Vanishing

Once again it's July 18. This dreaded cursed day comes around every year. Taunting me. Haunting me. The details are slightly vague but the memories are there. They beat alongside my heart. Pulsating in my brain forever. Refusing to let me forget this day. I take a sleeping pill  but I couldn't sleep a full 24 hours. No chance at ignoring this crapday. No meals planned. No people to talk to. No family around. Alone as usual. Because that is my destiny. That is the life that I lead. The life of a nomad. Vanishing slowly. Day by day.

Empty Tears

The tears. They are tears that don't come often. They hide inside. Refuse to leave their post.

You were supposed to protect me. Supposed to love me forever. Never supposed to leave my side. You were supposed to be my best friend. To love me. Forever. You were supposed to keep me. To hold me and never let go. You were supposed to please me. You had one job. To love me. To see only me. As your one and only.

But you forgot. You forgot about our love. You forgot about me. You got distracted. You chose your religion. You saw my pain. You saw me cry. You knew how much I hurt. But you chose your religion. Every single time. Your empty religion. Empty words. Swaying back and forth. No meaning. All by rote. Because it's all you knew. You couldn't think for yourself. You couldn't choose me. You chose your shell instead.

I was in the goddamn hospital for ten days. You thought I was going to die. How could you not hold my hand. How could you not comfort me. I was dying. I had no family. You were supposed to be my family. My support. My anchor. So you said tehillim. I needed your hand. I needed your love. Not for you to be the hero. Where were you. I needed you to hold me. So what if I was a fucking niddah. Do you think it was right for me to call the rabbi and beg him. To tell you to hold my hand. Is that how life is supposed to be. Is that what my life should look like. Is that the life I signed up for.

Do you think about me. Do you realize that you have damaged me. As you live your pretty little life. In your pretty little house.

How could let me go through that day. Have a friend scrub me in the shower. To get off all the hospital markings. As I throw up all over myself. Throwing up my pills. And then your goddamn mother comes to pick me up. Do you not feel guilty. Not at all. Or have you conveniently forgotten. And then your mother let me lay on the floor and all those women commented how cute it was that she brought me with her to work. Or how about when she helped me get undressed. Or how about when your mother walked me down the steps and helped me dunk in the goddamn water. Do you know what that does to a person. She let me dunk once. Because I was too sick to dunk more than once. And then she dressed me. There you were. Fucking waiting outside the side door with a wheelchair to wheel me home. As I throw up outside the shul. For all the men to see this pathetic woman in a wheelchair throwing up.

Do you think about that night. How I went to the mikvah sick as a dog just so you would take care of me. Does that sit with you. Did it ruin your life. Or did you forget. Did you move on. And then you threw me away. I let my soul go. I let it fly away. You watched it shrivel. And then you stepped on it. And you did all in the name of religion. A religion I don't subscribe to. No thank you. You can keep it.

And now what. I'm supposed to just move on. Forget. Live. Keep moving. Keep plugging away at this life. Where are those tears. Where is that religion. Why is the emptiness always there. Let the soul back in.

Not so easy.

Three

Why is it that I did so many good things today and I still feel like crap.
How can someone else's good fortune make me feel so down.
I know that you have every right for your life to move forward.
That you do not owe me anything.
But seriously.
Can't a girl catch a break.
Three?
At least I got what I asked for.
At least God answered my prayers.
Is that evil.
Is that wrong.
I know that I am busy and that I should focus on that.
But some times things are difficult.
No matter how long you know things are happening.
And no matter how long you think you are prepared.
You never are.
It always hits you in the gut.
You can smile.
And make jokes.
And post funny or sarcastic posts.
But it hurts.
Your eyes water.
And its not just because you are tired.
Not just because of that terrible pain in the back of your head.
It's that throbbing in your soul.
That sadness that you've brushed under the rug ages ago.
Resurfaced.
All of a sudden.
But you can't find tears.
They've all run out.
Ages ago.
You are a dried well.
In every way.
Three

6 years

6 years ago today

I was a bride

Walking down the aisle

Led by both my parents 

Big white gown

Veil covering my eyes

Walking towards a man I loved

A man I planned to spend the rest of my life with

A man I committed to with all my heart

6 years ago today

I was hopeful

I had faith

I believed in something great

I believed in love

I even believed in myself

6 years ago today 

My new life began 

But then it ended 

Was no more 

The carpet was ripped from under my feet

6 years ago today

Was a different lifetime 

A facade 

An illusion 

A figment of my imagination 

6 years ago today

I was a fool 

6 fucking years

Separation is Reality

I'm so sad to hear a friend is separated from her husband. It's scary to think that we all got married too young. Young and naive. Idealistic and stupid. Following our hearts and not our brains. Did I luck out? Did I get out early? When very little damage could be done? Did I have time to myself. To grow. To mature. To live. Alone. Without another. No one else to rule my life. No future consequences. A clean break. Separation for me was a given. The minute it started, it was the end. The end of a life. End of reality. He wanted out. There was no chance for any forgiveness. He got what he wanted. But truly, separation should be a chance. A chance to figure things out. To work things through. You got married for a reason. Because you saw something in each other. Was it only peer pressure. Family pressure. The thing everyone was doing. Marrying high school boyfriends. Now what. Is no one really happy. Are there no good marriages. Is everything a facade. Are you all faking. Do true love and happiness not exist. Is it unattainable. What has come of this world. What will happen to everyone. Are you happy. Is anyone happy. Is there a chance for me.

A Millisecond of Time

It's that fear of the unknown. Of walking into a familiar place and not knowing where you are. Forgetting who you are. Being accosted by memories. Glimpses of a past you. A previous lifetime. It's the lead up. The buildup. The knowledge of what if.

The moments before are just as bad as during. The anticipation and over obsessing that make the actual moment worse. Almost unbearable.  Thoughts of nothing else. No matter how prepared you are, that moment knocks the breath right out of your chest. Your brain pauses. Your heart stops beating for one tiny, little second.

A millisecond of eye contact. One intimate moment shared.  If it was a movie, still pictures would flash through your mind. Time would slow down. Nothing else would exist. Familiar and foreign at the exact same time.

Then in a flash it's over. As if it never happened.  Maybe it never happened.  All made up. Imagination gone wild. The mind playing tricks on the heart. But the anxiety blazes through every vein. Pulses beat throughout the body.  A packed room keeps the body erect. Standing still.  In place.

And then life goes back. Back to normal.  Time fast forwards to the present.  No more glimpses of the past.  The mind is propelled back to reality. The body can stand on its own. Control returns. And life goes on. Once again.

Lack of Color

I think I am getting angry all over again. I say I have moved on. I have mourned. Been through the five stages of grieving. That's false. There are way more stages. Try a million. Sadness. Anger. Hatred. Obsession. Neurosis. Psychosis. Happiness. Morbidity. Disgust. Perversion. Maybe a million and one. But I won't name them all.

I'm not sure what sparked me to think about all this today. Why I can't get this out of my head. Why today. There's no date significance. I didn't have a sighting. Perhaps it's because I read an article about a 35 year old virgin. Or an article that a newly divorced guy just wrote about how to be a good husband. But in any case. It's on mind so here goes.

How dare you?
How dare you.

I gave you everything. Everything. I lost all of me. In you. I gave up my whole being for you. To make you happy. To satisfy you. I dedicated my life to you.

You. You in your pressed shirt. Dry cleaned pants. Neat and trimmed chin strap beard. Always so put together. Go ahead, shine your shoes. Take out that polish from the top of your closet. Shine your damn shoes.

Me. Me in my random colors. Me in my free spirit. My love for people. My need for randomness and excitement.

It wasn't me that changed. I have always been the same. You were the one that changed. Or maybe we saw each other's true colors. You in your lack of color. Me in my abundance of color. You wanted me to be drained of all color. And I wanted you to add color. The mixture clashed. It always ended up in a mud brown tone. Hideous. Painful. Horrifying. Disastrous.

You might ask why I still wonder why you gave it all up. Why you walked out on me. Why I cannot move. Forgive. Because. I don't walk away. I don't give up. I am worth fighting for. I am not to be given away. Discarded. I am loyal. I am a friend. I can be counted on. I am worth loving.

So go about your life. As if I never existed. Go about your day to day routine. And just remember that those bright colored, pressed shirts you wear were bought by me. I was the color in your dreary life. You can never erase me. Blot me out. I will always be a part of your color block. One bright, shiny color in your past.