My first piece of writing was my suicide letter. I was on punishment, Mommy was stung out on drugs, my Grandma had taken me from mommy's house because of her husband's late night visits to my bed, and everything around me was chaotic. I remember being angry and hurt and wanting the pain to end. I wanted everybody to suffer and feel the same pain I was feeling and at that time my plan was to have them suffer the loss of me. I locked myself upstairs in the bathroom with a notepad and a No. 2 pencil and began writing. Fast forward 20 years and I am still writing. Each time life beats me up or disappointment sets in, I write. I'm no longer writing suicide letters, however the feeling is still the same-years of unexplainable and repressed pain. People who read my writings may shake their heads in pity, but for me, when I look back at my journals and relive the "traumatic" events in my life, I smile because I am still standing.