Somehow, against all the odds, I managed to avoid killing my father last night. You see, he was discussing a friend of Liane’s who was expelled from school for dealing drugs, and he said, and I quote “The parents must have known. There is no way a kid could be doing that without the parents knowing.” And somehow, somewhere, I found the strength to not leap up, wrap my hands around his throat, and squeeze until he was dead while yelling “Like the way you knew that my brother was dealing drugs, using drugs, physically and mentally torturing me, and sexually abusing me for all those years while you didn’t do a fucking thing to protect me? You mean like that?”
So I think I deserve some congratulations.
Yeah, good job. (That’s speaking as one who’s had similar filial impulses – though in my case, thank dog, all us sibs were at least non-combatants, if not always actual allies.)