All the Crap
It's because my parents created controllable victims. I was among the handy vulnerable on whom they could prey. Their shit had years and years, and all manner of situations to find opportunity. It didn't matter who I was, or what situation, I was stuck with them.
Sex, speaking, shopping, eating, trying to play, work, clothing, the very skin I'm in, muscle, bone, everything. Everything was permeated with their filth.
I hold my mother responsible because she did nothing, even instigated the violence and rape. She was the mother, I was the kid. It doesn't mean that I don't miss her, but what the hell is there to miss? Familiarity, I suppose.
I still find shame in the family into which I was born.