No one blames me. Isn't that wonderful?
I've tried. Oh, how I've tried.
Honestly, I recognize the futility of guilt. Unfortunate things happen. I have all the information I need to construct a map out of my madness. I'm just not sure I'm ready yet.
How do you work through having left such an awful place only to find that the place you ran to had as many dark, moldy corners as the place you left. Sure there's still more sunshine here. Sure, the advantages are clear. Sure, it's not my fault.
She will bear this scar for the rest of her life and as much as I would like to blame her child rapist, as much as I would like to blame his parents, as much as I would like to blame the world, I can't. I've never been very good at the blame game.
There are a number of people who feel that I should be doing more. A number of people who seem to have answers. A number of people who appear to have the capacity for handling things. I do wish they would shut up.
The only thing I know is that I know too much to not try to help her. The only thing I know is that I know too much to let it be swept under the rug. So I'm up early filled with an uncertain amount of anxiety because things happen that I am not trained to deal with. I hope American psychology offers her more healing and hope than it offered me. She's much too young to know this sort of suffering.
I'm looking forward to the day when "How are you doing?" doesn't feel like "How are you holding up?"
I'm fine. She's fine. Let's go play. Life is short. Horrible life experience doesn't make it any longer. It's only more reason to go suck the marrow out of the living. Even at the age of seven, she knows that. She amazes me every single day.