The advocate on the other end didn't laugh. She said, "That isn't a bird. That is a cage."
If the bird was facing forward, he would sigh heavily when he walked in. That sigh meant dinner was "too salty" or the kids were "too loud." If the bird was facing right, he wouldn't speak to me for three days. Silence was his weapon of choice. It was colder than any winter.
Leaving wasn't one dramatic night. It was 400 small mornings of choosing myself over his mood. It was moving out while he was at work, taking only the children's drawings and my dented pots. I left the bird on the shelf. I left the clock that didn't work. I left him the silence. 7 SOE 019 Rape -Sora Aoi-
When I finally called a hotline, my voice was a whisper. "He doesn't hit me," I said, ashamed. "He just... moves the bird."
For ten years, I thought I was a curator. I thought my job was to keep things neat. To keep him calm. To keep the peace. The advocate on the other end didn't laugh
If it isn't physical, it isn't abuse.
I became obsessed with the angle of a ceramic bird. I measured it with my eyes. I built my entire emotional existence around avoiding his sighs and his silence. That sigh meant dinner was "too salty" or
In our living room, there was a small wooden shelf. It held three things: a ceramic bird from his mother, a clock that didn't work, and a small succulent. Every single day, I would dust that shelf. Every single day, I would stand back and make sure the bird was facing exactly 45 degrees to the left.