You know I cannot hurt you, not in the way that you hurt me. Your words are nasty and cruel. They inflict wounds as deep and as painful and anything inflicted by a real weapon. You have used your command of language to belittle, humiliate and marginalise me for years, but always in ways that nobody else would ever be aware of.
They all see you as caring, loving and supportive: a martyr and a saint.
What they don’t see how evil and sick you are in the way you treat me, your helpless responsibility; your damaged, disabled imperfect child.