Dancing with my mother’s mental illness

“I can stand almost all of the changes,” my dad said, “but the music. I can’t handle the fucking music anymore.”

We were talking on the phone, and I could hear the music, as if his phone was right next to the stereo. It was ‘Lil Jon this time, and I could hear my mom yelling “shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots…

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Nichole R

Nichole R

Copywriter, recovering academic, amateur cyclist, literature enthusiast. I write hard truths because my silence won’t protect me (thanks, Audre Lorde).