My daughter sometimes asks me what it was like; what it was like when I was her age? What it was like at my school? What it was like growing up the way I did? With the family I had?
There was a lot of yelling, a lot of screaming and cursing, but I don’t tell my daughter that. When your mother tells you at least once a day she wishes you were never born and you live your whole life apologetically, trying to exist less, is that really living? Is that considered a life? And isn’t it mind rape when your parents tell you they never wanted kids but they just kept on having more? They had us just to tell us they wished they never had us. And like disappointments we came, one girl after the other, one tragedy after the other.