The Absence of Grey

The Church’s Silence on Violence

2025-12-18T11:50:00.003-05:00

I was 15, with a long history of abuse. He was 25 and did not carry that history. I fell in love with safety—being warm, being housed, not worrying about basic needs. I also bonded deeply with a toddler who had two very unstable parents. At 15, I was being dropped off at high school by my much older boyfriend or his mother. Sometimes I brought the toddler with me to school, and later to college. No one questioned it. No one stepped in.

We quickly became involved in church and ministry, and everything was framed as a matter of faith and prayer. I carried deep guilt, which made me easy to influence through scripture.

Across my adult life, only two pastors—on two occasions I deliberately sought out—ever spoke directly about child abuse, sexual harm, or domestic violence. That silence increased my isolation. He was charismatic, humorous, and very talented, especially musically. I rarely attended services alone; when I did, people asked why he wasn’t there. I learned to stay quiet. He did what he wanted, and I didn’t yet have the language or safety to speak up.

Later, in college, I met people who helped change that. Through my hero, Kim Bushore-Maki, I learned about abuse, boundaries, and women’s rights. I also met Jamie Winston Tudico and her husband, Paul. I may never have told them this, but Paul taught me how to ask questions—to pause and examine teachings instead of accepting them automatically. He helped me recognize flawed arguments and understand how to step out of them.

By around 2007, I was no longer easily controlled. I began to question behavior I had previously been taught to tolerate. What happened to me, and what happened while he was away for long periods, was no longer acceptable. The emotional and spiritual manipulation stopped working. I wasn’t willing to sacrifice myself anymore. I had questions—about direction, about purpose, about why my survival always seemed to require my silence.

At different times, between my biological children and foster children, I was caring for as many as fourteen kids. From the outside, I was admired and even publicly recognized as a mother. Inside, I was overwhelmed and deeply unwell. I now understand I should never have been expected to carry that much responsibility while I was still living in survival mode myself. I tolerated harmful behavior in others the same way I had been taught to tolerate it in my marriage. I told myself it was love. I told myself it was faith. I was wrong.

What I see now is that accountability—not silence—is aligned with justice. Institutions and systems failed to protect me and the children in my care. Decisions were made that prioritized appearances over safety. I don’t place blame on individuals who were inexperienced or following direction, but I do recognize how deeply those failures mattered.

Most people did not know what was happening to me, and I take responsibility for not telling. I also hold deep gratitude for the friends who, when they learned the truth later, responded with care and horror rather than disbelief.

But some people did know. Leadership within my faith community allowed harmful behavior to continue publicly, even while serious concerns existed privately. When I sought help at Northridge Community Church, the focus was redirected onto my mental health rather than the behavior causing harm. The only time clear boundaries were enforced was in a different church community, Heritage Baptist, where leadership acted decisively once they understood the situation. That moment mattered. It showed me that accountability was always possible.

I Cried

2025-09-25T01:34:00.003-04:00

Today my panic was so bad I wanted to die.

But I didn’t.

I cried.

I went to goodwill to find discarded and broken things to bring home and

restore.

I cried.

I when to Home Depot and collected all the broken pieces of plants to come home and fix.

I cried.

I created a temporary pond for the literal thousands of tadpoles currently living in the pool.

I cried.

I pulled over on the side of the road and fed crows peanuts.

I cried.

I talked to my daughter, spent time with my son, and yelled at my partner for his neurotic behavior.

I cried.

I asked for help when I needed it.

I cried.

I washed dishes and cleaned the microwave.

I cried.

I cried, literally all damn day and I made it, feel your feelings!

I Hate it Here

2025-09-25T00:55:00.004-04:00

It’s been two years tonight since the worst moment of my life.

While my life has been full of trauma and chaos, not a single moment prepared me for the moment I got the call my son had been shot or the hours I spent thinking he was dead due to news reports and a hospital’s failures. Not a moment prepared me for the panic that sits in my everyday.

People tell me to be grateful he made it, and I am. But now I know. Now I know on the most ordinary of days, in the safest of places, my babies can be taken from me. I am also always scared. My phone never rings without my heart skipping a beat. I never see an ambulance or fire truck or flashing lights and stay calm. I have yet to sleep through the night. I carry a rage over my pedophile ex husband and his wife’s actions, or lack thereof, that scares me. I often choose drunk over panic. I’m heavy and have lost many who could not carry the weight. I have walked away from those who could in guilt of my presence. I don’t know where to go from here.

I’ve always been able to take broken things or moments and make something beautiful. But this, all of it, it’s something that should not exist. It is poison. Its very presence causes harm. And I can’t make it go away. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to exhaustion. I hate it here.

The Glitter That Would Not Leave

2025-09-08T23:47:00.001-04:00

The Glitter That Wouldn’t Leave

No one warns you that blood can glisten like glitter.

That it hides in the cracks, clings to your skin,

and shows up when you least expect it—

on your hands, on the steering wheel,

when all you wanted was to drive away from it all.

No one tells you the smell of it—metal and memory.

No one tells you how gunshots echo long after the sound is gone.

How they make your ears bleed in ways doctors can’t see.

How the burn of a bullet isn’t just for the skin—it brands your soul.

I scrubbed a car that wasn’t just a car.

I touched doors that still held the shape of their fear,

fingers and palms etched into the paint like a silent scream.

I was left to clean it,

to breathe it in,

to carry what they left behind.

And it stayed.

In my hands.

In my nose.

In my sleep.

No one tells you this part—

because if they did, they’d have to sit with the horror of it, too.

And so I carried it alone.

But I am saying it now:

I saw it. I touched it. I bled in ways no one saw.

And I release it.

Not because it doesn’t matter—

but because I matter more than the stain.

I The Coloring Book, Revisited

2025-07-06T11:15:00.001-04:00

You colored me in soft blues and greens,

Hard purples and reds.

Little black specks, to accentuate my most precious places.

You blurred the colors together. . .

so it is hard for me to see...

who it is,

I am,

anymore. . .

The edges of my body,

the outline for your work.

The insides forgotten

as you busied yourself coloring. . .

If only it were beautiful.

If only you had just torn out this page.

But He—

He saw the smudges and the bleeding edges,

traced every bruise like a sacred map.

He didn’t tear the page—

He turned it.

Where you left chaos,

He brought color.

Where you broke me,

He began to rebuild.

With golden light,

He lifted the shadows,

stitched the torn canvas

with threads of purpose and flame.

Ashes gathered in His palms,

and from them,

He painted wildflowers.

He made beauty bloom

in places I thought were only

wreckage.

Now—

these lines,

these wounds,

they speak.

They speak of survival,

of a hand that never let go,

of a love not built on pain

but on promise.

You called it the end,

but He calls it the beginning.

And I—

I will rise,

a masterpiece still in the making,

formed by fire,

carried by grace,

and alive with purpose.

Customer Service Voices

2025-06-28T21:24:00.000-04:00

As most know my current role involves clinical quality assurance. Essentially I listen to crisis calls and provide feedback, education, support to other counselors.

I also have had humans in my own world be frustrated with me when I use my “customer service voice.”

I can tell you with 100% certainty that a counselor, or myself, are never ever using that voice or tone out of anger, spite, frustration, or anything negative.

I can also tell you with 100% certainty that when I hear this tone I know this person feels overwhelmed, exhausted, scared, unsure, lost. They are fighting through heartache, exhaustion, and tears to show up anyway. They want to be kind when the world is not kind to them. They want to be a place of rest when home and peace are lost in that moment to them.

They are trying. The alternative is allowing those awful feelings and moments to take over, to be sharp, unkind, unloving. And so they take a deep breath and say hello and pray the next syllable hides their brokenness.

Nothing is Black and White

2025-06-18T07:44:00.002-04:00

Nothing is black and white.

Everything is a concept and in context.

I can love you and grieve who you should have been.

I can attend therapy over what you did and ache for what you could have done.

I can know who you were and be in hysterics over who you could have been.

I loved and hated you.

I avoided you at all costs and hoped someday my Pappy would come.

Please come.

But you didn't.

I watched you love others.

I know you were capable.

I know I was never enough to see that man.

You died with me settled on Easter after hot dogs, on ignored collect calls, on ketchup packets that should have not happened,

on do not engage in those activities, and what the fuck Is wrong with you.

You left and I’m broken, and grateful .

You cant hurt anyone anymore.

But am grieving because you also will never come home.

Nell Ditt

Pieces

2025-03-11T13:57:00.001-04:00

Over and over again in my world I have found myself in pieces.

Fault is irrelevant when the pieces cut me.

And I’m a master craftsman. I can take the ugliest and smallest of pieces and make them beautiful, or at least I could.

Compliments and Confusion

2024-12-16T13:37:00.000-05:00

Something happened this evening and I’ve struggled a bit whether to mention or not, but here we are.

I am one, someone with major social anxiety, and two, who absolutely hates the ambivalence and cruelty that has become so normal.

My absolute preference is to avoid humans, but I know that isn’t healthy, or helpful, and so I have made a rule of sorts for myself that when I do go out I will find one person to say hello, something positive, something encouraging to.

It is absolutely not easy. But I’ve done it and met some beautiful humans who end up sharing some of their story and I leave grateful I was brave. Grateful that this one day I saw and felt seen.

Today, I’m in a local store it was crazy crowded and my anxiety awful, but I reminded myself I needed to find someone. And so I did. A lovely older lady who had this shirt on that just made her complexion glow. She seemed distracted, stressed, and so I stopped and said, I love that sweater, it looks beautiful on you.

(It’s super hard to give specific compliments to strangers, so I typically stick with I love those shoes, that shirt, great job mama, whatever).

She kinda snickered and talked with the person with her about it being weird.

At first, I kinda spiraled, but then I thought how right she was. Yes, kindness, acknowledgment, communication are weird. It’s weird but doesnt mean it should be.

And so my hope for this person is that today, and every day after, she is surrounded by people who see her, who encourage her, who don’t let her forget that in the midst of so much darkness, goodness exists.

Fathers Day

2024-06-18T18:38:00.005-04:00

May your words and actions as a father define and consume you today and everyday. May every failure to love and protect be amplified when you need love and protection. May your every moment be filled with the terror you instilled or ignored. May the chaos you caused drown you.

I rest knowing my children will be better.

It’s Not Glitter

2024-04-09T22:44:00.002-04:00

No one warns you about how dried blood flakes and glistens like glitter that you just can’t seem to get off.

No one tells you how it all smells like metal or makes your stomach turn.

No one tells you the loudness of gunshots make your ears bleed.

No one tells you bullets burn the skin

No one tells you how fingers and hands sliding over the surface of a car paint desperation and fear that refuse to be ignored because it eats the enamel.

No one tells you.

I may never tell anyone either because it hurts my heart so much to say out loud.

Hope and Other Things I Struggle With

2024-04-02T10:13:00.000-04:00

This weekend my son took our 70 lb dog, Chief, kayaking. I need to break that down because I'm not sure anyone will get the magnitude otherwise. On September 24, 2023 I thought I had lost my son. I spent hours thinking he was dead and no one would tell me. Even after finding out I had not completely lost him, his future was so uncertain. Maybe he would live, maybe his hand might work, maybe his heart and mind would recover from the awfulness. The tubes and blood and procedures are so intricately and overwhelmingly etched in my brain that I struggle constantly to breathe.

On Wednesday this week my therapist asked about him and if he was home. I said, "No, he's at work, actually, I'm not sure because he called me randomly earlier and asked about a Kayak. Knowing my son he is probably somewhere procuring one. haha!" Not an hour later I go into Walmart and hear a loud scraping noise. I look up and see my son across the store. He was in public, in a crowded place, walking with a big smile and so calmly towards me. I've watched him in pain, I've grieved heavily watching him heal, I've watched him be absolutely terrified for months, but that day, he was focused on the kayak and fishing and all the last few months of awfulness didn't matter. I'm scared all the time too, that the son I knew would never come back, but I saw him that day, and in that moment my soul smiled.

Defund the Police and Other Stupidity

2023-06-20T20:49:00.004-04:00

Something to consider...Yes, when some crimes occur, police sometimes come and help with the immediate needs, coincidently by contacting other agencies (medics, court, social services).

That is absolutely not enough.

I doubt you will find many police officers who tell you that they didn’t wish more services were available to assist them. As a hotline advocate I have had that conversation with police countless times.

When we say defund the police, we are not saying no police. We are saying we need to increase the community and social services so that the police are both not needed as much and can link victims to support when they are.

I have worked well over 20 yrs with victims of domestic violence, rape, sexual assault, human trafficking, child abuse, and homelessness.

I can tell you that when you find out your two year old (or any child) has been raped and call the police, they may come to take a report, but, they call the Department of Social Services and Children’s Advocacy Centers to help the parent and child. Those agencies are DEEPLY UNDERFUNDED and unable to provide adequate support.

Human trafficking, child abuse and neglect is handled, or mishandled, the same way.

When someone struggles with addiction, arrest is momentary and a temporary solution to one tiny piece of the problem. The person struggling with addiction, and their victims, need medical care, counseling, and community support. Those agencies are DEEPLY UNDERFUNDED and unable to provide adequate support.

Let’s sit all that aside. Let’s say the most important thing is an officer showing up and arresting someone. Please know that even if the offender is arrested, they are most often released at some point, usually immediately, by the court system. When that happens, the victim needs safe housing or a shelter, free legal support, counseling, etc... Those agencies are DEEPLY UNDERFUNDED and unable to provide adequate support.

I speak from deeply personal experiences...

as a child who was abused,

neglected,

raped,

a woman who many times laid beaten and bloody on the floor,

a foster parent of children abused and neglected,

an advocate for victims of domestic violence,

sexual assault,

and

human trafficking.

I say that as someone who has lived and worked with all of these scenarios intimately. It is not a news report, case number, or social media post. It is my 3 am panicked wake ups, my tears while speaking to that Mama whose child has been raped, my frantically seeking services for victims from agencies who have exhausted their resources and cannot help them.

We, they, don’t need more police. We, they, need social services and community supports to both prevent and respond.

Wanna check me on any of this....pick a scenario, any of them, and contact who you think is helping. Prepare yourself or letdown.

M.I.A

2023-02-22T23:30:00.001-05:00

mentallyillartbyabby

A clothing line about escaping the matrix…I like it!

I’

They Left Me And Other Reasons Why You Preaching to Me is Tone Deaf

2023-02-14T02:47:00.005-05:00

I spent my whole life in church. I was abused by many in my childhood on a Friday and in church next Sunday morning. My ex husband would break my ankle on Saturday and lead praise and worship alone on Sunday because his wife "didn't feel well" or "was struggling with her mental health." I’ve read the Bible back and forth many times and can probably outdo most on quoting it.

From 1994-2011 I led youth groups, praise and worship, held small groups in my home, spoke in front of thousands about Jesus and my faith. And lots of things happened to change how I saw things. I respect anyone’s faith. I have solid Christian friends who I rest in their goodness. It is a constant reminder of who God can be, if people were not so rotten.

I just wanted you to know that the Euphrates drying up is something I know. I just choose to not participate in a faith that throws away people. I don’t think the God that I know would do that. People were soooo damn busy worrying about “the gays”, the end of days, tithing, abortion, that they always left me.

They left 2 yr old me being raped by a grandparent. They left 4 yr old me cleaning my moms blood off the floor. They left 8 yr old me clinging onto my siblings begging child protective services not to take my babies. They left 10 yr old me begging my stepmom to leave while I had more bruises than skin. They left 11 yr old me who was gang raped by 5 men, 3 of which attended a local Christian college. They left 15 yr old me who met 25 yr old him. They left me over and over and over until I finally decided I was leaving.

So it’s not that I don’t know about your faith, or I can’t recite the whitewashed version of the Bible, but that I know better. I know better and you should do better.

Emotional Resource Guarding for Child Abuse Victims

2023-02-14T02:13:00.004-05:00

I’ve recently had a painful epiphany. I’m aware of situations where my siblings and I will “find an in” on a typically strained relationship and we hide it, we tuck it away. We don’t talk about it because if we do, our other family may ruin or take it in some way. Resource guarding. 43 years old and I never ever thought of this.

I’m gonna go see such and such family member but I can’t tell you.

Don’t tell such and such I’m here

Shhhhh so they don’t know I’m talking to you.

It’s so sad and awful and gosh why do we do this.

They Aren’t Her

2023-01-03T10:10:00.006-05:00

To say the last couple of years have been the worst in my life would be an understatement.

Yes, I have fantastic children, an amazing Stephen, precious friends who fill in the missing places, and the most Earth shattering grandson that ever existed; but, at the end of every day, I lay down, and my heart literally hurts because my sister isn't here.

I know I should be grateful, and at times I am, but most times I'm just mad. Combined with other losses, it feels most times impossible. Combined with my literally begging people for "normal" I genuinely cannot find enough tears.

It's all made worse because I really do have all those people and things above, and I know that I have hurt all of them in this place. They are trying, they are some really phenomenal people, but they are not my Andreana. Or Andramada, as I called her, well, because.

They are not the baby I spent countless hours wrapping their broken leg in Saran wrap before I bathed her.

They aren't the little red headed baby I grieved heavily over as I bounced through foster care.

They aren't the funny little barefooted girl who hid amongst my pile of stuffed animals for photos.

They aren't the young woman who worked so hard to rise above her circumstances.

They aren't the Mama who chose life for her babies when she knew it might kill her.

They aren't my saving grace when life broke me, who gave me one cheddar round, and a sweet tea, every morning when she drove my babies to school.

They aren't the ones who laughed as I cut all the chocolate off my Snickers bars and ate it because the chocolate ratio was off.

They aren't the one who waxed places we should not have waxed, when we clearly should not have been waxing.

They aren't the ones who did the Cupid shuffle with my parrot with me.

They aren't the one who drove way too fast to Gatlinburg to rescue my babies, and piled way too many people in their little ass car, because they could get there faster than me.

They aren't the ones who grabbed my Mama and drove to Charlotte when they knew I had reached my breaking point.

They aren't the ones who sat up with me all night, for days, when I hurt too much to see morning.

They aren’t and can’t be. I don’t know how to navigate feeling this way.

What You Need to Know About Suicide

2022-12-16T01:19:00.002-05:00

As most know, I work in the mental health field and have spent the last two years taking calls, all day long, from people in crisis, many of whom are suicidal. Here are some things you need to know.

1. Every single caller I have spoken to thinks that everyone else is ok. I will say to them, “Listen, I’m sure your company loves and appreciates you. BUT, I’m expensive. Your company would not hire an entire staff of counselors like me if you were the only one who needed help.” Most give a little nervous laugh but still don’t believe me because when they look around they see everyone else doing great. So, I’ll ask them, "Who knows you are talking to me right now? No one. Right, and in the same way, you don’t know who else is calling either.”

2. There are sometimes delays with the National Suicide Hotline (988) or Crisis Text Line (741741). If you are giving out resources to someone you know that is struggling, give multiple options. An easy way to find resources is to search the topic they are dealing with or their demographics + crisis line. An example, for a new mom, you could search new parent crisis hotline.

3. Be nice to people calling you, yes, even unwanted calls. You really don’t know what the person is going through behind the scenes. I have been on calls with customer service employees who were in hysterics and would get a call and have to put me on hold. I would hear them take a breath and switch on their professional voice to get through the call. I would wait on the wailing that comes after suffocating oneself for the sake of security. That customer had no idea their actions or words could be what pushes that person to suicide.

4. Do NOT be afraid to ask hard questions. People want to talk. They are silently begging for someone to see them.

Do You Hear Me, Even Now?

2022-12-15T01:38:00.005-05:00

I’m sure it is no surprise to You that we aren’t friends right now.

I forgave You for him, and him, and so many hims, most days, my heart can’t breathe.

I forgave You for lost babies.

I forgave You for repeated patterns, loneliness, and even still….

You took my Andramada.

Fuck You for that.

And with that, most of Your people just stopped listening.

Jessi said bad words.

They can’t handle bad words or big brokenness. They have somehow deluded themselves into thinking it is what You said.

They forgot about what it must feel like to have nails hammered through Your wrists while Your people said nothing.

They forgot how much Your heart broke knowing He could have stopped this, but didn’t.

So many things I could say, but…..

But NOWHERE did You ever preach a prosperity gospel.

You knew it was nonsense created by the comfortable

NOWHERE did You ever say things would be ok, You just promised we wouldn’t be alone.

So here I am, the most screwed up of these, begging Your people to show up, because people are dying.

People are smiling on TikTok, being snarky on Instagram, and dying in the darkness.

So if they won’t, I have reached a point where my love for them is bigger than my anger for You. My guess is that is how You may have felt.

This should be interesting.

You are That Person

2022-09-18T13:06:00.002-04:00

Take a moment and think about that person. The one who you cringe when you hear their name. The one who, in one way or another, betrayed, hurt, or broke you. The one who you at one time loved or cared for deeply. The one who no matter what, you could not ever allow back in your life.

Now, guess what? You are that to someone else.

A very hard learned lesson for me over the last year, as I have learned to value and protect me, as I have put down solid boundaries, and let go.

It isn’t about restoration, forgiveness, or healing. It just isn’t.

If your heartfelt apology, or more, wasn’t enough, it won’t be, and that’s ok.

They need you as far away as you need those who have hurt you.

For me, it’s been accepting siblings and people I cared for deeply were lost to me. Not because anyone is bad or unforgiving or hateful, but because I have done things that they have decided are too much, in the exact same way I have decided about others.

And, it’s honestly the best. In distance and boundaries healing can finally happen. Not of relationships but of the wounds left by those relationships.

Stop trying to repair things or go back to places that no longer hold a safe space for you. Move forward into the beauty that is your tomorrow’s.

Safety Plans Or Bike Rides and Other Things I Missed

2022-05-19T21:28:00.003-04:00

When my kids were younger, I spent years caring for and trying to help others in need. People who never appreciated it, never apologized for the things they did, never tried to do better. I grew up in need and felt I was giving back, doing good, making the world a better place. I thought I was teaching my children to be kind, generous, loving. I gave and gave while they took all these beautiful moments and opportunities I had been given and sucked them into the endless void of narcissism.

I missed holidays and school events sitting in psyc ERs or meetings. My kids learned safety plans instead of how to ride their bike. Therapist and case managers became family and friends because I did not have time or energy for establishing and maintaining real relationships.

It took me far too long to realize that I mattered too, that my kids mattered, that safety and peace mattered.

I meant to teach love and what I taught them was that other people’s needs mattered more.

I’m truly grateful that as adults my kids are slowly unlearning and growing beyond the damage I allowed. I’m grateful they are learning boundaries and self care. I’m grateful for their forgiveness and patience as I am learning too.

Where I’m From

2021-12-14T09:09:00.005-05:00

Something I wrote using the "Where I'm From," a poem by George Ella Lyon, as a template.

Where I'm From

I’m from empty grocery bags from Walmart and being disposable.

I’m from the beautiful chaos of a blended family.

I’m from the mountains, the darkness, the stars that only show up when all light disappears.

I’m from the creativity of the Sutphins, the tenacity of the Freemans, and names recorded in police records instead of bibles.

I am from mistakes and misunderstandings but never giving up.

From, “It’s our little secret” and a God who didn’t see me.

I’m from the Appalachians, soup beans, cornbread, and hobo packs.

From the one time we tied fish to our feet for shoes and other crazy stories we joked about to keep from crying about the truth.

I’m from photos piled in bags left on sidewalks with the trash sorted through in desperation looking for home.

I’m from yesterday, a constant longing for everydays, and dreams of tomorrow.

His Name is Stephen

2021-12-07T14:35:00.000-05:00

His name is Stephen.
He is kind,
intelligent,
and
funny.
Curious and brave,
He draws her out of her hiding place.
His name is Stephen,
and it seems he has found keys
to doors and places
buried so deeply within her,
she had forgotten they even existed.
His name is Stephen
and he makes her smile,
and laugh,
and her eyes dance.
His name is Stephen
and
he makes yesterday irrelevant,
today lovely,
and tomorrow hopeful.

Her name is Jessica
and she has one foot stuck in the mire of society,
the failure of ambitions,
the tears of dreams lost.
But no worries my sweet friend,
because her other foot is holding fast in. . .
Hope...
Truth...
Tenacity...
and
Love...
and all that means

His name is Stephen,
and
Her name is Jessica,
and together
they will conquor the atmosphere.
They have time.

Active

Locked Doors

2021-12-07T14:28:00.002-05:00

She journeyed so far and so long to a place she was never brave enough to dream about...and just as she went to open the door she discovered it was locked, nailed shut by yesterday's residents.

Finally Broken

2021-10-30T10:47:00.000-04:00

In my life, I have encountered:

Abuse

Neglect

Witnessing domestic violence

Molestation

Sexual abuse

Rape

Foster care

Dating violence

Death of a parent

Domestic violence

Death of a sibling

Homelessness

Poverty

Loss of a foster child

Mental illness of an adoptive child

Mental illness of a parent or family member

Addiction of a friend of family member

Multiple miscarriages

And all of those things, and some I am sure I am not remembering, losing my Andreana has broken me. I can't deal. Everything feels broken all the time and I swear to God I'm trying but I'm tired and I just want my Andramada.