These are pages from one of my more creative journals.
I’ve struggled over the years with the idea that I would write a book and tell my story. Many times I pushed this idea aside. I even struggled with the title of this book, changing it constantly. But I know now what I am to name it, “The Little Girl Inside Me”. It’s the most fitting of all titles to my past and the legacy that it left. I am not struggling anymore with the idea to write my story. I want to write it not just for me but for others like me who walk around with these invisible, but very much alive, injured little parts of themselves. They are the ones who got lost and fell through cracks. The ones who kept secrets larger than themselves. Secrets of monumental proportions. It’s the child inside with a pure heart that was tainted by evil. This book would be dedicated to all those inner children crying for a voice. They are the ones that trusted with a wide open heart and had their insides torn out. For me it left a gaping hole that I swore others could see. I couldn’t be me. I could never truly be me. As much as I desperately needed attention and decent human caring I stayed away in fear that they would know that I am not whole and that the scars I carry are way to deep to heal.