Blocked. My phone doesn’t ring when you call.
Blocked. You’re not stalking my social media anymore.
Blocked. I am not playing these games anymore.

There is some new drama and issue you have created in your head, and you demand I speak to you.

As if that will work.

I am not just your daughter.

I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a sister. I am a human.

And I cannot be any of those things under your shadow.

Do you not understand, the shadow is poisoned? The sickness radiates out of you and spews toxic waste. Everything you touch dies slowly, but dies the same.

You will not get better. You refuse to. The pills you take will eat you alive, you’re allowing yourself to be eaten alive, and I will not stand by for the fall out anymore.

I’ve thrown out my masks. I no longer need them. I can breathe.

Blocked. There is no call at 3am, there is no finding you suicidal in a parking lot downing Ativan and Xanax, there is no radiation here.

Your addiction is eating you alive. You’re allowing yourself to be eaten alive.

But it is quiet here now. And I can rest.