Written to Damned Prayers' PlayList - www.myspace.com/damnedprayers

I stopped envying people who had idyllic childhoods - where the parents were loving and life was wonderful and you dream about those halcyon days of youth.

I HATED MY CHILDHOOD. I lived in a dreamworld of my making because my reality sucked. My parents were together because they had committed adultery - I'm sure they loved each other, but the fighting and the backbiting and the hoops they jumped through for each other and that fucking religion that shadowed our lives overcame any love they could show.

We were poor. But not as poor as both my parents had been as youths; that was poverty of the kind you fear in the very core of your being. My parents strove to provide us with some material stability so that we would neve go hungry as they did, or have to work at the ages they did. But on the flip side, it was awful.

We weren't really allowed friends, because friends of the 'world' was anathema to the religion. And friends within the religion could turn on you, because everyone was a backbiting bitch. My parents had very few friends. They were loners either by choice or circumstance. So we grew up as loners.

I loved attention and loved to dance. Unfortunately, I was the first child of their sin, and I know that colored how they treated me. I was the eldest, and I was female. I was both responsible for my younger brothers and less than they were. I was worthless and easy to punish. Sensitive, every word found it's mark and it hurt for years. And lets not get into the scars on my body; the physical manifestation of the determination to train me to the long and narrow. Which obviously, if you know me, didn't work all that well.

Dancing was nipped in the bud. My natural exuberance was twisted somehow. Taken advantage of by predators and unfortunate circumstances, I became what my dad called me - worthless, a slut, a whore, a prostitute. I own those names, because they were mine, it seemed.

I believed I was a succubus. I read two languages very early; I loved to read. It was my escape, and it peopled my dreamworld. And I read about succubi and incubi and knew, without a doubt, that this was what I was. And so my exuberance was channeled into something dark.

I was afraid of everything. My parents weren't a comfort. My own body rebelled against me and rejected everything put it in. I was a contantly sick child. My mother says I was a good child until I grew up; because I was a broken child inside (background: And One, Sometime). They were stunned to find out about the predators within their own midst and never thought to really believe me. How could they? They were trapped in their own hell, and this was the only way they knew to be.

My idyllic memories were the times spent away from my family. The everpresent fear of angering my dad (easily done, as dad held lots of anger) was gone; my mom the martyr wasn't around to preach to me. I was free.

When I had kids, I screwed up, and cursed them with the same childhood. I didn't trust anyone, not even myself, and so I left them to my parents. My parents encouraged this distrust and it turned into a disaster for my children.

I don't envy you with lovely childhoods anymore. I don't wish for what you had. I was dealt this card in life and it has made me who I am. That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I was broken inside and still survived.

I'd rather be an adult, and aging, and where I am in life, than ever return to those memories or that life again. I will enjoy my present and my future, and retreat into my dreamworld when I desire reprieve. Enjoy the present with me as well.