Here it is almost 9:00a.m. and I sit here tears streaming and lost somewhere inside. I hear voices within crying wondering where we are. Today marks another anniversary date and even though I know I am safe, it does not feel like it was years ago. My body is reacting and marks and bruises show themselves once again. I have never shared this or any part of my story here. This is very hard and terrifying. I wonder if anyone will care or even know I am here.

I fear this day and though the past cannot hurt you, the memories lie deep and ever real to all of us. This is the day I was married to satan at age 5. I remember the ceremony, the night, and how I could not move or get away. I remember the drugged feeling and not being able to fight them. I was just a little girl. I left that body and floated high above to the corner of the room.

Prepared and brought out and handed over to those I knew, those who were to love me. I stayed as long as I could before I could not take another breath--and the exhale never came for me. The men, the upside-down cross, the words, mamma. And somewhere in the midst, I was lost and forsaken. This is so hard for me as I feel every ounce of fear I felt that night.

Lifted to the upside-down cross by a man in red who was satan, and the others surrounding in black robes all waiting their turn. As they opened their robes, there was nothing except their bodies and what to a little 5 year old girl turned into pitchforks that invaded her little body one by one. The pain was so much and the fear itself caused me to leave and put another there. It was the only way I could survive.

Over and over they hurt her. Her arms and legs chained to the table in a position that she could not move or get away. There was no voice, no need for a voice because no one cared or was listening. The chanting was loud, hurting our head. The louder, the more. Just enough of something in her koolaide to bring her to a point that she could not move but still knew what was happening. She was too little to get away, to little for their bigness, too little for words.

Each took their turn--as I watched from the ceiling with Christopher guarding my back. When they were finished, it was concemated by her own mother. The cross--2 of them--used to mock and to affirm. Somewhere inside a part of me died. A part of me left myself that night. I came back to the table when it was over. The chains were removed and I fell exhausted and hurting more than words could ever tell you. I could not move on my own and was carried to the van.

Never was I the same again, never to be a 5 year old, never to know love or believe that even mamma's cared. Splitting became living as I was theirs over and over again. The ceiling became my friend as I frequented there more times than I can tell you. I was his, satan's. I knew no better and I believed them when they said it was my fault. As the days and years followed, ceremonies came and I was theirs.

Now, as I sit here, I cannot breath and I am terrified. I wonder if it is okay to hit the send button. I wonder if anyone will even care. Today I find it hard to be, hard to look at anyone, hard to even accept myself. I know now that it was not my fault, I was just a little girl--but that does not take away from what I see and what I feel. I feel no love right now and like I am walking in a darkness that is so thick it might swallow me.

I fear today and the memories, and though they cannot hurt you they can make themselves ever real once again. I find myself wanting to hide away and that breath that left is once again filling my chest and I wonder sometimes, as the seconds tick away, if I will breath again. I wish someone could see inside and pull me back. I try to move forward but it is days like today that I wonder if I will fall back.

If you are listening, please pray that I will find strength to somehow be okay today. I am scared and will not take that from myself. I cry for that little girl--for me--who was trapped in a world no one knew existed, no one could save. For the first time I held her and I felt her terror and her pain. And for the first time today, I face it as myself not her. I am hurting but not giving up. I guess I am reaching the only way I know how. The safest way for me through words that they could not take.

Thank you for listening. I just needed to say it. I just needed to reach out. I hope it is okay. I pray someone is there that I am not alone. I am scared to be alone today. Scared of the feelings I am having. Scared of thoughts that fill my mind. Just hoping someone hears me, someone listens, someone cares. My strength is weak at best and I am terrified within and without. I am trying and I am reaching--please hear me someone--I do not want to be alone.

camillionwords1truth