Not listened to. Not heard. It hurts when this happens. It happens so frequently to me. "Friends" do it. People who are suppose to care. The only people who seem to listen are strangers. Maybe that is why I miss the city life so much. I don't trust close-knit groups. I like being around people who don't know me. I like talking to people who don't know my past. It is a fresh start every time.

I want to share my stories, even if it's a little something from my childhood. My stories are not made for heart-gripping novels, but they are important to me. It makes me feel important to share the parts of my past that are good. People only focus on my past.

I was abused by my mother and several of my boyfriends. I spent my school years being pummeled by bullies. I spent almost a decade addicted to drugs. I was homeless while I was pregnant with my son. This is my past, but it's not all of my past.

I want to share the good stuff. Celebrating the good helps me erase the past. I just wish someone would listen.