abuse: recent publications

How the Pandemic Triggered Memories of My Abusive Childhood

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.

Growing up in an abusive household in which I was also schooled, hardly a day passed when I didn’t feel like a prisoner. I was rarely allowed to leave the house; permission to walk around the cul-de-sac nearby when I turned 12 seemed a luxury and a blessing. I never got my driver’s

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