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Growing Up Broken

Growing Up Broken is hard. Yet it is easier than growing up whole and being hurt, I guess, or I would not have done it. Fixing yourself seems an impossible task. I have been aware I was damaged goods for some twelve years. Asking for help gets you practicaly nowhere in the United Kingdom. Eveyone is in denial.

The facts speak for themselves: 25%-40% sexually assaulted in some way as children; 90% or so of prostitues, addicts and criminals abused. The problem in our society, the single biggest cost to us all, is sexual abuse of children. And do not think it is strangers doing it. Some is, but most are abused by close relatives meant to care for them and family friends or older siblings.

Growing up broken was hard. Breaking down, mentally, then coming together was tough. Only to have my body injured and untreated by an uncaring and ineffective National Health Service such that it has broken down beneath my healing mind has been a burden and a blessing. I can not imagine I would have the focus of mind I have now without this process.

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