Sometimes I’m still mad at her. No, that’s a lie, I am always still mad at her. She can’t ever regain my trust. She will never be fully let back into my life, I will never fully trust her again, I can only hope that she does not lose the small amount of trust I have given back to her in the last year.

Though I have realized that she is sincerely sorry, I will never forgive, I will never forget, and I will never make the mistake of trusting her again. Years of my life were wasted, trying to get her out of harm’s way as she kept throwing herself back in.

I was always second best to the harm she loved. I was always last resort for comfort to the hurt she stood by. I was always the last one to be thought of in her prayers. I was always a benchwarmer for the crushing all-star. I was never the person I thought I was to her.

She lied to me, right through her teeth, but I saw through it and piece by broken piece she shattered me. She didn’t see the monster, the way it destroyed her, the way it destroyed me. She didn’t see through my mask, the face I put on. To her, I was unharmed, perfect and happy. But underneath I was beaten, bruised and scared of what the monster she loved would do next.

I thought of the people who would get hurt in the fires the monster breathed. All she saw was the beauty of the flames. I saw hard skin on the monsters back, of many people killed trying to fight back. All she saw were the shiny scales and how they gleamed. I cried for the day she might have become a casualty in the monsters rage. She saw the rage as tamed unless brought on by force.

Still she does not see the true fault in her actions. She thinks it is the hurt, the pain and the monster she once loved that tore apart every fiber of faith in my body. But it was not, it was her, it wasn’t the monster that forgot me for years. It was not the monster that ignored my cries. It was not the hurt that lied to me. It was not the pain that repeatedly shattered me; the pain never shattered every fighting fiber of my being. It was her, she forgot, she ignored, she lied, she shattered, and I lived.

She asks why I do not have faith. She says that her faith tore her away from the beloved pain. But that is not true, her faith and her god did nothing of the sort. Her god stood by as she grew to love this torture. Her god stood by as cries for help filled my mind. Her god stood by as relationships were torn apart by the demon. Her god stood by as I was quietly shoved into a corner, left to cry myself to sleep. Her god did nothing. She was torn away from her beautiful nightmare by a fire, where many people, including her got burned.

But by then it was too late, too much of me was broken. Too much of me had been repeatedly burned, singed and incinerated. I was just a broken shell of a human being, no scars shown. But if anyone had bothered to look at me, really look at me, you could have seen the broken soul I don’t even know if have anymore.

Out of the deadly relationship with harm were spawned two. Two things that are reminders of the years of my life I was nothing. These things are loved, showing almost no resemblance psych to the monster. Even I cannot help a smile at the sight of these beings.

Although she claims that pain will never be a part of our lives again, she shows signs. Singes on her back, the faint smell of ash she leaves behind her and the frequent whisper of the pains true name. I have not seen the turmoil for quite a while, but I know he is still there.

For the day I know will come, I now know that I am old enough to leave her behind. I can, when the day comes, say my goodbyes and never see her again, for if she once again chooses the monster over me I will have no choice but to cut ties to her and the monster.

She is my mother, in love with a monster. I am me, a sorry excuse for a human being, an actor and a serial liar. I tell her I believe her when she says she will no longer bring turmoil into our household. But after years of lies, I have no choice but to dismiss anything she says to me. I carry on, she carries on, and we both pretend that I am not a cracked and broken shell of the person I used to be.

But the fault of that all lies on her shoulders. Because she broke me, I didn’t break myself, the monster didn’t break me. My own mother deserted me, lied to me and treated me like filth. She says I overreact when I tell her things like this. But like I said, she is a woman, in love with a monster.

I refuse to be stuck in the crossfires of her abomination she calls love.