Had a nightmare last night that I discovered my dad was molesting a seven-year-old girl. I went to my parent’s house and saw the situation. Drew conclusions based on my experiences with him and the way he was acting. Confronted him and he was dismissive, claiming they were just friends, that she was a “sweet friendly little girl”. My mother was in complete denial, angry that I would once again accuse him of something like that. It was sickening, this feeling of anger and rage. Not feeling helpless anymore, though, because it wasn’t about me. I had to save that little girl. Maybe that little girl was me and I just need to save myself. It’s left me feeling out of sorts this morning. And more motivated to help other young people who are going through what I went through. It’s been almost thirty years since my abuse, but the wound was so severe, the scars are easy to access. The tears flowing, dripping silently from my eyes, come quickly when my mind goes back to that place.