There was no love in the Artane, and not much more in St John Of God's, though at least there was kindness there. In the Artane, I was little more than a slave - beaten, starved, abused sexually, physically and mentally - I didn't have birthdays or Christmases and I was locked away from the world.
Unfortunately, I still pay the price of my childhood; I suffer from terrible nightmares and I get vivid and terrifying flashbacks out of the blue that keep the Artane as fresh in my mind as if it was yesterday. I have been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder, I get times when I am very depressed and I have weak lungs, so that I'm often in hospital. I put that down to the beatings, particularly the one in the classroom when I was punched in the ribs.
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