Why I Write ...

Purely as a form of expression to the emotions that run riot in my life at different junctures. This blog has seen several title revisions that also reflect the state of being and evolution I am constantly in. If one were to remain stagnant in hope of never changing their temporal present, one will awaken someday to much regret. Life is about living, evolving and adapting to the constant changes all around us.

My spot on the web is essentially a journey along with my monologue ramblings of my coherent mind accompanied by the incoherent thing called life. Read me if you like ... if you don't it is not the end of the world. I am at the very least a believer in humility lifts us further than pride.

Happy trails

30 May 2008

She May 30, 2008

She was probably not even 4, but he made sure her world of dolls and make believe were a shattered memory.

The vile things he did to her left her frightened, confused, unsure, not trusting the touch of adults.

He not only used force, but threats and physical abuse to keep her silent, telling her she was trash, nobody would help her.

She bore this in silence and fear. A growing hatred for herself for being unable to cry out for help from those meant to protect her.

She was 11 when in her silent hunger for knowledge she learnt that what he did to her was a hideous crime. She was the victim. She had the right to cry for help.

She was moved to try protect her siblings from the same fate and humiliation she suffered. She was 11 when she told her story and begged them to stop him from touching her anymore.

He stopped. but her childhood was over. And adults do not always protect their own nor forgive themselves. Instead adults remind her she was the one at fault and continued to make her feel she was a dirty piece of nothing.

She was 21 before she came to terms, that she was the victim of man worse than monster. She had done nothing to deserve what he did to her, nor deserve the mental agony of forced silence and heaped shame and blame.

Today she looks back and then forward, head high, defiant of anyone who tells her otherwise, she is a survivor, she knows hell first hand, she is still here amongst those who live with hope burning bright

She is I

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