The secret shame of a childhood etched in sickness and poverty
It’s been more than thirty years and I still can’t sleep for my rage, my grief, and my shame.
It’s been more than thirty years and I still can’t sleep for my rage, my grief, and my shame.
by: E.B. Johnson
It’s one of those days again.
I was up with the sun, with pain in my gut and a weight as heavy as a boulder crushing my chest. My pulse was racing. My night-sweats were in full flow. There was no point in staying in b…