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Am I A Good Girl Yet? - Childhood Abuse Had Shattered Her. What Would it Take to Make Her Whole? (Paperback)
Loot Price: R561
Discovery Miles 5 610
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Am I A Good Girl Yet? - Childhood Abuse Had Shattered Her. What Would it Take to Make Her Whole? (Paperback)
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Loot Price R561
Discovery Miles 5 610
Expected to ship within 10 - 15 working days
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High-pitched screams explode into the air, unrelenting, shot
through with blind terror. A wounded animal? A torture chamber? A
calm voice interrupts the heart-chilling cries, reassuring my
reluctant, listening ears that the victim is in a safe place. But
her fearful trauma haunts me, echoing in every straining sinew of
my mind. I switch the tape off and lean back on the cushions of the
over-stuffed armchair to better ponder what I have just heard.
Those screams belonged to a small child - just a child -
mercilessly gripped in the vice of uncontrollable and devas tating
fear. What atrocity would have caused such a violent outburst? What
unmentionable evil warped her budding innocence? Can I bear to hear
more? Trembling, I stretch over and turn the tape on again, pushing
the limits of my endurance to listen to more of this nerve-wringing
tirade. I lean forward, muscles tense, temples throbbing, mouth
dry. At last the screams fade to a whim per, as a steady male voice
soothes the young victim. His words unruffled, constant. Her small,
high whine gradually lulls to a moan, pathetic and painful. Weary
wails struggle, exhausted, from the tape player on the coffee table
in front of me: "No more...no more... No, no more...." Silence. He
continues his balm of words: "You are just remembering, just
remembering; I'm here. You are safe now. That was all a long time
ago. It's all just a memory. No one is going to hurt you anymore.
No-one. You're safe now." My unconscious sigh of relief jolts me
back to the present and once again I stoop to switch off the tape,
my shaking spirit daring my mind to consider the ghastly
implications of what I have just heard. Will that child ever be
able to describe what she has seen? Will she ever be allowed to
express what was done to her? Will she ever be able to feel joy,
freedom? And who is that child? I struggle intensely with that last
question, horribly aware that I know the answer, though even yet
desperately clinging onto the breaking branch of my unbelief. I
know her well - oh, how well I know her I have heard her screams
often. That child is me
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