When my mother got angry or was displeased, she would act as though I wasn’t there. It was like I’d become invisible like a ghost or a pane of glass. When I was small—say six or seven—I would melt under the heat of her glare, crying and begging for her to say something but she wouldn’t. Of course, I tiptoed around her all during my childhood, afraid. You know, it was like being locked in...
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