I can see there is something broken about my family. Exceptionally broken. Rather than being one strong unit, our home has been one of unending battling, contact and stress. It implies that as opposed to taking after my folks’ orders, I am compelled to choose which parent to listen to.
When I close my eyes, I envision that it’s each of the a session of pull of-war. I am the rope that every parent is so urgent to pick up. They every draw without trade off, resolved to win me over. Every force is an excruciating blow, a singing torment that punctures my spirit.