Isolation with your abuser

I can hear rain on the window pane.

I can hear my dog breathing rapidly in her dream.

I unloaded the dishwasher. Twice.

I cooked and cleaned. Breakfast lunch and dinner.

The kids showered. We played spoons. We watched a movie. There were cuddles. Everyone is tucked in.

But you want me to stay.

When it only hurts me.

And I say no.

You say I am white trash. You say I am crazy. You mock therapy. Call me a drunk. A mean drunk.

I will enjoy this glass of wine.

Thank you for letting me practice compassion.

I text a friend.

Am I mean when I drink?

Never, she says. Silly. Happy. Joyous.

I will leave. I will get away. I will be free.

But today, I cower. Under his raging face. Hoping the children sleep. Hoping.

I am safe.

Thank you for the practice.

And I breathe.

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