Dear Dave Pelzer,

Reading your book made me realize I didn't have to be abused. But at the young age of ten, still not knowing what to do. Too scared to speak up. Hating myself for being born, for being terrified of the woman I called Mom. Eventually, I gave up on living, going as far as trying to kill myself. It seemed reasonable for me to die, I had no one. But while reading, A Child Called It, I wasn't alone. I started trying to hold on until some one figured out the beatings I took, the mental abuse, the living hell I endured daily. Some days I'd give up fighting the voices in my head telling me I should die, I'm useless, and worst of all an "it". On those days, I hid in my room with a razor to stop the mental pain, to control it. I lived in a kingdom of isolation, and my mother was the queen. The world couldn't know the truth. All they knew was the fantasy, a happy normal home. Of course it wasn't true. I lived in a abusive home until I was thirteen. That entire time your novel was the shining beacon of hope in my sorry excuse of a life.

Before I met you I simply counted the days waiting to for this nightmare to end. Thinking this, this torturous pain and agonizing hurt was my life. As time went the wounds and scars on my body and mind started controlling my life. Everything I lived with was pushing me to the edge of sanity, I even developed paranoid schizophrenia and depression. After meeting you I thought perhaps I can handle this tremendously dreadful life. There was indeed another way to live. The voices became quiet over time and mine grew louder. Your book gave me my voice, hope, and most of all a dream.

A Child Called It, was to me a mental support, even a companion. Some one who understood what I endured daily. For who could understand not getting fed, loved, or cared for better then you? I couldn't talk to anyone but you, it was so similar to my life, being treated as a "it". A despicable creature not even worth a name... if you could have hope, why couldn't I? After reading your story I woke up, as if I had been in a daze all my life. That day, I started striving for better, started fighting for what I deserved as a young girl, as a child, not an "it".

Even now as I'm fourteen years old living with my father, twelve states away from my personal nightmare of a mother I remember what you taught me and did for me. Sometimes I read when I start experiencing depression, reliving the trauma. Remembering the way life used to be, or worse could be again. I am forever thankful and appreciative of my new home, my family, and most of all the lack of control that woman has on me now.

Writing your life story must have been unmeasurably difficult for you, that's why I'm writing this letter. Maybe someone will gain hope from my words as well. I'll always be indebted for the awe-inspiring lessons you taught me.