Free

How did we get here?

I remember the day we met. From the moment I first laid my eyes on him, I just knew we’d be entangled for the long hall. He captured my heart the first time he spoke. I was hooked. On August 23rd we took the plunge, tying ourselves together forever. How foolish we were to believe that in our “forever”, nothing would change.

How did we get here?

He used to be my solace. No quirk was too quirky, no oddity too unsettling, no dreams too big. His arms were the safest place in the world for me. There were no secrets, no lies, no topic off-limits. We were the stuff of fairy tales. We were too good to be true. Sadly, that was the reality. I bought the idea of prince charming that I created in my own mind. Beautiful on paper. It just wasn’t real.

How did we get here?

We went from laughing to fighting. Screaming to crying. Everything he claimed to once love about me became a source of resentment and the basis for mistreatment. Of course, I’m not perfect nor will I ever claim to be easy. But before him, I used to at least think that I was a good person at my core. I used to believe that there was nothing fundamentally wrong with me. Over the course of our relationship, I genuinely started to doubt that. After every battle, I was left feeling like an unlovable creature undeserving to breathe air. My therapist thinks that this might always be a battle and that sometimes the only way to win is to not play.

So I’m done with this war. I’m done with the battles and the back and forth. He can win. I don’t want to. I just want out.

My leg was bouncing a mile a minute underneath the table. My hands felt raw from wringing them continuously and there was no way this could continue for the duration of this mediation. I quickly squirted a small amount of lotion into my hands to soothe the burning sensation before taking another swig from my water jug. It was almost empty. I had been sitting in the conference room for no more than 30 minutes and my gallon jug of water was almost gone. I stood up and walked to the window before pacing back to my seat. After readjusting my hair for the umpteenth time, I reached into my pocket to utilize my fidget cube. This was so much more than just mediation.

This was a hostage negotiation.

He wasn’t happy. The divorce wasn’t his idea and he was going to make this as difficult as possible. It’d be a miracle if he showed up this time as he blew the first two mediations off. Although, if he didn’t show this time I’d have the upper hand if he still didn’t sign the papers and we had to take it to court. No, he’d never make things that easy. According to him, our relationship wasn’t the government’s business and, as always, I was overreacting.

I was always overreacting.

I stood up again and began pacing the room. I wish I had a better poker face and could play cool and not anxious. I didn’t want to let him know that the thought of being in the same room as him was enough to make me physically ill. I wish this could have been done by video or phone but he insisted and if they didn’t accommodate his wants and his work schedule then he’d scream bias and injustice because he was a male. His self-righteous rhetoric was insulting to actual men who suffered actual gender bias when it came to the legal system. I heard the phone ring from beyond the door and tensed up. I longed for the times when the worst-case scenario to a phone call was just an annoying robocall. Now, every unknown number was met with fear of which version of him would be calling me.

There’s Senor Sorry; who was always sorry that my feelings got hurt, as if by some unknown malevolent force.

There’s The Duke of No Apologies; because why should he have to sugarcoat anything or apologize for how he feels. If I want someone who will coddle me then I’m in the wrong relationship.

Then there was Mr. Feel Good; because sex obviously fixes everything. The problems won’t return after the orgasms fade away.

There’s Mr. Hyde; every vulnerability, every painful secret, every scar, every flaw, every fear, every insecurity, there were no limits. He shows up frequently in short hate-laced tirades fueled by rage. But I can’t really blame him or take what he says seriously. He only said it out of anger after all.

He was always followed by my favorite, the Count of Memories; He would always show up after an explosion to try and haphazardly glue my shattered soul together. He had a very fickle memory but could always recall all of the sins he’s had to forgive me for and every time he’s shown me basic human decency that I should be grateful for. Besides, he loves me in spite of my flaws.

This is his pattern. This is the cycle of chaos and crazy that I’d be allowing into my life by relenting on my boundaries. The marriage was over and it couldn’t be saved.

I’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment. Nothing I change will change him because I’m not responsible for his behavior. This is the mantra my therapist and I had created together. This is the mantra I have to remember.

There was a small knock on the door before the receptionist cracked the door open and peeked her head in. “Ma’am, the other party has arrived.” she began. As if on cue, he pushed the door open behind her. She gasped loudly and glared at him but he seemed oblivious. He strolled over to the table, loudly pulled his chair out, and plopped down.

“Alright, can we get started? I have things to do today.” He said casually as if he wasn’t 30 minutes late. She stared at him, mouth a gap.

“Sir, you arrived after the starting time.” She said slowly. Her voice hardened and her jaw tightened. He sucked his teeth.

“I told y’all about my schedule. You’re lucky I’m here at all. This whole thing is stupid and not that deep but y’all insist.” He said flatly without looking at her. She glared at him again, this time in disbelief. She looked up at me and I shot her a knowing glance and subtly shook my head. It wasn’t worth her losing her cool. She seemed to regain her composure and she cleared her throat.

“The mediator will be in shortly.” She said through tight lips and almost gritted teeth.

“Thank you.” I offered her another apologetic smile. She nodded and then quickly left the room. I felt as though the air was being sucked out of the room but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. I returned my gaze to the window and gently wrapped my arms around myself.

“So, you really going through with this just because you’re mad?” He asked annoyed. I took a deep breath and rolled my eyes slightly. I refused to have this argument with him again. This was so much bigger than that by now, but he knew this. He just wanted to argue. He sucked his teeth loudly. “Oh, so you’re ignoring me now? This is what we’re doing?” He sat back in his chair and chuckled haughtily. “Back to acting like a child I see.” My body tensed up and so much of me wanted to scream at him about what an evil person he was.

But what would that do? This war was almost over, he was just firing shots attempting to draw blood. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.

“I’m just…giving us both a shot at a clean break,” I answered him monotone still facing the window. I can do this. I could hear him shift in his seat and suck his teeth again.

“Sounds good.” His usual retort. Oh, how I hate how that’s his response to everything. “You can’t even look me in my eyes while you spout that bull.” He taunted. I again fought the urge to scream at him. I took several deep breaths to counter the sobs from escaping my throat and closed my eyes to block the tears. No, he’s not going to win. I’m not weak. The dam inside me was bulging at the emotions pushing against it. I’m not going to cry. I’m not weak.

Since when is showing emotion weak?

My therapist’s voice popped into my head, as it does when I’m overwhelmed, and I replayed a conversation we had a week prior.

“I don’t want to show him any emotion. I don’t want to be weak in front of him.” I argued.

“Since when is showing emotion weak? Why is being emotional a weakness?” She asked me. “We are all humans. We are emotional creatures. You are ending a relationship. Platonic or romantic, toxic or not, it’s an emotional situation. You are allowed to be hurt by this and cry if you want to. Why is crying not okay but anger is acceptable?”

I didn’t have an answer. I wanted to show him he no longer had control over me. That I no longer cared. But feining stoic felt as if I was being suffocated or like I was on the verge of imploding. To me, it was better to implode internally than explode outwardly at the source of my pain. When I explode, I have the ability to destroy entire villages and all of the neighboring towns. I don’t want to show strength by being angry. I don’t want to look crazy.

How can you get your point across without looking crazy?

Again, I could hear my therapist in my head challenging my harsh self-judgment.

“Why shouldn’t he get to see all the pain that he’s caused? Why doesn’t he deserve that? Why does he get to get away scot-free?” She asked me once.

I remember telling her that you can’t have a conversation with someone who’s not reasonable, with someone who only wants to make others feel as crappy as they do. He invalidates himself so often without a second thought, he’s incapable of feeling empathy for anyone else. I remember telling her that he doesn’t care and he doesn’t want to change. I used to beg him to go to therapy and he’d just blow it off, reminding me of how weak I am for needing to do so.

“He can pretend he doesn’t care all he wants. He has his own trauma he’s working through. But he needs to hear how he’s hurt you. Even if he doesn’t acknowledge his role or accept any responsibility, it’ll be cathartic for you to release all the pain that you’ve bottled up. You’ll feel a sense of relief. If it truly doesn’t help, you can fire me. But only until our next session.” She ended her speech with our usual joke to try and lighten the mood, but I felt as if I was carrying a ticking time bomb ever since.

I suppose it’s now or never.

I gently wiped the tears that escaped my ducts, took the deepest breath possible, and slowly headed to the table to face him. I pulled out my chair deliberately, sat down, and looked him directly in his eyes. To me, he was still breathtakingly beautiful. His warm brown eyes were hardened and filled with rage. His tan freckles that were normally spaced happily across his face were now crowded angrily around his cheeks. His boyish smile and full lips were painted into a defiant scowl. It was everything I loved and hated about him all at once.

This could not continue.

“I am giving both of us a clean break,” I said slowly. “I want a clean break. I deserve a clean break. From you. From this. From us. This isn’t healthy. We aren’t happy. I’m not happy. I’m miserable. I don’t want this anymore. This isn’t working anymore. Why do you want to try and continue something that is broken beyond repair?” I asked loudly. Stay in control.

“You just want to leave like everyone else. You are just like every other female, pretending to love a dude, then moving on when you get bored.” He replied rolling his eyes.

“Bull!”I told him. He widened his eyes a bit as he looked at me. “You are so full of it and I’m so over trying to be nice. I’m not bored. I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting with you. I’m tired of hating myself for trying to make this work. I’m tired of trying to make myself smaller to be whatever it is that you–” He rose from his seat indignant with nostrils flaring.

“Oh, so now I make you small? Why? Because I don’t hold your hand whenever you’re having a bad day? Cause I don’t cater to your every whim?” He yelled and slammed both his fist on the table and I jumped up from my seat.

This sent him over the edge.

“Wow! What are you jumping up for? What, you think I’m going to hit you? Have I ever hit you? Is this how you got them to draft the divorce papers over a stupid argument because you told them I hit you?”

“Of course I didn’t. I–” I started.

“No, because I’m a good dude. But all those other losers you let hit you, did you say anything about them? Those pieces of s–”.

“I wasn’t married to any of them so there was no one to divorce and nothing to report,” I told him. Just stay calm. He’s going to try and turn this around. Just stick to the facts.

“But you were okay with that right? That’s the stuff you like. Maybe if I smacked you around like them you’d be fine and you’d stay.” He yelled.

I froze. He froze. Time stood still.

He seemed to shrink a bit. He sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes once more but his eyes couldn’t meet mine.

“You know what I mean.” He muttered softly. I was not going to let him get away with comments like that anymore.

“No. I don’t. What exactly did you mean?” I asked him angrily. “What does my history of abusive past relationships have to do with anything? Why is that always relevant in every single fight we have?” He still couldn’t look at me.

“That’s not even what I mean. You submitted to all those losers and did what they wanted and they laid hands on you. We get in one disagreement and you’re ready to leave.” He tried to explain.

“Try four years of constant disagreements.” I corrected him.

“Constant disagreements? Really? All we did was fight? We didn’t have any good times?” He tried to counter.

“Yes. We fought constantly with brief intermissions when you tried to screw me into submission. You think because you never hit me you are so much better than the others? Honestly, I wish you had hit me because then at least you could begin to understand all the irreversible damage you’ve caused.” The dam inside that I’d been trying to sustain was beginning to crack.

“Irreversible damage? From a few arguments?” He asked seething. “I did more damage to you than they did? You’re really saying that I was more abusive than they were?”

“Yes!” I screamed. The dam finally burst. “Broken bones heal way faster than a broken heart. At least bruises have to be acknowledged. I literally stood in front of you baring my soul, crying my eyes out and you’d still act like you were innocent and like I was crazy. I am not crazy. I’m not overreacting. You hurt me without an ounce of remorse. You–” Tears were streaming down my face when he interrupted me again.

“So I never apologized, not one time?” He tried to defend himself. His eyes were beginning to moisten and his voice started to shake.

“There is a difference between apologizing and feeling remorse. An apology without change is manipulation.” I quoted to him like I had our entire relationship. He hit the table again.

“Again with that stupid saying. So you saying I was never sorry?” he asked exasperated. Tears began to fill his eyes.

“I’m saying you never changed,” I answered him quietly. He seemed to get angry at that answer.

“You’re right. I never changed. I’ve been this person since we’ve met. I told you I was not good when we met. So now I’m not good enough for you? Is that it?” He asked, tears of anger began to trickle down his cheeks.

“No, I’m saying I’ve changed. This isn’t what I want anymore.” I told him.

“So you are bored. You just want another dude.” He hurled the familiar accusation at me. I laughed woefully, surprising both of us.

“Oh, no. I think I’m good off relationships for a while after this. Maybe forever. I just don’t want to feel pain like this ever again. I never want to feel stress like this ever again.” I stopped and gripped the chair in front of me and looked him in his eyes.

There was one last thing that I needed to get off my chest. One last thing so I can finally close this chapter. One last thing so I can finally be free and move on.

“I never want to feel a loss like this ever again,” I told him. Immediately his face reddened and in a fit of outrage, he tossed the plastic chair across the room. Within seconds two security guards, the receptionist, and a man dressed in a grey suit burst through the door. I don’t think he noticed from the look he was giving me. It was one full of pain and hatred. I signaled that everything was okay and for them not to intervene just yet. This needs to end now.

“I knew it! I knew you blamed me! So it’s my fault? Well, at least you finally admitted it!” He was screaming now and pacing back and forth.

“I don’t blame you,” I tried to tell him. He threw his hands up.

“Of course you do. And you know, screw you for that! It wasn’t my fault. You heard the doctor. They happen. Stillbirths happen! There are a million causes. It’s not my fault we lost it. It’s–” He stuttered.

“Her! We lost her! We lost our daughter.” It was my turn to scream. We were both crying now. “The doctor said stillbirth has a million different causes and mine was probably caused by the fainting spell. Anxiety and stress caused the fainting spell.”

“So I’m the sole cause of your stress? Losing her was all my fault then? You blame me!” He asked bitterly through tears.

My therapist was right, it was all a facade on his end and it was finally crumbling. He was in pain just like I was and his guilt was killing him.

“I blame me. I blame myself for staying in this toxic relationship.” I finally admitted, to him and myself. I finally felt like a burden had been lifted. I collapsed in the chair in exhaustion. He picked up the chair that he had thrown, repositioned it across from me, and sat down defeated. He couldn’t look at me.

“We are so toxic together and we bring out the worst in each other.” I started quietly. “We haven’t made sense in a long time even before we lost her and you have to know that somewhere deep down.” I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes. “Please…we both deserve a clean break.” He finally looked up at me and stared at me for a long time.

“Fine” was his only response. He wiped his eyes and sniffed before crossing his arms and sinking into the chair. I looked up at the group that had gathered at the door. The man in the grey suit, who was apparently the mediator, cleared his throat and walked to the head of the table.

“Just give it here, I’ll sign it.” He commanded flatly.

The mediator looked at him, then me, then his legal pad. He looked as if he was debating on the best course of action after the display he just witnessed. He decided the best thing was just to comply, reached into his folder and pulled out the official documents, and slid them across the table to us. He then pulled out two pens and placed them in front of each of us.

He picked up the pen and looked over the documents that would cut the tie that bound us together. He looked up at me one more time before signing his name. I breathed a sigh of relief. He slid the paper to me and waited anxiously for me to follow through on my end. I signed with no hesitation before handing it to the mediator. He looked it over then looked at us both.

“That will do it.” He announced and left the room. The security guards were still on guard by the door and prepared themselves for his next move. He finally stood up, looked at me one more time, then turned and left. One security guard trailed behind him after a few beats and the other stayed in the room with me. The receptionist walked over to me and sat down.

“Are you okay?” She asked concerned. I turned to her and smiled slightly.

“I’m…free.”