While I was watching Comic Relief on TV a while back, I found myself coming face to face with myself..
A young girl was remembering her past, and as I listened, it was as though it was me talking.
She described my childhood so well that I had to choke back the tears.
I remembered all the inescapable loneliness, the constant hunger for food, and the utter hopelessness of it all. The times I would roam the streets of London at night, looking through people’s windows, searching desperately for a family who would take me in.
I was eight years old and didn’t know that what I was doing was very wrong. I needed so much, and this was all I could do.
No one ever stopped or accosted me. Sometimes someone would look as though they wanted to help me, but no one ever did.
Then, one glorious night, a front door opened, and a man asked me if I wanted something to eat. I didn’t know how dangerous this was. I honestly thought people were good; the only one who wasn’t was my mother.
These strangers welcomed me into their home, but somehow I knew it couldn’t last. The police arrived, and I was taken away.
I never stopped looking for a family, which is how I ended up being adopted by a family fifty years ago. They are not perfect, but they are my family now, and I adore them all.
But sometimes, my childhood haunts me still…
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