Mother would simply grab me and smash my face against the mirror, smearing my tear-streaked face on the slick, reflective glass. … I was then forced to stand, staring into the mirror.

I decided that I would use any tactic I could think of to defeat Mother or to delay her from her grizzly obsession. … In order to survive, I could never give in to her.

Standing there in the kitchen that day, listening to her boast, gave me a feeling of total emptiness. … I wished I could dissolve and be gone forever.

Mother told me how she had explained to the principal how David had an overactive imagination. … At the end of their talk, Mother said that she was more than happy to cooperate with the school.

At that moment I hated Mother to no end, but I hated Father even more.

“Chew it!” Mother snarled, “Eat it! Eat it all!” she said, pointing to the saliva. … I tilted my head back and forced what remained, down my throat.

At the core of my soul, I hated myself more than anybody or anything. I came to believe that everything that happened to me or around me was my own fault because I had let it go on for so long. I wanted what others had, but saw no way to get it, so I hated them for having it. I wanted to be strong, but inside I knew I was a wimp. I never had the courage to stand up to The Bitch, so I knew I deserved whatever happened to me. For years, Mother had brainwashed me by having me shout aloud, “I hate myself. I hate myself.” Her efforts paid off. A few weeks before I started the fifth grade, I hated myself so much that I wished I were dead.

I broke the cycle and became a father whose only guilt is that of spoiling his son with love and encouragement.