This text was the color of my mother's casket. It's very pretty but hard to see...like her.

I hope that this is the place for me, this thoughts.com. I need a place to write and write honestly without family, friends, or co-workers knowing my excistance here. I find it very difficult to truly share my real writings with people whom I know because I'm sure to hurt someone's feelings. At this time I can't afford to do that because although my world seems perfect to many people around me, I'm at my bottom. My life rollercoaster is stuck. I'm very beautiful. I look like a young Jane Seymore, but I'm not beautiful right now in my eyes. My eyes are what matters. I'm not depressed, just uneasy. Nothing is suprising to me anymore. I don't like that. I want my real mother. I want her here. 28 I am, and never wanted her like this. I wish I knew more about her antics. My antics are spectacular, her's must have been grand. She was pretty too. She carried the pounds well. She played Willie Neslsons record over and over one day. She was healthy then, or should I say not covered in bed sores. I suppose I'm a little angry that a doctor looked my mother in the eyes and told her nothing was wrong with her. That she wasn't in pain and it was all in her head....months later my mother pulled herself out of the rutt of having believed she was making up this pain in her head and got a second opinion. Indeed my mother had pain. The pain was cervical cancer. By then it had spread. Probably before the first doctor visit. But to know my mother had five girls to raise with little income and she thought for those few months she was crazy. That's what pisses me off. Could he not have just said, "No Donna, we didn't find anything."
People can't even die without someone stealing their thunder!