Shoes to Fill

We are enemies, he and I.

When he was a 40 something year old man, and I a 19 year old girl, we became each other's nemesis. 

He is a selfish, vindictive, pitiful and small man, who would rather hold on to his feeble pride than humble himself before the ones he has hurt so deeply. He caused a lifetime of pain to people I hold dear. They still suffer the scars of what he has done and have had to actively heal from his actions. He's a narcissistic, sociopathic, apathetic bully who hides behind a false god and false character and false strength. He's a weakling and a coward who manipulates and abuses people to feel powerful, who abdicates all responsibility for what he's done and blames others for his troubles. He steals innocence under the guise of being a loving and doting father. He's a poison and a sickness and until very recently I was sure I would never despise another human being as much as I despise that man. 

But then, the son.

I don't know when it happened exactly. Perhaps it was when he called me lazy and entitled. Or maybe when he said he didn't know why any man would want to be with me. It could have been when he told me I caused him to be the worst version of himself. Perhaps it was when he went out of his way to belittle my intelligence, insult my friends, and hint at the new woman (or women) in his life. Maybe it was when I cried and asked why he was so cruel and he told me, "You made me this way." Maybe it was when he complained about not seeing his kids whenever he wanted and I reminded him that he walked away from them. 

"Not them." He replied. "You. And I didn't walk away. You pushed me away." 

In the end, perhaps it was less of what he said and more of my response that caused me to realize what we had become. Because everything I said about his father, I think it about him. Some of it I've even said aloud. Sharp words that pierce like a sword; that's a weapon I know how to yield. And each time I draw blood with the sting of my words, I take momentary pleasure at the hatred I see in his eyes for me. 

Good. At least he feels something. 

I feel immeasurable sadness at what has become of us, two people who swore to love each other until the day we died. 

We are enemies, he and I.