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Ready to Make Him Pay
by L.F.
Names have been changed. Even at 8, I knew what was going on wasn’t right. But only later did I understand that I was a victim of sexual abuse by my stepfather. And now, at 17, I want him in prison.
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Her Hitting Taught Me Violence, Not Discipline
by E.F.
Names have been changed. Growing up, it was just my mom, my little sister Shania, and me in an apartment in Flatbush, Brooklyn. Watching my sister was my job. While my mom was cooking, at the store, or on the phone, I was supposed to keep Shania quiet and still.
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Outgrowing My Therapist
by E.F.
Names have been changed. My foster care agency first sent me to therapy when I was 11 because I had suicidal thoughts. My grandmother didn’t seem fond of the idea, but she reluctantly took me. The office was tiny with a desk and a chair for the therapist and two chairs for her patients.