Reaching Out For a Hand of Hope

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By Madeline Auclair
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I’m usually fairly confident in my writing. My ability to weave words into an imagery of emotions but how to do that without appearing as if it’s all made up, like I’ve been told and taunted my entire life.

I’ve always tried my best to advocate for my needs, feeling like my words always fall short. Looked at like my pain isn’t pain but a tactic for the pleasure of attention and I can assure that is not the case although I’ve never been told it was more than in this past year.

One doctor who did a psychiatric evaluation on me actually documented (to put plainly) that all alive ever known is trauma. Mind you all the while I was in and out of consciousness after attempting suicide.

The thing is, I don’t want to die but I’ve some how spent the past year of my life as a hostage confined within the walls of mental and physical torture to the point I became nearly mute for a few months. For the past sixth I’ve spent trying to reach out for help to escape this state and get myself into treatment where I can learn the fundamentals to be able to care for myself to my best abilities.

However some things won’t heal. From him and from other diagnoses I’ve recently acquired.

I’ve found a treatment facility I truly believe is where I need to be but this relationship has left me homeless, jobless and without. I’m extremely agoraphobic and have been diagnosed with adjustment disorder which causes me to nearly constantly shake.

I want to live. I want to help others I want to feel the love I have to give and watch it echo on through and adjoined with the love of others.

Please help me. Please help me afford treatment and escape. Please don’t let me die.