Stay Quiet. Stay Safe.

You never expect chaos when it comes.

Let's be honest, it's a lot easier to give your mind a soft image to focus on when you have to face your fears. As an introvert, you thought that the pandemic was a welcome blessing (it felt that way, right?); however, if you give it some thought, it was more like 2 steps back from all the progress you made. Suddenly it's mask off o'clock, social on, and you have no clue what to do when hearing the chimes.

But that's okay, you have systems in place for this. Go back to basics, start from where you started, make observations, and make adjustments. That's how you survive, that's how you stay safe.

Your family is the perfect start... right?

Mom. You think of her and how she raised you. Sure, mistakes were made, but you're better now and so is she. The fact is, your parents are meant to function as a safe space, a free pass, no matter how much you mess up, the love is there. That's important.

Think. Think. Think. Decide. Fly to your family, rebuild what broke you, show off your progress, find the response you've been seeking your whole life... or not... that's fine too.

So you go.

Three days pass. Three days of observation. The one you call mom has changed, and not just her, you're watching the recap of your extended family, and seeing the glimmer in their eyes as they hear of how you've changed. Those three days give more energy than you've felt in years. The confidence feels deserved, the laughter doesn't feel as forced, the accomplishments... well, they're still, embarrassing but in a good way now.

This feels good. This is the forbidden progress you spoke of with the therapist. You've finally done it, you've overcome your past.

Obviously, this calls for celebration! It's only natural for you to end up at a comfortable bar with your mom and your favorite relative. There's catching up to do, and they can see how grown-up you are.

Karaoke. Shot. Conversation. Cocktail. Dancing. Singing. Cocktail. Shot. Shot. Shot.

You've gotten used to drinking. It was cheaper than medication, and more socially acceptable. Your tolerance is high, your energy is high, your observation... it never falters.

There's the flag. She's doing it again.

Mom is showing signs of the beginning of your torment... but you're an adult now. You know how this goes. You're happy for her sure but also confused. It took years for you to accept the past that she made, it took years for you to craft a personality that could handle trauma. So, this time, you look away. You focus on your relative, you focus on kind strangers, you focus on your drink.

Inevitably, the drinks stop working, it's the worst part of the night. No matter how strong the shot, your mind keeps buzzing. Where is mom? Am I being weird? Did I sing too loudly? Does the bartender think I'm drunk? Did I pay my tab? Should I stop? I should stop. Where's my mom?

An hour passes and you calm down. Another hour passes and your drink sits unsipped... sobriety and fear overtake you.

Where is mom?

You look left, you look right, you ask your relative and as they quiet your mind, you see your mother...right there, right in front of you. She's drunk, but happy. Fine.

Another hour passes and it's time to go. You're ready to play designated driver for your mom. After all, that's your role: protect her, don't let her down.

Time passes, she gets in the car, silent and swaying. Every cell in your body is on edge, ready to protect, ready to impress.

So when she's buckled and the car begins to move, you let out a sigh of relief. Finally, you've found your happy memory to resolve all the darkness in your past. It's good, it's so so so good. So when she asks you a question, you answer honestly. You speak your peace, your truth, your happiness. Finally, you're a family that can exist together without fear; the chance to be a child is yours, all is right with the world.

But you've forgotten... there was a reason you made that boundary. The root of your sadness, and your madness, came from a family willing to birth a mediator, not a child.

The moment you say your words, she opens the car door, unravels her seatbelt, and leaps out, rolling down the road behind you.

Breaks slam.

Footsteps.

Checking a pulse.

Blood. Blood. Oh no... there's so much blood...

Is she dead? Check her pulse. She opens her eyes and your heart is racing. You start to cry, but thank goodness you're on high alert because a fist comes your way.

She doesn't want you to touch her. She resists your help. She tries to fight you. You feel your cells burning again, it's going to be fight or flight and you.... you stand there. Shocked, confused, anxious, afraid. You stand there and you wait for her to hit you. All you can manage to say in a soft voice is, "I won't do it." and then... nothing.

Instead of hitting you, she cries out for someone who isn't there and you guide her to the car. You pick up all of her things that rolled out with her and set them in the back seat.

Somehow, your shocked brain guides you home and forces you to take care of the woman who would rather be a victim than a mother.

You wipe off the blood.

You give her a blanket.

You guide her to the restroom.

You make sure she's breathing when she falls asleep

You Google signs of medical conditions until the adrenaline goes away.

Then you lock your door, and you go to sleep.

In the morning, you feel a sense of familiar emptiness. Mom is okay, you can hear her talking on the phone about the scrapes and bruises that she can't remember. She's making plans for the day, just like so many years ago. As you lay there, pretending to sleep, you hear the door handle shake before a hard knock forces you upwards.

A deep breath.

The mantra you keep close.

And a special, childlike, wish: "this was a mistake...we're both adults...it will be okay..." five slow steps and a slowly opened door bring you face to face with the monster of your childhood who opens her mouth to say:

"We have to be gone in an hour, can you be ready?"

A familiar feeling of shattering.

A twitch of the eye.

A deep breath.

So many thoughts run through your mind. You could literally say anything... but in your heart, you know nothing would come of it. Boundaries, spirit, adults, external pain... they don't matter to a sociopath. You know that. You've always known that. So with a heavy heart, you take in one more deep breath, look her in the eye...

and you nod in agreement.

Stay quiet. Stay safe. That's how you survive... right?