**Warning: This may be triggering, it is graphic.


She stood in the small, tidy kitchen desperate to stop the pain. 

The overwhelming fear, loneliness and sadness had painted her into this bleak, dark corner.  Something had to change; she could not live this way any longer. 

The silence of the empty house was deafening.  The heavy odor of cigarettes hung in the air, adding to her already throbbing headache.  They would be gone until dinner, still at least an hour away.  She had some time to really think, although her options were limited.

Her heart pounded with fear and uncertainty, but just thinking of a way out gave her a rising sense of power.  He was a powerful man in this small town and had created a seemingly airtight bubble around himself.  They lived in an isolated town of 500 residents, accessible only by air.  He was the boss at the largest employer in town and a member of the school board.  (He hadn’t quite yet been elected the first-ever mayor.)  Everywhere she turned, his influence loomed and she was afraid to reach out for help.

There were several guns in the house, but she never considered using one.  Ironically, she was afraid of them.  The carving knives on the counter beckoned, however, and promised an end to the pain.  They were shiny, big and powerful.  She felt better already, knowing an escape was possible. 

She gradually readied her plan.  She would use the biggest knife to do the most damage and make it the bloodiest possible.  She was angry, and for that she wanted blood everywhere, to make a statement.  But, as a concession to having been a burden her whole life, she would do it in the kitchen to make cleaning up the mess a little easier.  She would use both hands and stab it straight into her heart and twist it, if she could, just like he had taught her out hunting.  She would do it today, now, while they were at someone else’s house. 

As she stood resigned, holding the cold metal knife, it occurred to her that she might not die.  What if, like everything else in her life, she couldn’t even do this right?  The repercussions would be dire for shaming them, especially him.  On the other hand, what if she did die?  She would have to explain to God why her final act on earth was murder, even if it was only of her own self.  She wasn’t sure how God would feel about that and she really didn’t want to go to hell.  Somehow, she knew the hell she was living in now was temporary. And yet…her pain was that intolerable.

The dilemma distressed her and she vacillated, her resolve beginning to waver.  If she wasn’t successful, she would have to face her father; and if she was, she’d have to face her Father.

She is me  – when I was 10 years old. 

This wasn’t easy to share, but I felt compelled to do so.  Though I may never know if it helped someone else feel less alone and a bit more hopeful – it is my heart’s desire.  Thank you for indulging me to share something so difficult.