Friday, October 18, 2013

Violence against my soul.

I love the family I created so much that it shatters my heart sometimes. 

When my husband looks at me with disappointment it breaks me in a way that I cannot imagine. It's like an unknown force grasped me by the hair and thrashed me against the crumbling walls of our carefully constructed dreams. I gasp and choke with inexplicable, infinite helplessness. It is violence against my soul. How can he not love me? How can I survive not being loved by him? 

It reminds me of the day my dead grandfather was being carried away and my grandmother repeatedly collapsed in my mother's arms. It makes me think of how stupidly I love my husband. My worst fear is him feeling he committed a mistake with me. It makes me shake with anger. It makes me hate myself. It makes me want to rip my skin off and change the very structure of my being so it suits him better. Why am I so difficult? Why can't I be more malleable? Why can't I simply let go of who I am so I can be his? Why...why was I built in this indomitable way? Why can't I change the shape of my heart or change the algorithm of my soul? Why am I failing? Why am I failing at what I am living for?

I thought I had changed myself. But the sadness pooling at the corner of his lips, the way his eyes don't register me, the alcohol on his breath tell me how badly he wants to escape me. I search myself...did I do such a bad job of being my anti-thesis? I desperately search for any piece of me I may have left unchanged. It's was during one of this frantic searches that it hit me. It's not my shoddy patchwork of a is me. I reek of stubbornness. I stink of my previous failures...of all the uphill journeys I made to make this marriage work. The foul stench of my carcass is smudged against the otherwise pristine walls of his memories.

I have nothing. But even that won't do. I wish I could break my body in a desperate attempt to break the mirrors of my previous selfs. I wish I could shatter the fabrics that hold my current personality. I wish I could restitch my soul in a way that will make him happy. 

Anything..something...nothing.What must I do?

I cannot watch him drift away from me knowing that it was me. I cannot see the dejection in his eyes reflecting my shape. I ache.

Interior monologue.

I am unhappy. I have been unhappy long enough for it to bleed into everything that once had meaning in my life. It’s changed my work, my friendships, my marriage, my relationship with my parents.. I can’t help myself anymore. I am perplexed by this intense sense of  purposelessness. I caught myself the other day simply pinching myself. I felt nothing and my crimson skin was the only proof that I, indeed, was pinching myself. I look at my new baby girl when I want to  experience any hint of emotion. She is probably the only person who seems to elicit at least a slight surge of emotion. But it evades me quickly. I slip so quickly, so imperceptibly into numbness. I have  been unhappy for far too long.

I can’t describe what I feel – it’s inaccessible to me. I have gone past the stage of alarm. I have gone past the stage of asking for help. I have gone past the stage of trying to get my husband or  parents to take care of me. I just feel a lull in my heart. I feel that this is it. It’s over. Something has given up inside me. It’s not like I will want to die. It’s more like.. well, it’s more like  existing because I don’t even have a strong enough emotion to push myself over the edge. I am just going through the motions. And it’s hurting people around me. I notice the worry in my mom’s curled lips.  She doesn’t cope well with helplessness. So she takes it out on my husband. I notice wells of sadness in his otherwise perfect eyes. He doesn’t like being disappointed a second time in marriage. So he shuts  down. Two people who have shut down. Even the baby cannot hold back the constant avalanche of painful silence.

My heart has crumbled within itself. How can I tell him that? How can I describe to him how the past year hit me like a superfast train? How will he understand that I’m literally holding onto the fringes of myself? He has had glimpse of my utter unhappiness. It doesn’t escape  anyone. My listless eyes, my obvious lack of energy, my dull eyes…my dulled spirit. But I can see he is struggling to see why I would behave the way I am. He probably struggles to understand how can I be  so unhappy that I am not even suicidal. I wish I could tell him how shattered I’ve become.

We talk frequently about separation. We think it even more frequently. I won’t separate.

I wish I had tears. I’d have shed them in front of him. I’d have told him that something is seriously wrong with me. That this is not the time to discuss his burdens…this is not the time to discuss what a
burden I have become. I know it already..

I wish he understood that something is so very wrong with me.