The Binary World I Grew Up In
In my family, things weren’t simply liked or disliked—they were either the best or the worst. No middle ground, no “not for me.” If you didn’t love something, you had to hate it.
Once something was labeled right or wrong, it became collective truth. Everyone had to agree—or at least pretend to. Questioning, hesitating, or feeling differently wasn’t just disagreement; it was dissent. And dissent made you the enemy.
That breach wasn’t corrected, it was punished. Not to remove the threat, but to create a cautionary tale: this is what happens when you don’t fall in line. You lose protection. You’re cast out. Cooperation or neutrality didn’t exist—only winners and losers. And victory was best established by the outcast’s observable demise.
Since exile wasn’t enough. You were destabilized—pressured, undermined, and then blamed for the very instability imposed on you. The campaign is subtle, managed through half-truths and character attacks disguised as concern.
And here’s the part that hurts the most: I absorbed it. I carried those hateful beliefs and destructive behaviors into my own life. It’s true that hurt people hurt people. For decades, I caused pain equal to what I had lived—sometimes more. The first 35 years of my life were marked by destruction, fueled by the system I came from.
