I’m writing this from my new apartment, three states away from the nightmare I used to call family. My daughter, Emma, is asleep in her room, a peaceful fortress surrounded by the toys, books, and art supplies that a seven-year-old deserves. The silence here is a foreign language I am slowly learning to speak; after thirty-one years of chaos and cruelty, it feels sacred.
Let me take you back to where it all fell apart. Or maybe, where I finally woke up.
Views: 942