I’m jotting down my thoughts. One might think that just because I’m abused I would find excuses to hate Mrs. Warden. In fact, no.
One might thought that I would romanticize this experience, perhaps victimizing myself. I may just be defensive against nothing, or perhaps just against a hypothetical argument, but what I hate the most from my memories is that to realize that my childhood was not as bright as I thought. The more I remember, the bitter it gets.
My greatest apprehension to my healing is that I would romanticize my suffering.
I occupy myself trying to rebuild my identity, my sense of self. To be honest, I think I’m forcing this entry. I wing this article because I’m not inspired. I am a human and I can get bored from the pain of healing.