The Diary, Chapter One

She flopped on the bed and laid still for just a moment. She pulled one leg under the other and stared up at the ceiling.

“Thank goodness today is over,” she mumbled under her breath as she rolled over to grab her journal and pen out of the nightstand drawer. Before she knew it, she was scrabbling desperately on the page.

Dear Diary,

Ha! How lame does that sound? Like I’m some teenager from the 80’s writing love notes in a book. No. We aren’t going to be doing that in this book. I guess I shouldn’t start each entry with that moving forward.

Anyway… Tonight I feel like I’m bottling. Everyone always says ‘I always hold everything in for so long until I break!’ and I don’t want to break, so I just need to get this shit out. I can’t breathe because I have so much anxiety taunting me inside of my head. I wanna be the person that uses their art for decompression. So here are these words.

Being written in order to sooth a soul that currently sits unsettled.

How can you claim to love someone if you continue to relapse back to the thing that tore you apart?

How aren’t we enough to make you stop?

I try to understand. I try to be empathetic to the fact that not everyone is raised with all of the advantages that I was. I try to sympathize with what has been overcome. But sometimes

It’s just not enough.

Your claims get countered every time you relapse. I lose trust in you every time I hear the latest stunt you’ve pulled. I hear. It makes me sick. It makes me angry. It makes me lose hope.

You have no idea the impacts of your actions, even to this day.

I was once a child distraught with heartache and resentment and misunderstanding. But now I’m an adult with disdain, apprehension, but most importantly, disappointment.

I can’t trust you.

It’s been seventeen years.

And you still don’t have your shit together.

And I’m just supposed to believe you’re telling me the truth?

Like I said, I was once that child. But I’m not that child anymore.

Just One Time

He raised his voice

Just one time

When he raised his hand,

You hardly flinched

It’s as if his words already

Hit just like punches

So when the fists flew,

You noticed no difference

You made excuses and hid the truth

Hoping you could change him

But that wasn’t your job

You’re worth so much more

Than being someone’s tape and glue

You deserve feeling the warmth of the sun

And dancing in your underwear

You deserve a love that pours into you

Just as much as you pour into it

You deserve the gentle hand on your cheek

And deep rest through the night

He raised his hand

Just one time

And that one time

Did not stop there

The Beginning of The End

I lift her head up into my hands. My fingers line the jaw of her crying face.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

She turns her head quickly and I put my hands back in my lap. There are no words that I can say that will bring her any comfort.

Oh, how I love this sweet, sweet woman. Her voice is gentle and melodic, and her hair falls down past the middle of her back. She may not be a man’s first choice at the bar, but she stole my heart the second I saw her. She was wearing a green dress with brown boots and danced around the bar like she wasn’t bothered one bit that all eyes were on her. I know this because I specifically remember telling my buddy Joe that I was going to marry the dancing girl in the green dress someday. 

Now look where we are.

“It’s been three days. C’mon-“

She stretches out on the couch and lays facing the wall, her back to me.

I feel a hint of anger well up inside of me.When is this going to end? We can’t keep going like this… “Okay, well I’m going to go out to the garage and work on the car. I’ll be in to check on you in a bit.” I pause for a second before stepping away, hoping she will move or say something. Anything.

But she doesn’t move and she doesn’t make a sound.

There was a time in my life when this kind of empty silence would fill me with rage, but that was the old me. After the death of my father when I was twenty-one, I came to understand that there are some pains that can only be expressed by shutting down. I watched both my sister and mother go through the same thing. The thing is, it makes the people around you so unsure of what they can do to help you. I know there really isn’t anything anyone can do to stop the pain, but I can’t handle being shut out when my purpose as a husband is to be my wife’s crying shoulder.

I keep one of our wedding pictures hanging above my desk out in the garage. I reach out and touch where our hands meet in the photo.

The best day of my life.

With the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.

 

What on earth am I going to do to fix this?