Behind the Image

Fuck him.  Fuck his family, and fuck my sister.

Good times. Good times of silence.  Good times of doing exactly as expected.  Good times of accepting his lists of everything that I could do better, and listening to the many ways I disrupted his easy-going life. It was my actions, my words, my way of being that made him lose his temper.

I used to try to memorise what he was yelling at me. I even tried recording him just to prove to myself I wasn’t making it all up. It’s exhausting trying to make yourself question your own perception of an argument, every disagreement, re-running the sequencing until you forget why you were so hurt … so upset.  You start believing him. You stop believing yourself.

It all seems futile, especially when you are told that you are crazy and your family concurs.  Especially when your sister insists that you are so difficult - always have been. That you are being ridiculous. There’s no reason she shouldn’t spend time with him, even after what happened, what he did - he’s building her bathroom after all.