I grew up in a home defined by trauma and instability. PTSD, depression, anxiety, and learning disabilities shaped my childhood, and for years, survival felt like my only option. Love was conditional, boundaries were blurred, and chaos was the norm. School was difficult—not because I lacked ambition, but because when survival is your focus, there isn’t much room left for dreaming. That experience gave me something else, though: a deep awareness of what pain, isolation, and hopelessness can do to a person. It also gave me empathy and a fierce commitment to making sure others don’t have to fight their battles alone. That commitment drives the work that inspires me most today: Boys to Leaders, a nonprofit I am building to help teenage boys and young men avoid being recruited into online hate groups. This mission is deeply personal. I know how vulnerable people become when they’re searching for belonging, guidance, or purpose and can’t find it in healthy places. Online communities—whether around eating disorders, suicide, or violent extremism—exploit that vulnerability, pulling people in at their weakest. I believe we can do better. Boys to Leaders is about offering a powerful alternative: mentorship, community, mental health resources, and positive models of masculinity. It’s about helping boys and young men find meaning and belonging that strengthen them instead of destroying them. When young men feel connected and valued, they don’t just avoid harmful paths—they build healthier futures for themselves, their families, and their communities. This work inspires me every single day. It also connects directly to my career path. I’m now pursuing a master’s in Health Informatics, a field at the intersection of healthcare, data, and human experience. After working in mental health care and later in technology, I realized I could bring those worlds together to create tools and systems that make real change. My studies give me the ability to design interventions that reach people early, before small cracks turn into life-shattering crises. I never became the doctor I once dreamed of being, but now I’m building tools doctors—and patients—need, and creating something that can ripple far beyond me. The truth is, this path hasn’t been easy. For the last 18 months, I’ve been unemployed as a programmer and designer. I pick up part-time work using my skills in business, marketing, and tech, but I’ve had to draw from my retirement savings to cover basic expenses—an unsustainable path that underscores how critical this scholarship support would be. This scholarship would give me the stability to continue my education and grow Boys to Leaders into a sustainable, far-reaching resource. More than just financial help, it would be an investment in prevention, compassion, and the belief that no one should be left to fight their battles alone. I’m deeply saddened that Christina Taylese Singh never got to see the full arc of her dream. I carry mine forward with respect for people like her, for those I’ve lost, and with gratitude for the chance to keep building something that might give others the future they deserve.

I grew up in an unstable, often unsafe home where love was conditional, boundaries were blurred. Chaos and violence were the norm. By the time I was a child, I was already navigating PTSD, trauma, and learning disabilities. School was rarely about learning for me—it was about surviving long enough to make it through another day. That kind of start leaves its mark. But it also gave me a deep empathy for others, especially people living with mental health challenges. I saw, and later experienced, the enormous gap between what people need and what they actually receive. Far too often, that gap is where people lose hope. I began closing that gap for myself and others as soon as I could. First, as a CNA in a psychiatric facility, then as a licensed psychiatric technician. I worked with patients in acute crisis—people in delusion, in unbearable pain, and on the edge of giving up. I learned how stigma keeps people silent until their suffering becomes unbearable, and how one moment of human connection can sometimes mean the difference between life and death. Mental health care, I learned, isn’t just medication or treatment plans—it’s trust, presence, and being there when someone believes no one will be. Eventually, I moved into a career in technology, discovering that systems, processes, and data could be just as powerful as bedside care when applied to the right problems. I realized I could merge my two worlds—mental health and technology—to create solutions that prevent crises before they start. Now, as a graduate student in Health Informatics, I’m doing exactly that. My most important project is Boys to Leaders, a nonprofit I’m building to help teenage boys and young men resist recruitment into online hate groups. This is a growing public health crisis. I understand how isolation, identity struggles, and untreated mental health issues can leave someone vulnerable to toxic influences. Boys are looking for what we all want: meaning, belonging, and guidance. But too often, they find it in the darkest corners of the internet—from pro-anorexia forums to suicide boards to violent extremist (and mental-health-destroying) spaces. Boys to Leaders offers a better path: real community, mentorship, mental health resources, and positive role models. We aim to meet boys early, while they are still shaping their identities, and help them build lives grounded in empathy, purpose, and connection. In doing so, we prevent harm—not only to them, but to the people and communities they touch. My long-term goal is to expand access to compassionate, effective mental health systems—combining my experience in direct care with the power of technology to make services more proactive, personal, and available to everyone who needs them. I believe prevention is as essential as treatment, and that we must meet people where they are, long before they reach the breaking point. The Autumn Davis Memorial Scholarship would allow me to continue my education and grow Boys to Leaders into a sustainable, far-reaching resource. It would help me honor Autumn’s memory by continuing the work she cared about—creating a world where fewer people suffer in silence, where mental health care is as fundamental as physical care, and where hope is something everyone can reach.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a doctor. I pictured myself in a white coat, stethoscope in hand, helping people heal. But my life took a different course. Trauma, disability, and instability were constants in my youth. My energy went into survival—navigating unsafe environments, coping with invisible wounds, and working around learning disabilities I didn’t fully understand. Dreams felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. It took years to find my footing. Along the way, I worked in mental health care as a licensed psychiatric technician, supporting patients in crisis. Later, I transitioned into tech, learning the tools and systems that power modern information sharing. That’s when it clicked: I could merge healthcare and technology to create meaningful change. Today, I am a graduate student in Health Informatics, a field at the intersection of healthcare, data, and human experience. My focus is improving systems that often fail the people who need them most—especially those with invisible disabilities, mental health conditions, or chronic pain, my own particular triad. I’ve also devoted myself to service. I’ve volunteered in mental health crisis support, mentored teens, and contributed to suicide prevention and peer support projects. Most recently, I began developing a nonprofit to prevent the recruitment of young men into online hate groups—a public health issue with far-reaching consequences. My goal is to offer healthier sources of meaning, belonging, and purpose before extremist networks can exploit them. What drives me is not professional ambition but the commitment to reducing harm and improving lives. I know firsthand the damage caused when healthcare systems overlook the whole person—and the relief that comes from being seen and supported. My mission is to build tools and processes that help providers treat patients as complete human beings, not just a diagnosis code. I never became a doctor, but my work is no less vital. I’m building the systems and supports that doctors—and patients—need to thrive. My path is about connection, compassion, and efficiency, so that healthcare can fulfill its true purpose: helping people live healthier, more dignified lives. Christina’s story resonates deeply. She achieved so much and still had so much ahead of her. I understand the weight of deferred dreams, and I know the gratitude of creating new ones. Christina’s dedication to helping others lives on in the spirit of this scholarship, and I would be honored to carry that forward. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education and expand my work in healthcare innovation. More than that, it would serve as a reminder that while our paths may differ, the goal is the same: to use our skills, compassion, and persistence to make the world a better place.

What does recovery mean to me? When I was young, I wanted to be a doctor. But growing up in a house shaped by inquiry, addiction, abuse, and dysfunction—where love was conditional, boundaries nonexistent, and chaos normal—I learned early that survival was what I had. Dreams weren’t for someone like me. I’m a child of the 12 Steps and decades of therapy. This next part isn’t dramatic—it’s just a fact: I would literally be dead without it. It took me years to realize I was living in reaction—to other people’s pain, to trauma I couldn’t name, to coping mechanisms that became their own prison. Recovery began with the brutal clarity that I couldn’t have a life while living like that. I had to build fresh. Recovery isn’t just being clean and sober. It’s waking up every day and choosing presence over numbness, clarity over chaos. It’s learning to sit with pain without letting it run the show. It’s being able to focus, to care, to try—and to dream—again. I never became a doctor. But I’m in grad school now, studying Health Informatics. I want to help fix the broken systems that failed people like me—and the people I love. Recovery gave me a future. I’m not chasing old fantasies anymore. I’m building something new—healthier, wiser, grounded—and filled with dignity and joy.

Hello, I want to be honest without sounding like a victim or asking for pity, but I want you to know the facts that make this scholarship meaningful to me. I’ve lived much of my life feeling like I’m holding an umbrella in a hurricane—staying upright, but only just. PTSD, depression, anxiety, dissociation, and learning disabilities have been constant undercurrents, shaping everything from school and work to how I show up for the people I love. In recent years, I’ve also become physically disabled. I live with constant, intense chronic pain. I can walk only a few hundred feet or use a mobility scooter. My brother is gay and lives with severe OCD. We didn’t grow up together—I’m older; he was raised by our father, I was raised by our mother—but we’re close now. I support him emotionally, practically, and, when necessary, financially. I know what it means to show up for people, even when it’s hard. So many people have shown up for me; I have to be part of that circle too. “Survival” has been literal for me. I’ve had suicidal thoughts since I was nine. For years, they were a distraction, a weight, a warped lens through which I saw the world. With therapy and support groups, they’ve become background noise—persistent, but less paralyzing. I made a plan once, 18 years ago—and checked myself into a hospital. And again, 15 years later. Still, I can’t pretend the idea of escape doesn’t bring a strange calm when things get overwhelming. So what’s kept me here? A stubborn, internal light and feeling of hope—however small—I’ve carried all my life. But also: connections. My wife, toddler, brother, “good” family, friends, those who’ve helped me out of kindness, chosen family—and an inexplicable refusal to let the people who hurt me win. I’ve lost seven people to suicide. A cousin in constant pain. A roommate who overdosed and died alone. Another who murdered someone, then himself. A therapy group member who drove into traffic. My mother’s long-ago friend, whose death I only recently learned was suicide. A unique soul who had just started antidepressants before hanging himself. And someone I loved—funny, brilliant, and gay—who drank and took pills until he never woke up. Each one broke me in a different way. They’ve made me into a kind of kintsugi: the Japanese practice of repairing broken pottery with gold-infused lacquer—honoring damage without hiding it, making something new and meaningful. Despite all this—or because of it—I’m here. I’m pursuing a master’s in Health Informatics, working to make health and mental health systems better, more compassionate, accessible, and effective. They can’t. So I do. Though I’ve been unemployed for over a year, I’ve used this time to return to school and build something deeply meaningful: a nonprofit to prevent the recruitment of young men into online hate groups—guiding them toward healthier paths that offer what they’re really seeking: meaning, belonging, friendship, and answers. It’s early, but it’s the most important and promising work I’ve ever done. People like me don’t always make it. People like Elijah and my friends sometimes don’t get the chance. Sometimes it’s just luck that gets us the help we need—or doesn’t. Which is why I live in gratitude and keep fighting—to turn grief into something useful, hopefully beautiful. This scholarship would make life just that bit easier. It would honor my struggle and striving—and every person I’ve lost who didn’t get the chance to do the same. Thank you for reading. For honoring Elijah. And for understanding that survival is not just an individual act—it’s a collective one.

THE CHALLENGE: DID THEY DO THAT?? Let’s be honest—Love Island is at its crazy best when trust is papercut-thin and everyone’s spiraling into a hysterical black hole over a half-second glance at someone else. So here’s a challenge designed to turn even the most solid couples into viewer-gripping emotional wrecks: “Did They Do That?” THE OVERVIEW: The Islanders are brought to meet with Ariana one by one, and shown short, dramatic video clips of their partner doing something, shall we say, “sketchy”—kissing someone, making out, trash-talking, flirting way too hard. Some of these clips are real. Some aren’t. The fake ones are, well, *deepfakes,* probably taken at nighttime, so they can be grainy and shadowy, making the deepfakes indistinguishable from real footage. But no one knows which is which—not the audience, not even Ariana or Iain. 1. THE SETUP: Each Islander gets their own clip, customized for maximum emotional drama. These clips, whether real or fake, look completely legit. Real lighting, real angles, real faces. Just enough ambiguity to make everyone question what they’re seeing. 2. THE RULES: NO TALKING—JUST REACTIONS: Right after watching the clip, the Islanders aren’t allowed to talk to their partner. At all. They’re taken straight to the Beach Hut to record a raw, off-the-cuff reaction—whatever they’re feeling at that moment about what they saw and heard. Then—and here’s the truly twisted part—that reaction video gets played in front of the entire villa, including their partner. So even if the clip was fake, now everyone’s dealing with the fallout of what that person thought happened. This keeps everyone guessing, even the partner. The Islanders watching have no context for what they just saw, or for what the person saw, only how they felt about it. So whatever reaction they have (crying, screaming, cursing, freaking out, etc.), their partner and the entire villa can only imagine what happened. Probably, of course, the worst. This fuels paranoia, encourages gossip, and forces everyone to face emotional insecurity—but without any facts. 3. DECISION TIME: After watching their partner’s reaction (or non-reaction), each Islander has to make a public call: “I believe what they’re reacting to actually happened” or “I don’t believe it.” No sitting on the fence. Everyone has to take a position. Once the reveal happens, if an Islander had guessed wrong: - They lose immunity - Their partner gets a free date with a new bombshell - The villa votes on whether they overreacted or underreacted 4. THE REVEAL: The producers open a classy-looking folder—leather-bound or woven, or some similar classy look, and for the first time, everyone gets to know which clips were real—and which were fake. Cue complete chaos, crying, apologies, and a lot of awkward “I didn’t mean it like that” conversations. Big-D Drama, aka pure, undiluted Love Island fuel. 5. WHY THIS IS AN INCREDIBLY PERFECT LOVE ISLAND CHALLENGE: This challenge feeds on paranoia and perception—two things Love Island is already great at and the very stuff the show lives on. It’s what the viewers want to watch. It pushes Islanders to ask: “Do I trust what I saw, or what I feel?” Which is exactly the kind of mind-melting tension that makes the show so addictive. It’s dramatic, meme-worthy, and would 100% ruin at least three couples in one episode. So… a perfect episode.

Dear Debra S. Jackson Scholarship Board, Returning to school at 50 wasn’t part of the original plan. But then again, life rarely follows the script you start with, does it? Like Debra S. Jackson, I chose to return to higher education later in life—after years of personal challenges, career changes, caregiving, and the relentless pursuit of stability and purpose. Unfortunately, my early years were shaped by severe trauma, undiagnosed learning disabilities, and the challenges of growing up with a single parent suffering from mental illness. School was more battlefield than classroom. Despite this, I kept moving forward. I graduated high school with a 2.3 GPA—not for lack of potential or effort—but due to barriers beyond my control. I eventually completed my undergraduate degree at age 41, graduating from UNC Chapel Hill with a 3.3 GPA in Political Science and Entrepreneurship. Now, I’m earning my Master’s in Health Informatics at Wake Forest University with a 3.89 GPA, while raising a toddler, helping care for my brother who lives with mental illness, and building a nonprofit to help young men and teens avoid online radicalization. Over time, perseverance becomes its own kind of talent. These experiences didn’t just shape my values—they defined them. I believe in second chances. I believe in transformation through education and self-reflection. And I believe in using every hard-earned insight for the benefit of others, especially my young son. My capstone project, BoysToLeaders, is an initiative to support teen boys and young men vulnerable to online hate group recruitment. It blends data science, behavioral psychology, public health, supportive community, and custom algorithms to offer paths of empowerment, belonging, and personal growth. It’s deeply personal work, rooted in both my past and my desire to offer young people something better—something healthier and more empowering—than what I had or what those groups offer them. This scholarship would ease the financial strain of juggling school, caregiving, and part-time consulting. More importantly, it would help me finish my degree and launch a nonprofit that has the potential to change lives at the moment they need it most. Like Debra, I didn’t return to school just to change my own future—but to serve others with knowledge, compassion, and a spiritually grounded sense of purpose. This scholarship would be a meaningful step forward in that mission. Thank you for creating this opportunity—and for honoring the legacy of a woman who reminds us all that new chapters are always possible. I hope to contribute to the dream of doubling scholarship opportunities by one day creating a scholarship of my own to carry that torch forward for others like us.

Dear OMC Scholarship board, thank you for your consideration. How This Scholarship Will Help with My Goals I never imagined I’d be here—a 50-year-old graduate student at Wake Forest University, earning a 3.89 GPA in Health Informatics. But here I am, proving daily that it’s never too late to learn, grow, and make a real impact. This scholarship would help cover tuition, accelerating my mission to improve healthcare systems and serve as a role model for adult learners and patients alike. Day-to-Day in Grad School My days start at 7 a.m.—coffee, toddler wrangling, and daycare drop-off. I mentally review the week’s academic and consulting workload. Then it’s off to support a local chiropractic office, tackle academic projects, or take a needed rest. Afternoons vary: coursework, client tasks, errands, or more studying. My academic work includes tracking patient risk scores, improving data flows, building predictive models, taming databases, creating effective data visualizations, and learning much more. I’m also developing BoysToLeaders, my capstone and passion project, designed to divert teen boys and young men from online hate groups using public health tools, stories, question libraries, tech, inspirational personal story videos, and mentors, as well as unique algorithms for tracking success, recommending changes and enhancements, and personalizing participant paths. Evenings are for family—homework resumes after bedtime. Weekends are a mix of everything. Challenges and Triumphs Balancing grad school, parenting, and caregiving for my brother, who lives with severe mental illness, is no small feat. My own learning, physical disabilities, and PTSD can slow me down—but they’ve taught me how to plan, adapt, and persist. I use assistive tech, break work into chunks, rely on a strong care team, and stay ahead where I can. My 3.89 GPA reflects more than intellect—it shows grit, focus, and purpose. Why This Scholarship Matters Tuition, fees, caregiving, and childcare expenses can pile up quickly. This award would ease financial strain—especially as I build BoysToLeaders into a working nonprofit. Every dollar toward tuition means more focus on studies and less stress about bills or debt. Career and Social Impact My goal is to reduce clinician burnout, improve system efficiency, and raise patient outcomes—especially in under-resourced communities. I’m developing a consultancy model to help clinics that can’t afford full-time health informatics staff. This scholarship, paired with my training and experience, strengthens my reach and credibility with those who need this work the most. Beyond My Work I choose to carry the added responsibility of being open about my disabilities and challenges. As a disabled adult grad student, I hope to show late bloomers, caregivers, and others facing obstacles that higher education is still possible. Every milestone isn’t just mine—it’s a signal that their goals are still within reach. Thank You Thank you for considering my application. I hope to turn this opportunity into real-world impact—and someday, fund a graduate scholarship for students facing challenges like mine. We need more of them.

From Misfortune to Fortunate Opportunities to Make a Difference In graduate school, I am pursuing a Master's in Health Informatics, focusing on health data analysis. My goal is to enhance the efficiency and effectiveness of health technology and research, making personalized, data-driven medicine universally accessible—irrespective of financial, social, or cultural barriers. Health insurance has changed drastically since I was a child, and with it, so has accessibility. Monthly rates (\$1,700+) and out-of-pocket maximums (\$18,500!) are amounts fewer and fewer people can afford. By increasing efficiency and accuracy in healthcare diagnosis and treatment, I hope we can drive those numbers down and make care available across the financial spectrum. My journey has been shaped by overcoming significant challenges. As a younger student, I struggled due to learning disabilities and mental health issues I was unaware of, and persistent abuse, leading to severe PTSD. These obstacles made school nearly impossible. In high school, I maintained only a 2.35 GPA due to these challenges, though I achieved a 28 on the ACT, showcasing my potential. Thankfully, the University of California saw my potential via those scores, admitted me based on my ACT scores and essay alone. Through perseverance, therapy, and other strategies, I have learned to navigate my disabilities—chronic pain, learning disabilities and PTSD anxiety, depression, hypervigilance, and flashbacks. Accommodations and determination enabled me to thrive academically. Today, I maintain a 3.89 GPA in graduate school, demonstrating my commitment and abilities. My lived experiences fuel my passion for Health Informatics. I understand firsthand the barriers created by disabilities, but I also know what it takes to work with them. Initially, I dreamed of becoming a pediatrician, but my challenges made that goal unattainable at the time. Instead, I became a licensed Psychiatric Technician in my mid-to-late 20s, providing care to patients with mental health needs. Years later, I returned to academia, graduating from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill with a bachelor's degree in Political Science and Entrepreneurship. Despite the odds—only 2-3% of students who drop out return to complete their degrees—I succeeded, earning a 3.3 GPA (EducationData, 2024). During this time, I launched a business in web development and design, which evolved into a career in the tech industry. However, my experiences in tech revealed systemic challenges. Many employers failed to accommodate learning disabilities or ignored ADA requirements completely. Additionally, I realized that my work in tech lacked the meaningful impact I sought. Observing the industry's trajectory and my own aspirations, I decided to redirect my career toward healthcare—a field where I could merge my skills and passion for making a difference. Now, I am combining my love for healthcare with my expertise in technology. Health Informatics represents the intersection of these passions, offering opportunities to address the inefficiencies in the U.S. healthcare system. Our country spends 2-4 times more per capita on healthcare than others, often with worse outcomes, such as ranking 39th (OECD, 2022) in infant mortality. Predictive modeling, for example, is a true game-changer, as is personalized medicine. We are becoming able to link health issues together that never made sense before and can plan to give the best possible care much earlier, leading to better outcomes. Personalized care allows us to determine the best possible treatment for an individual based on their own histories and insights gleaned from massive datasets—something doctors 20 years ago could only dream of. The incredible changes in technology and information analysis are making the massive troves of health data alone (estimated at over 1 petabyte—1,099,511,627,776 kb: 1+ trillion kb per day and growing) usable and understandable. This enables the medical and scientific fields to take medical diagnosis and treatment to truly 21st-century levels. As a former worker in tech, I have been unemployed for well over a year now, and I know many other coworkers who are in a similar situation. That’s one of the reasons I decided to go back to school now—because I knew it was going to take time in this economy and because of the massive technical shifts already here and arriving more and more every day. Inspired by some of my studies and internships, I’m developing a nonprofit to prevent the recruitment of young men into online hate groups, using data, design, and public health tools to intervene early and provide better paths forward. This work is personal, purposeful, and powered by everything I’ve fought through. This is one of my dream projects that I'm working on, and I will continue that while I pursue my career in Health Informatics. In the mid-to-long term, I aspire to establish a consulting group providing health data and informatics services to clinicians and organizations that cannot afford full-time specialists. We would offer data management, analytics, and support for Electronic Health Records and systems. Additionally, I dream of creating a scholarship for individuals with invisible disabilities like myself, offering resources that could profoundly change lives. Currently, there are few scholarships dedicated to students with invisible disabilities and even fewer available for graduate-level study. Similarly, resources for male survivors of abuse are almost nonexistent. While the scholarships available for women are crucial, men also need access to support for recovery and rebuilding—support that includes funding for education, therapy, and disability coaching. That is why, if I were to receive the Pastor Thomas Rorie Jr. Furthering Education scholarship, it would help alleviate the financial strain of balancing graduate studies, part-time work, and parenting my toddler, Toby. This support would allow me to focus more fully on my studies, internships, and future career in Health Informatics—without having to spend a great deal of that focus on getting rent paid, daycare, and meals on the table. Thank you very much for your time and consideration. I know you read and get many of these applications, and I hope you understand how grateful applicants like me are for these opportunities being available—and personally, to share my story and aspirations. While I may not receive this scholarship, as there are many other deserving applicants, I thank you who is reading this, and the scholarship trustees, for the possibility of being considered. ============ Sources Hanson, Melanie. “College Dropout Rates,” August 16, 2024, [https://educationdata.org/college-dropout-rates#:\~:text=College%20Dropout%20Re%2DEnrollment%20Rates,than%20other%20types%20of%20institutions](https://educationdata.org/college-dropout-rates#:~:text=College%20Dropout%20Re%2DEnrollment%20Rates,than%20other%20types%20of%20institutions) OECD, Data Explorer, 2022 [https://stats.oecd.org/Index.aspx?DataSetCode=HEALTH\_PROC](https://stats.oecd.org/Index.aspx?DataSetCode=HEALTH_PROC)

My favorite will always be the cartoon from the late 60s and early 70s. It is always brought me joy and the feeling that justice is possible despite all of the crazy characters in the world, despite terrible bosses, and despite the feeling of being – originally – helpless, weak, and completely unempowered. The theme song has echoed in my head all these many years and brought me great joy The theme song has echoed in my head all these many years and brought me great joy. And while this may sound silly, it gives me courage. It felt like each victory first Spider-Man against injustice, and evil was a victory for me, and for the world, and something that could inspire me to believe that the world could be fair and balanced with the right actions. Peters mask with something I have a dental fight with greatly hiding behind an external view that the world saw me hours, while inside, being an awkward and sometimes clueless teenager. I had a crush on Mary Jane, and then each episode she was in urged Peter to just make that move to do something, as if his agency could somehow affect mine. This shows writing and humor on multiple levels made me enjoy it all the more over the years as I got older, and understood jokes, but I never even saw when I was younger and contexts that made no sense to me at the time. I love, have loved, and always will love the original animated series. The movies are great. The actors have all done a fine job, though my favorite will always be Tobey Maguire. but I think the highest movie award has to go out to Willem Dafoe as the Green Goblin. "Don't tell Harry."

My song: THE GRUDGE. While this song is clearly about a romantic relationship, to me it rings true to me about the extreme childhood abuse I suffered from my mother until I left home, even a few years after until I was able to further separate from her, and the reflections of it I lived in my life that plagued me for many years. My waking life was a nightmare, no break from the nightmares I had while sleeping. I was exhausted. I woke up and cried in the shower every morning before I could start my day. I cried at lunch. I wanted to cry forever. My trust was betrayed, everything was taken from me, I felt crushed between my mother’s finger – who to this day has no idea that anything she did was wrong despite constant emotional, sexual, and physical abuse. She believes she was a “great mother” and that I am making this all up because I was angry at my father and have fantasies about her, or that somehow my therapists made me believe all this. Insane, right? For so long, I held on to every detail as if my life depended on it, the truth of who I am, the truth of why I was the way I was, and what I needed to do to heal. I was terrified to let go of any of it as it was the only identity that I had. I was enraged with her for what seemed like forever, it consumed me, an “undying grudge,” and not surprisingly, I hear her voice still, every time I think I’m not enough. I have learned to hide it, to “be tough,” but I was screaming inside, trapped in wondering how anybody could do the things she did so easily. I couldn’t let it go, I tried for so long, but have mostly been able to with years of therapy and treatment and psych meds. I have spent thousands of hours arguing with her in my head, screaming at her, fantasizing different outcomes in which I win, dreaming about a time when she’s “a little fuckin’ sorry,” which will never come, of course. I tried for so long to understand why she would do all this to me, and it’s true, she is a narcissist, insecure and unhappy, abused herself, and has no idea why; she is a livid victim to everything. Of course, people hurt people, and more than ever, we realize that child abuse, sadly, is and has been widespread. But those of us on the path of healing and breaking the cycle are changing the world, each one of us at a time, and with each child we raise with dignity and respect and kindness I couldn’t draw blood from her as a child, though I wished with all my heart that I could … but once I was an adult and not scared of her, you better believe I did. But the childhood cuts, the scars left, each a memory, the psychic damage — the power was never equal. Which is what abuse is all about. Power. Control. Insecurity. Retraumatizing ourselves and everyone around us.