"Not to know the past is to be in bondage to it, while to remember, to know, is to be set free." Dr. Sigmund Freud

Nobody knew. I never spoke about it. I never told anyone. I carried the shame, the terror inside. I couldn't face what happened so I pushed it down, way down, deep inside. I didn't want anyone to know. I thought everyone would think I was disgusting and horrible.
The years have gone by. Last April while sitting at my computer, thoughts of what happened popped into my mind. Just like that. Out of the blue. Closing my eyes I could see it as if it were happening all over again. I became ill. I stopped eating. I sat in the dark for days.
I hadn't thought about it for years. Why now? I started to write. I wrote in the third person, as if it happened to someone else and not me. As I wrote, I connected with people, - people who knew, people who told me he had gone to jail for some of the things he did, people who said I could still lay charges.
Last summer I went back to that house where he held me, a prisoner, for six months. That big black iron gate surrounding the property was gone. It was replaced by a small one in front of the house. It shocked me to see how close the neighbours had been, yet no one heard anything, no one came to help. I went through every room of that house, like a holocust survivor returning to face the camps. I needed to put it to rest. I needed to let it go.
Running through the woods, I can feel my hearting pumping hard, my breathing strong, my body one with nature. - Here in the midst of God's creation, I feel free, alive. The whispering of His voice in my spirit gives me a deep sense of peace. I survived. Now I can tell. Now I can speak about what happened. Somehow God empowered me. He reached through the terror and shame - He set me free. Because of what He did, I want to tell. I want to say what happened. For His glory.