It’s a sad, sick, twisted world when you have to have your children tested for sexually transmitted diseases…because they come from a place where it’s not only accepted, but considered “just part of their lives” to be sexually abused by family members…strangers…most everyone they have ever come into contact with.
And it’s even sadder when a child still thinks those people love them.
I don’t talk about this subject much, because, frankly…my kids deserve SOME privacy in this blogging world into which I have plunged them. Their histories, for the most part, are their own and while it may seem to some of my readers that I share too much, believe me…you don’t know the half of it.
There is a whole other world beyond what is seen from outside my front door, in which nightmares and dark memories are considered normal. Door locks, lights out, and bedtime take on a whole new meaning for a child who is terrified of what will happen when that door closes.
So this week one of my children will extend an arm, allow blood to be sucked from an already abused body, so we can find out what we’re dealing with. And then that child will move forward with all the strength of a person who has lived a life in survival mode. Because what other choice is there?