Packages of junk

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I continue to receive packages of junk from my parents. This makes three packages, or maybe four. All during the time when I said I was requesting space, and while I can feel the weight of my dad’s fury burning at me across the miles.

What is the purpose of receiving cards, crafts, stuff I made 25 years ago? Nothing of value, just junk. 

It is meant to remind me of the child that I once was. Perhaps ignite old memories. Perhaps ignite old trauma. 

Bring me back into that place of feeling small, helpless, dependent…feeling love. Or, whatever that feeling was. Maybe it had far more to do with Stockholm syndrome, or a trauma bond.

I do not open them. I do not look at the stuff. My wife opens them and catalogues it for me. 

This tactic will not work on me. I was warned about it in “A Christian’s Guide to No Contact.” And their ruse will not work on me this time. 

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