Excerpt: The Doll Machine

I have lived in a prison now for more years than I was married. Of course, that was a form of incarceration too, but I had no way of knowing it until after its demise. There are no metal bars on my windows or doors. I don't live in a place like Reseda, CA, where they take those things for granted as part of the suburban architecture. Narrowly avoided that by deciding against a second marriage to the first idiot, thank goodness, but I created my own solitary confinement, nonetheless. I was taught well by my abusers the necessary steps to complete isolation of the victim. They did it for control; I did it for safety. The results were the same, no contact with any person, place or thing that could disturb the status quo. But the beatings were fewer, unless you consider self-flagellation, at which survivors become experts.