title: Soul Murder: The Effects of Childhood Abuse and Deprivation
author:  Leonard Shengold 
description: &quot;[Soul Murder] should be required reading for all who are interested in the well-being of the world's children .... [Shengold's] manner is always respectful, dignified, and compassionate, and readers will find insights that are immediately useful in helping unravel the mysteries of their own, or another's behavior. This landmark work will do much to help those who need to heal&quot;<br><br>Louise DeSalvo<br><br>Author of Virginia Woolf: The Impact of Childhood Sexual Abuse on Her Life and Work<br><br>&quot;Leonard Shengold is one of the most civilized and humane of contemporary psychoanalytic writers .... Soul Murder is a work of great intellectual rigor and moral beauty&quot;<br><br>Janet Malcolm<br><br>Author of In the Freud Archives<br><br>&quot;A densely documented, multifaceted book... Perceptive, evocative, original.&quot; The Kirkus Reviews
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  #  A Mark Unwilling
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  © All Rights Reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Design by Daniela over at
  [www.Stunningbookcovers.com](http://www.Stunningbookcovers.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Prologue
  
  
  I don’t have a soul.
  
  
  Well, I guess technically I do, but it isn’t mine. It doesn’t belong to me.
  
  
  My parents were very down on their luck when my mom was pregnant with me.
  Penniless, jobless, about to be homeless—they had nothing except ratty old
  clothes and a baby on the way. They did what any self-serving parents would:
  they bartered my soul. From rags to riches, from a dilapidated hovel to a
  mansion with butlers and nannies.
  
  
  Really, it’s an amazing story. All it cost was my unborn soul.
  
  
  Growing up, I was told that many Demons take Human souls in exchange for their
  services. Human souls are high on the Demon black market, apparently.
  
  
  My parents never told me who they offered my soul on a golden platter to.
  Eventually I stopped asking. The debt my parents laid 