Bücher von Beth Sullivan

The pain in my jaw was like heat growing rapidly over facial tissue, like a bush fire destroying valuable habitats. I stopped to look at my reflection and with the heaviest of self-pity and pain, did not recognise the woman staring back at me. How would I explain this to my mum? To my daughter? This time I couldn't think of an excuse, I couldn't think of a way to explain away my injuries. Not this time. He was able to blend in and control people's view of himself in almost any social construct. Was he a chameleon or social manipulator? The fear he installed in myself and others was a method of control to him. I was truly unable to escape and petrified to even try. I didn't know left from right, right from wrong. Light from dark. Sober from drunk. Love from fear. I felt I was in a constant revolving door, every time I tried to get off, it would spin faster and faster, I couldn't get out of the unstoppable, erratic, and toxic encasement of my life.