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How the Pandemic Triggered Memories of My Abusive Childhood

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I used to pick up in the middle of the night, jump on the subway and head downtown. Midtown at midnight in a metropolis renowned for its own insomnia.

Usually, I ended up in whatever 24 hour diner I could find, where I would slide into a booth and drink one cup of black coffee after another — simply because I knew I could.

What I couldn’t do was face going home. What I couldn’t do was shut my bedroom door and agree to make peace with the solitude of the night.

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