Give me one good reason

I had a chance to start again. After 29 years of being governed by emotions, reactions and neuroses I didn't understand, two years unpicking the reasons behind them and five years learning who I was, I was finally starting again. I'd done the studying, the travelling, the exploring (psychological and geographical), and I'd finally made the decision to go back to the real world. I got a new job, bought a car, I was thinking about getting a dog. I wasn't even averse to the idea of a new man. And then this happened. One lousy moment in the wrong place at the wrong time. One stupid fucking cow who couldn't keep her eyes on the road, and not only do I not have that wonderful new life I was starting, I don't even have the old one.

I didn't really get a childhood; abusive father, mother who could see everything but what was under her nose, disabled sister who obviously needed all the attention - God forbid anyone should have even noticed I was there! But I came through it, and in the end, I was even managing to shake it off (as much as you ever can). I was learning to be me, to look after myself emotionally as well as physically. And I was doing my best to give the little kid that still lives inside and still feels so hurt and betrayed, a second chance at childhood.

But what the hell am I supposed to do now? I can't give her a childhood - I can't even give myself a fucking life! It's over. I sit here, day after day, wondering how I'm going to manage to do any work, or how much time I'll have to waste lying in bed, because the pain's so bad I can't sit up. It's not about what sort of fun I can have today, where to go, what to do, who to see. It's about how do I get this glass of Coke from the kitchen to the lounge when it's too heavy for me to carry? I'm sitting here in an invisible prison with no way out. And I'm so fucking angry I just want to scream!

WHY! Why did this have to happen! Why, after all the other crap and bullshit, did I now have to put up with this? Isn't it enough that I had to live through being raped by my own father, grow up terrified of what he was going to do next and be constantly convinced that whatever it was, it must be my fault - whose else could it be? Isn't it enough that I spent my whole time wondering if my own mother actually gave a shit about any of it? Or that I was constantly terrified that if I looked away from the world for just a second, I might simply disappear? How can it be fair to go through all that, come out the other side and be doing OK, and then to have this happen? What could I possibly have done that was bad enough to deserve it? And what the fucking hell am I supposed to do now?

I wish they'd never pulled me out of that car.