My Passion

As my weakened eyes gazed at my iPhone screen, on Instagram of course, I happened to scroll to a post that stated “Angry Women will change the World.”

My hazel eyes blinked and I found a single tear drip down my freckled face. I found this triggering post hit me with all the feels. Intense feels.

Triggering, but my wide eyes wanted change. I want Justice. And not for me because sadly my chance has passed, its for those that have a voice and deserve their own peace.

Women fucking power right?

All of us need to start rallying together and support each other with all the love we have to offer.

Change happens when love presents itself and you allow the love to fly you to the universe you deserve.

Turn all the hatred and devilish thoughts into a passion that gives your belly those Cupid arrow butterflies.

I understand the obsessive thoughts. The want to so desperately hit your face on a ton of bricks and let you life rewind.

The guilt. The shame. The insanity.

I understand it all. My whole world crumbled, but my rock bottom changed my world into such beauty.

My rock bottom was expected but overlooked or ignored because of the extreme creepiness of my Adoptive Father’s behavior.

Tim, my father for my entire life, decided it was in everybody’s best interest that he videotape me nude without my consent.

((That Dreadful Day)) 👈🏻click for story

Yes you heard correctly, Tim, my adoptive father, decided to hide outside my bathroom window, peak through the wide, white blinds, and videotape his own personal pornography of his DAUGHTER.

And then decided his creepy actions needed to be expanded just a tiny smudge more and decided to upload them to the laptop I used daily in hopes that he would receive sexual love from his DAUGHTER.

Of course I ran like fucking lightening, at first….

Over a course of a week I figured out that I was completely homeless. No car. No money. Absolutely nothing to my name, but loads of debt I chose to ignore and hoping all my past actions would just disappear.

Oh and I forgot to mention a Mother who was so desperate to keep my pale, white lips silent. My mother knew she was my kyrptonite and used her evil powers to overcome my traumatized brain.

All I wanted to do was protect my mother. I mean I wasn’t married to him, so my mind wondered what horrific actions he’s chosen to do to the one fake, idol I had in my life.

I decided after a week that I needed to move back in with my Mother and abusive Father and try and protect everyone from this horrible man.

Now I was a teacher, so I knew the warning signs. I knew what to expect from a mother who’s husband was abusive.

I was warned by others who were brave enough to tell me the harsh reality.

My Mother ultimately stayed with Tim and chose to live in denial.

Again who would want to believe their mother didn’t love them. My heart blinded my resilience.

Even though I was quite aware of the outcome, I didn’t want to face the harsh reality that my Mother, Rhonda, who by the way was a child caregiver herself, would turn her back on her child.

And fuck man, she was like the majority.

((A Note to My Mother)) 👈🏻 click for story

My “nurturing” Mother chose a man who not only videotaped her daughter naked, who also molested her child through her elementary years.

Devastation is an understatement of how I felt. Honestly there are no words to describe the excruciating pain I felt from every aspect of my broken body.

And the even more devastating part? Tim, even with concrete evidence, walked out of the court room on April 18th, 2019 with only a misdemeanor charge and a slap on the wrist.

The judge basically granted him a true Monopoly jail out of free card and said let’s hope you learned your lesson!

And fuck all that Tim learned from his trial is the next time he strikes he needs to be more subtle.

And for a long while that didn’t set with me too well. I obsessed about it actually. Constantly.

Constantly googling Tim terrified of what I might find.

And when the obsession calmed just enough to reach some form of sanity, my “dreams” decided to play a game of tag your it!

And by dreams I mean I sat in the corner of my ladybug wallpapered bedroom, and sway my body back and forth. Hoping for my heart to explode and for the bright light to come bring my broken heart to the joys above.

Again I understand the pain. The torment. The heartbreak.

But the day I found the courage to actually walk out my apartment door, walk head down to my black Nissan, and break my normal, depressing routine. My mind set changed for the better.

The first time I ever took a photograph, I battled my brain all morning.

My brain has three characters. My manic, reckless bipolar self. My depressive, lifeless self. And the self I destined to be. I desire to be my true self, Bri.

And on this very morning, the first day I decided to write a blog, I was going to change the world with my writing, which by the way, in my small world, I have changed MY World.

I didn’t make the sunrise, which I’ve learned in my safe haven, I took this photograph mid-morning.

And then the crazy part is, the one push of my finger to the iPhone screen, brought my whole body to life. My achy body was overfilled with the Cupid’s arrow of love.

My love, my passion is photography.