Page 225 of Tell Me I'm Enough

She still doesn’t interrupt, so I keep going.

“And she let him destroyme,” I say, my voice shaking with the anger I’ve held in for years. “She knew what he was. She knew…and shestayed.”

My palms are getting sweaty from the heat and irritation rising in my body.

“She stayed long enough for him to get his hands on me, get in my head, get in every part of who I am.” I let out a laugh that almost sounds hysterical. “Then she died and left me alone with him to finish the job.”

My eyes sting, and I blink hard like I can shove it all back down, but it’s too late; it’s out now.

“Didn’t even stay to protect me from him. That man hates me and has made that very clear myentirelife. What did I ever do to him? Just exist? What makes me so fucking unlovable? What makes me never enough for him? I’m never fucking enough to him! No matter what I do to try to please him.”

The therapist’s voice is softer when she speaks. “That’s a lot of pain to carry alone.”

“Don’t—don’t do that,” I say, shaking my head, rejecting any pity.

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like I’m some tragic story,” I snap, wiping at my face aggressively. “I’m not.”

She gives me a second to gather myself before she says anything else.

“You’ve been surviving for a long time, Mason. But you don’t have to do it the way you’ve been doing it.”

My shoulders shake with a bitter laugh. “What way is that?”

“The way where you turn everything into anger,” she says. “The way where you punish yourself for being hurt.”

I walk over to the door and lean against the wall, feeling agitated. “Great diagnosis. Is there some pill to fix that?”

“No,” she says simply.

“Of course there isn’t,” I mutter.

She sets her notebook down on the side table instead of writing anything else.

“But there are ways to understand why you cope the way you do,” she continues. “Ways to stop hurting yourself in the process.”

I scoff. “I’m not hurting myself.”

She looks at me for a long second. Not judging, just…observing, challenging that statement. “You’ve talked about turning to alcohol when the pain feels overwhelming. You’ve described violence. Isolation. Self-loathing. Those are all ways of hurting yourself, Mason, even if they don’t leave visible marks.”

I push off the wall, irritated. “So what, now I’m just an addict and a violent mess with daddy issues? That about cover it?”

She doesn’t take my bait. “I think you’re a man who learned very early that anger was safer than sadness,” she says. “Anger gives you control. Sadness makes you feel small.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say through my teeth.

“Is it?” She leans back. “You told me your father hates you. Do you believe that?”

“Yes,” I answer immediately.

“Why?”

Because he’s never said he loves me. Because everything I do is wrong. Because he only shows up when I embarrass him. Because he hurts everyone smaller than him.

“Because if he did, he wouldn’t treat me the way he does.”

She nods. “And your mother?”