I remember when I was married and I got into a fight with my ex. I cried all night and the next morning I looked like crap, but I still put on some make up and I went to work. I didn’t talk about my sleepless night to anybody. My heart felt heavy but I still joked around with my colleagues. From outside, you’d have thought I was the happiest chick in the world.
I lived a lie. I pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t. I came home and I feared another fight would break out. It felt awful to pretend. It felt awful to keep everything to myself. I cried so much I didn’t know how to feel better. I was on the phone every day with mum and dad, trying to hang in there. I resisted until I couldn’t take the abuse anymore. The anger, the fighting, the violence. I had to go, but I wasn’t sure how.
I came home one day and I found my ex locked in the bedroom so I moved to the living room. I slept on the couch and I prayed. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t really sleep. I mostly thought a lot. I imagined what my life would be like without him. I felt alone. I felt empty. I waited for things to improve. I still tried to talk to him but he refused to speak to me. He called me names. He treated me like I was worse than garbage. I stayed strong and I waited. And that’s when I saw it. There was a deep cut through my pillow. I could put my finger in the hole and go all the way to the other side. I immediately knew what he had done. I entered the bedroom and I grabbed his switchblade. Then I examined the bed, and found the same cut into the mattress, right on the side where I used to sleep and my head used to rest.
After that incident, I packed my suitcase and I left to stay with my girlfriend. I never came back.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about this now. I slept on my friend’s couch for one solid month, meanwhile I found an apartment in the same building as her and we became neighbors. And then everything started for me. My depression, my journey into writing, my unfortunate encounter with a co-worker who thought he could get in my pants because he witnessed my misery and wanted to be a friend. He actually managed to rape me after he got me so drunk I blacked out. I never filed charges against him, but I raised the matter with HR. I had no evidence and I didn’t want to start a lawsuit – another one besides my divorce. I drank a lot. I cried even more. I thought I had entered another hell by living by myself. I didn’t know how to do things alone anymore. I adopted cats to help me stay sane. I didn’t go see a shrink and I started writing instead. I poured my heart out, I told the world how sad I felt and the world listened. People helped me. People supported me. I was loved again. I was whole again.
My mood is shot. I’m reminiscing about the past. Tomorrow I’m supposed to go to this party to celebrate the wedding of a friend. My mood is always shot when I think of weddings. The scar of my divorce is something that will fade, but it will never completely go away. I loved my husband. I really did. I haven’t loved someone so deeply before. But it’s alright. It was meant to be in a way. I accept the fact we weren’t supposed to be together. I accept the fact I’m destined for something much greater.
I’ll be fine in the end. I don’t enjoy being surrounded by negativity because it always brings me back to my failed relationship. I think I was surrounded by too much of that negativity today. But it’s ok. Writing always cures my cry for help.
I feel better now. See. I just needed to write.