This is my story of how I narrowly escaped death after attempting suicide. Life has a way of slapping the very breath out of you—painting the picture of suicide as a reversible option, when in actuality, once accomplished, there is no coming back. Once you're dead, you're dead.
After having to divorce my husband of 17 years due to him infecting me with the HIV Virus, I felt inspired to write this poem expressing my feelings of loneliness and fear of not being loved again.
It is the belief of the average working person, that one can never possibly become homeless, that it can be avoided at all costs... well not necessarily so, even the well prepared, life does happen.
How do you forgive the person that bears the title of spouse—who has infected you with the HIV virus? How do you overcome those feelings of condemning shame and worthlessness for doing so?