This is in response to the letters and comments I’ve gotten from an earlier piece.

It is said, that out of the thousands of adults living as survivors of abuse, only one out of a hundred are strong enough to speak of it. I’m glad I’m that one.

I have been told by hundreds, worse I have seen those same people tell others, who are barely surviving, to GET OVER IT. Again, this is the righteousness of the lucky, and the innocents of the righteous.

Many commit suicide ending the hurt, but many become deranged people who at the least visit that hurt on their children. At worst they become sadistic killers. I want to try to make the innocents among you understand the depth and severity of what they are going through.

Have you ever seen pictures of a horrendous wreck, or visited a junk yard to see the car a loved one died in? Have you ever seen crime scene photos of a violent death, of a stranger or worse a family member? The imagination is a terrible thing. Even if, you simply lose a loved one and they are never found, your imagination creeps in and makes you sick. All the fear and pain, all the horror they must have felt, these are the things that haunt you. Imagining what your loved one experienced in the final moments of their life is what’s hardest to live with.

Recently I wrote a piece called, I died on Christmas Day. Imagine if you will, how it feels to be beaten to death as a child, I hope you cannot. Imagine the fear a child feels while dying in the basement of a stranger, in the backseat of a car or in an alley. Then try to imagine the surreal quality added to this as a child dies in their own home. Just try to imagine their death pleas and further imagine those pleas including the words, MOMMY OR DADDY.

In some ways, these are the lucky children. Those of us who died and woke up the next morning, to be hidden away until we healed will never forget the violent, horrific deaths we experienced, or the pleas we made. I experienced those crime scene photos first hand, many times. They have visited me when I was drunk, during surgery and during times of immense trouble or joy, all my life. No one will ever understand these survivors; as there are no words that can explain such things.

Once a child had been taken to places such as these, there will never be answers to the questions they will ask of themselves, for the rest of their lives. There is no handbook that explains how a dead child should act. I am aware, I am inadequate to explain this, but I continue to try.

I do not know the answers, but the questions haunt me daily. I speak for the dead, and am glad I do. I am over this, my children are living proof. However, if by get over it, you mean, shut up and allow it to happen, then no thank you. If this offends you, sorry, but child abuse should offend the world. Until it does or I take my last breath, I will continue to offend and to be offended.

If you must be offended, by all means be offended with me, but be mad about what is happening. Remember DFECS and CASA need all the help they can get. Remember becoming a foster parent will give you the opportunity to be the hero of an innocent child.

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