The past which never is long forgotten.. (Part 1)

I have previously skirted talking of a night that happened a few years ago, elusive times that can come to light due to an instance of feeling that same despair.

No, this isn’t how I’m currently feeling, yet one that I truly care for is dancing with the illusion of peace, and I cannot keep the memories to myself.

At times I’m surprised, for all my having detailed my life before, I didn’t go into detail of this one night, perhaps because it was so bleak. I have referred to it twice before, the first time HERE. This is where it started, but what I didn’t do is go into detail of that night.

T and I had gone to counseling, our mutual employer had realized that by encouraging the two of them to work together, for the benefit of the company, that it might endanger our marriage, for his supervisor saw that T was ‘smitten’ as he put it. Whatever the results of it was, was up to T and I, he did not feel that by putting the companies needs first though how that could really affect how the company profited, I still have no clue, he was doing the best thing possible.

So to continue.. the company paid for us to go to counseling, though only for 2 sessions each. And while she had been informed of the black poetry that he wrote, horrific things that detailed his death and saying goodbye to his friends, she spoke to me the night before that she thought perhaps he was a potential 5150. (Danger to himself and others) He often practiced with his historical reproductions of renaissance weaponry in the backyard at night, or his newest habit of flipping a dagger over and over again, even in his parent’s home, which disturbed his mother quite a bit.

I was not surprised when he had hidden the poetry again, though I read them to the counselor the night before, in an effort to let her know what was happening between us. When we sat down in her office, one built off of her home, he was calm, cool and collected, the epitome of reason. Often he was teased when growing up of being ‘Mr. Spock’ and how could anyone question his sanity?

So instead it was left to look at me, one who is emotional, one who feels far too deeply, and at the end when she said there was no more time for us to talk, that the session was over and we had to leave, then and only then did T proclaim in a musing tone.

I don’t love you.

I never loved you.

I didn’t mean my proposal.

I didn’t mean my marriage vows.

I don’t think we should have ever met.

I sat there in absolute shock; I couldn’t believe I was hearing these words. 5 simple sentences that tore away the veil I had that we had a marriage and showed me it was but an illusion in my own mind. 8.5 years gone in a split second, though in truth it had been over long before then. But that belief in my heart, that marriage was a sacred commitment, I believed in my vows, for him to dispose of it so carelessly, struck me to the core.

Sitting there was only for a moment before I ran out of the room, across the driveway and got into the drivers seat of our car, screaming after slamming the door, tears rolling down my cheeks as blinding pain coursed through me. I remembered the bowie knife that was next to the drivers seat, something I had purchased years before, having kept it for emergencies, when I would drive long distances at night. I thought then of ending it, but.. I am a coward and do not like pain. I didn’t wish to do something quite so melodramatic, I just wanted the pain to stop, wanted to stop feeling. I was faced with having to make my life over again, I couldn’t fathom how to.

After a couple moments, anger welled inside, rage blinding me. He who had systematically gone through writing these poems, being so different than his public image, standing there with the doctor, watching me in the car. He came over after a few moments, asking me to get out of the car so he could drive. I told him no, that if he wanted a ride back, to get in the passenger seat, but that I was leaving and if he wanted a ride, to get in now or be left there. We were rather far from anywhere that would have been easy for him to find his way back to his parent’s home from. He had moved in there a few weeks before.

Reluctantly he got into the car, he wanted me to talk to the doctor, and he said it was because she informed him that I was ‘fixated’ on him. Great, just what I needed. The doctor gave him the perfect out. Dissolve our marriage because his wife was ‘fixated.’ I felt so betrayed at that point, all that she and I had discussed for naught, for she bought into his perfect Mr. Spock image, and I was the insane one. She asked that I call her if I needed to talk, but I merely shook my head, I knew I would never speak to her again, not in any lifetime.

When T tried to get me to let him drive again, I told him in a very low, cold tone, that I would drop him off at his home. I drove very carefully, unemotionally as I went cold inside, dead already in my mind and as I drove, I planned what next I would do once I reached home.

After I dropped him off, I tried to give him the finger, figures I’d mess that up, as my ring finger went up instead. I growled at myself and drove off, seeing him stand in the street watching me drive away, the rest of the miles driven just as carefully as before.

Once I reached the house, I had left my purse in the car. I ran into the bedroom, past my cats, grabbing my wedding gown and taking it into the living room. I took scissors and slashed at that beautiful gown, but the material was too hard to slash through, instead merely poking holes in it. Frustrated with that, I ran out to the car again, finding lipstick I drew a heart over that part of the dress, stabbing the scissors through it. I went into the bathroom and wrote in lipstick, ‘Goodbye, husband of my’ and then drew a broken heart, though the lipstick broke and went down the drain.

Going back into the living room, I grabbed our wedding album, $1,800 for this album; I went through and tore out each picture that included the two of us in it, ripping it in half into a pile. There was a picture of us walking down the aisle amidst rose petals, on the other side was a embroidery of our invitation that my mother made, I took that into the kitchen, using the back of the scissors to break the glass. I took a bottle of my favorite wine that I was saving for a special occasion, also found all the left over prescriptions from the times after my back going out and the auto accident, as well as a 150 count bottle of Tylenol PM.