Posted by Anonymous on 2015/01/25 under Uncategorized A steamroller. No. Bigger. Something bigger. With glass shards and nails. Still not enough. This is my world now. How do I do this?
I raise my head from the carpet and look at the wall in front of me. Its pristine cream blankness makes me want to find the axe in the garage and force my feelings through the sheetrock and wood. I could pretend that wall is him. The image shocks me. The anger that is wrapped up inside the hurt, roaring – it’s so much.
He said it was all lies. He said my life with him, every moment and memory, every piece of what we built, wasn’t real for him. “Trapped.” That was his word. I am his prison. His cage. Not his wife or the mother of his children. Not his friend. Just what’s barring his way to his perfect life. How do I react to that? What do I say?
I sit up and look around our bedroom from the floor. How can everything look so normal? If my world has shifted shouldn’t the things around me have moved? But it’s all the same. The sheets are still folded back from when we got up this morning. My clothes still lay on the floor next to his from last night’s haste to make love – no don’t call it that. It’s just sex now. He’s turned it into cheap, mean-nothing sex. Pictures of us smile down at me from the walls. Will I ever be able to look at them again without remembering that each memory is now a lie? Ten years. My eyes say love. His? I don’t know any more.
My eyes are drawn to our wedding photo. My simple cream dress stands out next to the dark blue of his Air Force uniform. To the outsider, it might look like a prom photo – our eighteen year old selves certainly don’t look old enough to be getting married. But when I look at it, I see happiness, apprehension, and some underlying fear. I can also make out the small, unnoticeable to anyone but me, baby bump. I used to look at that baby bump with thankfulness. It was the reason we were married, after all. Why I had the privilege to have been a part of this man’s life and the amazing experience of raising two children together. Now? I feel overwhelmed by the revelation that he only saw it as a responsibility to be fulfilled. I was a mistake he made. A choice that led to his imprisonment. The pain rushes back and I crumble once more to the floor. My eyes are raw and swollen but continue to pour forth the tears. Will they ever stop? The pain in my chest grows. I have always heard of others having their heart broken, but I never knew it was literal.