The Invisible Girls
The world I grew up in didn’t look dangerous, but it was.
It was dangerous because it was subtle.
The kind of control and power that isn’t easy to name because it was disguised as love.
God loves you, but he is always watching.
I love you, but I only give you affection when you obey me.
Love is conditional and therefore, I became a master of picking up on subtle cues.
Because those who use control as a form of love do it coercively.
They don’t tell you outright, they leave hints, they reward or punish.
My sister chose the path of rebellion.
Her response to control was to defy it.
A brave thing to do, but one with unending consequence.
Perhaps because I saw how it worked out for her, and this propelled me to choose the other path.
I learned to survive by hiding.
I became invisible. I learned to walk so softly the floor would not creak. How to cover every move without a trace, as not to be tracked. How to please the power in order to escape its the wrath.
I kept it all to myself, the pain of rejection. The fear of failure and punishment.
The eventual rage that grew inside of me by having to suppress all I was.
It is often those who seem perfect who are chaos underneath. The suburban home with the red door and the matching floral couches could never be suspected of being filled with chaos.
