This year was productive in therapy. I can breathe after 51 years. Yes, I can finally breathe now with no fear of a meltdown, flashbacks or sudden tears as I know for certain that the man who abused me when I was six was a bad man. I can watch Dr. Phil when he has a guest who was sexually abused, not have nightmares, and therapy has helped me recognize that it wasn’t my fault.
The numerous articles i’ve written about my abuse on this blog, described how my next door neighbor gratified his needs, yet sent me onto a hellish future. He deceived me, pretended to like me and tricked me into thinking I was ‘special’, yet planning and taking advantage of every chance he could get to abuse me.