Murder

There is something cruel about the way he looks at me.  I think he is searching for that piece of me still willing to believe him. He won’t find it. And this will be my fault.

When he lies,  he kills a piece of me. It won’t be restored.  And he never even says goodbye.

As in death, these pieces don’t lie restfully. They churn and haunt and destroy. I question who I am and this doesn’t seem fair.  He begs me to not tell. He murders and begs to run free.

Final Notations

it will not be simple, it will not be long
it will take little time, it will take all your thought
it will take all your heart, it will take all your breath
it will be short, it will not be simple

it will touch through your ribs, it will take all your heart
it will not be long, it will occupy your thought
as a city is occupied, as a bed is occupied
it will take all your flesh, it will not be simple

You are coming into us who cannot withshand you
you are coming into us who never wanted to withstand you
you are taking parts of us into places never planned
you are going far away with pieces of our lives

it will be short, it will take all your breath
it will not be simple, it will become your will

~~Adrienne Rich 1991

It is simple, actually.  I can write the process down on a flow chart, measure it and call it a success. I can tell you each step I’ll take, why I chose it, and why after awhile it will not hurt.

It isn’t simple, actually. Because I don’t want to follow the steps anymore. My body is changing and so is my mind. They are changing together, becoming lighter…I slept last night.

A breath away

There is so little between the life we want and the one we’ve settled for. I think it must be a breath.  The one we take slowly, and are scared to release. There is a moment, between the inhale and the exhale, that the future reveals itself.  It always comes with sacrifice…with comprise, and yet, with clarity.  And it leaves too quickly.

The truth is scary, it haunts us.  Seeking it takes balls, a fortitude of strength you forgot long ago you had.  Like an untrained muscle, it pulses and aches when you begin to stir it from sleep.  I spent so much time training the wrong parts of me.  Marriage, family, love meant handling things.  Happiness sunk to the bottom depths of me, and I highlighted the weakest parts of our love–sex twice a week, family game nights.  These things meant everything would be ok, except they weren’t.

I don’t walk away from people. I stick. I fix.  But not walking away from him, means walking away from that breath…that moment where my future exists…and then it is gone again.

I want to breathe again.

A Black Distorted

Last night, I discovered a piece of me that i knew existed, but denied most of my life.  It was a secret I knew lingered just out of my reach. The kind that takes time, or rather timing…to reveal.

I was raised in a family built on generations of moral stronghold.  The world is a place colored in black or white, the grays are just the black distorted.  This is a pedestal of course, the kind that keeps you above the truth.  Far above the ability to reveal the pieces of you and the pieces of your family that lie in the gray.

If you stay too long on top of that pedestal, the secrets become lies.  The lies you tell to yourself, and the world, change you.  You become not who you are, but what you are supposed to be.  But there are moments, few and farther between, that the mind darts quickly back to that which you cannot deny. It won’t stay long.  It can’t. Because if you are going to stay on that pedastal you have to see the world without color. Be perfect. Be right.

I wanna see the world in color.

I wanna be off the pedestal.

I wanna be free.

Team Mandy

I think this is really going to happen.  And that sends a slow burn down the middle of me.  There are so many things I could mourn right now, but today it is Team Steve that makes me sad.  Divorces split up the troops…and like it or not,  people must choose. I assumed this was because of the conflict of interest, or perhaps discovering that the guy on the opposite team as you, actually sucks.  But in fact, the reason people must choose, it very different in deed.

Loyalty is a like a drug for me.  I am in obsessed with it…I chase it, and when I don’t get it…I go crazy. Naturally I’ve prepared myself over the past couple weeks to lose friends.  Seriously…I lie in bed and think about who I can afford to lose, and who will devastate me when they choose the other team.  But ironically…this doesn’t feel too much like my typical loyalty issues. It feels like security.

I feel so scared right now, that I only want to be next to people who allow me to fuck up, and love me anyway. The people who will keep my secrets, give me advice.  Not talk to him.  I am not mad at the ones who choose the middle, but i can’t be around them yet.  I am made of glass, everyone can see what I feel just by looking at me.  I’m ok with that. But too many people carry stones.

The Clense

Today a storm swelled the sky, making me stop what I was doing…and take notice.  When your head is full of noise, questions, and doubts–it’s as though your body grows to house them all.  Losing your sense of your body, your place in the world, makes you think you are the center of things.  Everyone stares, everyone comments. You are larger than life–except that you aren’t.

I took some to time to read a book today, one that has sat, unread, on my shelf for two years.  It came to me in friendship, and now it will teach me how to live again. That is what she told me, and wrote on the first page of the book.  I believed I was already living, so there it sat.

I want to learn to live again. And so I’ll read. As I took shelter in my garage, reading, or trying to rather, the storm came slowly and quickly at the same time. I watched it come from far away and it took an hour or so. But once it was here, the rapid wind took hold of the sky and it quickened its pace.

People either love storms or they hate them. I happen to love them. I seem to be drawn to large, violent, untamed, passionate things.  Things that quicken my heartbeat and I wish I was still like those things.

When the rain came and the wind followed the trees bent almost sideways in multiple directions, but they did not break. Perhaps I am a tree, steadfast, strong, bendable–But I will not break.

This thunderstorm is breaking other things though.  Road signs have twisted so much they blow in a mangled mess on the streets. Cars swerve to avoid them.  The power flickered three times, and on the fourth, it forgot to come on again.  The wind tries to catch itself in fits of tag–chasing itself round and round about, and it makes a whipping sound.  This game or perhaps the sound itself has thrown lawn chairs and a potted plant against the house, destroying every man-mad thing in its path.  The things we build for protection, the design we create to beautify and feel normal.  But it is doing other things too–quenching the thirsty flowers, filling the pond for the fish, chasing the heat away.

That which bends us, also nurtures us.

And I too am quenched.

Chapter One

In some ways, I’ve written this all before. But in my effort to move forward, I think I still need to go back.  There was a time, certainly, that I thought the end would be much further down the road, unreachable, unattainable.  But alas, here I am. 32 years old, mother of 3, sagging breasts, and I still bite my fingernails.

I have this incredible nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I think it is making all the decisions right now.  Like a beast who cannot be tamed, it decides what I eat (or rather don’t eat), whose calls I answer, how I swing my softball bat. When he’s hungry, my arms go limp and my mouth turns dry.  I no longer feel my legs.  This happens most often when someone tells me of another rumor they just heard, something about my husband. And when you’re married, “something about your husband,” means you just learned something about your life that you didn’t know existed. It feels funny, but isn’t.

I am also most of aware of this unwanted passenger the moment after I ask my husband a “questions” The questions I refer to here, are the type that you already have an answer for. Maybe its the answer you hope for, or the one you pray won’t come. But you already know it.  And it begs to be asked.

Last night, he answered the way I knew he would and prayed he wouldn’t.

Such is life…such is divorce.