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Never Again

30 Mar

Burn

Over ten years ago I was sitting in a dark theater with my then boyfriend, to be husband, to be father of my child, watching a movie that got under my skin and into my nightmares. The movie was Requiem for a Dream. I sat there paralyzed  glued to my seat, feeling trapped, feeling violated. It was only during one of the the last scenes, a smack-you-in-your-face horrible sex scene, that it suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t have to watch it. I abruptly got up and left the theater, muttering “I don’t have to sit here and watch this”.

Later, standing outside the theater, I thought to myself, why on earth did I just sit there, why didn’t I just get up and leave? And I told myself, I’m never sitting through something that makes me feel so icky again. But I did. I have sat through many things that made me feel icky since then. Sat, stood, lay down.

Ten days ago was out first counselling session. BD has asked me to go to couple’s counseling with him, and I said yes, because it was the right thing to do. But during the entire session I was overwhelmed with a feeling that I didn’t belong there. Nothing went the way I wanted or expected it to go. He was five minutes late. I know, it’s just five minutes, but I’m sensitive about that. Then at the meeting he just sat there, as he’s done throughout our entire life together and let me do the talking. When I said I needed to know why he had left us, he said he was depressed. The therapist pointed out that I would need a better answer than that. Why was he depressed? What happened to him? He couldn’t answer. Or he wouldn’t. I don’t know. The therapist then asked if I was willing to commit myself to the process of working on our relationship, and I said that I was willing to come to one more session at this point.

That evening I broke up with SG, because I couldn’t give BD a fair chance if I was in a relationship with another man. Then I spent the week deeply depressed, feeling robbed, like someone had come into my world, which had already fallen apart once this year, which I had put so much effort into reconstructing, and tore it down, again. I was angry at BD for wanting me back. How dare he come back into my life, almost six months after walking away, after leaving me alone with our son? And I was heart broken. I missed SG terribly.

Then, on Tuesday, I took Baby to his grandparents and decided to use the time to clean the apartment, I mean really clean. Throw stuff out, reorganize drawers and so on. It was then that I ran into The Letter. The Letter that I had not yet decided what I wanted to do with. And at that moment, without thinking it over for a single second, I knew exactly what I was going to do with it. I took it to the sink in the bathroom. I lit a match and I burned it. It didn’t burn easily. It resisted, even after four or five matches had been lit, but eventually it went into flames, and it was gone forever, and with it was gone the anger I had felt for so many years, not at Y for abusing my trust, not at BD for, well, abusing my trust… But at myself – for having let everything that had happened happen, for not getting up and leaving when I should have, for not shouting when I wasn’t heard, for feeling obliged in some perverted way to do things that I didn’t want to do. And I made myself a promise: I will never again do anything against my will. I’m not talking about going to the gym when I don’t feel like it, I’m talking about doing something that deeply contradicts my wants and needs, I mean listening to everyone except for myself, disregarding my emotions, putting myself on hold.

And as I watched that letter burn I knew that I could not go to couple’s counselling with BD anymore.

And I also knew that I was wrong about SG. I shouldn’t have let him go. I should have let me love me and I should have let myself love him back.

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