While a few people know parts of my story, no one knows every piece of the puzzle of my life.  Hell, I don’t even know every piece.  There are significant time periods in my life that I have no memory of, especially in my childhood.  Sometimes, my mind likes to torture me in the form of flashbacks – because experiencing it the first time wasn’t enough.  I probably should have been more specific when I begged myself to remember more.

I wish I could remember more than I have.  Most of my memories are traumatic ones.  I remember few, if any, periods in my life where I was happy and felt safe and loved.  Did I ever experience that?  I would like to think that I did, but I will probably never know for sure.

I could focus this blog only on the future, and on the positive experiences of my life, but what good will that do?  I feel like in order to understand my present situation, you have to understand my past.  In recovery, they encourage you to focus on the future.  People rarely want to talk about the trauma, the pain, the reality of their pasts.  But I do.  I want people to know that things like this actually happen.  That parents aren’t perfect.  That mothers hurt their own children.  If we refuse to talk about it, people will never acknowledge that it happens, and victims will continue to stay victims instead of becoming survivors.

I used to be ashamed of my past.  To be perfectly honest, I still go through periods of intense shame and self-blame.  I probably will for the rest of my life.  But something in me changed.  I am no longer afraid to acknowledge the reality of my past because it will always be a part of who I am.  I have come to accept that maybe, just maybe, there is a greater reason that I endured all the shit that I have endured.  I need to be the voice for those that cannot find theirs.