A stolen childhood

The clock ticks on her bedroom wall

But she’s hardly there at all

Her mind is jolted back

To a time when life was crap

When all she knew

Day in and day out

Was pain, torture

When everything in life was about survival

Staying alive for yet another day

As she goes in and out of dissociation

Vivid memories and feelings too

She wishes life would have been different

Wonders what it would have been like
If her childhood wasn’t stolen from her?

Author: Carol anne

I am 40 years young. I'm blind and I have dissociative identity disorder, I also have complex PTSD. I blog about my life with these disorders. I live in Ireland.

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