I’m on the floor now, cross-legged, and as the enormity of what I’m doing, of where I’m letting myself go, sets in, I place a hand over my mouth and start crying. I close my eyes, take in a loud breath, and continue to cry. I cry, because it’s so hard to numb the pain, yet so easy to let it take over. I cry, because I hate my mother for being the way she is. For doing to me what no mother should do to her child. And I cry, because I know I’ve won, and yet, I know that I’ve also lost.
