Part of me...

"I felt like she loved me enough for the both of them..." As soon as the words came out of my mouth my heart sank. It was true. It had been true all those years. Because part of me still hated him. Part of me still hates him.

I remember she used to say "At least he doesn't hit me." As if somehow that would have been worse. I often thought it would have been better. Then she wouldn't have stayed and he would have been punished for his sins.

Instead she suffered. We all suffered. We are all wounded. Some more than others.   From the outside looking in it seemed normal. Just your everyday family. She made excuses for him.  He was that way because of how he grew up, he didn't mean what he said and so on and so forth.

Misery, they say, loves company. I often wondered why he couldn't see past his own misfortunes, why he couldn't forgive himself, why he couldn't just let go. I mostly wondered why he had chosen to be so angry. He seemed to despise our happiness, like we should feel the way he felt even though we never really knew.

He sacrificed for me, took care of me and paid my way. I know he loved me. I know he loves me. But part of me can't let go. Part of me hated him. Part of me still hates him.