The Shell Collector

“Help me understand how … how you aren’t all the same.” He laughs. “Because it’s a better story and much easier to write if we’re the same.

I knew it was over when he called me a shell. He said there was nothing alive inside me, that there couldn’t be. He was drunk at the time, which maybe means he didn’t believe what he was saying, or maybe means he finally spoke the truth. Either way, I couldn’t forgive him. Because part of me agreed. It was the shameful part of me that thought I was

This is not the history anyone else knows. The popular accounts are of an unchanging and evil empire, handed from father to son, each of them perfectly like the other. A convenient tale, because it’s easy to understand. We can transfer our ire from one generation to the next, no forgiveness required, no need to get to know a man. Just judge him by

Abusive relationships often go like this: falling in love, not seeing the ugly side, coming up with rationalizations when you do. It’s hard to get free, because you just want to recapture some lost feeling. You want to feel safe, respected, honored again. And you’ll play games with your mind to make that happen. It’s the alcohol’s fault; it’s the s

It’s often not what people say or how they say it, but how they visibly react

“Will you listen to me for just a second?” Henry asks. “You know, because I’m your boss?”