The Blog of Eugenia H. Watson, Do Not Fold, Spindle or Mutilate

[eugeniawatson]

When I was thirteen, I saw my father kill a man. I suppose I ought to be traumatized by this and have nightmares, and spend hours recounting the incident to my therapist while suddenly going Goth and drawing disturbing watercolors using only black and red paints. Sometimes I wonder what it says about me that I’m not traumatized. Do I lack human empathy? Am I some sort of disconnected monster? Or am I just that bloody tough? Dad says some people are wired to be able to deal with trauma better than others. I guess – yay for me?


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