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It was cruel to how children were treated. Mothers would drink and beat. Fathers would shoot up and rape. Neither of each could see that right in front of them, where the loves the once tried so hard to keep safe. The loves they tried so hard to protect from harm.

Images came like an unwelcome flood. There were smiles, yes. But tears still rang above all like an avalanche waiting for the right time to rumble, then crash as if there was only that one thing in the world.

But that wasn't the only thing in the world. The world was full of pain, horror, cruelty. Even though I have tried to forget it's like a carving to obsidian, if only obsidian was able to be broken down.

Alongside the broken trail of misery at the end you could see a light. It was small. No smaller than a single piece of pollen but it was there. And on the journey to figuring out the blinding and murderous truth to my past, there will be pain. There will be tears. There will be lose. But most of all, there will be remembrance, joy, laughter, light. Above all of that, there will be forgiveness.

I have been battered and bruised. Beaten and torn. Through all of it I stood tall. Not once, changing were my feet where. Because without a doubt, there is a fighter. Someone who can be put though hell and still wake up in the morning without wanting a sip of liquor. On some days it won't hurt to relax. But those 'some days' are not today.

I walked my old home. Wanting so desperately to be a child again. Why do we have to grow up? Being a child was fine for some. I wish in was about five years old again. Before I know what pain and horror and being scared felt like.

At a young age I was defiled. Innocence stolen like it was free... It happened at a young age. It continued until I was a young teenager. Then again when I was a young adult. My father, he tried to be there. But words don't mend what was physically broken and torn from you. My mother, she didn't know. And once she found out she called me a liar. She laughed. I never told anyone ever again, for the fear of rejection. That's not what broke me. I grew past it.

Bad things happen to good people. It's just a part of life.

What broke me was the fact the people can be so mean. So hurtful. Without even trying. It comes natural to them. They don't give a flying fuck about anyone. And neither do I.

It's strange how one individual can be changed in so many ways by just one person. We breath. We walk. Yes there is distance. But you never know unless you try. Or just happen to look up at the right time!

The streets were different. More gruesome than before. Dead bodys spread out. Miles upon miles of what seems to be blood paint the landscape giving it s horrific yet at the same time beautiful scenery.

I continued to walk forward while the crack and shattering of little bones under my feet became loud enough to draw attention. Mothers allowed their children to play. Fathers were coming home from work, backs aching, hands blistered, heads pounding. It was like a robot. Every single one of them were in sync with one another.

I took a left down an abandoned alleyway. It was the cleanest part of this city that I have seen since I've gotten back.

Right in front of my old, abandoned home is where I now stood. So many painful times came back. All in a blur. Incomprehensible. I held my head up high. There was no point in wasting time on broken things that I can't change.

As the ruins of a freshly recovered memory comes to play I open the doors the the darkest part of me, wishing ever so silently that it was all just a bad dream. But that's not the case. This all happened. Was I the victim? Did I let my self pity get in the way of who I was? Was I different the you because of what my past held in a scrapbook?

No. I'm not them. I'm not you. I'm someone who was dealt a wrong hand, and still came out on top like a Queen. I held myself. I respected my self. Nothing, nothing that any of these people have or even will say to me will change the women I have become.

As I push further into this nightmare, rats scream and scatter; broken pieces of the house all over the floor, the walls that my brothers and sister painted were peeling off, and the furniture of my fathers collection had tarp on them. Trying to protect then from the damaging world around them. But It doesn't work. They are broken, tattered and damaged. Unable to be used again.