Friday, March 23, 2012

We are what we do

# Born to dysfunctional family, an alcoholic for a father and a drug addict for a mother, I am a prostitute living on the streets. We are what we do.
# They retrenched me at work, the bank repossessed my house. I sold my car and went back to my mother’s house, at the age of 42. We are what we do.
# A lot of people had warned me about him, they said he’s bad for me. I listened to my heart and now I’m fighting for my life in ICU. This is a result of my silence; I kept quiet while he continued abusing me physically. We are what we do.
# I had based my entire existence on our relationship. I lived for him and my whole being revolved around him. One day I found him in bed with the girl from next door. I died, at least not physically, but mentally. As I write this, I am held captive in a mental institution. We are what we do.

Sometimes, our grief is not a result of our choice, but the choices made by those around us

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