Inbox: I wrote this, as a wife of a active veteran who struggles with PTSD and TBI, it was theraputic for me to write, and perhaps it will help someone else who might be in the same situation I am in. A pile of broken glass and old pictures lie at the bottom of the stairs. I weep, alone, with no one to hold me or ask me why or if I’m ok. Who are these happy people smiling in the photographs? I don’t know them anymore. They feel like strangers. I sit and look at the shattered remains of a relationship, and feel so alone, so lost. I cry. Wet warm tears run down my face and I just cry, but I don’t sob, I just cry. I cry for a life I feel lost, dreams I feel gone, and man I loved a life I loved gone. And I’m alone. I screamed out for you, just to feel like you still cared, and you just wanted to post the shattered pictures online. Show how “damaged your wife is” yet she never shamed you, never abandoned you. Even after you tore her heart out and stomped it into a million pieces, and didn’t feel bad about it, you wanted to shame her. I guess she knows where she stands with you. She stood by your side, dealt with the aftermath the war wrought on you, and spent countless nights alone for you. She is still here, weeping for you, rooting for you, wanting the best for you. Instead of reaching out, to try to understand her, you want to make a mockery of her. That isn’t love. You can’t even see how much pain the woman you supposedly “love” is in. She holds it all in, tries to be strong. Doesn’t want her son to see her pain. She’s been trying to be strong for so long she feels like she has nothing left. She’s spent, exhausted. Life only holds brief moments of joy for her anymore, she’s just trying to survive. Nobody calls to see if she is ok, or just takes the time to see if she’s alright. Her phone rings, she doesn’t answer it. She’s too ashamed to talk to her friends. She feels like a failure. She tried so hard to give this marriage her all, and it’s crumbling at her feet. She knows she’s made mistakes along the way, she isn’t perfect. Every time she shares her feelings, she gets attacked, ridiculed, yelled at. He doesn’t have to agree with her, just try to understand her, is that so much to ask? She cries harder, trying to catch her breath. Her whole body shakes. What does she do when she feels like the man she loves with all her heart, doesn’t even love her. She sees how he looks at other women, it’s like a knife to the gut. Feeling replaceable. She doesn’t say anything, because he only ever gets defensive. She isn’t stupid, even if he lies to her, she knows him better than he knows himself. He lies to her all the time, yet she keeps forgiving him. She knows she can’t share her feelings, because he won’t listen. They used to be best friends, but that feels like a lifetime ago. She’s so afraid, but she keeps it all in, all her fears. She worries everyday if that is the day he will take his own life, or the day he won’t come home. She rarely complained, all the deployments, field problems, schools, lonely nights, and feeling like a single parent; she just smiled and stood by him, loved him. He gave all for his country, his health, his sanity, his peace of mind. And she gave her all to him. The aftermath of the war affected her too, many nights she lays awake just listening to him breathe, wondering if he will wake up in the morning, or perhaps he took too many pills the night before. She puts on a brave face, as she listens to him talk about his anguish with others. Does he not realize that pain is hers too? She would carry it all for him, if she could. She sits and weeps at the top of the stairs, a shell of her former self. She stays like that for a long while until her back begins to ache. She moves around the broken glass, knowing she has to clean it all up before her son wakes for school. She has to once again wear the happy mask, pretend that everything is ok, when inside she is just as shattered as the pictures on the floor.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 17:22:03 +0000
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