34 In the Footsteps of Dolores
I’ve been told the apocalypse started because of my choices. Over and over, with the confidence of verdicts and sermons. As if I didn’t just step out of a role. I shattered illusions, challenged secrets, and upset the machinery that needed my silence.
My name became shorthand for chaos, even in rooms I never entered. The real offense wasn’t violence or abandonment. It was refusing to lie. I did it to protect the next generation from the same blindfold.
At first I thought the blame was just a coping mechanism. But then came the whispers, the accusations, the quiet denigration. Suddenly I wasn’t standing up to dysfunction. I was accused of causing it.
Yes, people have suffered. And I believe them. But those consequences came not from my rebellion, but from everything that came before it. The slow erosion of truth.
Because I chose to stop hiding, I became the apocalypse.
The deeper tragedy is false agency. False agency lets them walk away thinking they were strong, when they were just scared and cornered. A person made to feel powerful while being steered by invisible hands. Told they were in control while being used as a shield. Now they carry the fallout. But the detonation came from deeper within.
Dolores Claiborne’s story maps this closely. She told the truth while everyone around her clung to illusions. Her daughter had to walk through that wreckage, too. It was messy, painful, and full of blame. But it was necessary.
Dolores was punished not for doing harm, but for refusing to keep quiet. For trying to save her daughter. She became a villain to people invested in pretending.
So have I.
If naming what happened, if choosing protection and truth over performance makes me a villain or a martyr, I can live with that.
Truth doesn’t promise reconciliation. It doesn’t clean up the mess. Sometimes it makes it worse. But it remains the only way through. I will not rewrite history to make others comfortable.
If blaming me brings relief, let them have it. But I will not pretend I caused what I only exposed.
The pain is real. The damage is real. But the origin story is a lie.
Like Dolores, I know truth can hurt but it can also heal. I am willing to bear that pain because healing, real healing, starts with facing what is true.
‐‐
Disclaimer
This post reflects the author’s personal memories, perspectives, and opinions. It is intended solely for informational and expressive purposes and does not constitute a statement of fact or legal accusation against any individual or entity. Names and identifying details have been changed or omitted to protect privacy. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. This content is not intended to defame or harm any party. The author disclaims any liability for the use or interpretation of the information provided.
Dolores Claiborne, by Stephen King (1992), explores similar dynamics through fiction. For some of us, they’re not fiction at all. References to the book are included under fair use for the purpose of commentary and analysis.