No One Helped My Mentally Ill Mother, or Me [nytimes.com]
When I was 12, my mother cornered me in the bathroom of our suburban Vancouver home. “Your teeth are too yellow,” she said, handing me a can of Comet. Though disappointed that little about me ever pleased my parent, I understood from past experience how to get through the current predicament. I sprinkled green powder on my toothbrush and did my best to not let any of it go down my throat while I scrubbed. The things I didn’t do: report her to the authorities; confide in a reliable adult;...