This is the pattern of emotional suppression: You grew up learning to swallow every thought, every emotion, including those inflicted by the adults around you. You were alone, somewhere in the euphoria of heaven, playing and having conversations you never truly understood, yet they soothed your soul and brought you genuine peace—until your parents chose to engage in combat. It was a struggle that was sometimes sweet, rough, or enjoyable; you couldn't really tell. Or perhaps it was the kind of combat where only one person took wicked pleasure while the other wailed in pain and shame. It wasn't until you grew up, gaining a bit of sense, that your "rabies- infested mouth" aunty blurted out the truth: you were a child born out of rape. That was when your emotions locked down, knowing you couldn't be claimed, that your identity was nothing more than shame, anxiety, and a long trajectory of trauma. You choked on your pitiable...
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