The narrative I told myself about my abuse in the early days was harmful and distorted. I thought:
“It was my fault.”
“What happened to me was not as bad as I was making it out to be.”
“I will never be able to regain a semblance of order.”
The past consumed my thoughts. I was addicted to quieting the chatter with undesirable vices and though my body had healed, my spirit was weakened and my mind a playground for the fear that still gripped and terrorized my days and nights.