When I was around 8 years old, I went to see the play “Little Orphan Annie” with my Grandpa at the Shubert Theatre in Century City.  I became obsessed with Annie.  I wanted to be Annie.  I wanted to be Annie so bad that I had my hair cut and permed so I would look like her.  My mom, to my surprise in retrospect, didn’t allow the lady to color my hair red. 

Annie was an orphan. She was abandoned at an orphanage by her parents.  An orphanage is already not ideal, but this situation was made far worse by the head of the orphanage, the narcissistic Miss Hannigan.

I am an adult survivor of Family Scapegoat Abuse and narcissistic abuse.  I was abused since the day I was brought home from the hospital, where I instantly became the enemy of my older sister and eventually my own mother, both of whom, turns out, are severely personality disordered. I didn’t know any of this at the time, obviously, I only felt something was wrong and it was very painful.  Annie was rescued from the orphanage by nice people who would love her.  I wanted that.  I thought if I had my hair done like Annie, it might happen for me, too.  Maybe if the lady who permed my hair would have dyed it red, I would have been rescued and raised with love.