#EmotionalAbuse

[rageinreverie]

i see her.

i see the way she grips the edges of herself,

trying not to slip away.

i tell her,

she is not small,

not crazy,

not his to destroy.

she is a storm waiting to break.

-rage in reverie

[moonshadowmystique]

"Sometimes, people need to paint you as the villain so they don’t have to face their own guilt for how they treated you."

[anderperrylover]

WHY NEIL PERRY

CONTENT Warning - emotional traumas and childhood trauama - based on true experiences

I never thought I'd write this - but I wanted to write this because I thought it might be helpful...

So, this is a bit of a personal thing but ever since I sat down and watched DPS something struck me. I had denied it on my first watch but I couldn't ignore it when I rewatched it. My life in many ways mirrors Neil's. Mr. Perry's words gave me a sense of deja vu - because my dad had used the words on me too - Like you have more opportunities than I ever had - this acting business (writing for me) - - You can do anything after college (when you're on your own)

It took me a while to understand and fully grasp the toxicity of the relationship. Then I started looking back - and I saw things from a new light. I was a child and I thought that it came out of love (maybe it did - but I doubt that now - no child deserves emotional or physical trauma like that). I think that is the reason I constantly keep apologising for everything (even when I did nothing wrong)

The confrontation Neil has with his father hurts me but I am also numbed now - I am in a pit (following what my father told me to do) - I feel suffocated and sometimes I feel nothing and sometimes I feel everything - Honestly it hurts and guts me - I can understand where my dad is coming from but it still hurts - because they don't seem to understand anything about me - They want me to look at it from their perspective and they want me to be grateful - but they never look at things through my perspective.

If you've been through a similar experience - reach out. Find a friend to talk to. Find someonoe who you can trust - don't look for temporary distractions. Find your place and find your strength there - And if possible find distance (that has helped me big time - the distance allows me to maintain a better mind-set) - Meditate and keep fighting for the things you love. Find love and take a chance and seize the day (start with small things - like writing a blog or reading or listening to music).

Know that you're not alone; know that there are people you can talk to and know that you are enough. There are people that love you and understand you and they will be your family (believe me family is not about blood - sounds cliched now but trust me - FAMILY IS FOUND AND FAMILY REACHES OUT TO ONE ANOTHER - THEY UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER AND THEY TRY TO LEARN FROM MISTAKES - THEY TRY TO HELP EACH OTHER)

Love, that is a place to start. Love yourself - love the little things in life and try to do something new (I started playing Pool it's something I wasn't encouraged to do because everyone kept on telling me that I'll tear the fabric - and I reconnected with theatre which is something I fell out of due to personal reasons - I didn't go for one audition because I had cousins coming over and I didn't want to inconvenience anyone - then they treated us badly and everyone blamed me for a breakdown - when I told them that I gave up for a reason a relative asked what and then they gaslit me when I said no one came to my defence when I had the breakdown by telling me that they always defended me)

I am eternally grateful for this film because it made me realise the extent of emotional trauma I had. It helped me see my strengths and find my own courage. It's never easy - Believe me it isn't, but you have to keep on fighting. You're incredible and talented and bold - find your courage and love yourself.

So, Neil Perry, thank you. You made me see the truth and love myself. Update - things have improved but they have a long way to go - I am still apologetic and my parents act like nothing happened - It is hard but at least there is temporary relief - It's not enough but for now - It's all I need

[sup3rqu33n]

in the tub i killed a spider.

it reminded me of tyler.

watched it struggle, watched it writhe;

just another sacrifice.

as he weeps about his pain,

he’ll keep stabbing til I’m drained;

like a predatory bleeder,

victim camouflages reaper.

poured shampoo, watched it drown,

spider struggled, flush it down;

it’s me in my innocence,

trapped in tyler’s cold pretense.

to tyler, i'm that spider there;

to spider, i'm its worst nightmare;

i'm a predator yet prey,

shifting roles like night to day.

think of tyler, not the spider,

one so cruel yet i'm no kinder;

drained my heart, he played for free

with my spider misery.

[blessingellyse]

WHY NARCISSISTS WANT CHILDREN 💯🎯⁉️📌

It Attracts A Lot Of Attention. Narcs Need Attention Far More Than Most People And Will Use Almost Anything To Get It Even Children And What Better Way Is There To Get Everyone’s Attention? Narcs Are Impulsive And Don’t Think Through Consequences So They’re Often Blind As To How Big A Commitment Children Are, Preferring To Focus On The Adulation Instead. Narcs Know That Word Travels Fast And If They Have An Ex They Want To Get At, They Might Have Children Just To Hurt Them. Especially If They Know That They Wanted Children Themselves. That’s How Petty They Can Be.

Narcs Hate Being Single And Certainly Don’t Welcome Someone Dumping Them. That’s Their Job So They Use Children As Insurance. Narcs Know That It’s More Difficult To Leave Them If They Share Children. Because Their Partners, Who Are Usually Empathic, Think Of Their Children’s Needs Before Their Own And Although May Be Unhappy In Their Relationship, Stay To Keep The Family Together. With Children In The Equation, It’s A Whole Different Ball Game. Because A Split Affects Them More Than The Couple And Many People Don’t Want To Be Responsible For Tearing A Child’s Family Apart. So They’re More Likely To Stay With The Narc Even If They’re Unhappy.

Increasing The Pressure To Stay In The Relationship Allows The Narc To Treat Their Partners Worse And Get Away With It. Narcs Learn How Far They Can Push Their Partners, Without Quite Pushing Them Away. They Learn Their Breaking Point And Push Them Just Bellow That Point. This Allows Them To Take As Much As They Can, Yet Keep Them Around So They Can Take Some More, Giving Them The Most Bang For Their Buck. The Breaking Point Is Likely To Be Much Higher When Children Are Involved Because No Right Minded Person Would Split A Family Over A “Minor Incident”, Which Narcs Are Experts At Making Them Seem. So The Bar Is Raised As To What Behaviours Would Spell An End To The Relationship, Allowing The Narcs To Get Away With More.

Even If The Relationship Ends, Children Still Play A Useful Role For The Narc. Because For 18 Years, The Narc Has Access To Their Former Partner And They Have The Law On Their Side. They Can Disappear And Do What They Want. Then When Things Turn Sour, Come Marching Back “For The Sake Of The Children". Narcs Don’t Particularly Care About Seeing Their Children. Which Is Why They Often Have Long Absences From Them, But They’re A Great Tool To Use To Get Their Feet Back Under The Table. Most Well Meaning Parents Won’t Deny Their Children Seeing The Other Parent. Even If They’ve Disappeared For A While. This Allows The Narc To Dip In And Out Of Their Life. And Work Their Charm If They Want Some Action. If The Narc Has Children With More Than One Partner, Then It’s Party Time. Because They Can Flit Between Several Peoples Lives. And When They Grow Bored, Discard Them And Move To Another.

Narcs See Their Children As Extensions Of Themselves And Some Want Children So They Can Live Through Them And Push Them To Accomplish What They Never Did. So They May Push Their Children To Become Doctors, Lawyers, Actors, Singers, Etc. Regardless Of What The Child Wants For Themselves And This Can Cause Problems Later In Life. It Can Be Like Fitting A Square Peg Into A Round Hole. People Need To Find Their Own Way, Based On Their Own Strengths, Weaknesses And Interests, But The Narc Is Too Focused On Their Own Ambitions To Consider This And Relentlessly Push Their Own Agenda.

The Narc Usually Takes Credit For Any Success The Child Has And Claims It’s Their Genes And Good Parenting That’s Responsible. To Outsiders They May Seem Like A Proud Parent, But The Only Pride They Really Have Is In Themselves. They See Children As A Boost To Their Profile. Because In Their Mind It Shows How Virile And Desirable They Are. Some Narcs See Children As A Numbers Game. The More They Have, The Greater They Must Be. So They Try To Have As Many Children As Possible, Despite Being Absent Parents.

Narcs Don’t Usually Have Strong Parental Instincts, So They Leave Most Of The Parenting To Their Partners And This Works Out Great For Them. Narcs Like To Saddle Their Partners With Children Because It Keeps Them Under Lock And Key. The Narc Knows That Their Partner Has Little Freedom When They’re Almost Solely Responsible For The Children And It Keeps Them Safely Tucked Away At Home Whilst They Swan Around Without A Care In The World. Parenting Is Draining And Narcs Like To Play The Energy Game With Their Partners. This Is Where They Tire Them Out Whilst Preserving Their Own Energy. This Allows Them To Dominate Their Fatigued Partner Because They Have Less Mental And Physical Strength To Fight Back.

Although Narcs Do Little Actual Parenting, The Outside World Doesn’t Know This And The Narc Talks A Good Game To Friends, Family And Co-workers, Creating The Impression They’re Doting Parents And Normal Functioning Members Of Society. Narcs Hide Behind A Family Persona To Disguise Their Dysfunctional Ways And It Can Work Wonders For Their Image And Reputation. Narcs Love People Thinking Highly Of Them. It’s An Ego Boost For One And It Also Helps Them Gain Attention And Favours Because People Are More Willing To Trust And Spend Time With People Who Are High Functioning. Narcs See Everyone Around As An Extension Of Themselves Rather Than As Separate Individuals. This Includes Their Own Children.

There Are Several Mistakes The Narc Parent Is Certain To Make During Their Counter-Parenting Journey. These Mistakes Will Undoubtedly Come Back To Haunt Them, Possibly Years Down The Line. Narcs Are So Self-absorbed They Fail To Stop And Consider That Children Eventually Grow Up And See The Damaging Behaviour With Their Own Eyes. Their Children Are Not Immune From Being At The Receiving End Of The Narc's Cycle Of ‘idealise And Devalue’, Where They Are Alternately Lovebombed, (Showered With Praise And Attention), And Then Subtly Devalued, Criticised, Withdrawn From And Put Down. This Leaves Them Confused And Hurt, And They Start Jumping Through Hoops To Please The Parent Enough To Re-Enter The Idealization Phase Again. This Is A Cycle That Repeats Ad Infinitum, Over And Over Again, Even When The Child Becomes An Adult Themselves.

Narcs' Children Will Be Triangulated And Played Off Against Others (Often Their Own Siblings Or Cousins), And Will Find Themselves Vying For The Narc’s Attention. They Will Be Gaslighted/Lied To By The Narc To The Point Where They Their Own Reality Is Dismissed As False, So That They Stop Trusting Their Own Perceptions Of Reality. They Will Be Demeaned And Shamed. If They Are Particularly Good At Something, Behind Closed Doors They May Find Themselves On The Receiving End Of The Narc Parent’s Jealously. Confusingly, The Narc May Then, In Front Of An Audience, Hold Up Their Child’s Talent As A Source Of Pride, As Just Another Way To Gain Positive Attention For Themselves.

It’s Not Surprising That Narcs Want Children For Selfish Reasons. Everything Else In Their Life Revolves Around Them, So Why Should This Be Any Different? But It’s Easy For Their Partners To Be Fooled Into Thinking That They Want Them For The Right Reasons, Especially When The Narcissist Knows What To Say. Narcs May Talk Romantically About How Children Will Bring Them Closer And How Much Joy They’ll Bring, Which Is All Very Appealing, But When The Children Arrive, The Harsh Reality Kicks In. The Narc Becomes More Narc Because They Can Get Away With It And Spends Little Time And Energy On Their Children Because They’re Still Hyper Focused On Themselves. Despite All The Promises They Made, The Sad Truth Is That Even With Children, Narcs Want Everything To Revolve Around Them And They’re Happy To Take The Focus Away From Their Children Because Deep Down, They’re Big Kids Themselves.

In Short, And To Put It Bluntly, Narcs Do Not Have What It Takes To Be Good Parents. They Cannot Put Another’s Needs First.

[happinessinavacuum]

Writing

Writing isn't easy. Sometimes I don't love it. I also feel "Called" to it, like I have to share the stories that are inside me. That doesn't make the actual task of it any easier.

Even before I could read or write, I was telling stories. Often, these were retellings of the stories from movies or books I had heard. My first original story was written in first grade. My grandma loved the story so much, she kept it for years. I found it among her things after she passed. It was a story about an apple, who was perfectly happy with mom and dad on the “family tree,” and was…

[emotionalghostown]

The undoing (TW)

When I first wrote this, I was trying to remember who I used to be—the girl I lost somewhere along the way, buried under trauma and bad choices. She was someone who used to laugh freely, who had dreams that soared beyond the walls of this city. I can still picture those late nights, holding myself together as best I could, whispering that I’d be okay. Back then, I believed in love like it was a fairytale I could write myself into. I stayed up late reading fanfictions and Wattpad stories about impossible love, love that could break boundaries and conquer anything. I played Lana del Rey, Cigarettes After Sex, Marina on repeat, as if those songs were spells to summon the girl I wanted to become.

I was eighteen, naive but full of hope. I was barely an adult, just a child with big dreams and a heart wide open to the world. I thought I could live out the stories I read, maybe save a damaged soul or impress someone untouchable. I wanted to be the heroine, blissfully unaware of the dark corners lurking in real-life romances.

And then, I met him, mere months after moving to this big sin city. The guy with the tragic past, the one everyone warned me about. I remember the rush of excitement, how his blue eyes seemed like portals to a world I wanted so badly to understand. He was my “tortured angel,” his blond hair a mess I wanted to untangle. I threw myself into him, believing I could save him. But instead, he broke me, shattering the wings I hadn’t realized were so fragile.

I fell hard, fast, and with my whole heart, and he dragged me back to reality. The painful lesson: broken romances don’t last. They leave scars that burrow deep, wounds that linger, and that take years to close. I wish I could’ve held on to the person I was before him, but survival meant leaving her behind.

I can still feel the weight of that day—the first time he raised his hand against me. I felt my heart shatter, piece by piece, as if the world I’d built up in my mind had been a lie all along. I searched for the girl I used to be, but he had chased her away, replacing dreams with nightmares. By then, I’d become a ghost of who I was, numb, broken, holding on to anything I could to stay alive.

And then, there was the day he shoved me down, and I realized I was carrying a part of him. The positive test was a lifeline, an impossible irony. I didn’t know how to survive him until I had to protect someone else. He shoved me again, knocked me down again, and with every hit, I felt pieces of myself stirring back to life. I was reborn, in a twisted way, as I lost that child. That loss sparked something in me, reigniting the fire I thought was gone forever.

It’s been a long, brutal road, and the wounds remain. I may never be who I was before him, but I’m still here, standing on my own. And that, I’ve realized, is more than enough. I’ve learned that surviving isn’t about forgetting the past; it’s about reclaiming yourself, piece by piece, from the ashes.

The song at the bottom of this entry was what he sang to me every time, and it will forever be associated with him. (The Lil Peep obsession is 100% the red flag in hindsight.)

[caesarandthecity]

Love in Prison: Seeking Affection Behind Bars

Gay for the Stay. That’s what they call straight men who, during their time in prison, decide to enter into a relationship with another man, being “gay” only while they’re behind bars. Can you imagine how amazing my life would be if I could just decide to be gay for a while, then not be, and then turn it back on whenever I wanted? Like flipping a light switch on and off. I’ve always been gay, never changed, and I suffered a lot until I learned how to survive.

In the beginning, in criminal prison, I behaved more cautiously, which made me an easy target, prey that was easy to spot. And believe me, there are so many men in there looking for someone to live with in a cell as a couple. I won’t deny, some of them were very attractive. Think about it: many were Latino, tattooed, in shape, just looking for someone to exchange affection and care with while in prison. It’s fascinating to see how humans, in this case, men, can change in the search for affection, in the search for love.

And I fell in love. I had my heart broken more than once in prison—multiple times, to be honest. One of the first was Chad. He was special, beautiful. His eyes were an incredible shade of blue. When I first arrived at the psychiatric ward of the prison, Chad came to greet me. And when I saw those eyes… “Chicos, those eyes!” I knew something would happen between us, and it did. We never kissed. We got so close once that our lips almost touched. He looked into my eyes, and I looked into his, and then we pulled away.

We were two madmen locked up in the psychiatric ward of the prison. And you know, they say that mad people don’t realize they’re mad. Deep down, we were just two people desperate for affection. We spent our days together, talking, laughing, sharing stories. When I met Chad, he had no money to buy food at the canteen, and neither did I. We helped each other whenever we could; if one got extra food, we shared it. Chad would talk about all the drugs he’d done and how heroin was his favorite. He would tell me how he loved living on the streets, always saying, “It’s a lifestyle, Bro!” Something inside me believed I could save him, that he deserved saving.

Sometimes, Chad would come to my cell, sit next to me, and just stare at me with those deep blue eyes. We would play-fight with each other, a way for us to touch without anyone saying anything. Someone started putting money in Chad’s account, and he began to gift me sweets and food. Sometimes, other prisoners got jealous, but Chad didn’t care, and neither did we. But Chad was very jealous. Once he realized how much I was into him, he started to change. He would complain that I walked around the block too much, that I didn’t want to sit next to him, that I talked to Scotland, that I didn’t play with him. Many times, out of jealousy, Chad would refuse to share food with me, doing it on purpose.

One day, Chad snapped out of jealousy and tried to attack me, saying he was just playing. The guards decided to lock down the block, and Chad refused to go back to his cell, so he was taken to solitary confinement. And just like that, Chad and I never spoke again. Maybe it was for the best. Many other inmates told me real stories about him that scared me and opened my eyes.

Chad was the first, but many more would come after. The interesting thing is that during that time, I never questioned Chad’s character. I never evaluated his actions towards me, and now, almost two years later, I can look back and see it all—and most importantly, see myself too. Remembering all this only made me realize how desperate I was in my search for love, not knowing that I should never have been searching for it because love isn’t something you search for; it’s something you build from the inside out.

I was desperate to love, to be loved. In my mind, I thought I could take Chad out of that life. Today, I know that no one leaves drugs for someone else. We only leave when we want to, and for ourselves. And I allowed myself to be close to someone who was toxic, violent, just because he said he liked me. Today, I understand the reason for my solitude.

[rageinreverie]

one day,

one day, you will find you again

not the ghost they have made of you

but the woman you buried deep

ready to breathe again

-rage in reverie

[darlingcarol1ne]

Each time I tell the story, minor details change. Sometimes it's raining. Other times a light drizzle. Once, it never even rained at all. The shirt you wore was blue but maybe it was beige? In one version, you hissed as you danced your trembling hand under the faucet to drown all the blood. In the extended epilogue of that version, you had just thrown a vase at my head and missed, the shrapnel wounding you instead. On the days that I am fearless and poet enough, I tell people the rehearsed story: the one where you walked through the front door and kissed me as I fisted your beige t-shirt with the blue stripes. I throw a light drizzle of olive oil on the focaccia bread and pretend not to tremble when you raise your voice. You don’t “mean” to throw the vase but you do anyway and the wound finds you instead and I think to myself that this might be my only form of justice. Now, years later, I dance to drown out the blood.

[ex-cogtfi]

To close 2023, we're sharing this heartfelt poem by COG-TFI survivor E.S. @poetry_catharsis that traces the impact of psychological and emotional abuse inflicted upon children, the devastating repercussions, and the reclaiming and unlearning we choose as survivors. The choices we make each day to choose self love and freedom, to rewrite the messages ingrained in us. To take back what was stolen from us before we were born.

May 2024 be a year of continued healing and awareness, as we support survivors in telling their stories and healing, and shine a light on cults and cultic abuse.

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

At what age did your parents stop bandaging the wounds and start creating them?

[dellb1969]

1981 Tekakwitha Children’s Home

If memory serves me right, it was here that I spent much of my second round of the sixth grade. Unlike the previous attempt, I was actually more present this time.

I was in class, I was doing the work and I was getting good grades. I have to think that it was because I was in a more structured environment. My house parent was vested in me and he cared, taking his role quite seriously. It was unusual to have that show of strength presented to me so openly and blatantly.

His name was, Charlie.

I had a room to myself and I preferred it that way, I hung posters on the wall and I wanted a plant. I asked for a clipping of a plant from one of the staff members and I grew it in water like I had seen my grandmother do many times.

When the plant was ready to be transplanted I chose a hanging basket and Charlie hung the hook and plant for me. When the other boys made fun of me, he defended me by telling them of the process in which it took the plant to grow and how I did that by my nurturing it to life and to grow roots.

It was a different world having an uncomplicated life of sorts, one where normalcy was a possibility. The problem with a child coming from chaos is that I didn’t have all of the skills to exist in normalcy. I coped better in a chaotic life where I had to troubleshoot my problems with the limited resources and knowledge that I had.

Still, I did my best while I had the chance. One of my good friends there was the same boy who I was forced to witness his rape by the same two teenage boys that raped me an hour before. It was like an unholy bond that we shared and I could see the differences it made in him some eight years later when our bedrooms were in the same unit.

When we would walk past that room, he would run the six feet to put distance between the door and him. I noticed my own behavior as well, I’d walk all of the way to the opposite side of the wall. Once I asked him as we walked past, ‘do you ever think about what happened in there?’

He reassured me that he didn’t.

Our friendship was a different one, changing after I witnessed him coming out of his bedroom closet looking exhausted and carrying a lotion bottle and a pillow. I didn’t know why or more so that I really didn’t want to know.

In a few more years he would be sentenced to prison for committing a rape that was so heinous and grotesque that I still cringe to this day thinking about. Yet, I can tap into his psyche and understand it a bit. There’s something that as even a victim of rape cannot be forgiven.

I was spinning out of control here during this particular stay, my preoccupation with alcohol was at an all time high. I wished that I was older. I began to hang out with the high schoolers, I found that I related to them more.

My time here went into the Christmas holiday and soon the next spring.

I had a girlfriend whom I really liked to be around, she was two years older than me. She had this curly hair and one of the sweetest smiles I had ever seen, she lit up when she smiled. When we were together and alone on the playground we were the only two people that existed. We’d sit on the swing together, holding hands. I was really drawn to her innocence and tomboy attitude. Alas, I was too young for her. She liked high school boys, again I wished to be older.

In a matter of weeks I would be in juvenile detention for being a general nuisance and that time I broke into the sanctuary and stole two cases of wine and wafers, I held a big party behind the gymnasium until the wee hours of the night. Yes, I had to go.

[davidwfloydart]

Enough already! 🐾 🐾 🐾 #emotionalsupportanimal #dogslife #dogsbestfriend #emotionalabuse #doggylove (at Catalina Foothills, Arizona) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqL2QgjP6-O0iHBvsnxrIyvKFuQ09Jx0RSnkco0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[caesarandthecity]

The Light and the Shadow: Memories of a Godmother and the Pain

They never gave me much love. I never really felt what it was like to be loved, so the little they gave me was always enough for me. I would cling to that person, and to me, we were already friends, colleagues, whatever it was.

On the street where I lived as a child, there was a lady who showed me a lot of affection. Her name was Dona Ana. Dona Ana was a teacher. Her house was simple, even dirty, and she had two children. One of them, Rodrigo, died in an accident. I still have memories of him today—a handsome guy, full of life, almost wild. I won't lie, sometimes I see myself in him. I was young, about six or seven years old, and I remember looking at him, thinking how beautiful and wonderful he was, and telling myself, "Wow, I want to be like him." Everyone liked Rodrigo. He was free. Unfortunately, he died very young in a car accident. After that, Dona Ana was left with her older daughter, Daniela, and her husband, Seu Célio.

Oh, how I loved spending afternoons at Dona Ana’s house. She always cooked delicious meals. All the birthday cakes in the neighborhood were made by her, and they were so good! Dona Ana was such a kind soul. But I also remember how my adoptive mother, Isabel, and others would talk badly about her behind her back, saying she owed money to everyone, that she was dirty. I never cared about that. I liked going to her house; there, I felt loved.

Sometimes, I would spend the entire afternoon there with her daughter, watching movies, talking, laughing. Other times, I would go to the kitchen, hug Dona Ana, give her a kiss, and she would always tell me she was my godmother. And she truly was a wonderful godmother, a person who always brought light into my life.

I remember one time when she saved me from Isabel, who was beating me. Isabel found me playing hide-and-seek under the bed with other kids, and in a rage, she pulled me out and started kicking my face. The door was open, the house was full of people because of a party, and even then, she didn’t hesitate to do it. The one who saved me that day was Dona Ana. She was passing by, saw the scene, and shouted for Isabel to stop. Isabel stopped, and I clung to Dona Ana. From that day on, she held a special place in my heart.

I always called her godmother, and whenever I had the chance to be by her side, I was. But she passed away, taken by breast cancer that devastated her and her entire family. She became unrecognizable.

I’m grateful to Godmother Ana for saving me, but I also remember that she was often involved in my schoolwork. Isabel would take over my projects and make me sit there, watching, wanting to participate but unable to.

The way Dona Ana adopted me as her godchild was peculiar. Isabel, my adoptive mother, always made a point of telling everyone: "César’s uncles don’t care about him, César’s grandparents don’t care about him, César’s godparents don’t care about him." Isabel always made sure to pass on the idea that I wasn’t important to anyone.