"Stop acting crazy"

"I'm not crazy, I'm angry"

"No, I'm telling you, you're crazy"

"And I'm telling you, I am fucking angry"

"Don't fucking swear at me. You don't know what you are saying, you're so fucking crazy"

"Ok, I'm crazy. Leave me alone"

"Why do have to be such a crazy fucking bitch all the time? I'm only trying to help you, and you always turn it back on me"

It wasn't safe to be angry back then, and the very nature of gaslighting is that I actually started to believe I was crazy. I did not believe I was entitled to my own anger.  I learned quickly that if I expressed my rage, then my wellbeing, and that of my two little boys, was threatened.

Nowadays, I own my anger, my rage, and my moments of crazy. I own my sad, my hard, my joy and desires, sometimes all in the same day.

Nobody in my life tells me I am crazy, stupid, fat, ugly or useless.

And nobody in my life dares to tell me how I feel.

Deborah NicholsonComment