A Life in Waiting

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I dare not sit – although in the beginning I found opportunities- and I dared not speak. With so much time alone, I had all the time in the world to think. Time to imagine. My mind was developing at it’s own pace. With little outside influence and learning, paired with being so young, I had no real experiences to give me a basis of normal. I had no foundation for my mind to grow upon. In isolation, my young mind developed as it may have in a more primitive time.

Three years that I can remember were taken from me by Maria. Three straight years of being broken down as a person at a time in my life when I should have been flourishing the most. I cannot forget all of it. Believe me, I’ve tried. I wish that I could say I knew there was a chance for a good life waiting for me around some corner. Maybe a fighting chance for the rest of my childhood to be redeemed. Instead, over time, as my emotion and fear drifted away, so did that fleeting hope.

I have thought for a long time about the events that happened to me in that house and have come to this conclusion: the memories I do have affect my life so much now in so many ways, I don’t think I could process the memories of moments I can’t remember.

“Pain by itself is merely pain, but the experience of pain coupled with the understanding
that pain serves a worthy purpose is suffering.
Suffering can be endured because there is a
reason for it that is worth the effort.
What is more worthy of your pain than the
evolution of your soul?”

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