We don’t treat people like we treat oranges because people are not things. No one can treat you like an orange. No one can take your juice aka… your power.
I can smile and make jokes, I can wear the mask. But when I’m alone in the kitchen or in the shower, my eyes start to leak and I dig my fingernails into my palms.
I’ve created routines, bought activity books, depended a little too much sometimes on Peppa Pig. I’ve forced myself to go out, to face the demon.
I felt like dying. There was no hope of reprieve. This was what my life had become. Frantic worry about what I might or might not do to damage her. Not all the time. But any time I was alone with her.