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At the age of 16 i was molested three times and have never talked to anyone about it. Is there anyone that has had the same experience that i can talk this though with so they understand what i am going through. I am now 38 but still having trouble with this and now i have a phobia of men. is there anyone out there who can help me

My Mom is gone. She passed away. How do you get back to normal? When does the empty feeling go away? I want to be happy and celebrate her life. She was wonderful. I told her. Now how does life go on without her?
Help.......help......help......

I would like to know some of the best dates you folks have had during the summer...

The best date I had was one summer day/evening went to williamsburg via the jamestown ferry at sunset then took the colonial parkway and stopped at the lil beaches along the way just hanging out and talking getting to know one another! The best part was it didnt cost anything but a tank of gas and a few snacks from 7-11

Greetings from Malta

My name is Sandra and am 37 of age
I am single and yes looking for a serious relationship with an honest and caring guy.
Distance has to be no problem for you as for me is too. I am an Nurse and work in a private retirement home.
I would like to have emails from u but who is fooling around pls dont reply

Sandra

I am interested in knowing what qualities you find attractive in a woman?

I still love New York! I think if I had not just signed up for my total dream job two months ago I might have have made the effort to stay. First of all I just had one of those perfect vacation weeks where time just flows without rushing and despite the fact that I was out every day, walked miles, and never stopped I feel refreshed and rested(!) and completely energized to be back. I managed to get all the new books published by my favorite authors -books weigh a lot en masse- and stocked up on classic rock and others hits for the '70's and '80's segments of my radio show. It was also pretty cool to run into people who haven't seen me in over two years and have them say OMG and rush to hug me. Oh, and I watched televison for the first time in about ten months and there still isn't much on. Although it was fun watching the finale of American Idol. In HD the 'overcome with emotion' at the end looked totally plastic - not a tear in sight (the eyes didn't even fill with tears that didn't overflow) despite all the posturing.

So now I am back in Barbados and need to catch up on the blogs and the forums (not this morning!) and slide back into my life here (which of course has continued quite successfully without me). Maybe I'll even unpack!

im getting surgrey on my feet in 3 weeks my bones are conecting and im in pain all the time im just scared about gett the surgrey.

YOUNG, FUN, SMART, AND AVAILIABLE FOR THE GROWN AND SEXY.

My pain to day is the pain, I caused others. I always want to be a great man but I am more of a coward. No hero, no knight in shining amour just a little stupid man. Afraid of myself and the consequences of my actions.
I hurt some today, a person that I love, but not enough. I am try to clean the peaces around me and it hurts even more. Be cause what I have broken i wanted to protect. And it shards are diving deep in to my soul.
Do I have still a soul and who am I to cause this pain to others and my self.

I am scarred of myself for myself


@}~~}~~ I put a flower on our loves grave please forgive me.



Dont worry I am better now. :)

She had become hypnotically oblivious to the bustling city she had traveled so far to see. As the surrounding crowds scurried about the fleeting business of their lives, she lingered in the past, silently assimilating the centuries before. Coming home to an alien culture she was at last embracing as her own, the tears of her ancestors' despair began to burn into her cheeks.
This was my daughter, part of the rage generation. And yet, at this moment, she only felt the rage of disinherited generations before her---proud clans who cherished honor above life itself and knew only sorrow as their song. She was brushing her soul against their endless struggle, touching the hope it bore and the despair it left behind. Their blood flowed through her veins, and yet she had not carried the cost of its letting. But here, here---on this holy ground---she had become in her mind and spirit at least, Irish. And proud I was.
She was sobbing unashamedly there in front of the monument to Bloody Sunday, which commemorates a single day in over 800 long years of British interference in Irish Ways. The monument is located in Derry, a town divided right down the middle between Ireland and British-occupied Northern Ireland. The half of town seized by the Crown has been named Londonderry, just another British tactic to add insult to injury. The other half of the town resting in an independent Ireland is called, appropriately, Free Derry. Of course, it’s only the Irish you’ll be hearing call it that. Don’t be expecting to hear that name cross the lips of a British soldier.
Here, on January 30, 1972, British soldiers opened fire on a group of unarmed citizens protesting internment without trial, a policy recently instigated by the British government. A few minutes later, 13 unarmed Irishmen were left lying dead in the streets along with a number others wounded. As undemocratic as this was, though, it was only one in a long line of British atrocities. My daughter was well versed in many of these atrocities and for her at this moment, the monument to Bloody Sunday was a connector switch to them all---including the ancient time when Irish clans united in horrible, ferocious battles to keep the British on their own island. All to no avail, however, for here she stood centuries later on Irish ground, in the shadow of British “listening towers” used to eavesdrop on even the most intimate conversations of the Irish.
With the heaviness of the long Irish struggle pressing against her heart, my daughter didn't notice the old Irish gentleman who had heard the cry of her tears and stepped forward to honor them. He shuffled his way out of the masses and anchored himself sadly at her side, his own tears beginning to find their way through familiar wrinkled pathways carved into his leathery face. As they fell, they bore testimony to the validity of a new generation of tears streaming down the face of my daughter. He patted his weathered hand gently but firmly upon her shoulder and she suddenly knew he, as she, was connected with all who came before. And so, weeping together in silent homage before that monument, the two of them shared the weight of their tears.
Neither said a word. Neither had to.
My daughter was part of Ireland now, and it would forever be part of her. It and its Irish Ways.