In 2015, after my first book was published, my immediate surrounding was shocked. Why? Because my book was dealing with child abuse topics. The book told the story of a child who was severely abused by her guardians. The character was fictional, but I took some details from true cases that happened. The character was built on my own childhood feelings and experiences (I will come to that later). I received shocked reactions, like “you should not write about such topic”, “you should write about happy things”, “I hope you didn’t write about sexual abuse” (I didn’t, by the way). I have to say, I felt miserable, like if I commit a crime. It hurt because that book was meant to be the tool for my relief from the things I kept inside me for so long. I wanted to tell the story, to help myself, and maybe to help somebody else who experience something similar. Based on this experience, I’ve often asked myself the question: is it proper to speak about child abuse? After 6 years, I can say: yes, it is!
Continue reading “Why talk about child abuse?”Category: Blog
October 18th, 2017
The last memory on me
Standing still
Hidden from them
They can’t see it
Not any more
Not the pain
Only the picture
The last memory on me
Never dies
Walking through
The invisible shadow
Away from them
To its eternal place
And the light
That shines
October 19th, 2017
Sitting alone in the white
looking toward the night,
I wait for peace to come.
“You are not alone” says one of the thousand
“see hope, see light”
But blood of the young ones is crying to me, asking me to come.
No!
It’s not my time yet,
there are things to be done.
A short story about the sad child
Once upon a time, there was a child. An abused child. An invisible child. A sad child. It wanted to be seen, to be heard. But there were no eyes to see, nor ears to hear. But suddenly, a voice said: “Hush, child.” “Oh, you can hear me,” the child said cheerily. “Hush, child,” the voice said again, “you speak as a sad child.” “But I AM a sad child.” “Hush,” the voice said again. So the sad child hushed. It learned sad children are not be seen, nor heard. So, the sad child didn’t want to be heard anymore. And never more.
Marie’s dream
Marie was walking slowly toward her house. It was almost dark outside. She knew it very well, just straight and then left. As she was getting near, she started to be nervous. Her fear grew. She looked into the kitchen through the window. They were there. She can’t go there. Not now. It would happen again. Anyway, she tried to sneak in. She looked at them through the open kitchen door. It’s like that they didn’t see her. Good. “Get over here, you creep!” she heard. No! She had to run. Just run away, far, where they would never find her. She ran as fast as she could. It seemed like he didn’t follow her. She started to feel safe. Suddenly, she saw him. He saw her, too. Marie stood as paralyzed, she couldn’t defend herself. He caught her. She knew there was no way to escape. What she knew was he would start to beat her. Some feeling of resistance woke up in her. “Here I am. Kill me!” she shouted as loud as she could.
The Other One's Place 