I DON’T REMEMBER the last time I could truly say I loved my husband. To be completely frank, I believe it was before we even got married. You can hate me for this, but until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes you will never really know why I’ve done the things I’ve done. Often I stare at him from across the room and repulsion courses through my veins, a feeling of dread, that this is what my life has become. I wonder why I can't just leave him. Why I can't find the strength to love myself enough and simply be happy.
Was my life pleasant before I met him?
Was I content?
What’s missing now?
I’m pretty sure I’ve never truly been happy. I’ve always struggled to find where I belong, but how can I belong somewhere when I don’t fit anywhere? Sometimes I find myself picking a fight with him just so he will talk to me. All I want is a little attention from him. Good or bad.
It’s sick.
I know.
But living in the land of indifference has changed me. I reside here day and night until the moment I snap from his indifference. Then I lash out, rebel against what has become this norm. Although it’s not right, the reprieve from the emptiness when we argue is welcome.
If I left, would he follow me?
Would he fight?
Would he even notice?
A PART OF ME IS slowly dying.
My heart is empty. The weight of the world perpetually sits on my narrow shoulders. Something is missing from my life.
Now settled into my marriage with Alexandre, the loneliness has started to surface, and I feel desolate.
Even his name on my tongue leaves a bitter taste. From the beginning I questioned the spelling since it’s pronounced Alexander. Who the hell would choose to spell it like that? Then I met his mother and it all became clear. He was born into this life by an elitist woman who thinks she’s important and wants everyone else to think so as well. The name is pretentious and downright obnoxious…just like her. She alone gave me plenty of reasons to run in the beginning, but I loved him. I believed he would be my happily ever after...
Right before the wedding he had started to change, but I ignored it. The thought of reaching thirty and being an old spinster had scared the fuck out of me. I had imagined myself dying in my apartment alone with thirty cats eating my decaying body. At the time, getting married was definitely the better option. Boy, was I wrong.
It hasn’t always been like this. We used to be happy. We used to laugh and joke with one another. At one point he was even my best friend. Right before we got engaged was the happiest time for Alexandre and I. We used to do so much together. In the summer we would spend our evenings exploring all the cultural activities New York had to offer us. We would pack a picnic basket every Monday night and go to Bryant Park to see what film was playing on the large screen for the summer film festival. As the classic film would play throughout the evening we would sip wine and eat fresh delicacies. On other evenings, we would follow the New York Philharmonic concert schedule to Central Park and enjoy the music under a canopy of stars. Alexandre proposed to me under those shimmery lights.
We lay under the stars that peeked through the darkness blanketing us from above. Like diamonds tucked away the silver glistened with each pass of the wind. Alexandre pulled me into his arms as the sound of the symphony filtered through the air. He leaned back after a brief minute; he brushed my hair away and tenderly ran his fingers across my cheek, cupping my chin gently and lifting my eyes to meet his.
“Every day I love you more and more. When I’m with you, I feel that anything is possible. I feel complete. Will you marry me?” My lips trembled as a tear slides down my cheek.
“Yes.”
Once upon a time we were so in love…until we weren't.
I guess not every love story has a happy ending, after all.
But how do I live like this? Shutting off the feelings deep inside me is the only option. I know that he will take care of me. He will love me the best he can and always provide for me. Ignorance is bliss…Supposedly.
“How was work?”
“Fine,” he murmurs.
“Anything interesting happen today?”
“No.”
His one-word answer is like nails on a chalkboard. The tension that now fills the space between us palpable. As the sound from the TV drones on, I stare fixedly at him. He looks beautiful as his emerald green eyes focus blankly on the screen. His warm brown hair is tousled from a long day at work as he reclines lazily on the couch. Alexandre has always been a gorgeous specimen of a man, and when he used to smile even more so. If only his looks were the problem. Once so vibrant, now he is vacant…as lost as I am.
I shuffle my body, reaching my hand over to pick up the magazine sitting on the side table. I place it gently on my lap and begin to thumb through it. My eyes skim over the pages, and all I see are hollow faces. There are no stories to me. It’s as though Très Chic Magazine is nothing but advertisements. In my haze all that I see are images, reflections from my own life.