I always thought that being born on Christmas Eve surely must have meant something special because it is the day before the most Holiest days of the year, but for me it would turn out to be just another day, no different then the other 364 days of the year. So, that has often made me wonder what the day of my birth must have been like. Did I meet smiling, excited faces when I entered this world or faces full of doom? Was there energy and exeburance filling the room after my birth or did the doctor just whisk me away to join all of the other screaming infants in the nursery? Either way with the fate that lied ahead for me I can’t even begin to imagine that there was any of the joy and happiness that usually surrounds the birth of a new baby. If only someone could have predicted at that time what fate had in store for me then maybe I could have been saved the many years of despair and torture I would have to suffer through.

For so many years now I have been trying to break these chains that bind me to that horrendously horrible past that has haunted me for far too long. It is a past that I would just assume to forget anyway. But, it seems every time I take a step to move forward that chain gets yanked and it tightens so tight I feel like I am choking and the voices echo in my head.

“No you don’t, you can’t get away from me.” “No one will believe you anyway.” “You have a wild imagination.” “You’re a liar and you know those things that you say are not true.” “ They’re all lies, you made them up.” The voice is that of my mothers.

Everything starts swimming in my head. The memories swirl around me so fast I can barely make out what it is that I am seeing. I start spinning and spinning, as if caught in a whirlpool that’s sucking me down to drown. I have to grasp a hold of reality and fight my way back to the surface of this sea of memories before I get sucked in so far under I fear that I will never be able to return.

Before I do this I have to do a recount of everything to ensure myself that I truly am not crazy and my mind is not made up of imagined memories. I think to myself if it is made up of memories that I just imagined then where are the real memories that I should have to replace them.

I realize that I am still allowing my self -confidence to be swallowed up by that black pit of despair that was mine to keep for so many years. I know full well that what I am seeing is real, but it is so much easier to cling to that hope that maybe I am wrong and some other memories might pop up to replace them then it is to deal with reality.

Now I am just hoping that if I give my story away to others then maybe I will be freed of these shackles and chains that have stolen far too much of my life already. Maybe I can make enough of an impact on the world to see that it is crucial that we work harder to make a change in the process.  If I can only just succeed in that than maybe I can make a life that was full of cruelty and abuse seem more worthwhile.

I am fully aware that this is not an easy story to read and for those who have the strength to endure the book to the end I give you loads of credit. For those who can not; all that I can say is imagine that this is not a book and you can not just shut the pages and escape. For that is what it is like for me because this story is not based on fiction it is a true story and for me there isn’t any escape.  I can’t just shut the book and make it all disappear.

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