‘He’s gone’, I tell them, thinking only about his face, his eyes, his laugh. Those are the thoughts which could never escape me. I pushed her away so hard my nails pierced her skin as she grabbed, and pulled me into her grasp, making me feel like a disconsolate child. At least I knew with that polite push she would unclip her hands from the hollows in my back; I would no longer hear her poignant heartbeat, I would no longer be attached, no longer constrained. She’s always been there – my ‘lover’ he would call my (just a) friend. We would laugh about it, but now that he’s gone, I can understand his frustration, I feel like, for once, I understand him. He should have been my priority throughout our first few years of marriage. But those laughs with innocent jokes are thoughts that could never escape my mind.
With the ting of a dependant wine glass, my wedding ring sat on our table, leaving a burnt out scar on my finger. I had the precipitous urge to cleanse the area, sterilising it to prevent infection from someone who should have loved me the most. Even that I couldn’t bear to do. It’s the small things like that which make me realise that he was (sometimes) right. I never spent enough time with him or respected him enough, and even though I have many regrets, those will always be my biggest, which I will have no option other than to take them to the grave. How can it be his fault when I brought it, all of it, on myself?
‘But you did nothing wrong’, she said, providing me with a sense of hope, which I had never seen in my previous 3 years of marriage. Maybe he just didn’t show his feelings. Or maybe I should have allowed him to open up about these things, told him to stop hiding anything, no matter how ridiculous, from his wife.
I know I’m waffling a bit, being boring you could say, but everything seems so much clearer in my mind after a splurging it out in writing or talking. I guess you could say I did the talking for both of us in the relationship.
I still remember when we met. Everything, right from the beginning was a fairy-tale. It wasn’t like one – it felt like I was in one. My rather private nature meant that opening up the curtains to my life was one of the hardest things I had to do, although now, I can only look into the future to see that finding a new man will not only be a matter sliding the curtains, it will be more tugging them, and as soon as he’s seen a peek, he will try with all of his might to turn back the clock to get to night time, so they can once again be drawn.
Just 18 months after meeting , we tied the knot on the happiest July day of my life. The truth will come out soon, very soon about those 3 years, 6 months and 12 days. Very soon, I’m sure. But in a way, the truth remains quite happy behind that curtain. My best friend was always there for me and I know that now, but then, before now, last month even, I thought she was the villain – the jealous BFF who couldn’t help but stick her nose in.
‘I’m sorry’, I said. To whom, I don’t know, but I am. And with the condoning nods of my true friends and family, I instigated the hug. It was my decision. It made me think I was over it, him. I thought that maybe for once, I was strong enough to cope, which was true… for just those milliseconds until I uttered, ‘no, I can’t’.
I had to confess. I had to reveal what truly happened with Mr. ‘Perfect’. I had to tell them what I had allowed, or as he said, forced him to do, through my own stupidity. This was my chance to be honest, and I wasn’t going to let it blow away.
– Written by Laura Wright
This is not from personal experience, so the thoughts expressed throughout the piece are simply composed in my imagination and by referencing real life scenarios