When I was 4, I remember walking on paving stones: avoiding the cracks, living in the moment with a nice clear mind. Grandma looked after me while my mother worked.
When I was 7, life changed when my mother married someone she hardly knew. I am taken to hell to live with them. I believe in hell. It was at Number 34. There was no grown-up to stop the deluge of abuse. A blanket is thrown over my mind and I hide under it. Worry and anxiety have seeped into my soul and there they stay.
At sixteen, I think I have been clever to get pregnant so I can marry and get away but I am trapped. I worry about what is happening with my half-sisters.
At twenty, my mind is not coping and I urgently need someone to help me but there is still no one to turn to. Thats the day a visitor enters my kitchen and lets me see something beyond my wildest imagination.
Can I tell you about it?
Every word is true.
Through my future life struggles, I am told I can contact the visitor for help anytime. And I do. Often.
