Anne Jackson writes about the lasting impacts of abuse, and how community helps to heal it.:

I know it’s going to be a rough day when, within five minutes of leaving my house, I see a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am.

It’s a rather odd thing to say, I realize, as I’m sure if you see a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am you probably don’t give it a second thought.

For me, a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am reminds me of him.

The one I trusted.

The one I loved.

The one, who I thought, loved me.

But it wasn’t a real love, the way he loved me.

It was a twisted “love” that made me believe it was okay for a man – a pastor – of his age, nearly ten years my senior, to love a girl like me…a sixteen year old.

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