Trigger would take my bedroom door off the hinges, convinced I was hiding something. Eating, or doing drugs—I don’t know. He would just unscrew it and cart it away. “You don’t need no damn privacy!” he’d yell. This would usually accompany a grounding over something he thought I did. If I came in four minutes past curfew, I would be grounded four days.
I can relate to this, not having an privacy and my mother being suspicious of everything.
