“Like a month to a flame, burned by the fire”

The end. Simple. Plain and without pomp and circumstance. The years of misunderstanding, done. The inflated cruelty, over. But there’s no sigh of relief. No welcomed feel of calm. Just bewilderment.

Within twelve hours, the words I couldn’t say come to the surface. I write them in a letter. The next day, I email it. In six days, the path becomes clear and the past explained. The desperate need for attention I sought in my late teens and twenties is realized. The demand to be heard and believed that followed is also indisputably clear.

Her.

She sat in the limelight, manipulating it. She changed narratives and intentions; always crying wolf. She: the victim and always the savior. Never the villain and I was not caught in the crossfire, but to her beliefs, I created the conflict. I was always the deliberate scoundrel. For years, particularly her time as a teenager. Insults, slights, rudeness, and offense, that was me. All me. Always me.

They never believed me. As she could do no wrong, I could do no right. I apologized and corrected the error to the level they saw fit or suffered the consequences. I didn’t lie, but I was not to be believed.

They told me that wasn’t the case, but time after time, it came back to “she said.”

Yeah? Well, what about what I said?

There was no room for that. My intentions questioned. My truth suffocated.

As the years passed, her words and actions grew. Her version of crimes more severe. The punishments harsher, until a question had me banned. No more get-togethers, holidays, or family events. “Boundary” had been wrongly defined and was now a synonym for “under no circumstances.”

Just canceled and without explanation. Done and done. Yet, until recently, I was not informed of this decision. I figured she had divorced me, but she still managed to tease the line of "maybe ..."

So ...

Wait.

The thoughts of the letter began to form. How am I supposed to react to something I don’t know? Why do you think I should react as such? Why am I punished for not acting you think is appropriate? Am I supposed to assume whatever it is you think I know and subsequently face the wrath of making an assumption?

Why do you pride yourself on change and forgiveness from others, but cannot accept I, too, am human and make mistakes? Why are my apologies not accepted? Why do you only see the worst in me?

Why do you hold me to an unattainable standard?

Within that letter, I stand up to her and question her reasoning. In the process, I am again confused, and nearly sent back twenty-five years to a place I never want to return. I want to be in the now. I somehow feel like I understand her mind and am becoming angry with myself. Of course I am the fool. Of course, I deserved it.

The nausea begins to creep up my throat. My head spins.

No, I must remain in the present.

I am an adult. A capable grown-up. I am loved. I am heard. I am believed. I have a voice. I won't be silenced or manipulated.

I return to the present.

I am back in my reality where I may be the villain, but somehow the world is simpler, definitely peaceful, and I am accepted as I am with my faults, and my truth.