My native language is mostly Cowboy English though because I am a voracious reader it’s more than that. I one time read all 1008 pages of the complete works of Sherlock Holmes in one night.

When I went to grade school they were experimenting with not teaching kids about sentence diagramming. I couldn’t diagram a sentence if my life depended on it. I believe the reason why I write fairly well is because of all the reading that I have done.

I’ve read the classics and actually like Agatha Christie mysteries and Louis l’Amour westerns. My mom left my dad when I was three years old and the people who were friendly to me or car guys and their families. When I was nine years old my mom married my stepfather.

He would sometimes beat me into unconsciousness. He molested my sister and I was molested when I was seven and 10. Not by my stepfather. He was a Chessmaster and probably could’ve been a grandmaster, but didn’t have the persistence to pursue it.

He can’t be chess and I played well, but when he kicked me out of the house at 17 I didn’t have much opportunity to play chess. I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your replies. You seem to be able to reply before I can finish dictating and correcting the next reply.

If I was out of sight and reading I didn’t get in trouble. It took me to wonderful places and because I liked a lot of mysteries made me use my mind. When I entered Bible college in 1976 to become a theologian I stuttered so badly I could barely speak.

Most likely why I didn’t want to become a pastor. Also, all my life I’ve been known for my brain. When I was in a group for depression the leaders had to stand in the room where we thought we would be. Some were in the center of the circle, but I was outside the circle.

It seems as if most of the people were surprised and thought that I should’ve been closer to the center of the room. For one company that I worked at, I would pray every morning that God would give me brilliant ideas and He did. I think it’s called imposter syndrome.

I don't experience imposter syndrome. Ever. I'm not sure why. I, like you, pull up out of hell every day. I think that's made me very real.

I believe it’s hard for me to love myself. I used to think that Jesus didn’t die for me, but for everybody else & because he died for everybody else I was included, but not really included. I’ve changed my mind on that, but I still suffer with poor self-image. Good night Molly.