You are like bronchitis. Without warning, you stir inside of me. You create tsunamis of memories. I am still hacking up water between sobs.

In our family, we keep a lot of things hidden; like holes in the walls, screams behind closed doors.

You yell at me more often than you love me. Fighting with you fills me with waves of weakness and empowerment all at once. Yelling at you burns my throat more than the moonshine hidden within the depths of our freezer ever could.

I have begun to take medicine for my sickness. By medicine, I mean therapy and by sickness, I mean you. Finally, I have realised that I do not need you to be complete. Now, I cannot remember a time that I have felt more free.