Every week’s session was essentially an hour of Dr. Susan pointing out what a martyr my poor deaf mother was and what an asshole I was. To be fair, she was right. I was an asshole. The deeper into my little world I got, the more concrete my mother’s everlasting fear of something being wrong with me was made manifest. I was now the problem child my mother had always suspected I’d become. Strangely, the worse I became, the more deeply into her own neurosis my mother dove. My mother has always been a frantic, emotional waterfall of a woman. She wielded emotions like weaponry. Love was her shield;
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