One would think that it was fairly easy to write about ones own life. Just start at the beginning and move forward through history until the present day is reached.
It isn't that easy. Much of my childhood is lost in the trauma of survival, some is jumbled and can't possibly be exactly as how I remember it. Some memories only exist in a series of photo like images that flash into mind and then are gone before I can really understand them. Others are two painful to contemplate and yet they will not be still, they will not be silenced.
It is time I think to allow them to speak, sometimes in the small voice and sometimes to shout. to give voice and words and articulate-ness to the inarticulate scream of a frightened child. She will not be silenced, not now, not anymore.
Come forth Child, for here you will be heard, here you will be safe.
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