It says to write about what I lost. I lost my freedom, self-respect, my childhood, my innocence, my view on things as they should be, and to be a normal child with love … what I was supposed to have no matter what. Those are things I lost when I was abused. The damage—I became a different person, just to survive. As I got older I became mean, violent, I enjoyed hurting other people, they way I was hurting. I swore I would get revenge on everyone who ever hurt me.
The next chapter talks about anger. I have no problem in that area; I thrived on it, which is what kept me going. I grieved because I never got to be a child and have a normal life. A mother who loved me and a dad who was supportive of me and a brother who was not a pervert. Nobody just loved me for who I was—I was everyone’s, punching bag, sex toy, or guilty conscience. But I guess that didn’t bother them.
I just wrote a letter to the little girl inside of me. Her name is Elizabeth because she is everything that Lee is not. I think that is why during school I resented being called Elizabeth, because I was afraid that she would come out and get hurt and I could not let that happen. So I shoved her so far down inside of me that she could not come up. But now I don’t want to be this mean, ugly person. I want to finish my life in peace.
I am angry that I lost all of the things I lost. The sad thing is that my abusers don’t want to deal with it. Well they are fixing to have to, because I am writing each a letter to let them know just how much they screwed me up. That is part of healing. I will keep a copy. I am very angry right now, because the more I think about it, the madder I get. They took away everything that was precious to me and didn’t even care.
