She runs frantically through the aisles, not noticing how frantic she appears to other people. He will probably be waiting for her when she gets back. A shame, since she hardly ever leaves the apartment. A fight will of course ensue; a raging battle, where all her fears come to life. She went to the store: a betrayal of trust in his delusional eyes. This made her stay at home mostly to avoid an argument. She tried everything to avoid an argument.
There was nothing normal about it. She clung to her pillow at night, silently crying, and hoping her would not hear a sound. He hated when she cried. He hated when she laughed, too! He looked upon her as if she was auctioned off to him, and had no right to feelings. He wanted to control her, not love her. He wanted to brand her emotionally, to keep her in her place. Like a little doll who never spoke.
His words stayed with her most days. He’d leave to work and sometimes without ever saying goodbye. Other times, yelling at her before he left. She tried her best to keep things up, but he never paid attention. It was the one pair of pants she didn’t wash, the natural wearing of utensils, the way she cleaned up after his laziness, etc. Nothing done was seen and all he could see was the negative perception he wanted to.
This was an emotional death trap he started. She felt never good enough as a result. She neglected herself as a result. She pondered all about his other options, because she felt like one. The opposite of real love; to treat someone as if they are replaceable. But deep down, he was the one truly hurting, but taking that pain out on her.
Fueled by a narcissistic culture, he praised the weak and was disgusted by the strong. He embraced a misogynistic perspective without being aware of it. His echochamber of madness, affected everything and everyone around him. He influenced others, and to her she felt like it was the 1950’s again for women in some ways.
Although she did not mind some aspects of the 50’s culture, she felt some modern men ideally want a woman who: pays half the bills, takes care of any children, takes care of the house, and cooks. This perspective was unfair in her eyes.
Are most men like this deep down inside? Do some clean and cook alongside their partner? I think it’s rare in my own experiences, but I don’t know about anyone else’s experiences. All I know is teamwork is the best method. No one becomes exhausted that way.
And that was the truth. He initially exhausted her. When she had a job, he wasn’t considerate. He didn’t care if she got any sleep, cleaned without his help, cooked a full meal and did dishes until midnight. He didn’t care she could lose everything if he couldn’t chip in once on awhile. It wasn’t about building something together, but rather what he could build out of her.
It disgusted her. The way he put so much effort into appearing a certain way. He cared so much about his car, his hair, his smile, his money, and his material possessions. He spoke ill of others who did not embrace his same sentiment. He treated people like dollar signs, not humans. Those who had less, made less money, or were in unfortunate situations, did not have his sympathy. He blamed the poor for being poor, and praised the rich for being rich.
She felt like one of them to him: a poor disappointment. She thought if she had more money, he might actually love her. The thought sometimes made her resent herself, then oftentimes him as well.
Even when I almost had it all, he didn’t even notice anything but himself. She thought.
Now more than ever she had seen the situation for what it was: dehumanizing. As she pulled off each petal of a flower, she imagined letting the past go. It had been months, and his insults still were part of her thought processes. She knew it wasn’t going to be as simple to rewire her brain, as it was to pull pedals off of flowers. But she was one of the ones who woke up, rather than lived in a slumber. And those kinds of people have stories to tell, and voices to be heard.