Prompt #2: Sankofa
Jul. 13th, 2024 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inkstainedfingertipsThis is, I guess, a bit of fictionalized biography. I hope you enjoy it.
* * * * *
“I used to be confident. Strong. I used to have a lot of friends and I really believed in myself. Do you remember that?”
As usual, he says nothing, his casual indifference—his cruelty—the defining characteristic of our entire relationship. I stare at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing my own face. Reaching up with the tips of my fingers, I trace the delicate lines that had formed at the corners of my eyes—eyes that had long ago lost their luster and that mischievous sparkle people always used to notice.
“When did I get so old?”
My voice is low and scratchy, little more than a whisper, and even I can hear the sadness that colors my words. It shames me. My voice used to carry excitement and a vibrant sound of life. Now, it makes me sound like a person just marking time. A person merely going through the motions and checking off the days until my inevitable demise.
“I used to be happy—we used to be happy. Do you remember that?”
I wait for a response but unsurprisingly, don’t receive one. Having the hard conversations isn’t something he’s ever liked to do. In the beginning, we talked about everything. For hours. We would talk literally until the sun came up. I was so caught up in all those hearts-and-flowers feelings that mark the early part of a relationship. That lighter than air feeling that comes when you’re getting to know somebody new, somebody you connect with on some deep level. Those butterflies in my tummy blinded me to so many things. So many things.
It’s only now, as I reflect on these last handful of years, that I can see while we talked about everything, we actually talked about nothing. We certainly never talked about the important things when they mattered most. And we absolutely never talked when we had problems because in his eyes, we never had problems. The problem was always me.
It’s only in hindsight that I can see he always managed to pass off the blame to me. Worse, I accepted it. I didn’t see it at the time, but I carried all the weight of our problems. And I guess that’s because somewhere deep inside me, when he said everything was my fault, I believed him. I believed if I could just be better somehow, or be a little bit different, the problems we had would simply disappear. That we would be happy again.
“When did everything change? When did it all go wrong?”
I wait, hoping he’ll say something. Hoping that he’ll give me some acknowledgement that not everything was my fault. I keep hoping, as I’d been hoping for years, that he would take his share of the blame for everything going so wrong. I hear a faint mutter from the other room, but it’s too low for me to make out what he’s saying. I sigh and finish with my hair.
People have asked me why I don’t just leave, but it’s not that easy. He won’t let me go. I’ve tried. But every time, he pulls me back in. I haven’t had the strength to stand my ground and have the courage of my convictions. He’s made me believe that I’m nothing. Less than nothing. He’s made me believe that I’m lucky anybody loves me at all.
“This isn’t love though,” I say softly. “It never has been.”
I used to be strong and confident. But years of being gaslit and being forced to carry weight that wasn’t mine to bear have taken a toll. It’s broken me down and now, when I look at myself in the mirror, I only see a shell of the person I used to be. All I see is a hollowed out carcass. I’m empty and numb. I’m not capable of feeling anything anymore.
I don’t want to be this way. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. And I’m exceptionally tired of carrying weight that’s not mine to carry. I want to be free. I want to live. I want to feel strong and confident again. I want to be surrounded by friends. But more than anything, I just want to get back to that person I used to be.
So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I finish putting on my makeup and give myself a smile in the mirror. It’s a smile that feels real and puts a sparkle in my eye I haven’t seen in a very long time. Grabbing my bag, I walk into the bedroom and look down at him. He’s splayed out on the bed, murmuring between loud, rattling snores as he sleeps. I watch the shadows flickering across his face from the pair of pillar candles burning on the nightstand.
I look at the mostly empty bottle of vodka that he’d dropped to the floor and wonder how much of the phenobarbital I mixed into it he ingested. Probably enough that he’ll be asleep for a while yet. Taking one last sweep of our small house, I make sure all the windows and doors are buttoned up tight and laugh. He always chastised me whenever I left windows open at night, which right now, I’m finding a little ironic.
That done, I walk into the kitchen and disconnect the line that leads into the stove and listen to the hiss of gas escaping for a moment. Smiling to myself, I grab my bag and walk out the door, making sure to lock it behind me, then walk into the night, eager to begin my new life… by getting back to the old me.
* * * * *
“I used to be confident. Strong. I used to have a lot of friends and I really believed in myself. Do you remember that?”
As usual, he says nothing, his casual indifference—his cruelty—the defining characteristic of our entire relationship. I stare at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing my own face. Reaching up with the tips of my fingers, I trace the delicate lines that had formed at the corners of my eyes—eyes that had long ago lost their luster and that mischievous sparkle people always used to notice.
“When did I get so old?”
My voice is low and scratchy, little more than a whisper, and even I can hear the sadness that colors my words. It shames me. My voice used to carry excitement and a vibrant sound of life. Now, it makes me sound like a person just marking time. A person merely going through the motions and checking off the days until my inevitable demise.
“I used to be happy—we used to be happy. Do you remember that?”
I wait for a response but unsurprisingly, don’t receive one. Having the hard conversations isn’t something he’s ever liked to do. In the beginning, we talked about everything. For hours. We would talk literally until the sun came up. I was so caught up in all those hearts-and-flowers feelings that mark the early part of a relationship. That lighter than air feeling that comes when you’re getting to know somebody new, somebody you connect with on some deep level. Those butterflies in my tummy blinded me to so many things. So many things.
It’s only now, as I reflect on these last handful of years, that I can see while we talked about everything, we actually talked about nothing. We certainly never talked about the important things when they mattered most. And we absolutely never talked when we had problems because in his eyes, we never had problems. The problem was always me.
It’s only in hindsight that I can see he always managed to pass off the blame to me. Worse, I accepted it. I didn’t see it at the time, but I carried all the weight of our problems. And I guess that’s because somewhere deep inside me, when he said everything was my fault, I believed him. I believed if I could just be better somehow, or be a little bit different, the problems we had would simply disappear. That we would be happy again.
“When did everything change? When did it all go wrong?”
I wait, hoping he’ll say something. Hoping that he’ll give me some acknowledgement that not everything was my fault. I keep hoping, as I’d been hoping for years, that he would take his share of the blame for everything going so wrong. I hear a faint mutter from the other room, but it’s too low for me to make out what he’s saying. I sigh and finish with my hair.
People have asked me why I don’t just leave, but it’s not that easy. He won’t let me go. I’ve tried. But every time, he pulls me back in. I haven’t had the strength to stand my ground and have the courage of my convictions. He’s made me believe that I’m nothing. Less than nothing. He’s made me believe that I’m lucky anybody loves me at all.
“This isn’t love though,” I say softly. “It never has been.”
I used to be strong and confident. But years of being gaslit and being forced to carry weight that wasn’t mine to bear have taken a toll. It’s broken me down and now, when I look at myself in the mirror, I only see a shell of the person I used to be. All I see is a hollowed out carcass. I’m empty and numb. I’m not capable of feeling anything anymore.
I don’t want to be this way. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. And I’m exceptionally tired of carrying weight that’s not mine to carry. I want to be free. I want to live. I want to feel strong and confident again. I want to be surrounded by friends. But more than anything, I just want to get back to that person I used to be.
So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I finish putting on my makeup and give myself a smile in the mirror. It’s a smile that feels real and puts a sparkle in my eye I haven’t seen in a very long time. Grabbing my bag, I walk into the bedroom and look down at him. He’s splayed out on the bed, murmuring between loud, rattling snores as he sleeps. I watch the shadows flickering across his face from the pair of pillar candles burning on the nightstand.
I look at the mostly empty bottle of vodka that he’d dropped to the floor and wonder how much of the phenobarbital I mixed into it he ingested. Probably enough that he’ll be asleep for a while yet. Taking one last sweep of our small house, I make sure all the windows and doors are buttoned up tight and laugh. He always chastised me whenever I left windows open at night, which right now, I’m finding a little ironic.
That done, I walk into the kitchen and disconnect the line that leads into the stove and listen to the hiss of gas escaping for a moment. Smiling to myself, I grab my bag and walk out the door, making sure to lock it behind me, then walk into the night, eager to begin my new life… by getting back to the old me.
no subject
on 2024-07-14 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2024-07-16 04:50 pm (UTC)Exactly right. I am really glad you were able to take this away.
Thank you so much for reading.