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My mom is and almost always has been a bitch. She and my stepdad treated me like shit. I’ve been told that they wouldn’t be surprised if I reached 600 pounds because of how much I ate. I weighed 120. And my weight stays the same no matter what I do. Once in therapy, I did talk about my childhood memory of my parents fighting about money and how expensive my sport was and how much they spent on me. I tried asking my mom about it after I came to understand its impact on me. We’d been out for ice cream or something and I brought it up. She burst into tears and I ended up comforting her and reassuring her it was no big deal (a common pattern between us: negate my feelings to make my mom feel better). Oh well, right? If we care enough about the feelings of authors’ loved ones that our sympathy for them overcomes our desire to read the work, then there’s really not much left to read.
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