Fuck Villages

There's rejection, then there's rejection. Rejection can take all kinds of shapes and smells. When you grow up in a village, you can easily find yourself inbetween people who straight up dislike you, people who disregard you and your family. And this whole microcosmos lost in the middle of buttfuck nowhere can drive you anxious as balls. It's not an island, it's not a peak. It's just a tiny little village lost in a sea of greens. And yet you can't run. You can't afford to hurt your family by running away for a bit and you can't send a message in a bottle.

Lemme tell you about this whole call for help thing, it's a goddamn mess. I wasn't being abused by family so I had that, you know, safe spot of sorts that I could rely on. Some of the kids in our village weren't as lucky. They grew out of their childhood before child abuse services even set a foot on their doorsteps. Whips and sticks and more whips in there, like some kind of parenting dungeon. Some messed up shit I tell you.

Villages aren't so bad if you got a car that you can drive around and shit. But as a kid, I only got to leave on vacation or when we had to shop with the parents. The village was a very specific brand of bullshit I wish I never had to put up with. But hey at least I survived with most of my head intact so that's good, right?