Um pouco de tudo... que em comparação, é nada.

I don't want to be a victim, I don't want people to feel sorry or sorry for me.

I am aware that I have been through more bad things, in a relatively short period of time, then, 

well, most people. So much so, that would make many people, most of them, go crazy and even 

take their own lives. 

I don't deny that I went crazy, that I had outbursts, how could I not? I tried to kill myself, 

only to feel the shame the next day of not being able to do it and I swore I would never 

try again. But what I want people to see is how strong I am.

How much I had to find mechanisms to deal with pain and trauma, without losing

my mind for good. I Survived. I no longer hold hate towards anyone, at least not intentionally, 

which I can't control, I'm sorry. But I also don't want to be an example or a spokesperson 

for those who have suffered the same things as me. Abuse, isolation, betrayal, 

death, death, pain....pain. None of this has healed in me to the point where I can go around

giving TED talks.

I'm just here on this blog, again, to tell you a little about who I've become:

See, you can negotiate with a terrorist, but not with me. I have nothing to lose. 

When you lose everything, you become free. My tail is not stuck in anyone's hand.

I am, like everyone, the sum of my experiences. I deal with post-traumatic stress, I deal with it,

 I don't give up.

And I feel inside me, more than ever, that there is much to come. 

That even those who didn't know me will know me. And to those who did me wrong, 

even if it's 10 years from now, will pay. I will come after you. Not out of hate, out of justice. 

Including the omissions that took part because someone was a little coward bitch.

And if I think that the karma they received was not enough... 

You can try to hide, run away in the shadows... I lived in them for so long, that my vision 

is now predatory.

Life is a circle. Think about it, because sooner or later, paths will cross again 

and I will be there, not as a victim, not as a survivor, but as the monster unleashed inside me.

 

And here's a current photo...

 

Your eyes can't tell, but my grandmother was black... and no, it's not that talk of "oh, white people trying to compare themselves to black people because of a relative", I'm saying that my grandmother, my father's mother, was an African slave and a gypsy. 

And guess who comes to talk to me in my dreams, even though I've never met her...? That's how I was guided to find information about her on the internet. We are, literally, connected.