Who am I?

So Where Do I Begin???

I guess this is the question that has been bugging me for a very long time.
When it comes to writing your autobiography, it always seems like a good idea until you finally sit down to nut out the events that have made you who you are. The temptation to fudge the details is ever present, but for my own story I think I need to go back to the beginning.

Like most everyone that I know, I was born. My own particular birth took place in Canterbury Hospital, Sydney. Mum tells me that it was a difficult birth, and that I nearly killed her. Strangely, it seems that I have been continuing the attempts on her life ever since.

I’m scared. I have been that way for most of my life. Almost every waking moment and quite a lot of my sleeping moments too. But there are times and circumstances when I have felt and feel truly secure, safe and worthwhile.
When I am mothered, medicated * or mad .
The positive is this. I am growing in strength, and I am becoming braver. It’s just taking a little time. I’m hoping I’ve got that much grace left in my life.


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