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.