I am coming to terms with the truth, the realities of what is and have had a lot of pain as I have let go a little at a time of what will never be.
He will never say he's sorry.
She will never see your side.
The pain will never be acknowledged.
The power to hurt me is mine to give away.
Pretending perpetuates a lie.
I am enough, whether they acknowledge it or not.
I don't have to try so hard.
That which is named love that only ever hurts is not love. Call it what it is - agony, cruelty, selfishness.
I will never be thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, wealthy enough, marry a man who is good enough, give birth to special enough children, have a nice enough house, drive a nice enough car, wear my hair the right style or color, make the right choices, say the right words, wear the right clothes, live in the right neighborhood, keep my house clean enough, have the right friends, sing, dance, read, write, breathe, walk, speak, run, jump, sit, stand, never never never enough to earn their love or approval. It will always elude me, like a ghost I chase or a dream I wake from before I reach the end, before the hero makes the rescue.
To them I will always be an unmet obligation, a thorn in the side, an unspoken guilt hanging over like a cloud, a place to perform with shallow birthday cards, and promises that aren't worth their spoken breath. The purpose served as a pawn in the game they played as opponents has been fulfilled. The thread that tied adversaries together, resented just because it exists.
I am waking up.
Goodbye Alice, it's been nice knowing you.
Melodramatic? Yes. True? Absolutely.