Once you’ve looked true evil in the face, you’ll never forget it.
Three years ago, I thought I had seen it on the streets of New York. But there is a difference. Alcohol can bring out evil things in a person. It can turn them into monsters. Drugs can too. They can turn someone into a shell of themselves, lowering their moral compass inch by inch until they look around only to find themselves mired in the filth of their own creation.
You can pull yourself out of filth. I know because I’ve done it. Dusted myself off, bit by bit, until I recognized myself again.
The man in New York: I knew and loved him long enough that both his darkness and his light were just as familiar to me as my own. I was never surprised, as sad as that is.
Last year, I met someone new. He seemed kind, loving, sincere. But then he wasn’t. I could never tell which side of him I saw was real. I convinced myself it had to be the good one. The one he presented to everyone else. Evil lurks, insidiously. It can dress itself up. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Today, I’m sitting on my couch. I’ve been reading. My phone is off, my IPad on airplane mode. I have no direction for my day. I was exhausted when I woke up, I need to rest.
I feel a moment of shame for thinking I need to rest. I never feel like I’m doing enough. He always did too much, I felt lazy in comparison. Judged for being able to sit still.
I debate on going back to my novel. My sixth in a week.
Four months ago, I was moving things into his house when I found the other woman’s clothing. I checked out four books from the library in a daze. I read three in less than twelve hours. I couldn’t keep the questions and fears fully at bay, I had signed out of my lease. I would be homeless in a matter of weeks. I couldn’t move into this house with him. My skin crawled.
Here, on my couch, I shake my head, squeezing my eyes tight to empty my brain.
I play with my dog. I zone out as she runs after her toy. She hesitates before dropping it nearby for me to throw again. I can feel my eyes have glazed over. She can tell I’m not really there.
‘Fuck you eat shit you fucking skank cunt bitch.’ ‘I wish you were thirty minutes away so I could slice you ear to ear.’ ‘You do the right thing, fucking hang.’
I squeeze my eyes tight and shake my head again. Like if I try hard enough I can rattle these words and all the others out of my head through my ears. I won’t allow them to fester and rot in my brain, sowing themselves so deeply that they play in my own voice instead of his.
It takes me a second to come back. The last bully I need is me. I pick up her toy and throw it again and again until she gets tired.
I feel off today, like my thoughts can’t form themselves fully in my brain. It’s disorienting. Sitting on my floor, I try to make sense of the past year. So much of it was an illusion, some months I don’t remember at all. My brain threw them out with the bathwater.
I’m spiraling. I focus on getting through this second, then this one, this one, this one. I want to lay down and stare at the ceiling until my life is finally over.
I don’t. I get up off the floor and pull a folding chair out into my yard. I try to read more of my novel. I am confusing the story line with another book I read the day before. I look up at the desert landscape of my new home instead. The hot air blows across my cheeks. A small part of my brain registers that I should be wearing sunscreen.
I feel a fly buzzing by my ear. I must be in the present enough to be annoyed by it.
I pull the chair back inside and sit back on the couch. I stare at my book and my throat starts to ache, I know what’s coming. I sob, hot fat tears rolling down my face.
These emotions are confusing. I know I am going to be okay, I know time will heal. I cry so hard and my throat aches so much that, for a moment, I worry that this isn’t true.
I feel haunted. Like I am looking over my shoulder. I don’t know for what.
After a few minutes, I blow my nose and take a few deep breaths. I look at myself in the mirror. I take my dog outside. She sniffs around.
I think back to the day I left. I watch myself sit at the kitchen table as the house gets destroyed. Flipping through the lies, the masks, the roles he played. I think back to how pathetic I was to keep going back. I wonder how I had managed to convince myself this wasn’t who he was.
It was exactly who he was. I’m the only person who isn’t fooled. Anymore, at least.
My dog is pulling on her leash, she looks at me. We walk up the steps to go back inside. I don’t bring those thoughts in with me, I shut the front door and lock it. I feel better with them out there, they’ve got more space to roam.
Today, my boobs hurt, a symptom I haven’t felt since I was pregnant. My body has been cruel to me this month, there is so much it won’t let me forget. On the year anniversary of the first positive test, my stomach bloated and swelled like it had before. I sobbed that day too. Then I sat on my kitchen floor and stared into space for half an hour.
I felt better after. I always do.
I take note that my period is coming up. I brace myself and then relax. The tape of the operating room doesn’t play, neither does the one from the weeks prior. I am right here.
Today is going to be a good day. I vacuum, I wipe down the counters. I take a second to watch the horse outside of my window. I smile. What a wonderful place to live. I enjoy my own company immensely. I am lucky.
I am not hungry but I make myself something to eat. If I take care of myself, I am more likely to have good days. While I am doing dishes, I wonder to myself if he thinks I think good things about him. I don’t. I loathe him with every fiber of my being. More than I could ever hate myself.
I let these feelings wash down the drain. I lather my hands with soap.
My hands are clean.
