"And all the lights that lead the way are blinding"

When I enter the house, I can smell the stench of what they've said about me. It hangs heavy in the air. If they were interested in shaking the hand of introspection whatsoever, I could be a most menacing symbol. But I'm afraid and disappointed and full of loss. Once again my relationships have slipped out form underneath me, more completely than I could have dreamed. I feel such cold eyes on me. I feel that all my interactions are carefully stored away so they can be pulled out later as stories that illustrate how miserable, how incompetent, how defensive I am. I definitely keep my pockets lined with stories, too--living as an outcast from the tribe is very painful. You want to explain to someone why your being alone is not your fault. They didn't understand. My brother told us about an essay he wrote for the Caged Bird about pressure to serve a mission. He shared it with my sister who took it to our parents. They called him in and told him if he printed it, his paper would be done, no one would read it, and that it was against everything he was trying to accomplish. When he disagreed, he was told, "Get out." It's just birds and birds and cages and cages.