An excerpt:

“To say my childhood was unorthodox would be putting it mildly. My relations and I wrote a book on the dysfunction that started long before I was born. One relative was always “after” the other. Pointing out each other’s failings, and being supportive was not in the lexicon of my youth. Fear fueled my everyday. Most days were spent trying to avoid the belt on my bare skin or dodge the relative that never saw me as me. I’ve spent most of my life bearing someone else’s name. I’ve come to realize that I have only a couple of relations I can remember what it sounded like when they called my name. For most, I can only recall what they sound like calling me by my mother’s name. Their dislike for my mother sculpted their view of me. The sarcasm in me wonders if they even know my full name.”