My parents have always tried to protect me always been my first line of defense always had my back–even when I was wrong In return, I never wanted to hurt them never wanted to cause them more stress–more pain–that they already had I always wanted to protect them in the same way they did for me But how can I do that when I can’t even protect myself When the thing that hurts me the most isn’t something I can ward off isn’t something they can help with isn’t something they can even see What can I do when the thing that’s killing me is a part of me ripping away from the inside out suffocating me invisible to the world invisible to me invisible to them How can I protect them from the tears that I can’t keep from coming from wincing as they hear my screams from sitting on the floor, helpless, watching me gasp for breath knowing that all they can do is wait it out But that’s not enough it never will be not when their baby is crashing ...
I tell myself that you have no power not over me not anymore I tell myself that I’m safe that you can’t affect me touch me hurt me but it’s a lie you’re not here not physically but you’re everywhere you’re in my mind you’re in my actions you’re in my nightmares you’re. still. here. so no matter how many times I try to convince myself that I’m okay that you are gone that it’s all over it’s not I’m wrong because it will never end you’ve changed me not figuratively not metaphorically you–what you did literally rewired my brain literally changed my ability to think literally will be with me forever I didn’t ask for it I didn’t want it and I still don’t but I didn’t get to make that choice so fuck you for taking a part of me and leaving behind yourself
When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was a big holiday in my family. Everyone–and I mean everyone– was there. Over 100 of us all piled into my great grandfather’s garage. Three huge turkeys from dad, Auntie Jane, and Auntie Karen; hundreds of cookies from Mary and me; and endless tickles from Uncle Jimmy. I love holidays. With a big family like mine, they are the one time we all get together. And boy do we make a big deal of them. I loved holidays. With a once big family like mine, they were the one time we all got together. And boy did we make a big deal of them. Now we don’t talk about them. Don’t talk about the empty seats that will never be filled. Don’t talk about the abundance of leftovers because we refuse to accept the dwindling number of those in attendance. Don’t talk about the silence that was once filled with laughter. We just let them come, going through the motions of when and where, who and what. And we’re happy. And we’re blessed. An...
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