If I had to ask myself where did it all start for me, I would have to remember a time that I do not ever wish to revisit. However, I am old enough now to accept that if I didn't endure that time, I would not be who I am today.
From a very early age I witnessed things a child should never see, and dealt with a barrage of mental, physical and sexual abuse. The who's, why's and wherefore's are not important to delve into. What is important is where it all sent me.
I paid no heed to the life around me, instead sinking into a fantasy world. Sometimes it enveloped me and sometimes it terrified me, but it was mine, I made it, and there I stayed.
So at the age of about 10, I began to write things. I won awards at school and I was encouraged to pursue my talent. The things I wrote at school were quite trivial and usually happy, but the things I wrote at home were much different. They were abstract and surreal, and altogether confusing to anyone but me. On the odd occasion I would attempt to pen the true story of my life but I could never do it justice to the memories and the pain. And so, I stopped writing, because I began to confuse even myself. Plus there was a part of me that did not want those things to be documented for it might give them a life that I did not want those demons to have.
Instead I started singing. I was good, very good. With a little tuition I could have been fantastic. It was an outlet that both thrilled and tortured me. I would sing harrowing songs from artists that I felt complimented my pain and my own past. In my room alone I would sob and I would sing, and I would feel somehow purged and yet still never complete. I was yearning to be noticed, for my inner fire to be seen by someone, by anyone.
There is much, much more but that is just the beginning. Please feel free to comment or to add your own beginnings. I think that there is much depth to humanity that is never spoken for fear of mockery. There will be no mockery here, you are all welcome!
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