My dear friend and amazing, award-winning writer has started a blog and I’m telling you, you should all read it. It’s AMAZING stuff. Here I have reblogged one of her posts. Follow her, trust me.
Even as a child, I knew something about myself was uneasy. There is no other word for that feeling. It was not just the bad stuff happening around me and to me. It was not just my father creeping into my bed at night. It was not just the abuse drowning me from my mother. Or even that I was such a quiet child, without emotion, that I was something like a large stone.
No, this uneasiness was inside of me. It was in the way that my brain was never quiet, spinning day and night with thoughts I was unable to grab onto. It was in the way I couldn’t sleep at night, reading late, until I had to snap off the light or earn my father’s wrath. He was a dangerous man and I feared his large, rough hands.
And so I was a bookish child…
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