Your body is a series of knots at all times. You sleep with a rope of knots running through your small body and you wake with knots and you walk around a pile of knots. Which is to say you are in a constant state of terror. You don’t want to come out of your room. Ever. You don’t want someone else to come in your room. Ever. You shake when doors slam. Your voice startles you and you speak in whispers. Men’s voices scare the shit out of you. You tremble often. You tremble always. You are nauseous at all times. You don’t know the word nauseous so you have pains in your stomach but they’re just pains. You carry a tumbling pile of flatware in your stomach. You have a constant and enormous fear of getting in trouble. Your fear is bigger than a house. Your fear weighs more than an elephant. Your fear steals your breath. You are tired all the time. You never sleep. You are a pile of plastic doll parts under the sheet. You do weird things to ward off danger. You have rituals. You do not cry. You pretend. You imagine. You break every day. When you are an adult and a pile of broken pieces and sharp edges, you will not wonder what went wrong.