We’d been arguing for over an hour and had finally hit a lull. I wrapped my hands around my neck to stop the words from spilling out. It didn’t work.
“You know, sometimes it feels like you enjoy sucking the fucking spirit out of me.”
The words felt like the truest I’d spoken in a long time, and I exhaled. He laughed in disbelief and left the house. I sat on the bed tracing the origins of my feelings. They took me back to being a child, having no army, and being ridiculed for being sensitive so much that I stopped feeling entirely. It reminded me of swallowing so much glass that my soul and spirit left my body. It reminded me of having no choices. It reminded me of the physical pain that I used to get and still get when my heart gets shut down.
Now, as an adult, I’m relearning and dethawing. Feeling everything with as much courage as I can muster and finding simple things that bring me joy, only to have his breath of fire turn it to ashes with one comment. He doesn’t even know how powerful he is because things would be different if he did.
So I dragged my pathetic ass downstairs and decided, crying or not, the fucking dishes still needed to be done.
CONVERSATIONS WITH ASSHOLES 