The Devil You Know

I always picked the devils I knew. Smiling demons that reflected the narcissism and don't-give-a-shit-ism of my mother and the abusive partners she married and discarded.

Abuse is familiar. It feels like, "Oh, I hear this song a lot. I know all the words." It's a discordant, screeching, foul song. But I know all the words.

You'd think after a lifetime of crap, I'd recognize crap. Oh, I told myself time and again, this wasn't crap. It was treasure covered in crap. Remove the dirt. The ugly wor...