Who am I?

I have been told that I am too dramatic about my life here, that I am attention seeking.

Hmm...I have a friend here who says she really struggles because of the stories that women tell her. The stories they tell... they really are horrific... I don't hear the stories. Why? Because I live them...

I don't hear about the woman whose brother beat her for talking to a man on the phone. I treat her wounds from the beating.

I don't hear about the woman whose baby is starving to death, and whose husband won't let her seek treatment for it. I hold it and pray over it that it may die quickly so it doesn't suffer.

I don't hear about the woman who wants or tries to commit suicide. I hold her down as she is screaming and trying to escape to get the gas can and the matches.

I don't hear about the sixteen year old girl who is newly engaged and just beginning her life, but dying because she had no access to healthcare. I fight for her and and watch as she turns from a beautiful young woman to scarcely a waif and fades off into eternity. I hold her sisters hand. I keep her mother standing as she wants to throw herself onto the floor. I sit at the funeral numb wishing I could have done, wondering if I could have done... more.

I don't hear about the twin babies who are starving to death. I sit with their mom as she cries because they are refugees and have hardly enough money to eat every day.

I don't hear about the pain. I live it.