Relentless

Okay. Okay. I finally relent. I lug my hardly used new laptop from its case and set to work with my poisoned fingertips and biased heart. Why is it that I trust what I feel in these moments of solitude, more than the bitter hours I spent earlier screaming at you?
I trust myself to be more honest now. Hours ago, I had anger on my side. I had energy, energy that bloomed inside me like a brilliant, heated flower as I tossed clothes from the drawers onto the floor, where they pooled up against the laundry basket that never seemed to empty. The energy always surprised me, fueled by anger that coursed so strong and fierce that my body heaved and shook. Anger that grew into a rage, a rage that drove me to strike, open palms against the wide expense of your chest, and shove you away. Anger that enabled me to see through torrents of streaming tears in order to half-heartedly pack my overnight bag with articles of clothing never fit to match; a bra, a scarf, a pair of slacks but no shoes, no blouse, no underwear? How could I even take myself seriously? No, this now, sitting alone with a cup of ice cream and this laptop, this is me. This is as honest as this woman can get. So what do I want? Can I find those answers? Am I prepared for what those answers will mean?

Sometimes I call him, after we fight. He never asks what it is that inspires me to cross the lines I once drew mercilessly between us. He only asks if I’m alright. Do I need him to come and see me? It has been a lifetime since I allowed him to support me emotionally, or otherwise. Inside, I know how ludicrous it sounds, taking such solace from a man who hurt me so much in this life. The same man who offers me comfort was once the same man who would shove and spit and throw me against the floor like so much garbage. I have not forgotten that man. You will never let me forget this man. One does not replace the other, but exists now as two separate and equal truths – he was once the one who damaged me, but now is the one who offers to help me heal. Just as you were once the man who made my whole life sing with joy and hope, and now are the one who brings so much sadness, so much anger, so much disillusionment. Can I bear even one more argument? Can I find the strength to hide my disgust in the fact of your whiskey-scented lies and broken promises?