The theme for this month is Unraveled Yarn. There were a lot of possibilities with this one, and I expect there will be a lot of fascinating entries as always. Here's mine, and I hope you enjoy it!
A Life Unraveled
My life has unraveled around me, and it’s
your fault. I can see the threads that
once wove together the tapestry of me, but they don’t make sense anymore. A favorite book that is collecting dust on a
shelf. The faded pink canvas shoes that
I wore for at least a year too long. The
afghan I once started knitting to remind me of my grandmother, only a quarter done
and tucked away under the bed to rot. I can’t
for the life of me pick up those loose threads and recreate my former self.
Why?
Why did you reach into my heart and dig your hooks into it when you didn’t
want me to lay a similar claim on you?
Why did you erupt with jealousy, the flames practically dancing in your
eyes, when anyone else paid me the least little bit of attention? Why did I allow myself to believe that meant
you loved me, and why did I not question how upset you got when I expressed
concern that you were still spending time with other girls?
I feel dumb now. Everyone I know, friends and family alike, tried
to warn me.
“He’ll change who you are,” my sister Leah
said.
“You walk on eggshells around him. Fear doesn’t equal love,” my mom told me.
“I’m tempted to kill him myself,” Dad
mumbled when he thought no one was listening.
I should have listened to them. You knew that, didn’t you? You knew exactly what you were doing to me. You convinced me that I didn’t need to go
back to school, and you persuaded me to say no to my friends every time they
wanted to have a night out. Your reasons
made a warped kind of sense at the time.
“We can’t afford for you to spend the money right now.” “You’re supposed to want to spend time with
me.” “Your friends just want to stare at
guys, and I don’t feel comfortable with you being a part of that.” “You can’t trust other men, okay? Who knows what they might do to you if you
put yourself out there?”
I lost track of my old life. Bit by bit, pieces of that existence fell
away. Days turned to years, and I couldn’t
remember the last time I’d seen or spoken to either of my parents. My friends stopped trying to reach out to me. And I found some relief in that at
times. It was hard coming up with
excuses for the bruises my clothes wouldn’t cover.
Were there times I considered leaving
you? Sure there were. Little snippets of the kinds of fantasies I
had as a little girl would infest my brain from time to time. Perhaps the details were different. Instead of dreaming of being a princess living
in a castle, I envisioned living in a nice home without having to worry about
setting off someone else’s vile temper.
I reminded myself that I once wanted to travel the world and take
photos. I longed to try food from every
country. I toyed with the idea of
writing a book or taking up painting or trying my hand at rock climbing. My life could have been anything, but instead
I let myself wither here with you.
I wish I could pick myself back up and try
again. I’d make different choices. I’d try to put myself first. I’d reweave myself to create something new
and bold. Beautiful. If only I could.
But for the life of me I can’t do any of
it, because I have no life. In the most
literal sense, my life is over. It ended
the night you took a baseball bat to my head during a heated argument. You should be in prison, but my bones are
buried in a shallow grave that has yet to be discovered. So here you are, still living in the house we
shared together, and no one has noticed anything changed. Why should they when I never set foot outside
the house? When I never called anyone
anymore?
It’s cruel, really. I haunt this place, and it haunts me in return. In life I could not escape it, and in death
it is much the same. I get to see how
little you miss me. My absence means
nothing to you, and I wish I tear your flesh away from your bones. I wish I could unwind you and leave you in
ruin the way you did to me. But I can’t. All I can do is linger and recall all that
came apart within these walls.
It’s all your fault, and you don’t care.
Word Count: 775
FCA
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