel, as if my soul has been ripped away, and can never be repaired. Never is such a child’s word. Never is eternity, an endless chasm in which I’ve fallen. I don’t remember asking you to promise that you would never leave. “Never ever,” I said, like a little girl, but promises are also for children, and you can’t, you reply. I’m embarrassed by your memory, because mine...

"The 1000 Journals Project is an ongoing collaborative experiment attempting to follow 1000 journals throughout their travels. The goal is to provide a method for interaction and shared creativity among friends and strangers. Those who find the journals add something to them. A story, drawing, photograph, anything really. Then they pass the journal along, to a friend or stranger, and the adventure continues." For more information about the book or documentary, go to http://1000journals.com/ I started a journal for survivors of sexual abuse to share their story, poetry, and artwork. Here is the cover and scanned pages from Jessieh Speaks , a seventeen year old sexual abuse survivor who is wise and gifted beyond her years. ~The cover of Journal 2800~ Jessieh's journal pages

All-American Girl I read about her silent perfection in the library at lunchtime Filled with laughing girls The crude language of boys Behind opened books a dark mind She, who has everything held in her pristinely manicured fingers that tremble with jumbled colors bouncing in the palm of her hand Because all she can ever hear is Fur Elise ringing in her ears Angela Minard 2008

This is for Jenny at artconstellation It doesn't matter if they say, "Do not tell." It is our hearts... Pieces of our soul that give warning. I'll Never Tell The pressure of fingers Their hands around my throat You tell and we'll kill you "You liked it you know" I hear their voices from deep Deep inside my head I smell them all over me Stinging fear salty tears I feel their rage Urgent and angry Warm breath Whispered hate I want them off of me Their blackness surrounding me Oh, I'm disgusting So disgusting Did I tell them? "You liked it you know" I'll never tell

~Today is Angela Shelton Day~ Report IT! We will all Report IT on the same day. The Report IT Campaign is a nationwide state-to-state rally to report sexual violence and abuse on the same day! It was created to raise awareness on the vast under-reporting of sexual assault including rape, incest, and abuse. ~April 29, 2008~ hailed Angela Shelton Day. People nationwide will show up at their local county courthouses on April 29th! Together we will break the silence and the cycle! You can fill out the online form anytime on or before April 29th. This IS NOT an official police report! Thank you for Reporting IT! Share where you'll be Reporting IT on Upcoming Events! Need to talk to someone? Free, confidential - 800-656-HOPE History of the Report IT campaign In Angela Shelton’s award-winning documentary “ Searching for Angela Shelton ”, she surveyed women in the US with her same name. As she began interviewing other Angela Sheltons, she found that 70% had been victims of rape, childho...

I started a blog on myspace almost a year ago, titled Conversations With Claudia , and this was my first post. Who is Claudia? She is not my friend, but she has been a part of my life for a very long time. She is the voice of my eating disorder. A voice that over time, has crowded out my own thoughts and beliefs. I'm hoping that someday I will leave her behind. I have an amazing therapist and also a nutritionist who thought it would be a good idea to give my eating disorder a seperate identity from myself. It would be a way to delineate between my own voice and the voice of the eating disorder. I'm finally beginning to see how often Claudia talks to me. She is bossy, demanding, snide, snotty, and degrading. She is also the one with the control most of the time, but I know that needs to change if I am to survive. I remember the first time she spoke to me. I was seven years old, sitting in church, and looking down at my thighs as I sat in the pew. "Your legs are so fat,...

Another early morning, and the battle between my mind and my body begins. Again. I have every intention of giving up some of the behaviors that just fuel my downward spiral. I am too ashamed to even say what those behaviors are, and I'm definitely not proud of the things that I have done in order to hide from myself. I spent almost my entire life with the secret shame of being raped. When I let go of that secret, I almost felt as if I were mourning the loss of something that I held very dear. I felt so exposed that I began to find other secrets that I could keep. A way to keep something for just myself, and a way to distance myself from the very people that I trusted enough to tell. Who will be there to catch me when I fall? I want to believe and trust that I won't be abandoned, but I haven't been able to take that leap of faith. The secrets must end if I am to survive, and I do believe that I can let go of them. I am going to be honest in saying that right now I am activel...

I feel my own breath being smothered. My voice silenced as if I were the child that I can't seem to leave behind. I can't leave her behind.

My name is Angela. I was raped by two men when I was eleven years old. It was brutal and ugly and I kept it hidden from everyone but myself for twenty nine years. I have finally found my voice. I'm trying to use it!