Haunting memories and broken dreams

By Foxy

"Go home and don’t come back" My boss sent me home resolutely. I was moping about looking horribly depressed (which was scaring the customers away), and I wasn’t working. He was wrong.

I was working — work was the only thing keeping me sane! The boring repetitive motions were consistent, which in my rapidly changing world, where the carpet shifted under my feet just when I was getting settled, was what I needed.

I worked with frequent trips to the loo. "I’ve a running stomach", I whispered to the office gossip, when her perfectly threaded eyebrows arched quizzically over her smooth brown forehead, at my fourth trip to the bathroom. She wrinkled her nose as if she could smell my churning insides.

"Nckt, Shauri yake", I thought. I didn’t need any more drama in my life. "Let her think what she wants".

The bathroom was my fortress for bouts of crying, I hoped the walls muffled the gasps that occasionally escaped from my lips, when I asked myself how things could go so horribly wrong.

In memory of my ex

First this thing with Skywalker, then loses my boyfriend. Every little thing reminded me of my ex. The pen he gave me (I stole it from his work bag) the computer at my desk (he loved computers), even my mailbox full of hundreds of emails we exchanged from happy times. The thought that we would never again spend the weekend together, with him tinkering with his Home Theatre while I read a book, or watch a movie together, sent me into spasms of tears. I didn’t know I loved him so much until he left me. And why did he leave me only after I slept with him? Things were so messed up. Soon I was a red-eyed monster with bloodshot cracks around my eyeballs.

"I’m fine, I’m not going home!" I responded. That was the first time I refused to take time off work, but then again it was also the first time I’d been compulsorily given time off. My mind went back to the sickies I’d pulled over the years. Clearly I wasn’t designed for employment - at the very least I could not submit to authority, or anyone and anything that whiffs of it. I was staying at work no matter what anyone said.

They made me go home. I held myself together till I got to the bus stop, but once I hopped into the bus, I broke down. I was staring out of the window when the stubborn tears started streaming down my face again.

Sympathetic stranger

As quietly as I could, I recounted parts of the story to the sympathetic looking woman seated next to me. She tactfully murmured to the curious passengers that I was unwell, then narrated a story about a friend who endured a far worse break-up, involving a child and a woman replacing her after six years of living with her man. Ironically, her words consoled me till I entered the house, where I was thankfully alone.

Suddenly, without warning, the pain returned. I hurt everywhere...my heart was breaking into a million pieces. My chest hurt from the mourning, my tear ducts were dry, but my body would not let up. I was in anguish and there was nothing I could do about it. I found some paracetamol. For a moment I stared at the blister pack wondering if eight tablets could kill, or at least help me sleep for a while without any sensation. I put the pack firmly away and dug up my cobwebbed paintbrushes to paint. They produced bright red abstracts with dark borders. My dripping tears streamed into the paintwork, worsening the mess. After a while, I put painting aside. Reading the Bible helped, only that my tears were soaking the pages, ruining it. I picked up the book "10 Stupid Things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives". It starkly consoled me that our relationship was doomed anyway. I picked up my journal and began to write…

In my darkest hour I called you, I needed you, I wept for you, for precious time spent, hours wasted learning your intricate facial expressions, gauging your moods, feeling your pain. I became one with you; felt what you felt; dreamt your dreams; smelled your scent. In that I lost myself. My essence. My soul. Under the white eye of the moon, I was lonely, asking myself again and again...why?why?why?calling myself a fool, and saying...never again. never again... Fear gripped my heart. Fear that I was alone, fear that I had imagined things... that I yearned for what was, what will never be.

Thankfully, I fell into an exhausted asleep.

It was the bulge on my back that woke me up. I moved a little. He moved closer. I moved again. Now I was on the edge of the bed… He moved again

Just a dream

"Baby, move behind a bit?" I requested. He grunted, and held me tighter...squeezing the air out of my lungs...almost as if he was afraid I’d leave in the middle of the night. I shifted about, trying to get as comfortable as possible with the little space I had left.

Shortly it was morning, his noisy activity woke me up, besides, it was cold...he left the door open. I yelled for him to close it and bunched the duvet to make myself more comfortable. He ripped it off.

"Get up you’ll be late", he said. I was irritable.

"I told you I’m not working today," I gritted.

"Then come open the door for me", he responded.

I’m astounded. Smart fellow can’t open a door. He wants me to see him off. I’d rather not. He’s looking at me expectantly. I can’t say no. I slither into a T-shirt and go downstairs. I open the door smiling...he leaves and I close it. I’m slightly irritated now...He kept me awake through most of the night, made me uncomfortable with his constant shifting, then woke me up early...my husband is a mean guy.

Then I finally woke up …was I going crazy? I dreamt my ex and I were married...it was so real!! The pain inside me became unbearable.