This isn't the real me. I remember when she died.
I was a spirited child, and now I am just the spirit of the child who was broken by a rod of my own choosing.
I made my bed. I tidied my toys. I did the washing, and I hung myself out on the line. I did everything I could do only to disappoint them. I cried until I sighed and wasted my tears until they wasted away and left with the rest of --me.
1st year was a respite from enclusure I kept myself in from Them. No one could hurt her there. -There was nursery rhyme and dance and she chatted away quite carelessly, both seen and heard and regrettably so until the voice was taken from her mouth by force. The short safe-haven of self-expression shattered along with self. Not even a whisper of her lives anymore within this unwavering adherence to quiet time.
I spy glimpses of her face in those of strangers in passing, but she passed a while ago now and left this temple in ruin.
:bighug:
:hug:
I just read this too Bermuda and it resonates very deeply with me. I don't know quite what to say except that I am so very sorry :hug: