My mother moved into a rancher in the late ‘90s. She purchased the home from an elderly lady who moved into an assisted living facility, as she needed some mobility help. Her husband and her had bought the house in the ‘70s and lived there together until his death a few years previous.

Amen to that. Most kids from broken homes have it rough. But the people who broke the homes in my family think they are completely innocent and that the kids should deal with the bed they made for us. Bootstraps!

I’m the child of a deadbeat dad. A dad who would ask his employer to lay him off right before court so he could claim undue financial hardship, so he wouldn’t have to pay. He completely got away with it. A dad who I never lived with, and who as soon as I started thinking for myself, wanted nothing to do with me. I’m…

yes ma’am. killin it. good for you.

A- Fucking - Men

this could have been written about my family no joke. replace crazy uncle with my father and Ukrainian-Canadians and you have us.

Story number two is not scary but nice:

I have three, which I will split into three posts. Sorry to be annoying:

I had my dad’s name all my life and I was proud of it. Until he disowned me at 18 (he’s a paranoid schitzophrenic who refuses all treatment). After 12 years of trying to have a relationship with him, and then finally realizing all that would accomplish is allowing him to reject me over and over again, I finally…

I asked my long term partner if it was me after months of his unwillingness to talk about his ED. He said it was. Like, instantly. Like he was relieved to say it. I dug deeper, which was a mistake. It was my stomach, specifically.