I am going to re-read the “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” story by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  In the story a child is born as an old man.  Last night I finally I admitted to myself that something like that happened to me.

In my case I was born a baby, but because of the abuse that I suspect started at birth by my mother and father, I never had the chance to feel innocent or carefree.  I have had dreams about being an old lady in a crib. That was what I felt like.  I was left in my crib all day sometimes without any human contact except for abuse.  My bottle was propped up by a pillow. 

When I was a child I really did not know I was a child.  My mind was mostly in survival mode.  I feel more carefree and innocent today at 50 than I did at 6 mos.  What is upsetting me is that I realize that I can never get those years back.  Abusers stole my childhood from me and there was no way of protecting myself – except by dissociation.  I even feel embarrassed about writing this somewhat, for being so devastated.  I wish I had gotten over these horrible traumas by now.

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