I am no longer human, merely another number. Nothing more than cattle, to be done with as they see fit. My face is invisible; all that matters is the string of digits tattooed on my skin—this is me, I am theirs. This is my identity, this is my prison. Do I exist? Am I alive? …
I was so thrilled when I discovered one of the writers from my writing community has been raised similarly to me for a time. I loved hearing some of her story, and I'm excited to share some of it with you. Also, as a side note, my parents were also homeschooled in the '80s, and …
Continue reading To Raise One’s Children: Guest Post With Connie White
The Girl Who Doesn't Exist 