Since I was little, I've been called picky. When I was old enough to try new things — I didn't.
I must have seen a half dozen psychologists in as many years. Why couldn’t any of them figure out what was wrong with me?
I consider everything up to the moment I moved out my “first life” and don’t visit there often. Maybe it is time to write my memoirs of that past life.
In the new life, the girl who was assaulted and abused is a memory. I'm not her. But she is me.
I guess I'm lucky. I don't remember the first assault. The one I know happened, but don’t remember exactly when, or who was involved.
My first day of recovery was The Day I Didn't Die. This year I'm celebrating 20 years of a new life.