I mistake control of my outward appearance as architecture for my soul.

I’m realizing that so much of my existence was focused on outrunning what seemed to be a preordained fate of loneliness.

Because I wanted so desperately to be loved and accepted, I began to change myself into the person he thought I should be.

Sometimes I look at her and I just hate her. And then I hate myself for feeling that. I tell myself I’m ungrateful. I’m worthless without her. She’s everything to me. Then I swallow the feeling I wish I hadn’t had, tell her “I love you so much, Nonny Mommy,” and I move on, pretending that it never happened. I’ve pretended for my job for so long, an