Crushed

"There's absolutely nothing out there. Repeat after me: There's nothing out there. You have to believe it; otherwise it's no use."

The words lay uncomfortably in my mind. They did not take. Not even when I thought about the exquisite times I had with Steven. Not even when I evoked the sensation the sweetness of his words used to rouse in me. After a while I just told Steven that I was exhausted and wanted to get some sleep. He was quite understanding, although for a while he stared at me - as only he could - silently communicating his earnest disapproval, and, I suspect, wishing that I had done things differently. I guess he couldn't stand seeing my mind destroyed. Before he left he tried to give a hug, perhaps in a last bitter attempt to offer me some solace, or to demonstrate that he did not think it entirely my doing, but I would not let him touch me. In my mind he was just as dirty as the others. Just as contemptible.

"Is it going to be like this from now on Kathy? Please, don't tell me it's going to be like this." I almost felt sorry for him; he looked so terribly lost, so utterly confounded.

"Like what Steven? Tell me. As far as I know it's always been like this. Always. You talk and talk and talk and words keep coming and coming and coming and in the end you do not make any sense whatsoever. It all goes clean over my head." (Did I laugh nervously on purpose?) "I have never understood your motives Steven. Never and most certainly not now. Please leave. Please..."

"You're not well, Kathy. That's why you're here. You tried, you tried... to hurt." He stops. I touch his face gently and cup his cheek with the palm of my hand.

"Steven, please... leave. I need to be alone. Let me be alone. I can't bear it all right now. I..." I feel as though I have confessed to all the wrongs in world. The more I look at Steven, the more I resent his being here.

"If that's what you want Kathy I'll leave, but I will not let you go through this alone. I love you, and I always will."

Yes, Steven thank you! Thank you for loving me! I just warmly wish you had more experience in the matter so you could have done a better job of it. Sometimes love is not enough. Not quite enough. Men try to hide their true intentions, mask them behind those sweetly intoxicating words 'I love you'. Men like Steven especially should avoid saying them at any cost; when they say sweetly those intoxicating words it's always accompanied with a doleful look in their eyes as though by saying those words they admit defeat, or insanity. It goes against their nature. (What does he know about love? What? What? What? How could things have gone otherwise with that one feeling hanging between us like a noose?)

I have not been mentally deranged all my life. No, not all my life. I purposefully refrain from using that worn-out term "crazy". I am not crazy. Crazy are those who take in portentous nonsense, unchecked by their conscience or intellect, buckets full at a time. Crazy are those who go about in life frolicking as though life's one big pasture. I am not crazy. It is just that my mind's natural condition has been upset; a very recent development in my psychology. I do not know what brought it about; it is a state I have found myself in by mere chance. Perhaps - when I think hard about it - it was facilitated by the addiction I was nursing; I had begun drinking in secret. Taking little sips, at first, of the strong alcoholic drinks that my husband bought for his buddies and him, to calm my nerves. My nerves needed calming after the second child was born: Michael. Dear little Michael. If only dear little Michael knew how his incessant crying made his mother's nerves contract. A slow twitch. A fast twitch. A twitch that made me revolt against all the supposed little pleasures motherhood hides in itself. Mother needed a drink, or two, or four, or six. And while everybody around me loved everything about my life: my children, my husband, the way the household seemed to run itself, the way I persisted that this was all my choice, that I am an emancipated woman, that - this - is the homeliness that I have longed for for so long, I hated every aspect of it. In their eyes I was the happy housewife. I believed it, too, for a while. (The happy housewife - with a smile sported so often it osmosed completely in her face)
At a certain point I feared talking; for fear that I might say things that go against the assumed nature of mothers. We women have become slaves of our own conspiracy. What else can you do when the fear of talking, of saying too much strangles you? I went quiet. Dead quiet. I could not speak anymore; the words just did not come. Steven, at first, tried his best to understand; he did the only thing that he could do. He tried to change. I did not want him to change; not for me, not for the children. When words fail you, what else do you have? Actions? Actions? Actions don't speak louder than words. They are just as confusing; just as liable to ensnare you. You touch. It gets interpretated in ways you did not intend. A kiss can endear but also confuse. I withdrew in myself, and now I'm here in this country retreat, as they call it so politely. Locked away in the bosom of nature, trying to find myself, my voice, with the help of these strangers. My voice, ladies and gentlemen of this wonderful retreat, has been silenced by reason for reasons that are pathetically clear; we are not allowed to exist.

"Kathy. Wake up. Wake up, dear." Steven's voice came from afar as if it had to travel millions of lightyears to reach me. I turned my head slowly and stared quite unexpectedly directly into his stale blue eyes. I simpered, and said a tired hello. He kissed me on the cheek with such wariness that it made me uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him. He sensed my disquiet. "I just came to see how you are doing. We are still married. I still care." My skin crawled when he said "married" as though he and I were shackled together. As though he owned me. "I'm not married to you. I've never been married. I do not belong to you, Steven. I am my own woman." Ridiculous. I needn't say these words out loud. I needn't claim my independence like this. I should live my own life, choose my own destiny. "Whether you like it, or not, Kath... we are married." I rested my head on the pillow, and shut my eyes. "Go away. Go away. Go away." The words dripped out of my mouth on to the pillow. I turned around so Steven could not see my face, as I lay there muttering the words like a mantra. He did not budge. He put his arms around me and whispered in my ear that he will always love me no matter what. I thought about the day I said yes. By the convention of fairytales when I secured the prize my tale should have ended happily. I was now a proper woman, and utterly dead to the world. Wiped clean. Tagged. Now known by a different name. Perfection comes at such a high expense, and its promise - a life without care - is as empty as the notion itself. Is a life without care even a life worth living? My life was perfect for just one second. One second before I sealed the deal with my unbendable yes. Yes, I do and with it I did, and had done myself in.

Steven's mother hated me. She hated me for things I wasn't even aware of. She hated me for making Steven leave her behind. I did not tell him to pack his things and go. But, she couldn't care less.

"I know your mother cursed me behind a blast of perfect manners. She is like that. She is just full of hate that woman. Born spiteful."

"You don't mean those things Kathy. You know mum loves you."

"She loves the thought of my being here, and spending the rest of my life safely tucked away under this rather lush rug in the middle of nowhere, out of her sight. She loves the fact that I've been declared unfit. She hates the fact that you still come here to visit me; that you haven't moved back to the West coast; that you still love me." It felt unreal saying that word. Love. What is there to love in life, really?

"Kathy, don't... Just rest. OK. Just lie down and sleep."

"For once, Steven you're being sensible. Now, leave me alone."

I closed my eyes, and thought about my wedding day. It was such a lovely day. Such a lovely day. When I heard Steven close the door behind him, I reached under my pillow and grabbed the bottle of pills I had hidden there. I emptied it in my hand. My hand was sweaty, and some of the pills stuck to it like lint to a pair of trousers. I put the pills in my mouth, plucked the rest that clung to my hand and licked my hand clean. My mouth was dry. I took a big gulp of water to wash them down. I slowly rested my head on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling; wishing I could see the stars.

When Steven next saw me I was dead. And, finally free.