The first prayer I can ever recall saying was asking, no, begging God to take away the Shadow Man. He did not. For the next seven years, I endured horrific visits by him in my room. My bedroom where, as a little girl, I should have felt safe became a place of dread, panic, and terror. I lived a life knowing from the age of three, no one was ever going to protect or rescue me. When the warm blankets would be pulled back, clothes removed, and I would awake feeling the cold night's air upon my skin, I knew what was about to begin, and I had to escape as quickly as possible. My escape of choice was to play dead, and this became a way of life. Somewhere along life's journey, I did not lose faith that there was a God. Though He did not answer my prayer, I knew He existed, I just knew I would never be worthy of His ever wanting anything to do with me. I was wrong.