I’m back. No choice really

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.

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