I still remember you…

Dennis A. Cross (02/14/1971-01/09/2006)


Thanksgiving Dreams

Thanksgiving has never been one of my favorite holidays. I love to eat, so I’ve always enjoyed the food but I think it’s barbaric to celebrate mass genocide.

Anyway, I received an invitation for thanksgiving dinner from my sister that I haven’t talked to in over a year that went something like this…

“Hey look I know we have our differences and have both said horrible things to each other so that being said. I think we should forgive and forget for our parents sake at thanksgiving so here is your formal invite.”

Unfortunately her memory of what she and I both said in our last conversation has eluded her. Luckily I saved the texts so that I wouldn’t forget that she not only justified my sexual assault at 16 as something that “all woman go through” and that only open-minded people like trump can “grab her pussy”.

Oh, and “Don’t come crawling when you need something because this is one sister that won’t be there.”

I was called a bigoted bitch because I wouldn’t tolerate her support for a bigoted, racist, narcissist who brags about sexually assaulting women. 

I’ll never understand women who voted for trump. 

And I’ll never forgive them. 

These women set back equality a hundred years and spit all over Alice Paul’s grave. 

So, I’m not sorry but I’m definitely not interested in having dinner at my sister’s. Check your texts sister, you were the only one name calling and victim blaming. Not me. I owe you no apology. 

Panic Attacks

I woke up this morning in the middle of a full-fledged panic attack. For those of you who have had one of these, I completely empathize… for those who haven’t, I’ll try to explain.

My brain wouldn’t stop with the guilt, no matter how hard I tried to think about all the really good things I’ve done lately. It just spins and spins… “you can’t do this”, “you’re not good enough”, ” you’re a terrible mother”, “you’re never going to get caught up on your bills”, “you’d be better off in a mental institution where you don’t have to pretend to be normal, to pretend to be like everyone else”.

These thoughts just toss and turn in my head until my stomach is in knots… tied up and twisted… and I just want to stick my finger down my throat to make the crazy, toxic feelings all expel from my body. But it doesn’t work. It’s not like a normal tummy ache.

My hands shake, my knees are weak, I have trouble walking. I can’t breathe because my chest feels like it’s in a vice grip. My mind is constantly chained to the guilt in my head.

I can’t concentrate on anything except the guilt. My ears are deaf and my eyes are blind to anything and every thing except the massive circular reference doing somersaults in my brain.


And over again…