Sometimes the death of a loved one is the impetus for change. Most people do not change fundamentally without a crisis. So it is with me. Along with the obvious grief and stress of dealing with the death of my mother, came the resurrection of ancient memories connected to a tragedy long ago forgotten.......memories buried so deeply that they could not be brought to consciousness by any other means. With the reclaiming of these terrible memories, hopefully, will come the release of underlying pain, fear and sorrow, and, perhaps, even a bit of guilt. My responsibility in this event was based on my own incredibly bad judgement........as though I had invited it to happen. But I did not ask for what happened to me, nor did I deserve it. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was the victim of a person unknown to me who was so filled with rage that the only outlet he could find was to beat me into submission and rape me nearly to death. Now, forty years later, I have to do the work of building a bridge to the past to allow those memories to move forward. Only by confronting them can I take away their power to hurt me.
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