"These are sick thoughts. I shouldn't think like this," the little bird thought.

"Nineteen years ago I hatched from my egg and I was put straight into a cage. I don't know what it's like to fly; my wings have always been clipped. I don't know any other birds I could talk to or any bird that could be my mate. I don't know what it's like to have a nest and to be on my own. I don't know what the cool breeze feels like."

No one heard the bird chirping.

"They shorten my feathers. They think I don't understand what they're saying, so they tell me horrible things. They abuse me."

The bird had no one there to tell.

"I hate those humans. That man and that woman. Especially the man. If I could get out of this cage and if it were possible for me to do, I'd kill my owners."

The bird felt sick to its stomach for saying that.

Then the bird began to cry.

" 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you'. What a joke... What if they abuse you? Do you just sit quietly in your cage?"

The bird sat in silence.

"Maybe I wish life would take care of them. Maybe I wish they'd die. Maybe I wish the woman would leave the man. Maybe I wish to have a nest in a tree. Maybe my life won't begin until their's ends. Maybe I want them to die."

The bird cried so much it couldn't breathe.

The bird hated its owners and how they made it feel. The bird hated how the man and woman hurt each other. Especially how the man hurt the woman.

Abuse in every direction.

The bird didn't actually want them to die. The bird loved them.

They bird felt disgusting for its thoughts.

A key turned in the door and the bird backed into the corner of its cage. Afraid.

The bird knew it would never know what it would be like to fly.

-Cassandra Alexa

It's so frustrating.

It makes you feel like giving up.

I've been living the same day on repeat my whole life.

I've been experiencing the same pain my whole life.

What if I can't escape this place?

What if I never date? I probably won't ever.

What if I never get to go out with my friends when I want to?

What if I never get to do the simple things like have a sleepover with my friends?

What if I can't get my car?

What if I can't go to the doctor when I need it?
What if I can't ever talk on the phone?

What if I can't dress the way I want?

What if I can't make my music or film?

What if I can't ever do the things I want?

What if I can't escape?

What if they have my life?

What do I do?

I can't handle it anymore.

-Cassandra Alexa

I'm going to do something bad if I can't escape.

I'm going to do something bad.

I cry out for help like I'm hiding in plain sight, but no one seems to hear what I'm saying.

I'm alone.

There's no way out.

I can't keep doing this.

I need help.

But no one can help me.

I'm stuck.

I need to be taken out of my situations.

I need to get out.

I can feel myself shutting down.

I need to get out fast.

If I can't then I know I'll do something bad.

I'm crying out.

Nobody hears me.

Sometimes I wish my mom or another family member would just hug me and listen to me.

Especially my mom. I think I should be able to have that.

Sometimes I wish a friend would just ask me how I'm doing.

Sometimes I wish a man saw something in me more than just my body and actually gave a fuck about how I was doing or where I'm at mentally.

I can feel myself giving up.

-Cassandra Alexa

I have a wild imagination, I guess. Because I have these wild fantasies in my head.

Maybe to other people, they aren't such rare fantasies or maybe they wouldn't even think of them so much to even call them fantasies; maybe they're not enough to need to fantasize about.

I fantasize about having my own place to live. Whether that be my own apartment, preferably (and financially unrealistically) somewhere in the city, as I adore the city life and the city itself; whether this place is Sundance Square, New York, San Francisco, or Chicago, any of those would be perfect. Or perhaps I have my own house. A nice house. A house in a rich neighborhood so I can say "Fuck you, I made it." to everyone who never expected me to be able to leave the hood (or to be living in their neighborhood). I want a beautiful house, with space, in a nice area. I want a safe car.

If I actually did get famous for my art, or at least very successful, I would have a mansion here and other smaller places where I need to be working, or in the cities I love.

Honestly, my fantasy begins to sound unrealistic by just thinking "I want a place to live on my own and I want a car I can drive."

I want someone to like me romantically. I want someone to ask me out on a date. I want someone to ask me to be their girlfriend. I want someone to have a relationship with me. I want them to give me a serious relationship. I want them to propose to me. I want them to marry me. I want to have kids with them. I want to be able to balance my work, my love life, and motherhood. I want stability. I want, for the first time in my life, to feel loved.

This is one of the most unrealistic things on my list.

I've never even had someone like me, let alone ask me on a date or ask me to be their girlfriend.

I can't even date even if I want to though. I can't.

In my situation, I can't get out; there's no way to.

And that absolutely crushes me.

There's nothing I want more in life than love.

And I will never have it.

It's just something I dream about because I know that's the only time I can try to create the feeling for myself.

But after all the dreaming, I have that sinking, empty, hurtful feeling, knowing that no one has and probably won't ever like me like that and that they haven't ever and probably won't ever want to be in a relationship with me and that, at the end of the day, it's not about what I want, because I can't escape the situation I find myself in. I can't. So that means I can't ever be in a relationship.

And that means I can't ever be a mother either.

Some part of me has always wanted to be a mother.

But I can't even take care of myself; how am I supposed to be okay enough to take care of them? And I'm afraid I'll mess up and ruin their lives. I'm also afraid I won't have time for them or my spouse with my career. I don't want that for them. But I wouldn't know how to manage everything.

I want to be successful in my art. I want to be employed and be able to make a living off of my art and get a meaningful amount of recognition and appreciation for my art. I want to do everything I want to do careerwise. I want to change the world and the world of art with my films and my music and acting and different forms of writing and any other career paths I chose to dive into, whether it be other film positions or something having to do with makeup and fashion (perhaps my own brand). I want to be able to live my life in the clothes I want and the makeup I want and to always have opportunities to costume design. I want to be able to paint and write for fun. I want to participate in all my arts for fun for the rest of my life. I want to spend the majority of my life just making art, as it's the only thing that's ever capable of truly and stably keeping me happy.

But what are the odds I can make a living off of my art? What are the odds I'll always be able to afford my fashion and makeup and art supplies? I feel sometimes that I'm not even talented in my arts. I also don't think I could handle life as a celebrity and the toxicity all around.

I want to have true and many friends. I want to be close to my family. I want to be close to my parents and have a good relationship with them.

I want to be close to God. I want to be a good person.

-Cassandra Alexa

I remember baby-me standing in the kitchen, bawling my eyes out because you had said mean things to me and yelled at me and were giving me the silent treatment/ ignoring me, and I just knew you were mad and that was my punishment and I begged for forgiveness because I didn't want to have you mad at me.

That's how it's always been.

I live my life in constant extensive fear that you will be mad at me. Every decision I make, every waking moment of my life.

I think about when I couldn’t get out of bed and you called me a pig and when I needed help and felt sick, so you called me a slut. And now I know that I can’t get help. I can only be perfect.

As much as I hate them, sometimes I just wish I felt comforted and loved.

Everything is about them. Everything.

Every decision I make, they’re right there at the top of my head.

I have no life of my own.

My life is a series of anxieties.

I cannot imagine escaping them. I cannot imagine a life where I’m happy and I have things that make me happy.

There’s no concrete escape plan.

It drives me so crazy I want to die.

I just need help and I can't talk to you.

I try to tune you out and be silent, but at the end of the day, I think about everything and I shrivel into pieces with the knowledge that you're mad at me for one reason or another.

I can't do anything right.

I can't do anything at all.

And now, because of you, and because of a man I once had a situation with, I'm extremely afraid of anyone who gets mad at me.

I've shut down and let my life slip away. I can't do school or work. I can't cook something. I can't clean up my room or bathroom. I can't drive. I can't get out of bed. I can't sleep. I can't stay awake. I can't send an email. I can't make a phone call. I can't talk. I sit in the dark and I can't move. I can't think. It's just a boring nothingness. My hopes and dreams are slipping through my fingers. There's too much to do alone and not enough time. And everyone else can do what I can't. Everyone else is not me. I'm not talented. I probably won't get employed or be able to get a place to live. I'm stupid. I can't have anyone there. I can't work out. I eat and eat and eat and eat and I can't stop myself because I feel so bad. I can't look at myself in the mirror, because I don't feel beautiful. And I just accept and know that, even if it makes me sad. I can't finish my art. I can't make conversation with people I have to meet. The cuts on my fingers and on the back of my hands are growing more and more and eating my hands away, and blood and cracking skin follow them and the sting pains me all day. I can't do anything. Am I losing my mind? They think I'm crazy or weird or I don't know how to interact with people or I get obsessed with certain topics. Obviously, everyone thinks something is wrong with me.

Maybe there is. Maybe that's why no one talks to me. But I don't know what I did wrong to anyone.

I need help either way.

-Cassandra Alexa

I’ve never had money. And now I feel extra responsible and I know I shouldn’t feel like that, but expenses create an ever-growing anxiety that makes me fear them more and more with every item I need. And I need these things and I don’t want to be a burden. So I have nothing.

-Cassandra Alexa