Funny, but finding out the meaning toward me of being a child molestation survivor (from when I was a baby/child-not sure of exact age-I was in a playpen in diapers, mom pulled me away before it got below the diapers) meant that people could rightfully offend me again, expect that I would aid and abett to the groups of this cause, and expect to have a less meaningful life was all supposed to be part of it. I could get the 'best looking' in high school, ride in the prettiest girls in high school parades, date the football player, and wear a pretty dress-that was all. My choices would be known to be limited in partners, education, and my whereabouts. Not so funny. I talk about the side effects that I had, or at least thought I was supposed to have. I've found later that the rearing from adults afterwards can be worse than dealing with the actual effects yourself. It's Not our Problem. It's theirs-the perpetrators-to be left with them. The laying down with my