Power
Out Prepper Review The Story. I said something unpleasant to a
sister. My mother scolded me. "Patricia Jean! Don't pick fights
with your sister. You are such a know-it-all!" I was a
thinned-skinned kid, so I took the criticism badly. My mother's angry
words rained down on me like blows from a whip. I ran to my room so
no one would see me cry. I sobbed into my pillow, feeling utterly
rejected. (I had been just as rejecting of my sister, but didn't see
it.) I was falling apart, a ruined personality. This hour's rejection
tapped into all the rejections of all the years of living with
parents who believed in telling children their faults.
Blame
and shame overwhelmed me almost into disintegration. Despair was a
dark blanket, a deep pit, a desert land where I wandered without
comfort or hope. How could I find the energy to go on? How I could
face my family? At last my tears were spent. I slowly began to put
"me" back together.
I
told myself I was someone good even if nobody appreciated me. The
dark blanket I folded up and tucked away where I didn't have to think
about it. I walked away from the insanity of that dark pit and out of
the desert of no hope back into the familiar home of my childhood.
Because I liked company, and because I had chores to do, I went
downstairs. I looked no one in the eye. I pretended nothing had
happened. They all pretended with me.
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