I knew the evil that haunted her, it falows me just the same.

Time, time, time, the desire to heal...and yet more time.� And even MORE time.� It heals.� Reading your poem reminded me of when I began to have flashbacks from all the things I'd buried in my memories:

Songs of blue, songs of gold

Many things should not be told

Many things should not be done

To little girls...

And I am one.

You CAN move beyond.� It hurts - but the growth is worth it.� I am who I am because of how I responded to the shit that has happened to me along the years.� I hold my head high because I know, deep within myself, that I was never at fault.� NEVER.� It took many years to reach this point.� I had to want it more than anything.� It nearly cost me a dear friend - who risked it because it was what I needed to hear.

I didn't even remember what he did until I was with adam. and just when I thought I was getting beyond some of that there was MORE violation, posibly not so hainous as what happened to me as a girl, but so new and fresh that it shattered me. I dunno about moving on.

posibly not so hainous as what happened to me as a girl, but so new and fresh that it shattered me.

Regardless of what, exactly, happened when you were younger....it was heinous.� I find that I want to "disclaim" what happened to me: If I bring up the past abuse, I always indicate that while I was assaulted, it wasn't rape.� At 9 years old...does it really matter what it was?� It was wrong.� In every shape, fashion and form.� I also have to stop myself from playing the "what if" and "if only" games.

It took YEARS for the shit to resurface.� I had blocked it out for so long.� When I started remembering, I had things from when I was even younger.� Different places, different "men."