I can still see their faces when I close my eyes at night. Sometimes, I forget that I used to be one of them. The horrors I witnessed in my childhood can never be erased from my memory, the pain and torment I went through will always play a part in the way I live my life.

I don't think anyone can imagine what abuse I went through, and sometimes I'm scared to write about it. But I refuse to be silent, I refuse to let them win.

One of the worst memories I hold, I'm 7 years old. I'm lying on a dirty, bloody mattress, screaming children all around me. I am the only one who is silent, because I know that screaming is the worst thing you can do. I'm counting the tiles on the ceiling when I hear someone come into the room. I bolt upright, I don't want to see what he's going to do but I'm too scared of the unknown to lie back down and close my eyes.

He marches in, all high and mighty and grabs the nearest screaming child. I hear her begging, begging him in her tiny childlike voice to let her go. He sniggers and throws the girl across the room, the poor thing slams into the wall and slumps onto the floor, she's barely moving. And then he laughs, a high pitched, evil laugh, like he's enjoying himself.

He makes eye contact with me and I avert my eyes, I don't want to draw attention to myself but it's too late. He strides across the room and I make silent prayers in my head. He stand over me, smiling, his fists slam towards me, and then everything goes black.