how do you live with a mother whose idea of love is burning down bridges and then burning the ashes? how do you live in her house, constantly awaiting her next episode, staring at your bedroom door and waiting for her to burst through it? you go days without eating because you’re terrified to get out of your room and you hope that this will help you shrink small enough to fit into your childhood hiding spots - all the places she’d never think to look. you cut your wrists, hips, thighs, any parts of your unloved skin that you can reach in hopes it will slow your breathing down before she hears you panicking - she’s already reminded you once today that there is no room for weakness in her house. you smell burning again and get ready to bid farewell to another bridge, another memory, another part of your relationship that you’ll never see again. you’re not as bothered as you should be because in all honesty, there wasn’t really a relationship or a bridge to begin with.