Somehow I got back into my building, then I sat on my bed and tried to reconstruct what had happened. I remembered going to sleep. I remembered the dream. What I did not remember was flying from my bed and sprinting down the hall and into the street, shouting, but that is what I had done.
不知怎的，我回到了宿舍大楼，然后坐在床上，试图回想发生了什么。我记得自己去睡觉了，记得做过的梦。我完全不记得的是自己从床上一跃而起，飞奔下楼来到大厅，冲到街上大喊大叫，但我就是这么做的。
The dream had been of home. Dad had built a maze on Buck’s Peak and trapped me inside it. The walls were ten feet high and made of supplies from his root cellar — sacks of grain, cases of ammunition, drums of honey. I was searching for something, something precious I could never replace. I had to escape the maze to recover it, but I couldn’t find the way out, and Dad was pursuing me, sealing the exits with sacks of grain stacked into barricades.
我梦见了家里。爸爸在巴克峰建了一座迷宫，将我困在其中。墙有十英尺高，全是他地窖里的物资垒起来的——一袋袋粮食、一箱箱弹药、一桶桶蜂蜜。我在寻找一件东西，一件对我来说永远不可取代的珍贵之物。我必须逃出迷宫去找回它，但我找不到出去的路。爸爸紧追不舍，用一袋袋粮食垒成路障堵住了出口。
Someone was screaming, a long, steady holler, so loud it woke me up. It was dark. There were streetlights, pavement, the rumble of distant cars. I was standing in the middle of Oxford Street, half a block from my dorm room. My feet were bare, and I was wearing a tank top and flannel pajama bottoms. It felt like people were gawking at me, but it was two in the morning and the street was empty.
有人在尖叫，一声凄厉的、持续的长号将我吵醒。天还未亮。有街灯，人行道，远处汽车的隆隆声。我正站在离我的宿舍半个街区远的牛津街中央，赤着脚，穿着背心和法兰绒睡裤。我感觉似乎人们在盯着我看，但那是凌晨两点，街上空无一人。
I did not study. I tried to read but the sentences meant nothing. I needed them to mean nothing. I couldn’t bear to string sentences into strands of thought, or to weave those strands into ideas. Ideas were too similar to reflection, and my reflections were always of the expression on my father’s stretched face the moment before he’d fled from me.
我不再学习。我试着阅读，但那些句子毫无意义。我需要它们毫无意义。我无法忍受把句子串成一串串思想，或将那些句子编织成观点。观点太像是某种映射，而我脑海中的总是父亲在逃离我之前那张拉长的脸上的表情。
The thing about having a mental breakdown is that no matter how obvious it is that you’re having one, it is somehow not obvious to you. I’m fine, you think. So what if I watched TV for twenty-four straight hours yesterday. I’m not falling apart. I’m just lazy. Why it’s better to think yourself lazy than think yourself in distress, I’m not sure. But it was better. More than better: it was vital.
精神崩溃的问题在于，不管你崩溃得多明显，你都会不以为然。你会想，我很好，所以我昨天连续看了二十四个小时的电视又有什么关系呢。我没有崩溃。我只是太懒。我不知道为什么认为自己懒惰比认为自己陷入困境要好。但那的确更好。不只更好：那至关重要。
I stopped going to my French group, then to my sketching class. Instead of reading in the library or attending lectures, I watched TV in my room, working my way through every popular series from the past two decades. When one episode ended, I would begin the next without thinking, the way one breath follows another. I watched TV eighteen or twenty hours a day. When I slept I dreamed of home, and at least once a week I awoke standing in the street in the middle of the night, wondering if it was my own cry that I’d heard just before waking.
我不再去参加法语小组，不再去上素描课，不再到图书馆看书，也不再去听讲座，而是躲在自己房间里看电视，把过去二十年所有的热门电视剧都看了一遍。看完一集，我会不假思索地接着播放下一集，就像一次呼吸接着下一次呼吸。我每天看十八到二十个小时的电视。睡觉时我会梦到家，每周至少有一次我半夜醒来站在大街上，疑惑着醒来之前听到的哭喊声是不是自己发出的。
After a few more weeks of this, I stumbled from my bed one night and decided that I’d made a mistake, that when my father had offered me the blessing, I should have accepted it. But it wasn’t too late. I could repair the damage, put it right.
这样又过了几个星期，一天晚上，我跌跌撞撞地下床，认定自己犯了一个错误：父亲主动提出赐福于我的时候，我应该接受。但现在还不算太晚。我还可以弥补，让一切复原。
By December I was so far behind in my work that, pausing one night to begin a new episode of Breaking Bad, I realized that I might fail my PhD. I laughed maniacally for ten minutes at this irony: that having sacrificed my family to my education, I might lose that, also.
到了十二月，我的学业已经落后太多。有天晚上，当我开始播放新一集《绝命毒师》时，我意识到自己可能拿不到博士学位了。我为这个讽刺狂笑了十分钟：我已经牺牲了自己的家人，就为接受教育，而我可能连这个也保不住了。
I purchased a ticket to Idaho for Christmas. Two days before the flight, I awoke in a cold sweat. I’d dreamed I was in a hospital, lying on crisp white sheets. Dad was at the foot of the gurney, telling a policeman I had stabbed myself. Mother echoed him, her eyes panicked. I was surprised to hear Drew’s voice, shouting that I needed to be moved to another hospital. “He’ll find her here,” he kept saying.
我买了一张去爱达荷州的机票，回家过圣诞节。飞机起飞的前两天，我醒来一身冷汗。我梦见自己躺在医院洁白的床单上。爸爸站在轮床脚，对一个警察说我刺伤了自己。母亲附和着他，眼中满是惊慌。我惊讶地听到德鲁的声音，高喊着要把我转到另一家医院。“他会来这儿找她的。”他不停地说。
I wrote to Drew, who was living in the Middle East. I told him I was going to Buck’s Peak. When he replied his tone was urgent and sharp, as if he was trying to cut through whatever fog I was living in. My dear Tara, he wrote. If Shawn stabs you, you won’t be taken to a hospital. You’ll be put in the basement and given some lavender for the wound. He begged me not to go, saying a hundred things I already knew and didn’t care about, and when that didn’t work, he said: You told me your story so I could stop you if you ever did something crazy. Well, Tara, this is it. This is crazy.
我发邮件给远在中东的德鲁，告诉他我要回巴克峰。回信中他的语气又急切又严厉，似乎在极力驱散笼罩着我生活的迷雾。亲爱的塔拉，他写道，如果肖恩刺伤了你，你不会被送到医院。你会被放在地下室，用薰衣草医治伤口。他恳求我不要回去，说了上百件我已经知道但毫不在乎的事。这些都不管用时，他说：你把你的故事讲给我听，就是以防你要做出什么疯狂的事，我可以阻止你。塔拉，这次就是。这很疯狂。
It was a bright winter morning when I arrived on Buck’s Peak. I remember the crisp smell of frozen earth as I approached the house and the feel of ice and gravel crunching beneath my boots. The sky was a shocking blue. I breathed in the welcome scent of pine.
我于一个晴朗的冬日早晨抵达了巴克峰。我记得走近房子时，闻到冻土清爽的气息，感觉到靴子下冰和碎石的吱嘎声。天空一片蔚蓝。我呼吸着松树的清香，它们好像在欢迎我回家。
My gaze dropped below the mountain and my breath caught. When Grandma had been alive, she had, by nagging, shouting and threats, kept my father’s junkyard contained. Now refuse covered the farm and was creeping toward the mountain base. The rolling hills, once perfect lakes of snow, were dotted with mangled trucks and rusted septic tanks.
我往山下一看，屏住了呼吸。奶奶在世时，她曾经靠唠叨、喊叫和威胁来限制父亲扩大废料场的规模。现在垃圾铺满农场，慢慢向山脚移动。连绵起伏的群山和曾经完美如一片湖泊的雪地上布满了破旧的卡车和生锈的化粪池。
I can still fix this, I chanted as the plane lifted off the tarmac.
飞机从跑道起飞时，我高呼：我还能修好它。
Mother was ecstatic when I stepped through the door. I hadn’t told her I was coming, hoping that, if no one knew, I might avoid Shawn. She talked rapidly, nervously. “I’m going to make you biscuits and gravy!” she said, then flew to the kitchen.
我走进门时，母亲欣喜若狂。我事先没告诉她我要回来，也不想让人知道，可能为了躲着肖恩。她语速很快，神情紧张。“我去给你做饼干和肉汁！”说完，她快步进了厨房。
“I’ll help in a minute,” I said. “I just need to send an email.”
“我马上就去帮忙，”我说，“只需先发一封电子邮件。”
The family computer was in the old part of the house, what had been the front room before the renovation. I sat down to write Drew, because I’d promised, as a kind of compromise between us, that while on the mountain I would write to him every two hours. I nudged the mouse and the screen flickered on. The browser was already open; someone had forgotten to sign out. I moved to open a different browser but stopped when I saw my name. It was in the message that was open on the screen, which Mother had sent only moments before. To Shawn’s ex-girlfriend Erin.
家里的电脑在原先的那部分房子里，也就是翻修前的前屋。我坐下来给德鲁写信，因为我答应他，作为我们之间的妥协，我在山上期间每两小时给他发一封邮件。我轻点鼠标，屏幕亮了。浏览器已经打开，有人忘了退出系统。我想打开另一个浏览器，但这时看到了自己的名字，便停了下来。屏幕上打开的信息是母亲刚刚发给肖恩的前女友艾琳的。
The premise of the message was that Shawn had been reborn, spiritually cleansed. That the Atonement had healed our family, and that all had been restored. All except me. The spirit has whispered to me the truth about my daughter, Mother wrote. My poor child has given herself over to fear, and that fear has made her desperate to validate her misperceptions. I do not know if she is a danger to our family, but I have reasons to think she might be.
信息的前提是肖恩已经重生，精神得到了净化。赎罪已治愈了我们一家人，一切都已恢复如初，除了我。神灵已悄悄告诉了我关于我女儿的真相，母亲写道，我可怜的孩子让自己陷入恐惧，这种恐惧让她绝望地想验证自己的错误认知。我不知道她是否对我们家构成威胁，但我有理由认为她可能会。
There was more to the email. In the final paragraph, Mother described the birth of Emily’s second child, a daughter, who had been born a month before. Mother had midwifed the child. The birth had taken place at home and, according to Mother, Emily had nearly bled to death before they could get to a hospital. Mother finished the story by testifying: God had worked through her hands that night, she said. The birth was a testament of His power.
邮件中还有更多内容。在最后一段，母亲描述了埃米莉第二个孩子的出生。这次是个女儿，一个月前在家中由母亲接生。据母亲说，埃米莉在去医院前差点失血过多而死。母亲以自己的见证结束了这个故事：那一晚上帝通过她的双手工作。婴儿的出生证明了他的神力。
I had known, even before reading the message, that my mother shared my father’s dark vision, that she believed the devil had a hold of me, that I was dangerous. But there was something in seeing the words on the page, in reading them and hearing her voice in them, the voice of my mother, that turned my body cold.
甚至在读到这条信息之前，我就已经知道，母亲和父亲同样看法悲观，她相信我已被魔鬼控制，是个危险人物。但亲眼看到网页上的这些文字，读着它们，听着其中她的声音——我母亲的声音，让我感到浑身发冷。
If the first fall was God’s will, whose was the second?
如果第一次跌倒是上帝的意志，那么第二次又是谁的呢？
I remembered the drama of Peter’s birth: how he’d slipped out of Emily weighing little more than a pound; how he’d been such a shocking shade of gray, they’d thought he was dead; how they’d fought through a snowstorm to the hospital in town, only to be told it wasn’t enough, and there were no choppers flying; how two ambulances had been dispatched to McKay-Dee in Ogden. That a woman with this medical history, a woman so obviously high-risk, should be advised to attempt a second birth at home seemed reckless to the point of delusion.
我想起彼得出生时戏剧性的一幕：只有一磅多点儿的他如何从埃米莉的身体中滑了出来；他如何吓人地面如死灰，以至于大家以为他已经死了；他们如何冒着暴风雪来到镇上的医院，却仅仅被告知医疗条件不足，也没法派直升机；两辆救护车如何被派往奥格登的麦凯迪医院。让一个有如此病史、生育风险如此之高的女人在家里进行第二次生产，这简直是不顾后果的荒唐行为。
I was still wondering at the birth of my niece when Erin’s response appeared. You are right about Tara, she said. She is lost without faith. Erin told Mother that my doubting myself — my writing to her, Erin, to ask if I might be mistaken, if my memories might be false — was evidence that my soul was in jeopardy, that I couldn’t be trusted: She is building her life on fear. I will pray for her. Erin ended the message by praising my mother’s skill as a midwife. You are a true hero, she wrote.
我还在想侄女的出生，这时艾琳回信了。你对塔拉的看法是对的，她说，她丧失了信仰。艾琳告诉母亲我的自我怀疑——我曾写信给艾琳，问她自己是不是错了，我的记忆是否有误——就是证据，表明我的灵魂处于危险之中，表明我不值得信任：她的生活建立在恐惧之上。我会为她祈祷。消息的最后，艾琳盛赞了母亲的助产技能。她写道：你是一个真正的英雄。
I remembered the dream, the maze. I remembered the walls made of grain sacks and ammunition boxes, of my father’s fears and paranoias, his scriptures and prophecies. I had wanted to escape the maze with its disorienting switchbacks, its ever-modulating pathways, to find the precious thing. But now I understood: the precious thing, that was the maze. That’s all that was left of the life I’d had here: a puzzle whose rules I would never understand, because they were not rules at all but a kind of cage meant to enclose me. I could stay, and search for what had been home, or I could go, now, before the walls shifted and the way out was shut.
我想起那个梦，那座迷宫。我想起那些高墙，它们是用粮袋和弹药箱砌成的，也是用我父亲的恐惧和偏执、经文和预言筑成的。我曾经想逃离迷宫，逃离其中令人迷惑的弯道和不断变换的路径，去寻找珍贵之物。现在我明白了，珍贵之物就是迷宫本身，就是我在这里的生活留下的一切：一个我永远无法理解其规则的谜团，因为那些根本不是规则，而是一种意图围困我的牢笼。我可以留下来，寻找曾经的家；我也可以现在就走，在墙壁移动、出口关上前离开。
Mother was sliding biscuits into the oven when I entered the kitchen. I looked around, mentally searching the house. What do I need from this place? There was only one thing: my memories. I found them under my bed, in a box, where I had left them. I carried them to the car and put them in the backseat.
我走进厨房时，母亲正在把饼干放进烤箱。我环顾房子四周，在脑海中搜寻。我对这个地方还能有什么需求呢？只剩一件东西了：我的回忆。之前我把它们放在床底下的一个盒子里。我找到了它们，将它们放到车子后座上。
I closed the browser and stared at the wallpaper behind the screen. It was the same floral print from my childhood. For how long had I been dreaming of seeing it? I had come to reclaim that life, to save it. But there was nothing here to save, nothing to grasp. There was only shifting sand, shifting loyalties, shifting histories.
我关上浏览器，盯着屏幕后面的壁纸。那还是我小时候的印花壁纸。它在我梦中出现多久了？我回来是为了悔过自新，挽救人生。但这里没有什么可拯救的，也没有什么可把握的。只有流动的沙粒，转瞬即逝的忠诚，以及不断变化的历史。
“I do,” I said. “That has never been the issue.”
“知道，”我说，“那从来不是个问题。”
“I’m going for a drive,” I told Mother. I tried to keep my voice smooth. I hugged her, then took a long look at Buck’s Peak, memorizing every line and shadow. Mother had seen me take my journals to the car. She must have known what that meant, must have sensed the farewell in it, because she fetched my father. He gave me a stiff hug and said, “I love you, you know that?”
“我要开车去兜风。”我对母亲说。我努力保持平稳的声音。我拥抱了她，然后久久注视着巴克峰，记下每个线条、每个影子。母亲已经看见我把日记本拿到了车上。她一定猜出那意味着什么，一定感受到了其中的离别之意，因为她把父亲叫回来了。他给了我一个僵硬的拥抱，说：“我爱你，你知道吗？”
I hadn’t spoken to my brother in months — after what happened with Audrey, it had seemed pointless to confide in my siblings. I was sure Mother would have told every brother, cousin, aunt and uncle the story she had told Erin: that I was possessed, dangerous, taken by the devil. I wasn’t wrong: Mother had warned them. But then she made a mistake.
我已经几个月没有跟这个哥哥联系了——在奥黛丽事件后，再跟哥哥姐姐们谈心似乎已经毫无意义。我确信母亲会把她讲给艾琳的故事告诉每个哥哥、每个亲戚：我被恶魔抓走，被附了身，十分危险。我没猜错：母亲已经警告过他们了。但她犯了一个错误。
Those words are the last I said to my father.
这是我跟父亲说的最后一句话。
After I left Buck’s Peak, she panicked. She was afraid I might contact Tyler, and that if I did, he might sympathize with me. She decided to get to Tyler first, to deny anything I might tell him, but she miscalculated. She didn’t stop to think how the denials would sound, coming from nowhere like that.
我离开巴克峰后，她慌了。她担心我会联系泰勒，如果我这么做，他可能会同情我。她决定先行一步跟泰勒取得联系，否认我可能告诉他的任何事情，但她打错了算盘。她没有停下来想想，这种毫无来由的否认听上去会是怎样。
I drove south; I didn’t know where I was going. It was nearly Christmas. I had decided to go to the airport and board the next flight to Boston when Tyler called.
我开车一路向南，我不知道要去哪里。马上就是圣诞节了。我决定去机场搭下一趟飞往波士顿的航班，这时泰勒打来电话。
I thought he’d say I was lying but he didn’t. He accepted almost immediately the reality I’d spent a year denying. I didn’t understand why he was trusting me, but then he told me his own stories and I remembered: Shawn had been his older brother, too.
我以为他会说我在撒谎，但他没有。我花了一年时间去否认的事实，他几乎立刻就接受了。我不明白他为什么信任我，但接着他给我讲了他自己的故事，我才想起来：肖恩曾经也是他的哥哥。
“Of course Shawn didn’t stab Diego and threaten Tara with the knife,” Mother reassured Tyler, but to Tyler, who had never heard any part of this story, not from me or anyone else, this was somewhat less than reassuring. A moment after he said goodbye to Mother, Tyler called me, demanding to know what had happened and why I hadn’t come to him.
“肖恩当然没有捅死迭戈，也没有拿刀子威胁塔拉。”母亲让泰勒放心，但泰勒从未听说过此事，无论是我还是其他人都没有跟他谈起过，这一点让他并不放心。泰勒和母亲道别后不久就打电话给我，让我告诉他到底发生了什么事，并问我为什么不去找他。
In the weeks that followed, Tyler began to test my parents in the subtle, nonconfrontational way that was uniquely his. He suggested that perhaps the situation had been mishandled, that perhaps I was not possessed. Perhaps I was not evil at all.
接下来的几个星期，泰勒开始用独有的非对抗性的微妙方式去试探父母。他暗示说，也许事情处理得不对，也许我并没有被魔鬼附身，也许我一点儿也不邪恶。
I might have taken comfort in Tyler’s trying to help me, but the memory of my sister was too raw, and I didn’t trust him. I knew that if Tyler confronted my parents — really confronted them — they would force him to choose between me and them, between me and the rest of the family. And from Audrey I had learned: he would not choose me.
我本可以从泰勒的帮助中得到安慰，但是记忆中姐姐的做法太过刺痛，于是我不信任他。我知道如果泰勒与我的父母当面对质——真正面对他们——他们会迫使他在我和他们之间做出选择，是选我还是选其他家人。从奥黛丽那里，我吸取了教训：他不会选择我。
My fellowship at Harvard finished in the spring. I flew to the Middle East, where Drew was completing a Fulbright. It took some effort, but I managed to hide from Drew how poorly I was doing, or at least I thought I did. I probably didn’t. He was, after all, the one chasing me through his flat when I awoke in the middle of the night, screaming and sprinting, with no idea where I was but a desperate need to escape it.
哈佛的奖学金项目到春天便结束了。我飞到中东，德鲁正在那里完成福布莱特奖学金项目。我费了好大劲设法瞒住德鲁，不让他知道我的情况有多糟糕。至少我以为自己瞒住了，但很可能没有。毕竟，当我半夜从他的公寓里醒来，一边尖叫一边狂奔，不知自己身在何处，只是绝望地想逃时，是他跟在我后面追。
We left Amman and drove south. We were in a Bedouin camp in the Jordanian desert on the day the navy SEALs killed bin Laden. Drew spoke Arabic, and when the news broke he spent hours in conversation with our guides. “He’s no Muslim,” they told Drew as we sat on cold sand watching the dying flames of a campfire. “He does not understand Islam, or he would not do the terrible things he’s done.”
我们离开安曼向南驶去。海豹突击队击毙本·拉登的那天，我们在约旦沙漠里一个贝都因人[7]营地。德鲁会说阿拉伯语，消息传来时，他与我们的导游交谈了好几个小时。“他不是穆斯林，”我们坐在冰冷的沙地上，看着篝火渐渐熄灭，他们对德鲁说，“他不了解伊斯兰教，否则不会做出那些可怕的事。”【注：[7]Bedouin，属于闪含语系民族，阿拉伯人的一支，以氏族部落为基本单位在沙漠旷野过着游牧生活。】
I watched Drew talk with the Bedouins, heard the strange, smooth sounds falling from his lips, and was struck by the implausibility of my presence there. When the twin towers had fallen ten years before, I had never heard of Islam. Now I was drinking sugary tea with Zalabia Bedouins and squatting on a sand drift in Wadi Rum, the Valley of the Moon, less than twenty miles from the Saudi Arabian border.
我看着德鲁跟贝都因人交谈，听着从他嘴里发出的奇怪而流畅的声音，为自己不可思议地置身其中而感到震惊。十年前双子大楼倒塌时，我还从未听说过伊斯兰教；现在我却蹲在距离沙特阿拉伯边境不到二十英里、被称作“月亮谷”的瓦迪拉姆沙漠里，喝着甜茶，吃着中东薄饼。
I returned to England, where I continued to unravel. My first week back in Cambridge, I awoke nearly every night in the street, having run there, shouting, asleep. I developed headaches that lasted for days. My dentist said I was grinding my teeth. My skin broke out so severely that twice perfect strangers stopped me in the street and asked if I was having an allergic reaction. No, I said. I always look like this.
我回到英国，继续学业。回剑桥的第一个星期，几乎每晚我都梦游着跑到街上大喊大叫，然后醒来。头痛连日不绝。牙医说我磨牙。我的皮肤严重破损，有两次完全陌生的人在街上拦住我，问我是不是过敏了。没有，我说，我一直就这样。
The distance — physical and mental — that had been traversed in the last decade nearly stopped my breath, and I wondered if perhaps I had changed too much. All my studying, reading, thinking, traveling, had it transformed me into someone who no longer belonged anywhere? I thought of the girl who, knowing nothing beyond her junkyard and her mountain, had stared at a screen, watching as two planes sailed into strange white pillars. Her classroom was a heap of junk. Her textbooks, slates of scrap. And yet she had something precious that I — despite all my opportunities, or maybe because of them — did not.
在过去的十年里，我穿越的距离——物理上的和精神上的——几乎让我无法呼吸，让我思考起自己是否已改变得太多。我所有的学习、阅读、思考和旅行，是否已将我变成一个不再属于任何地方的人？我想起那个女孩，那个除了她的废料场和大山，一无所知的女孩。她曾经盯着电视屏幕，看着两架飞机驶入奇怪的白色柱状物。她的教室是一片垃圾，她的课本是废铜烂铁。然而她却拥有我所没有的珍贵东西。尽管我现在拥有很多机会，或者也许正因为这些机会，我才失去了那个珍贵之物。
My mother begged me to find another way. My father said nothing.
母亲恳求我换别的方法。父亲什么也没说。
One evening, I got into an argument with a friend about something trivial, and before I knew what was happening I had pressed myself into the wall and was hugging my knees to my chest, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my body. My friend rushed toward me to help and I screamed. It was an hour before I could let her touch me, before I could will myself away from the wall. So that’s a panic attack, I thought the next morning.
一天晚上，我和一个朋友就一件小事吵了起来，不等我弄明白发生了什么，我已经将自己塞进墙角，环抱膝盖，试图阻止心脏从身体里跳出来。朋友冲过来帮我，我便高声尖叫。一小时后我才让她碰我，才让自己离开墙边。第二天早上，我意识到，这就是恐慌症发作。
Soon after, I sent a letter to my father. I’m not proud of that letter. It’s full of rage, a fractious child screaming, “I hate you” at a parent. It’s filled with words like “thug” and “tyrant,” and it goes on for pages, a torrent of frustration and abuse.
之后不久，我给父亲写了一封信。我并不以那封信为荣。信中充满了愤怒，就像一个任性的孩子在对父母大喊“我恨你们”。信中充斥着诸如“暴徒”和“暴君”之类的字眼，连篇累牍，全是一系列的挫败感和谩骂。
That is how I told my parents I was cutting off contact with them. Between insults and fits of temper, I said I needed a year to heal myself; then perhaps I could return to their mad world to try to make sense of it.
我就是用这种方式告诉父母，我要与他们断绝关系。在谩骂和怒火之间，我说我需要一年时间为自己疗伤；之后也许我会回到他们疯狂的世界，试着去理解它。
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