The memory that was triggered by a scene in the television show Wentworth last night is still hanging on, refusing to be in the background of my thoughts. As night time and time to sleep gets closer, I am getting more and more riled up. Ice been talking to me at the age of the cat incident. I’m telling that part of me that I’m grown up, that nothing like that will ever happen again, that I have cats to love, that she is safe. But, the need to move is getting stronger, even though I’m exhausted. I feel screams in the back of my throat. My eyes keep leaking tears. And I feel a very old horrified feeling. And I feel some shame. Adult me gets that the cat died at the hands of one of my abusers, but part of me is soo ashamed that my action or inaction caused the cat’s death. This is hard stuff. But, I am a warrior. I will get through this.