It seems like the basis of every relationship is a struggle for power. In this sense, the breakdowns of relationships are not so different from wars where last-ditch diplomatic efforts of appeasement result in a sudden, but often predictable, collision of competing personalities.

This mirrors the situation in which I find myself at the moment. The boy, like Hitler (oh yes, I am going there), can sometimes take advantage of my compassion and desire to assuage his every problem. And then naive little me—the Neville Chamberlain in this whole mess—gets labeled an idiot for thinking he could ever change or appease Hitler because: Hello! It’s Adolf frickin’ Hitler. Mister Type-A Personality.

So your world shivers, it gets bombed, it turns into something hardly recognizable anymore. However, unlike the triumphant Allied victory over fascism in World War II, your relationship suffers from the success of the Nazi war machine. Everyone speaks German and worships Der Führer, the way you still cling to the love of the person who broke your heart but somehow masked it with lies and sensitive propaganda to convince you that this was for the better. Truly all is fair in love and war.

As with all wars, to the victor go the spoils. He takes pieces of you that you will probably never get back. He gets to rewrite history. He gets to make you feel your weaknesses and your own insignificance. And as hurtful as it is to hear it, you start to believe it and you wonder if you’ll ever find peace again.