I feel like if there has been one part of my work that has suffered it is that while dealing with my medical issues and my memory loss I have not managed to remember that I have a right to be angry.

The slurry of traumatic events that have happened to me, while seemingly disconnected, have one common thread — at no point have I had any stability. My stability has only come from other people. And other people are killing me.

Over the course of my entire life, my ability to stay housed — not “have a home,” because for years I had no presence on a lease and therefore has no rights over where I lived — has always relied on managing the emotions of another person I was dependent on, who controlled my finances, and who prioritized control over my life over my independence.

And I can’t forget that again.