Silence After Chaos

Sitting in the Silence

Silent now, following days filled with hours of frantic worry.

There is nothing more I can do right now.

I can’t save him. I can’t fix him. I can’t change him.

This silent evening, I remain here, captivated by love.

I love myself.

I love him.

I love my children.

This morning, I sat tormented by fear of making the wrong choice.

But as I focused on loving myself, I asked: “If I weren’t afraid, what would I do?”

And in that moment, clarity came. The right answer came.

An action I could live with — now, and in the future.

Now I’m alone again, waiting for that action to come to fruition.

But I’ve exhausted all action tonight. Just wait. Just exist.

I’m in the wrong place.

It’s almost a celebration tonight, when I’m supposed to be at a wake.

Relaxing, when I’m so close to chaos, feels like betrayal.

Aren’t I supposed to be doing something?

Helping someone?

Being a mom, a wife, a daughter, a dog owner?

Taking care of someone?

Cleaning, cooking, driving?

Instead, I’m me, for the first time in five years.

Since the affair. Since the chaos. Since I chose to let my life fall apart.

People will say, deserve this.

I cheated.

I caused this.

Maybe I did.

Maybe the stress of years of my mistreatment led to his state of psychosis.

But I don’t see the point in berating myself for my transgressions.

I flogged myself mentally for three years, trying to prove I was sorry.

Only to learn:

You can’t prove your remorse with words or actions if the person receiving them can’t understand what you’re saying.

If every word you speak, every gesture you offer, is seen through a lens so cracked, you become heartless and remorseless.

Evil.

The Quiet After

I’m lonely. And I’m alone.

Because it’s quiet now.

There’s no chaos to chase.

No drama unfolding, no emergency pulling me out of myself.

Just silence.

My whole life has been built around chasing chaos.

Now, I’m unsure how to manage the quiet.

Except to put one word after another, trying to share the desolate truth.

My best friend is gone.

Because of me.

Because of some awful, unthinkable, unknowable happenstance.

I will never know the cause.

You can blame me.

I blame me.

But this disease; this thing that holds my love hostage it doesn’t care.

It doesn’t care about guilt or apologies or history.

It doesn’t care that I would trade anything to rewind, to fix it, to hold him before he slipped away.

It just devours.

And leaves me here in the silence.

What’s Left

I am beyond exhausted. Beyond repair, maybe.

I want to reach out to him.

To talk to him.

To console him.

To help him.

But it’s not him anymore.

I’m lost, confused, and drowning.

Is this the end of our days?

Is this how the story folds in on itself?

What am I even doing now?

Trying to save him?

Trying to save myself?

What is there?

…what’s left to hold?