Well, while the subject of each essay in You Mean Me? might be different, there's a commonality; in tone of voice; intimacy; one-on-one; me talking to the reader; as I am right now. Sharing feelings; attitudes; maybe raising questions. Authentic. True.This is me; and I'm not performing. Subject in this essay is in itself, me talking about...my essays. I'm convinced I was born with a capacity for reading minds; no joke. Right out of the starting gate I knew my father was explosive; unpredictable; ricocheting from violence to compassion in seconds. That my mother was in retreat; regretting the day she married; trapped for life. That my older brother-by three years-was blessed or cursed with a sense of truth and justice, fought back; and regularly suffered the consequences.As a very small observer, I read the message: Truth is life-threatening; spontaneity kills; screen every word, or die.The result? I never expressed a true feeling; intuited my father's moods; coddled my mother; never dozed; missed a clue; a watchman on the tower; day and night.Smothering my feelings; the truth; the injustice; the damage being done; and most importantly; my own rage; my terrors.And so I had seemingly nightly nightmares; awake; knowing someone; something was in the room; whispering to my brother in his bed; Are you awake? Are you awake; until he stirred. Can I sleep with you? And he always said, Yeah.Awake the next morning. Start all over.My truth; my stifled feelings; needs; emerging in top to bottom bodily assaults; pains; aches; anxieties.Incessant; for years; until it became intolerable; followed by more years-these productive-exploring my inner world; accepting what was; my history; the challenge of my childhood; offering me...the who I am...truth; acceptance; understanding; empathy; acknowledging a child's terror and need to survive.Now on prominent display openly; directly; me. The Who I am; in each and every essay in You Mean Me? As witness; this essay you've just read

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