

1 day ago0 min read


Trauma made me an asshole
As a child, I was mostly silent. Even as a baby, or so the family lore went. “It was creepy, you’d never even cry,” said my mother. But I did cry. As I got older and my anxieties grew and my destiny as an everywhere outcast confronted me. I cried a lot. I was anguished, often thinking of death and making complicated plans of escape to live in solitude before I was even ten. There was never any place I could be safe unless I was entirely alone. Everywhere I went, I wa
2 days ago9 min read


Dark Mother
One of my most vivid memories of childhood is coming across my baby book. In it, my mother, barely 19 years old, writes about me as a newborn. She had a bubbly, immature kind of handwriting. She was flippant and silly. She didn’t describe any feelings for me. She talked about how pretty I was and how she had high hopes for me. I think she said she loved me but I don’t remember. What I do remember is feeling a wave of loathing for her wash over me. I was about ten or e
3 days ago9 min read









