I've read dozens of books, both fiction and nonfiction, dealing with child abuse, but for some reason the prologue of this one turned my stomach, I'm not sure why. Nor did I get much farther. I was at a friend's house on a sleepover and brought this little novel along to fill in the dull moments, but the moments remained dull even with I'm Telling. Try as I might, I could not force my way into this book. I tried skipping some chapters and jumping into the middle, but that didn't work any better. The story was heavy, overdone, and sluggish. Perhaps I just need more action and less description of small feelings and details, but this one felt suffocating and after finally coming up for air, I did not go back.