What’s something you’ve forgiven but haven’t forgotten?
Anger is a hot coal. My meditation teacher tells me. Don’t let it burn you. Let it go.
I try to let it go.
You took me, vulnerable and with a heart broken wide open. You saw that and climbed inside. You grew there like moss. Like mould. A parasite. Infiltrating. Invading.
Before we met for the first time, you secretly rode to my house. calculating its worth in money rather than the lives it held. The marriage it once sheltered. The love that flowed freely. It flows still. You reduced it to pounds and pence. Was it worth it? Was I worth it?
My dog bit you. I should have known. I didn’t see the game you played that night. Turning up with your bottle of wine. Telling me you couldn’t stay. Then returning an hour later to see if I was grateful. Till years later you told me it was a lie. To see what I would say. Would I be kind and understanding? Was I mouldable? I needed some joy. A drop of happiness. People like you see people like me and drain us dry.
You took whatever you could take. My money, my friends, my family, my confidence. You told me the dress I bought was beautiful, but it did show my legs. “I know you’re conscious. It’s not your best feature.”
Putting my name down for karaoke when I told you in the car I hate the spotlight. I like it behind the scenes. Humiliation is not fun.
“I’ll leave it up to you.” Letting me plan a quiet wedding. Then months later wading in and changing everything. The small rooms. The cocktail bar. Quiet spaces for people to talk. It became all about you. Your speech should have been full of love. “It took me a while”, you said “Sometimes you don’t know a good thing when you’re on it.” Was that a slip of the tongue?
You stopped me using my blue badge. “You don’t really need it do you?” It bothered you. I was on the verge of sepsis but you didn’t want to ring an ambulance. You didn’t want a fuss. You stopped coming to bed. Lurking downstairs to be sure I was asleep.
“You’re not a team player are you?”
“Might be good to start putting the biscuits down love”.
I fought back and you withdrew. Silent for days. Locked in your office. What have I done? Sighing. “You really don’t know” with a bitter laugh. As if I’d sold him soiled goods. Why did you find it so hard to love me?
The terrible reckoning came on an autumn morning. A Sunday. Four weeks ago I’d thrown you a birthday party. You were so angry that hardly anyone came. Sorry came automatically now. Even when it wasn’t my fault. Even so the betrayal was a cruel parting shot. A predatory pass at a family member. You insinuated it was her. She led you on. Giving you mixed signals. I wasn’t stupid. She would NEVER.
Why haven’t you packed yet? This is too big to fix. Sneaking out and making calls in lay-byes. She came to your party. Knowing you didn’t deserve the work I’d put in. I feel so much shame. Did you really think she wouldn’t tell me? I sleep alone and come down to find your head resting on the worktop. Like you couldn’t bear the weight of us. It can’t go on like this. ‘Everything is so difficult with you.” You said it, but you can’t look at me. Your eyes are glued to the crumbs from your toast.
I just don’t find you attractive when you’re not well.
But, I’m not well all the time. I sound confused. I hate my broken voice. I grab my keys and the dog and leave.
You left your keys in October. A letter comes three days later. Three sheets of A5 front and back. “I had no idea how ill you were” it begins.
I just can’t control you. You’re too strong willed. You’re just too much.
Too much.
I don’t want to keep the hot coal in my hand, but I am angry. We sell the house. Break up our life together plate by plate. All the time the words Too Much flash in my mind. Until I realise. You are not enough. I can forgive that. You didn’t have the strength for me. You weren’t strong enough. I say sorry to you for not seeing how small you really were. For not realising how much you’d had to chip away to bring me down to an acceptable size for you. I didn’t see how unworthy you were of everything I tried to give you. I say sorry to myself for not realising my worth. I will not forget. I will never again throw myself away on someone who doesn’t see me.
Because the clues were always there. Hidden in a rarely opened bedroom drawer. Cards made with love. Chosen with care. Every one told me what I needed to know: sorry we argued before I left; I know I’m too strong-willed; I’ll do better; Thankyou for putting up with me for another year; I know you’re disappointed; I let you down again. How many ways to say sorry? In different handwriting. A drawer of hidden confessions that said nothing about them but everything about you. I will forgive but never forget the words you used to make me small. To make all these women small. With your temper, your silence, your withdrawal. Sad envelopes full of the ways talented, loving and hopeful women were slowly crushed by you. A sacrifice to your ego.
