There is a change in perception which comes as years drag on. I’ve seen twenty-five of these days and they’ve each held their own tone, flavor, scent. In younger years the senses were clouded, hazy, blissful. Sheltered in the lies told to children, lies about the world, about the holidays, family.
Teen years the haze got denser, sadder, angrier. I knew I had been lied to, but I couldn’t tell you how or why. I still played along with the script of deceit laid out for me because I knew of no other alternative.
Twenties though, those are the fun years. Sight keener, haze dissipates, almost disappears until the truth can be seen. I sit here on this day, Christmas day. Alone, without family and I see. I see the how and some of the why of years, months, days past and I understand. The truth of it.
The truth hurts though. How can it not ? I see the things done to me as a child. I see how poorly they were handled. I see how easily I am cut and sliced from the pages of family history. Blood matters. Papers don’t. They joked about shredding my adoption papers. Because it was funny. Because it didn’t hurt. Because that’s what they did. They chose time and time and time again. And I was never the choice. I was always second.
So I sit here, alone, on this day and I see through the haze. I see the truth.