Suddenly, I’m that little, helpless girl again. The one with the dead dad and murdered dreams. The one being beaten against a pole for stealing to survive, running to rid herself of haunting memories. The one who would curl up in a ball, crippled by grief and consumed by panic. The one who couldn’t be in large crowds or small spaces without gasping for air or grappling to escape. Weak from worry, powerless from panic. No, just powerless.
