I have to accept that these will always be the rules. It's not my house. I don't have a house. When you approach me, I am supposed to become the thing you want me to be so you can feel needed and important. I will eat whatever cardboard garbage you feed me and I won't bother telling you about any of my thoughts, feelings, or preferences. I will recite the correct responses to avoid upsetting you. I will avoid asking you for anything I cannot do myself. I will work as much as possible to some day make enough money to leave. I may even be able to relax in a home someday. Eat a quiet meal. Watch TV. Sit on a couch. This is not my house. I have limited choices. You are in charge