When my mother looked me in the eye and said, “I wish you were never born,” I swallowed the shock, said, “Consider me dead,” and vanished—blocking her, blocking my father, blocking my golden-child brother, and cutting out seventeen relatives in one night as if I had never existed. For a week, everything was quiet, but then they started to show up: my aunt was banging on my door, my brother was beating me like I owed him my life, and my mother was pursuing my girlfriend at work to turn her against me—and just when I thought it was impossible.
“I wish you were never born.” My mother said it like she was finally setting down a heavy bag she’d been carrying for years, relieved to let it thud on …
When my mother looked me in the eye and said, “I wish you were never born,” I swallowed the shock, said, “Consider me dead,” and vanished—blocking her, blocking my father, blocking my golden-child brother, and cutting out seventeen relatives in one night as if I had never existed. For a week, everything was quiet, but then they started to show up: my aunt was banging on my door, my brother was beating me like I owed him my life, and my mother was pursuing my girlfriend at work to turn her against me—and just when I thought it was impossible. Read More
