Literary Persuits and other Ramblings

Tag: burning bridges

One Last Day

She took one look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her throat her from screaming. She was emotionally drained. It was late, almost midnight.

She turned the taps off of the bath. The water was warm. She stripped out of her night gown she had put on a mere few hours ago and stepped into the soothing water. She lay her head back and just let the warms seep into her cold heart. Not that she was certain it was there anymore, it felt as though it has been ripped forcibly out through her rib cage. She did not deserve to be treated this way. She had done everything right. Given him everything he needed. She made sure the house was in good shape for him. She ensured that his children were seen to and happy for when he came home from work. She never bothered him with petty problems such as extra money for groceries, she always somehow made it work.

She looked after him when he was sick, sorting out his daily medication making it easier for him and reminding him to take them at the right times. She had sacrficed her life and career for him. Married at the age of eighteen and straight to being a housewife. She cooked, cleaned, worked hard to keep a happy marriage.

Still he cheated. Worse, he cheated and didn’t even try to hide it.

She washed her hair and decided it would serve him right if she died. She had thought about it before, but there were always the children to consider. Now her children were adults and could continue living without her.

She stood up in the bath and toweled off. She dried her hair and styled it perfectly. She applied mascara and her best red lipstick. It took her longer to decide on her outfit. She wanted to be in her best dress. She eventually settled on one, a dress he often complimented her in. She dressed and sat next to the bed.

Her husband was on morphine tablets for his extreme arthritis. He had left them behind when he ran off earlier to his other woman. She set them out nicely, went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She returned to her room and finished the box. She didn’t do it it one go, rather easing each tablet in. She didn’t want to throw them up prematurely as she heard people often did.

Once she had finished the box of morphine tablets, she took her sleeping tablets. Enough to ensure that she will sleep perfectly. She took one last hazy look at herself in the mirror and in her high state she felt proud of what she saw. She looked beautiful.

She made her way back to her bed and lay on her back like sleeping beauty waiting for her prince. She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

He would pay for what he had done to her.

For what he made her do.


Was it a Dream?

It was just over a year. Longer perhaps, but definitely went over the year mark.

The beginning was happy. Not new and shiny happy, but more of a comfortable fit of a favorite pair of jeans. The kind of happy where the world finally makes sense, and everything that lead you to that moment was just part of the journey. The kind of happy that made you feel as though you have arrived home after a long time.

I still feel that way. One look, a touch, sends me reeling back into the feeling of comfort and safety. The feeling of belonging.

I made a choice, I walked away. I gave up.

A year and no one knew, at least not anyone I was friends with. I was hidden in the shadows like a terrible secret. A secret that one is so ashamed of they almost try and forget that it ever happened. It was happening though. It was there. It was real.

Or for the most part I think it was. There is no evidence that it ever happened. No social media comments or social reality. According to the world it didn’t happen. Life continued and no one knew the truth. If the truth is what the collective think, then the truth is that there was no relationship. Of course there were reasons for all of the secrecy, but as time went the reasons started to sound like the logic of a child.

Then the disappearing acts started happening. Hocus pocus, abracadabra and alakazam. Gone for a day, a week. Almost a month. I was rejected. Not even important enough to be included. Heaven forbid I point out it was wrong. May I be struck down for saying that I need attention too. Why did I not understand what was happening? Why couldn’t I just let it be?

Why does all of this have to hurt so much. Five minutes to delete everything from my life.

That is all it took.

Five minutes to delete a couple of digital photographs that no one ever saw. The only evidence that may have proved that something had happened.

Was it a dream? Dreams have happy endings.

No, this was more like a nightmare. A place where I did not exist. Where I was not as important as anything else in the world.

My significant other was my world and I was not even on a list of priorities. I existed only when and if I was wanted, like a toy which could be discarded at any moment.

This is not the first time, although it may be the first time I gave away all my love. The question is rather why do I let this continue? Why do I try and justify being treated with such disregard? Do I really think that little of myself that I would stay and be treated like a ghost?

No. I do not. I walked away.

I may have left my heart behind but I walked away.

And there is not even a photograph of us to prove that it wasn’t a dream.

Burnt Bridges

If there is one thing I am good at, is burning bridges. 

Once a relationship has run its course, turned sour or toxic or is no longer fitting as snugly as it used to, it has to go. Harsh, yes, but I have always been a bit of a lazy friend. I wouldn’t say I am a bad person, but I would not say I am the easiest person in the world to have any form of relationship with.

So when the time comes, I wave goodbye and walk away.

Usually messily.

So, yes, I am very good at burning bridges

Although I am now starting to think that sometimes when you burn a bridge the foundation is left. You have to clear all the rubble, and probably patch up a couple of things, but no one said that a fire destroys the foundation of something. 

So maybe, and just maybe, when you burn an elaborate expensive bridge, One filled with memories, character, trust and love, there is a solid foundation waiting underneath all that rubble.

I am sure in some cases the foundation will never hold such an elaborately decorated bridge as it once did, but perhaps it can hold a stable decent bridge. Or even a bit of a misshapen slightly wonky but full of character bridge. Whatever it is, it is still salvageable due to the foundation.

However, there are those rare times. Times when the foundation of the bridge was so well built on mutual respect and love that a bigger, better bridge can be built. A bridge that will last a lifetime.

I am not saying it is easy to sift through the rubble of burnt bridges. I am also not saying that all bridges that were burnt should be rebuilt. 

What I am trying to get at, is that if both sides are willing to put in the effort, the forgiveness, sometimes what you find under the rubble will surprise you.