For thirty years, I ran from my childhood, never facing it, full on. Those dark, individual moments were put away with the door locked tight, yet somehow they escaped to haunt me. Memories of a tiny girl being dragged through a house by her hair, memories of tasting blood mixed with strawberry jam, memories of humiliation, rage and pure insanity. Moments where nightmares became reality…and in those precise instances, wishing I could muster up the courage to kill myself. The past can collapse your heart and suck the joy from your soul. Those memories can take and take until there’s nothing left but the dry husk of a person. I finally stopped running, only to discover I had huge reserves of both strength and hope.