All the guilt and shame, all the pain I felt all these years, I thought were mine to shoulder forever. I contemplated suicide more than once. I thought the only way to end it was to end it myself. There was little hope. I settled for cutting. I cut myself just to feel that searing pain and watch the blood run down my arms or legs. Like a river running free with nothing to tell it where to go or what to do. It was the closest thing to feeling good that I could do. Just for those few moments, I was in control. 

 

Deep down somewhere inside there was a little flame that stayed burning, telling me to keep going for one more day. I never thought I’d escape. I’d rot in this cage. I would be a slave to this place. You don’t know how hard I fought to survive, waking up alive when all I wanted was to die. You don’t know about this life I've lived these roads I've walked, or these tears I've shed. 

 

There are effects this has had on me extending from living at home. One thing that I have had to live with as a result of this is my dislike for person-to-person contact. I don’t even hug my family or sometimes my kids. I have OCD affecting my sleep habits. I suffer from overeating. I constantly concern myself with my self-image to others, have had several unhealthy obsessive relationships. All based on my need to feel worthy and low self-esteem. I have nightmares, constantly. Nightmares, flashbacks, and post-traumatic stress syndrome. 

 

Every day I must fight the war that rages inside me. The constant argument with myself. The black and white of it, the good vs. evil. Everything I do is tainted by all this. Memories of my childhood dictate my life and even though I don’t express it openly with others, I fight all the emotions back and finally settle with the one easiest to control. Anger. 

 

I need to be and have been the strong one, the one who can keep a level head during all of this. They needed and shoulder to lean on and I took that willingly. But it takes its toll as well, I do cry when I'm alone. I cry when I wake from my nightmares. I still fight my self-image, my self-esteem, I take on challenges to prove that I am not worthless. I push myself to the max every day to not become everything he said that I would. Still somedays I slip, slip to that place that so closely resembles hell. The place where all the guilt and self-loathing all but consumes me whole and spits me out broken again. I fight and I fight to win. I use my anger to fuel that little flame that has always been there, burning inside, keeping me lit, at least one more day. 

 

How long do you think it’s going to take to get over these things? I’ll tell you; too long, much longer than it should take. It seems to me that time is not taken into account here though. Concerning this matter forty years with twenty suspended and eligible for parole after five? Tell me that’s not a slap in the face to this family, myself, my sister, mother, brother, or any other child who has or is going through this same ordeal?! I don’t want an apology; I don’t want to see remorse. I want to see suffering, the same suffering that I felt. I want to see, fear of what comes next. I want to see a total loss of control. No more choices, no more options, and no more DEALS!