The fugitive

My parents spent the last two months in Florida. Every time they come back, I'm filled with dread. It's hard to explain. Perhaps this article can speak for me. 

They come back, and I try to find a place to hide. But there is nowhere to hide. I even had a dream the day after they came back that I was a fugitive and they couldn't find me. No one could find me. I simply ran away and hid. 

I can't explain to most people what it was like growing up in my house. They don't have the ability to understand. And, yes, I know memories are not always to be trusted. But the feeling I get when I see someone is something I can trust. And with them, it's fear and loathing. This should not be. 

As the above article states, it's best to sever all ties with narcissistic parents. They cannot change. This has become one of the biggest reasons why I don't want to live here anymore. That's sad. 

There are some things other people will never understand. They won't ever know why I feel this way, why this is my reality, my burden to bear. All they see is a man who desperately wants to disappear. It must be a curious and queer thing for them to watch me squirm. They may think I'm being rude, even, but they don't know the terror ripping through me. They don't see the endless battles I've fought with these things, these people. 

It's just another thing that feels unfair. It's just another thing I have to give to God. It's just another thing I want to leave behind forever. Explain that to people. No. Why bother. 

So, here I sit, a fugitive, hiding from the people who raised me and hoping they will just leave me alone. Haven't they done enough damage?