I keep thinking there’s a right time to cast off civility.
As if I’ll suddenly realize that you are fine and I can’t affect you anymore and I can now express the depths of frustration that I was driven to by our failed marriage. Oh now, this is the time to tell you that your inability to truly decide to commit your life to me was the largest void in my life. That your finding solace in the arms of other lovers was an an indictment of my starvation for intimacy.
And I swallowed my pride on so many occasions that it grew to be a monster of swirling anxiety in my stomach and when it reared up it ate me, and not you, because of civility.
I fear incivility because my heart might tell my intellect that my mom dying was the cost of freedom from you. The emotional truth doesn’t take issue with the facts, it simply sidesteps them. This moment: at her memorial service, you standing in the driveway crying because I would not take a walk with you. As the most important person in my life was removed from my life.
Even now, freedom apparent, civility still binds me to the person I was supposed to be. As if the world could take anything away more valuable than it already has.
The anger runs icy water through my blood, the Atlantic ribboning across the desert. This is not the right time to cast off incivility. But cast off it shall be.