Why deny myself a cry? Just because I'm medicated I convince myself I don't suffer sadness. I make myself believe I don't have feelings. I admit I'm somewhat numbed. Blessedly so. The drugs have helped me maintain control.
So this morning in my hurry to meet Prince Charming I forgot to pop my pills.
And now I'm wondering if the tears trapped in my chest are because my careful chemical balance has been compromised or because I'm coming down from a manic high - post project depression, combined with being publicly scorned by my husband.
On the topic of His Lord and Master ... I bought a dress for a dinner event. I tried the dress on and got his stamp of approval.
Come the day of the main event I dressed with care, applied minimal makeup and done fish net stockings to finish the look of sass and sophistication. I looked in the mirror and felt good. Until he started his mad search for an accessory he needed for the function. We had a heated argument about a hat he couldn't find.
I left the house wondering if he was physically incapable of ever telling me I look good.
It only got more interesting when he finally arrived at the function with some friends, to find me doing my duty as hostess: welcoming and greeting guests. With a murderous look on his face I heared him hiss, "look at you, your tits are falling out." While my dress showed a fair amount of cleavage my tits were by no means falling out. However that was far beside the point. The tone and look of total disgust had the effect of a cleaver gutting me with one ragged rip.
The rest of the evening he alternated filthy looks and criticism with the burning humiliation of being ignored. And when I received acknowledgement for my efforts, with a standing ovation, he rolled his eyes and dismissed me.
So Lord, if you won't let me cry to relieve the pressure of sadness, then please, please, let me exhale the memory and move on.
I've taken my evening dose. And with tears only slightly blurring my page I take a breath.
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