It's been about six months since I told another person what happened to me when I was 13 years, one month and four days old.
I carried that with me inside for over two decades. I found a T, I found MS and I even found a fellow survivor from the same perp. I'm almost ready to tell my parents what happened. I'm once again taking on my ADHD and managing that to my benefit.
Barn swallows and daffodils are showing up. A few select trees are blooming---spring's promise of new life is showing.
So, why do I feel like there's unfinished business? Tell the parents-check. Keep busy---check. It's my kids---my oldest will be turning eleven and my youngest will be seven this year. I worry about their safety.
My perp is still out there. I want to find him and see how eager he is to mess with my 6-foot tall, 175 pound fit self. Of course, I'm not planning to do that right now, but I'm not saying I won't some day---yes, I've read about the perils of doing this...