I watched a home movie from when I was two, sitting at the breakfast table looking down at the pancakes and telling my mother, “I don’t like this.” I said it softly at first then I repeated it over a few times louder and louder as I went. Watching the video, you can hear me clearly, apparently clearer than those standing right there in front of me.

My mother asked what I said once then started to make her own assumptions and carried on with them. How astounding was this memory of the film right after the father of my children left, after sitting here talking at me and over me, assuming he knew what I was going to say.

I felt like the two-year-old at the table again. Only this time I didn’t repeat myself, louder and louder each time, I dissociated. At what point should I stop trying to make my point? That wasn’t even a play at words. Why does it matter that anyone hears what I have to say? Who gives a shit?

It’s a fact, that once you accept that what you think doesn’t matter to anyone but you, you break you free from ever having to repeat yourself or raise your voice to be heard. It’s nice not having to explain yourself, your actions, or your intentions, to someone who wouldn’t listen anyways.

I’ll be saving my energy for other things.