Monthly Archives: August 2017

Welcome to my lovely home,
Mom cooks dinner on most nights. She just retired. She loves to garden.
Dad is a school teacher.
My brother is an interesting fellow – a pilot, a bassist, a lawn care provider.
I am a violinist. I like to bake. I’m the youngest and smallest.
Welcome to my lovely home where standing up for yourself in the face of being mistreated is considered a character flaw.
In this house, you don’t speak up when someone hurts you. That’s ‘dramatic.’ And ‘escalating.’ Here, you don’t ask for help when someone attacks you – no one wants to be ‘dragged into that.’ In this family, the only right thing to do is shut your mouth or eat the shit they cram into you. There is no workaround. No door number three. No emergency escape exit. There is only the floor, where you belong, face down, empty soles pressed to your skull to make sure you never get up. If you lift your head, they will stomp on you. If you try to speak, they will force their own bad choices into your esophagus until you puke.
They’ll place the things they hate most about themselves on your shoulders, and beat you down for carrying them. They’ll call you selfish when you try to shrug them off.
They’ll try to kill themselves vicariously through you, and any measures you take to try and save yourself are argumentative or belligerent or stubborn.
You are never right.
You are never worthy of respect.
Dignity is on a shelf too high for you to reach.

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