I spent a number of years literally living outside. I cannot recall what triggered this punishment but around my 9th year (I think) sleeping and mostly living outside became the rule rather than the exception.
At first this was a bit of a relief because the last few years I slept inside I was either handcuffed to the frame of my bed while sleeping on the floor, awoken by a glass of cold water thrown in my face or roused by being pulled off the bed by my feet resulting in an almost constant sore spot on the back of my head.
We always lived in southern states, that's not to say I didn't feel like I was freezing sometimes. When I was in therapy at one time my therapist had me draw out the houses I lived in and I could draw out the yards down to minuscule details but there are few things I remember about the actual houses. In a way the yard was a much safer place for me. Yes, it was dehumanizing. Yes, it broke my heart every single time I was locked outside. Yes, I longed for the days when she would let me sleep in the shed instead of on the porch. Yes, I would rejoice when she would forget and leave one of the dogs out overnight.
