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Frankenstein and her monster
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{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}
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one of the more valuable things I’ve learned in life as a survivor of a mentally unstable parent is that it is likely that no one has thought through it as much as you have.
no, your friend probably has not noticed they cut you off four times in this conversation.
no, your brother didn’t realize his music was that loud while you were studying.
no, your bff or S.O. doesn’t remember that you’re on a tight deadline right now.
no, no one else is paying attention to the four power dynamics at play in your friend group right now.
a habit of abused kids, especially kids with unstable parents, is the tendency to notice every little detail. We magnify small nuances into major things, largely because small nuances quickly became breaking points for parents. Managing moods, reading the room, perceiving danger in the order of words, the shift of body weight….it’s all a natural outgrowth of trying to manage unstable parents from a young age.
Here’s the thing: most people don’t do that. I’m not saying everyone else is oblivious, I’m saying the over analysis of minor nuances is a habit of abuse.
I have a rule: I do not respond to subtext. This includes guilt tripping, silent treatments, passive aggressive behavior, etc. I see it. I notice it. I even sometimes have to analyze it and take a deep breath and CHOOSE not to respond. Because whether it’s really there or just me over-reading things that actually don’t mean anything, the habit of lending credence to the part of me that sees danger in the wrong shift of body weight…that’s toxic for me. And dangerous to my relationships.
The best thing I ever did for myself and my relationships was insist upon frank communication and a categorical denial of subtext. For some people this is a moral stance. For survivors of mentally unstable parents this is a requirement of recovery.
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AZRA TABASSUM (or @5000letters)
from My Heart is Full of Open Windows;
original photos and edit
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i want to go exploring a big open moor. it’s misty and a bit cloudy but comfortable, and in the small creeks breaking up the green fields and heather i want to catch small frogs and snails, i want to wade through the tall grasses as my little dog hops among them to find his way, i want to stand so still that a butterfly alights on my shoulder, i want to be among the wildflowers and greenery with no danger of being bitten by ticks. i want to lay down with the short grass tickling my cheeks, and when it grows dark i will break out in hot pursuit or fireflies i know i’ll never catch. and when i run home, red-cheeked and breathless, i will have a warm bath and a soft bed waiting just for me.
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ANNE CARSON
‘The Glass Essay’ from Glass, Irony, and God (1994);
personal photos, original edit
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