Twenty years of grief, and anger, and rage, and resentment. Bottled up roiling in my gut boiling in my veins. Any time someone called my name or texted me I braced waiting for them to start screaming at me and belittling me or worse…

I always imagined that one day I would confront my father; confront him about his abuse, his hypocrisies, and for making me live for twenty years in a constant state of fight or flight just waiting for his next tantrum.