We grew up in a world where physical pain reigned supreme over emotional pain. We grew up knowing that if we were sad, we got hit and were told to "grow up", but if we broke our wrist, we got kissed and told it would be better. Maybe being upset wasn't real enough; maybe they wanted cold, hard, actual suffering. Or maybe parents didn't want to know they were tormenting their children.
"I'm doing this because I love you." Love doesn't equal abuse. "You knew better." I'm a child. "I'm sorry." Then why did you do it again?
Now I'm crying. I can't help it. Mathias is asleep, curled around me, his eyes puffy. I weep big, ugly tears. Why am I crying? I was just a kid. I'm still a kid. My childhood was taken out from under me, and I was forced to grow up too fast.
Life was like a game. Every time you cry, take a pill. Every time it hurts, take another. Take more and more until you can't feel. Take one every time someone says they're worried about you. Life is just one big pill-popping game.
By this time you're so numb to the world around you, you don't even recognize your brother's body curled against you as not your own. You don't care, either. You simply find yourself drifting into unconsciousness and let the medicine take effect.
