I remember the day she gave up. She was sitting on the couch, exhausted from taking care of everyone all day. He came home and belittled her because the kid's toys weren't picked up.
"What do you do all day?", he snapped. Cliche now; the straw that broke a mother's spirit then. He didn't know the venom in his words.
She didn't say a word but, you could actually see the shift in her. The white flag of defeat was waving in her eyes. The weight of the world fell off her shoulders. The jovial laugh that shook the house with joy was silenced for good. It was then she resolved to do nothing. It was to show him her value. The problem was she became her resolution; she was nothing.
Nothing was her safe place. If she did nothing, she would not be required to engage anyone. If she didn't engage with anyone, she wouldn't get hurt. But it wasn't enough to do nothing. There had to be a mechanism in which to cope.
Food as her drug of choice. It couldn't be cigarettes or alcohol. Those were his vices and they were dispicable. But food...food was her friend. Food was always there. Food was socially acceptable. Food would always make her feel better. Food numbed the pain.
And so, she stayed on that couch...the couch where the surrender was made. And it was there the legacy began...