TL;DR
Part 16
I remember
the exhaustion
more than anything.
Not sleepiness.
Exhaustion.
The kind
that settles
behind your eyes
from staying alert
too many years
in a row.
The kind
where your muscles
never fully unclench
because some part of you
still expects impact.
And impact
doesn’t always
mean fists.
Sometimes
it’s a slammed door.
A sudden movement.
A voice
changing shape
mid sentence.
Sometimes
it’s realizing
you’ve started flinching
before anyone
even touches you.
That one
does something ugly
to a person.
Especially
when you notice it
happening in front
of other people.
Because now
the violence
is no longer private.
Your body
starts testifying
without permission.
And people notice.
Oh,
they notice.
The quick glances.
The careful pauses.
The conversations
suddenly turning soft
around the edges.
Not soft enough
to stop it.
Just soft enough
to pretend
they care.
But careful
isn’t the same thing
as brave.
Most people
would rather
adjust themselves
around visible suffering
than confront
the person
causing it.
So they adapt.
Not to protect you.
To protect
the functioning
of the room.
Because once
violence becomes visible
everyone nearby
has to decide
whether they care more
about the injured person
or the comfort
of pretending
they never saw it coming.
Because eventually
the room
stops pretending
you’re the victim.
Now
you’re the threat.
Not because
you became violent.
Because you became
harder to manage.
That’s different.
People can survive
around suffering
for years.
What they cannot survive
is interruption.
And I interrupted
everything.
The excuses.
The pacing.
The choreography.
The careful
family ballet of:
don’t upset him.
don’t push it.
not tonight.
just let it go.
keep your head down.
protect your mother.
watch your siblings.
be smart.
be careful.
be good.
