I remember the only reason I looked forward to turning 20 was so that I could say, "That was ten years ago." As if having it all ten years in the past was some sort of magic cure-all, I guess. I suppose when you are that young, ten years seems like a great distance from that point in time. It would make me twice as old as I was at the time. I would be an adult by then. But, upon turning 20 I realized that the distance back to that time was nothing. There was no magic disappearance of all that had happened. There was no magic cure from all the effects of sexual abuse, either past, present or future. I could still see back. I still can. 20 years. 30 years. Going on 40 years. And, the old saying, "History repeats itself." has proved to be too true.
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A story of sexual abuse that spans four generations and the struggles of its' survivors to triumph over it.
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- Ragweed and Roses
- I have chosen to write this story annonymously, mainly to protect those that it involves. I chose the story's title, Ragweed and Roses, because not only do we all have some of each in our lives, but because even Ragweed, the exquisite blue that it is, can be beautiful.
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