Today was going to be the start of the end. She unfurled herself and laid her head back on the pillows. As she looked up at the ceiling, she claimed this day the end of guilt, the end of remorse, and the end of anger. Her eyes quickly filled with tears that overflowed onto her cheeks, ran down the sides of her face, and tickled her ears as their descent slowed and pooled. She made no sounds. She stopped sobbing so long ago. Somehow someway she was going to make this pain stop. She was going to find a way.
She wiped her face with her hands and sat up. She had lost weight because she just hadn't had the energy to eat let alone cook anything nourishing. She felt weak and her long brown hair was a tangled mess. Her t-shirt hung off of her shoulders. She lifted her arm, smelled her armpit and said out-loud to herself, “Gross.”
The cat ran back into the bedroom and flew onto the bed coming to a quick stop in front of her. She couldn't help but laugh. She reached over and petted her. She loved the sound of her cat's purr. It was like a little motor boat and the rumble of it represented happiness.
As she swung her legs over the side of the bed the picture of him on the dresser seemed to jump out at her. With a sharp intake of breath she refused to again be consumed by her emotions. She forced her eyes from the photograph over to the mirror and this time gasped with disgust. “Oh my God,” she said as she turned to the cat. “Lovey.....how can you even look at me?” Lovey answered by rubbing against Marcia's arm.
She walked to the bathroom and peeled off her t-shirt and underwear balling them up as she threw them into the already overflowing hamper. One arm of her t-shirt peeked out from under the lid as if it wasn't ready to say that final goodbye. The tiled floor felt cool under her feet. It felt solid and sure. Lovey jumped onto the lid of the toilet and watched as Marcia turned on the shower and tested the water temperature. She reached over and tickled Lovey's head prior to entering the stall.
The spray of water hit the top of her head as she bowed under its stream leaning with both hands on the shower wall. A flash of memory assaulted her. “You bitch!” He was slurring his words as spittle sprayed from his lips. Shit. Breath. Breath through it. Let it happen and then let it pass. And so she did.
She walked back into the bedroom naked and wet from the shower. She no longer felt dirty but she knew the memories would still cause her to feel unclean. For how long was anyone's guess. What did the therapist say? Everyone grieves at his or her own pace. What a crock of shit. Well, maybe it wasn't but she figured she was partly still in the denial stage slowly crawling into the anger stage. She would rather slide directly into the acceptance stage as if she were a baseball player sliding into home base. This was hard work talking oneself off of the ledge.
As she picked up her dirty clothes from the floor and tore the 3-week old sheets off of her bed, Lovey sat in the chair by the window watching Marcia's progress. She was an easy taskmistress and only cracked the whip when hungry.
Marcia flung everything into the laundry hamper. This time the lid stayed open like a huge yawn. Laundry will be the next thing she does. Right after getting dressed. And eating. And then blow drying her hair. Whatever.
She walked to her dresser to grab a pair of underwear out of the top drawer and his picture assaulted her again. “Dammit!” She assaulted his picture back by picking it up and deep sixing it into the trash can with such force that the wooden frame flew apart and the glass cracked. “Fuck you!” Yep. She definitely was moving into the anger phase.
She was breathing hard from the exertion when the next memory lit up her brain like a grenade's blast. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” kept repeating over and over in her head as she wiped the spittle off of her face. His gait was unsteady as he weaved his way towards the back door grabbing the car keys nearly ripping the hook out of the wall. She ran up to him and demanded them back. He was in no shape to drive. All at once he was upon her choking her with his free hand. “I am not drunk!”
Her heart pounded in her chest and sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes. She realized she was sitting on the floor with no clear memory of how she got there. Lovey walked over and meowed as she rubbed against Marcia's hip. Jeez, she still hadn't gotten dressed. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is what the therapist had called it. Panic attacks. She was learning all kinds of psychological lingo now. This is not the education she wanted but she definitely had paid for it.
At the breakfast table she drank her first cup of coffee for the day. As the coffee hit her empty stomach she almost threw-up. Toast would work. She ended up eating 4 pieces loaded with strawberry jam and butter. Mmmmmmm....sugary sweetness.
