TRIGGER WARNING: EXPLICIT AND BRUTAL PERSONAL STUFF.

I'm reading Elena Gorokhova's beautiful memoir A Mountain of Crumbs and realizing that even by Soviet standards my childhood was outright bizarre, chaotic, and violent. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe there were tons of children like me who grew up abused in every variety of ways and they simply don't talk about it. Especially women. Maybe it is my duty to talk about it, to open up people's eyes on the atrocities hidden in the closets and swept under rags. Maybe one day I will set my teeth to it and write a memoir.