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When I was eleven, I was physically separated from my Uncle Norman for life, once Shea's mother found out that he was molesting me. I remember the way my friends mother held me crying and shaking, as if she were terrified for me. I really couldn't understand why she had such a dramatic reaction to the news, and why it was in my favour. Her cries scared me inside and yet, I didn't know how I was supposed to react.

This fearful love from my friends mother was something I didn't get from my own mother and I was confused, and afraid of being held. I was afraid of being touched in any way. I was quiet and I just wanted Shea to stay with me for a while. She believed me, and she was pulling me out of the abuse, just like she promised me, after she read my letter.

I remember how good she seemed to feel about talking to the police for me - for her friend who didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to be in her shoes instead. I wanted to be the one who was doing the right thing for someone I cared about. It seemed like a true, in the field lesson from the school of the real world, and I was just the victim.

I'd like to slow this whole thing down for anyone who might be listening. I want anyone who's listening to go back if they can, to a place in your mind where you were about eight years old. Can you remember how time seemed to stand so still, and how you absorbed every moment of the day like it was going to last forever?

I want to slow this down now, so that in this moment anyone who is listening may displace themselves into the toes of a little girl who's owed, and private time with her uncle, is passing by much too slowly.

I wish I could slow this down somehow, and take more time to express how being a victim of extensive childhood sexual abuse has negatively impacted every aspect of my life. I want to, and I feel the need to express this, this one opportune time, with my heart in my hands, bleeding and vulnerable, so that my sorrow may be seen as an "example" that flourished a positive impact.

Being separated from my molester changed everything. My mother made me feel like she hated me for making a big deal about it, and she made it obvious that she didn't want me to be pitied for experiencing it. She acted as if, in her world, being sexually abused was normal and wasn't worthy of being called suffrage. In her eyes it seemed that I deserved to be scolded for raising the issue.

My father could no longer endure standing beside a woman who'd become so careless about her "sexually abused" twelve year old daughter, and it was their final opposing subject as a married couple.

My dad brought me to court where we watched my uncle take the stand and when I saw him again, he looked at me like he had a plan. It was like he was saying, "I've got the handle on these people. They may be punishing me for now, and I'll embrace it like I love it, but then I'm going to get what I want." I felt that I could see right through him.

I remember how the judge considered that; being a Native Indian who claims to practice his spiritual rituals, held something of value that decreased the intensity of the crime he committed, and somehow made him deserving of less punishment.

I felt powerless to express how belittled going to court made me feel, and although I then viewed being ordered to go to counselling as another punishment, I really did need, and want the little attention that I did get.

Following the separation between my molester and I, came the separation of my entire family, and the loss of what little stability I had in regards to food and shelter. My safety and security within the family became forever tarnished as any bonds that could have protected me, shattered.

I held on to the false sense of security that my family gave me, and I was too stubborn to let it go, even when the real world would continue to prove that my foundation in society, among the people, wasn't what I thought it was. My trust among people, as apparent as today, is crucially misplaced, or is missing altogether, but sometimes it's where it should be. Hopefully, that's right here.

My relationship with my mother continues to be strained and after moving back and forth between my parents for some time, and after a fight between my mother and I - which drove me to fend for myself on the streets, in one of Sudbury's mid winters, when I was 14, and for about two months - I moved to Windsor with my father who attempted to, and failed to restart the family magazine - the last of the family foundation - which is now owned by the woman who offers very little compassion or sympathy for those who she gave to this world, my mother.

I only have eleven high school credits to this day, but I still desire to succeed, because my father always encouraged me as best he could, and biblically.

In 2006 I found a chiropractor who analyzed my spine and with the help of xrays he was able to diagnose me with Phase One of Spinal Decay. The condition is caused by a sublaxation which has been gradually getting worse since my childhood, and is affecting my posture along with every organ, muscle, bone, etc. The condition is reversible in the first stage of deterioration but only with the specific techniques of Dr. Paul Catania of London, or others who practice the same.

I've been attempting to follow through with the entire healing process - and I was nearly finished once - that Catania offers, but it has been a difficult task as I struggle to be independent. Being unable to receive adjustments from Dr. Catania has nearly cost me my life, especially when my ribs began dislocating. The only alternative treatment for my spine would be to have a rod surgically attached, which would scar me for life, and much more than physically.

My genitals, I feel, have had more erosion due to the sexual activity which began at such a young age, and my stressful eating habits have permanently damaged some of my skin. I started smoking when I was 13 and I haven't managed to quit yet. The bags under my eyes only seem to grow worse over time.

Since I was a small child, and until just before I reached puberty, this man continuously violated my innocent body. I feel like I qualify as a person described with having a Multiple Personality Disorder, found in the Psychiatric Dictionary 6th Edition; caused by Childhood molestations. Or like any other reasonable description of such Dissociation.

I'm learning to accept that I'm one of these sexually abused people and that I am suffering because of it. The closer I get to feeling it, the better I seem to get with my written communication, when I'm expressing myself. Now finally allowing myself to be what's left of what happened to me.

I feel like there are many different personalities contained within my body and they manifest themselves at different times, depending on my mood, my physical condition, and the situations that I face daily.

I experience physical and psychological changes during these transitions where I become expressions of myself at various ages, another or other women who handle different types of tasks, and even a bold male.

I am not officially diagnosed with this psychological disorder yet, but I'm confident that a "psychologist" will agree, and when life allows me to focus on recovery more than survival.

I am confident that I have this condition because realizing what has been affecting me all this time has become a survival technique. I needed to understand myself when no person was, based on personal research, and public reference, in all honesty.

I have gravitated toward dancing in adult entertainment industries as early as 19 years old. While experiencing inappropriate comments and touching by customers and/or managers, I experience painful memories and flashbacks of my childhood abuser. On many occasions I have to leave work to keep myself from becoming overwhelmed.

I am, in many aspects incompetent, and I feel as though I've become susceptible to older, higher class, male authority figures who are motivated to become sexually active with me or who desire to command me, and who do so by manipulating my ignorant personality(s) who become ``emotionally`` attached to a character of power.

Plausibly, because of such, after my first year of dancing I had been hospitalized for depriving myself of food and water, and refusing to urinate. For the 7 months following I was too incompetent to care for myself. I over ate, starved, gave away every belonging, and couldn't comply with the standards in order to receive Ontario Works Assistance. My mother paid my rent for a while. When I had energy and managed to get out of bed, I studied at the library, then when I felt no one was listening, I literally walked out of Windsor.

After finally getting back on my feet, then losing stability again after being sexually involved with a manager in the adult entertainment industry, I ended up in the hospital after having taken an excess amount of pills. I get a lot of headaches.

It has become extremely difficult for us to maintain employment for a significant amount of time. From approximately September of 2008 until March of 2009 I was waiting to receive disability. I experienced some help with food, shelter, and case workers but unfortunately my spine was refusing to hold up from all of this stress. I had no choice but to work and pay for specific adjustments, or go to the hospital and get a rod put in me.

Unfortunately, In March of 2009 I became a victim of rape by an adult entertainment establishment manager in Windsor. I've managed to continue working in a more suitable type of the environment regardless of the new pain added to my struggles, holding hope that the law might retract what new emotions stir as we deal with being a victim of sexual abuse.

I became promiscuous at the age of 13 and was blessed not to have caught any type of STD and since my early adulthood I have been almost completely chastised.

I feel deeply saddened because I cannot maintain close connections and meaningful relationships with people, especially men. I feel uncomfortable with human contact as it creates anxiety when it's inappropriate or supposed to be simple and suddle, and my inability to touch and to be touched prevents me from seeking intimacy. I would describe myself as being sexually numb, or being completely void of the ability to feel physical attraction to a man unless otherwise provoked.

I'm afraid that I'm too desirable and the understanding of a man's sexual nature frightens me. I long for intimacy but I'm interrupted by the fear of being emotionally attached and trapped inside a relationship of lust and abuse without love. I'm too afraid to be hurt again and I experience vivid flashbacks of my past when I think of having sexual relations with a man, which makes me view men in the most savage way.

I don't sleep much, and when I do I often wake up in cold sweats as I escape another dream of being forced to do something I didn't want to.

I would love to find a male psychologist and I've been looking for one when I get chances, that I could become comfortable with; but it is apparent that stabilizing me is the first priority. I would have liked to have had someone I could have trusted to talk throughout this; but at least I had the supports of the people who are helping me realize that there are people who believe that what I've been through has had an immense effect on my life. There are people who are acknowledging how I've been victimized and there are people now who want to help me receive an official acknowledgement of my suffrage so that I can feel some closure.

I've moved about ten times in this past year, and recently have had most of my recently gathered belongings stolen in the process. Having to find a place to call home on earth feels like I'm knocking on Heaven's door.

I feel that I have been trudging through this battle, fighting between life and death since my first hospital visit in 2006, and if I could offer any advice to someone who is suffering and thinking about ending their life it would be:

Every time the battle has you down and beaten up to the precipice of your life, ask yourself these three questions:

What would Jesus do?

What does God want you to do?

So what do you do?

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