It was. Imagine living in what appears from the outside as a quiet, nice neighborhood, but never feeling psychologically safe at home (we've discussed this before). There is no one you can talk to about this, nor would you ever bring it up to someone outside, because look around at how comfortable an upbringing you have, and there are billions who would be overjoyed to live as you do, in middle class America. You can't trust your feelings, because they are telling you that there's something terribly wrong, but you've got no way to calm yourself or escape. Safer to just suppress them. You haven't lived in a particularly physically violent house, but you've seen the rage in their eyes. There's no telling when the next shoe might drop. The cultural messages (it was the '90s) were mindless consumerism, paranoia and sarcastic disaffection, and these often seem like the only escape. You want to rebel, but are afraid of the consequences, so you settle for passive aggression. You want to escape, but are afraid you can't hack it in a dangerous and scary world. No matter what you do, deep down inside, you never feel safe, and it doesn't seem like there is anyone who could possibly understand. Life is a Hobbesian war of all against all.