Sooner

If you told me before today that she didn't love me, I'd say, "You're Crazy!''

It's funny because someone DID tell me that. It's funny because I was the crazy one. It's funny because I thought I needed to sacrifice my peace of mind to love them.

I wish I knew that it wasn't a good kind of love. I wish I knew that it was a superficial kind of love. I wish I knew it was a vengeful kind of love.

I wish I knew, even if she had the best of intentions, that she is incapable of giving me that heart-warming, world-shaking, unselfish kind of love.

Why did it take so long for it to sink in? Why did my brain delay the appropriate reaction - four years too late? I would've saved a lot of hurt had I realized it all back then.

I'm sitting quietly, unbothered in the front row seat -

Your theatrical performance is starting. Isn't this supposed to "Wow" me? It used to, but I'm sick of watching the same show thousands of times. I know this script like the back of my hand. You can change the tone of your voice, the inflection, and facial expressions; it doesn't matter. You never change the script. Whether you put it in Comic Sans or Times New Roman, it's all the same to me. I know you too well.

I just feel sorry for those who can't see past the distorted mirror that is your words, impossible for the regular person to decipher. It takes an experienced person who has known you all their life, like me, to understand even a little bit.

Don't act like the victim. Remember, I can see right through you. I always could. Only now am I choosing to respect myself. This is the last time I will tolerate this nonsense. Never.

Never again will I let you walk all over me. Never again will I let you trample on my opinions, beliefs, and self - worth.

I have something to tell you,

You no longer hold my heart in your hand. It's funny because - you haven't even noticed my actual heart, the thing that keeps my blood pumping and me alive, isn't in your hand to squeeze and manipulate anymore. Why is that? You should've noticed. It's sad - that I care about that, thinking, "Why isn't she hurting me?" It's because you don't care and never have.

I confused narcissistic manipulation with love and care. Who does that? Me, apparently. Why? I was desperate.

There's only a single regret,

I was warned. Yet, I didn't listen. I was warned, not once or twice but thousands of times. Thousands of times he warned me, begged, and pleaded with me to listen. To tell me to "protect myself". That, "It isn't worth it if I have to give her my arm and leg to get a speck of attention and love." Of course, I answered, "It doesn't matter. I'll endure it, I'll take what she can give me." What I didn't understand was how much that'd cost me and just how many times it'd happen.

I wish I knew how much damage I didn't have to endure.

How distorted do these rose colored glasses of mine have to be in order to be blind to all the scars you left on me?

When you made those scars, I felt it deeply, but the external reaction was delayed by four years - too late.

Why did it take so long?

This is my regret.

I wish I knew how to protect my peace just like he does. I wish I hadn't taken it out on him. He was teaching me how to protect my peace, something I didn't have enough self-respect to do.

After I left, I let your shadow consume me for so long. Even though we didn't speak, I felt the pressure you left for months afterwards. I felt your high expectations. I felt your desire to live vicariously through me. I felt your hatred for the man who protected me, in ways I couldn't even comprehend and wouldn't until much later.

You made me feel so alone. So isolated. Maybe it wasn't your fault but a result of your life's experiences and your own trauma. At first, I excused your actions (past, present, and future) with that. But after last week, I've reached my breaking point.

Boundaries. Nobody talks about how surprisingly painful it is to set them and how difficult it is to set them with the people you love. When I did it before, it never lasted long. I always caved to your theatrical performance. I remained determined until I saw your face, and I melted, regardless of the years of emotional abuse you've inflicted on me, whether intentional or not.

Something changed this time. I felt nothing this time. Is it possible? Have I had enough? Is it possible that I have learned to have self-respect? It still hurts, but if I want to protect my peace, as he taught me, it has to be done.

I cannot afford to lose my mind. Not again.

How many accolades do you have for your fake persona? Many.

This is very surprising, except they are only clear to those who do not know and understand you on a deeper level, as I do. The people in the audience aren't in the front row of the theater like I am; they're all in the last row, clapping for her fake performance. The worst part is I used to be them, naive and also believing that she was what she pretended to be.

They don't get it.

She's an actor. It's not real. My pain is.

Why can't they see that? Why don't they believe me? Why am I the brat? Now, it's not only the pain you inflicted on me. But the audience threw their rotten, spoiled tomatoes at me, and it took me much too long to get the stink off of me.

But I can only blame myself.

I wish I had listened to the one who had been hurt before by you, who knew your games and could see past the facade you had. The one who'd already learned their lesson and was now trying to protect me. If I listened, maybe I wouldn't feel all this hurt.

I wish I knew,

sooner.