Bye Daniel, Hello A.R.E. Pt. 3

Talk about funny! Donald was hilarious and had a laugh that made you laugh, just because. Infectious. But that was him. He was kind, thoughtful, affectionate, and interested in shy ole me. I don’t know why talking to him made me think of my father. I secretly thought of my father whenever a male treated…

Things Changed Pt. 2

Wednesday came. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want anything metal or non metal sticking me anywhere. I cried on the inside but walked into the doctors office and sat with my grandmother like a G. But, I wasn’t a G at all. Not. At. All. “Angela Diggs”, called the nurse. Oh my god. That’s MY…

Things Changed

Not sure why I ran away but I’m sure I had a good reason. Probably not but that’s what I’m going with for now. Oh, I remember! I missed my mother. I missed my sister and I desperately missed my nieces and nephew who I was missing out on getting to see grow up. Police,…

Things Get Better, Just Not Quite Yet Pt. 2

I somehow turned into a menace. The sweet little girl who was battling all kinds of mental issues because of what had been done prior to being relocated, it all took a toll on me. I hated the fact that my grandmother worked for white people, who I believe were younger than her, if only…

Things Get Better, Just Not Quite Yet

Just a year after my 8-year-old self was (I loathe using the word) molested, I was relocated to South Carolina to live with my grandmother and great-grandmother. I was 9 years old when I realized my mom couldn’t take care of me anymore. I was torn between “can’t” and “didn’t want to”. It was a…

Naive Little Black Girl Pt. 2

When you don’t speak up about bad things that happen in your childhood, it follows you as an adult; trust me I know. After being silenced, internally, by the events that took place, I didn’t know how different my outlook on men or even people would be… But it did change. I hated people. I…

Naive Little Black Girl

You never know how to start telling other people about the bad things that have gone on in your life, or how you’re battling mental issues. How does that even come up? How do you begin to speak on it? Well I dont know but here it goes: I was about 8 years old when…