One might say it’s cruel—others, though, agree with it. The fact that one needs to earn respect, not just give it. So, I bite the hand that feeds me, so maybe it’ll let me starve.

Because it’s easier to deal with hunger than humiliation. It’s easier to explain. Starvation makes sense. If you don’t eat, you die, right? It’s simple. No tricks or excuses.

But what about respect?

It’s uglier. It’s complicated and conditional. The kind of thing that people hang over your heads, dangle in front of your face. They see it as a prize. A prize for you keeping your mouth shut, and in times you need to fit their idea of ‘standards’.

And I’ve folded into what they want.

It’s happened more often than not. More times than you can count fingers on my hands. They were trying to see how much you’d tolerate. How much you’d bend and break for them. And how many names you’d answer to that aren’t your own. Because than you used to swallow silence like it’s water, hoping not to choke on it as it goes down.

So, you bite now. It’s not because you want to, but because you have to. People have pushed you to the point where being nice got you nowhere. You know that you don’t need them anymore.

Because you know what’s worse than starvation?

Being fed pity.