Of course, I never actually “forgot” that I’d been abused, but I avoided acknowledging it most of my adult life. Instead, I’d try to minimize it in my mind. Even some of my closet friends were confused by the fact that I came from such a good home and yet was subject to such fits of melancholy. Why was I struggling on a daily basis with my identity? Why was I subject to sudden panic attacks and debilitating depression? Eventually, I came to understand that a child who has been abused sexually is in every sense robbed of his or her identity.
Peggy Lipton, breathing out, (p. 37).