I was sexually abused as a child.
Alright, not the end. It was just the beginning. It was the beginning of steering away from the charted course of who I was destined to become and into territory fraught with awful tempests.
Sometimes, I do a completely moot and infuriating exercise, and wonder who I was actually supposed to be without abuse. I wouldn’t have PTSD. I probably wouldn’t have been a promiscuous teenager who turned to substance abuse to numb myself. I probably would have gone off to college like I was supposed to. I wouldn’t have become a homeless prostitute. I wouldn’t have been hit on the head by a stage light and lost most of my memory; I wouldn’t have become a Goldfish. I wouldn’t have allowed domestic violence to enter my life and stay there for years. I might have had at least one…
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