It was late one Saturday night in January 1995, and I was I struggling to sleep. I was living in London, and the following week I was due to travel home to Wexford to report the rape and abuse I had suffered as a teenager at the hands of a Roman Catholic priest.
I was anxious and restless, uncertain, and afraid of what I was about to open up, of having to battle the demons that I had forced myself to ignore for so many years.
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