And I don’t know him. Is that what happens to people who have been betrayed? Betrayed by the very one that was supposed to cherish and protect you?
It seems unfair. To lose the essence of a deep connection, an emotional bond, because someone chooses to hurt you. I always hear, “I didn’t mean to hurt you”, “I did it to protect you”. Lying is not protecting me. Lying is what killed my soul.
I used to believed in fairy tales and princesses. I believed this because it was what my life felt like, at one time. To be knocked off your pedestal, by learning of someone’s betrayal of your trust, is a long, hard fall. To realize you were never that special after all, is a bitter pill to swallow.
Perhaps it is part of the mental illness, to have felt like I was put on pedestal. Apparently, it was a portrait I created in my own mind. That picture is nothing but a shattered image now. It mocks me at times. It laughs at how silly I was to believe such things. Fairy tales aren’t true. Certainly I knew this. After all, I was an adult.
Betrayal … it cuts you to the core. The continued lies to try to protect themselves, after you find out. It changes you. How can it not? To lose the one thing you clung to so tightly, have it ripped right out of you. It leaves a deep wound. A wound that likes to open itself up, and stay raw.
I mourn the loss of that deep connection. I have mourned it for many years. Losing the one thing, you never thought you would have, takes a piece of you, never to be replaced. It leaves an emptiness. A loneliness.
You are left to question every thing. What is true and what is not. How many other lies are there? Do I even want to know? Yes! I want honesty. I want to hear it, all of it. The good, the bad and the ugly. It is the only way I can move on. Why does he not understand this?
I am here, yet I feel as though he looks through me like a pane of glass. He doesn’t see me, he doesn’t know me anymore. How can he? I don’t even know myself anymore. Things are not as they were. They never will be. You can glue a shattered piece back together, but there is forever the evidence of the cracks.
It is in those cracks, that I always get lost. Wondering, searching, needing to know.