01/08/2025
The butter had to go all the way to the edges.
Each sandwich had to have at least two ingredients on it.
Every day, either my brother or I had to make his lunch for work. We had to follow the rules.
My mother was ill. She had Chron’s disease and a spinal problem which meant she was in constant pain. Despite this, she also had to meet his rules. Every night he demanded a cooked meal, which she would make. No take aways.
My brother and I would do the washing up and drying. He would inspect the dishes after and if they were not dry enough, he would throw them back into the dishwater in the sink.
My job was to iron his shirts. There was a way to do it. An order. Many times he would inspect the collars on his shirts and find them unacceptable and I would have to try again.
We were all required to do everything just right for him.
It was not military. He’d never been in the military. He was just a horrible, controlling person.
Of all the things I experienced growing up, this was just one. A small thing. Not a big deal on the scale of things.
There is a lot. A lot I battle with. A lot of things to overcome, resolve, grow from. A lot has changed. And there is a long way to go.
