All these years, while I have known the truth of my past, I have been mostly silent. I had truly drunk the Kool-Aid to the point where I was asking myself if I had dreamt my childhood, rather than lived it. The memories were like a movie that happened to someone else. Now, as my daughter is nine, I feel as if I am hugging and reading to my neglected and abused nine-year-old self too, as if that ghost girl is also soaking in the love that I have.
At nine I was a fighter on playgrounds, a fighter for my mother when my father would verbally abuse her or physically threaten her. Later, she would fail to stand up and leave him, to give up the alcohol. He was the money and he kept that wine and booze rolling in. Addiction was more powerful than her love for her daughters or herself. I couldn’t pull her out into the light. I can only be in the light now.
Speaking the Truth Enables us to Hear the Truth
Graphite on 9 by 12 paper