The black dog walks ever by my side. It is omnipresent. The drugs do not work. I am losing hope.
Every day my experiences and feelings are dismissed.
Everyday the will to live is drawn from me with gasping breath.
How much do I owe my progenitors? Does the debt diminish if I detail the abuses? Does kicking, hitting and belittling decrease my debt, even just a little bit?
I want to cut so badly.
I want to scream and flay the world, that my pain is real. I bleed inside. But that is another person. A person who was not beaten into submission.
I am thirty years old and I still cringe at her tone.
My mother is an abuser.
My father never stopped her.