Precious

Exhausting. Something has been woken from it’s slumber and will no longer be sated but demands recognition and expression. I realise too, why I get so angry with H’s outbursts.  I give her tools that I was desperate for, that no one gave me, and yet she almost casts them aside – those precious, precious comforts that I had to survive without. So often I feel like I am reaching back in time and looking at myself, at LittleNic.  I see myself in her fear, in her despair, in her anger and know that I had greater cause for it and less tools to deal with it. I still feel like I’m comforting LittleNic.

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