My mother is a real living human. I treat her as though she were some monstrous character from some complicated drama. I manipulate her. I lie to her. I fear her. What I really feel is the loss of her love. I need to stop that type of lying.
November 21st, 1972
November 21st, 1972
November 21st, 1972
My mother is a real living human. I treat her as though she were some monstrous character from some complicated drama. I manipulate her. I lie to her. I fear her. What I really feel is the loss of her love. I need to stop that type of lying.