I guess I really kind of hate that I taught you so much about so many things and made you a better person in several ways only for someone else to reap the rewards. So. Many. Ways. A fucking myriad of enlightenments and improvements. Well, except the infidelity. I couldn’t control that. And the need to inflict pain and debilitating suffering as you feel it had been bestowed upon you. The overwhelming urge to treat someone with utter contempt…make them feel worthless, insignificant and disposable. Replaceable.
You know, if your stepfather – if that’s what you really call him, since his obituary referred to you as it is straight up son – but maybe that was spite? – was such a horrible, awful, terrible person, you think you would want to be the entire opposite.
But instead you treated me just like he treated you. Such humiliation and such damage for such personal pleasure and gain. Such a despicable thing to do to someone who only wants to love, respect, and honor you.
You turned what he did to you, and I guess your mother and sisters, too, into what you did to me.
(Still waiting for one happy memory that doesn’t involve your aunts uncles or grandparents…just your mother and/or your or sisters…)
Do you think shame and embarrassment and heartbreak feel any better on me?
They really don’t.
Abandonment and disrespect and betrayal don’t feel good.
You had a choice. You chose to damage me.
And yeah, there’s therapy, medication, family, friends, blogs – but you know what? We both know that you can suppress, bury, ignore, and maybe even pretend that pain isn’t there. That it doesn’t exist within you. That it can’t control you. But it does. And you know as well as I do, that it manifests itself in different ways and will always, always, always remind you of your past.
Someone chose to it all plant there. Someone chose to give you that burden. Someone chose to assign you that cross to bear. Someone’s choice to hurt another human being beyond repair.
My someone, is you.