Where does one even begin with a letter like this? And how? I feel like I have poured out everything I possibly could have to you over the past three (or so) years. And yet as I sit down to finally actually put all the pieces together in this letter, I feel strangely at a loss for words.
When we set out on this journey of marriage, I was excited to have someone to grow with, to fight for me and with me through the years; however, I feel like your true colors were revealed on the honeymoon in October, while my true colors continued to be buried. It was like Jekyll and Hyde came to life on our honeymoon. I don’t remember a day I didn’t cry as you screamed at me for something I don’t even remember doing (or not doing). And from that moment on, my life became holding my breath from one bad situation to another, waiting for the hammer to drop, for the anger to blow. It soon became a cycle of tension building, explosion happening, and a spell of calm before the storm, and then on again. Rinse, lather, repeat.
I kept telling myself it was okay because you hadn’t hit me yet. I kept telling myself to stay because it was the right thing to do; we could work it out. That’s just the thing, isn’t it? There is only a “we” if the other person chooses to be a part of it. That’s the fucked-up mantra of purity culture: marriage is hard. Stay. Make it work at all costs, even at the expense of losing who you are.
And so life went on: unfinished projects piled up, words were left unsaid, and soon, I became a shell of who I once was. All of the essence of a marriage portrayed on social media was a giant joke. I loved you, but I was not in love with you. In fact, I was scared of you.
I remember in seering, painful detail the time when I was in a good mood. I felt particularly accomplished that day as I picked you up from work. The laundry was done, the house was clean, the pets were all taken care of, and the errands had been run. You got into the car; I was blasting Linkin Park and happily singing along. Partway through the drive home, you threw something on the floor of the passenger seat and proceeded to 1) roll the window down, and 2) turn up the music to an obnoxiously loud volume. I paused the music and turned to glance at you. “What’s wrong?” I asked with great confusion in my voice.
“No one likes the cover better than the original, Kayla!” You snarled at me. The breath in my lungs started to feel like the crunch of autumn leaves, and tears began to well up. I swallowed hard and stared straight ahead at the road, hands gripped around the steering wheel as if my life depended on it. Because in a way, my life did depend on it.
There were a few defining moments in our marriage where I knew how it would end.
The first was when I found the used condom that hadn’t been used on me. This was about a few months into our marriage. I addressed it with you, and you had the gall to say you’d been masturbating with it. Jokes on you because my bed smelled like warm vanilla sugar, and we all know my scent is sage, coconut and cedarwood.
The second was when you killed two of my animals. Rosie, my precious ball python, happened due to lack of care while I was still on bed rest from two knee surgeries. Her stench filled our entire house for weeks after, which led me to believe that you didn’t actually check on her at all. Which then begs the question: where were you and who were you actually with for the decay of a snake to happen so intensely? The second incident resulting in a death of one of my precious animals, was in a fit of unreasonable rage when you deliberately threw your shoe at my turkey and broke his leg. He had to be put down because of the way that his leg broke. In a way, I have yet to forgive you for this incident. You also shot at my sister’s dog with your pistol. You stated that your intentions were to scare him, and “you know I would never purposefully shoot a dog, right?” I didn’t know; I nodded yes anyways. Your threats to kill my cat, Delta Queen, stayed in the back of my head as I watched you kick her across the porch one day. My only thought that kept beating on my skull was, “Am I next?”
The third defining moment was in November when we were headed to my friend’s wedding. I was a groomswoman and quite excited for the nuptials. As you drove my car, someone cut you off. You became irate to the point of having a case of road rage where I not only feared for my car, but also feared for my life. I remember you yelling at me, “You’re fine!” as I sobbed and begged you to stop. It was in that moment where I knew deep down I had to leave you for my own well-being.
The final defining moment should have been all those nights that you tried kill me by smothering me in my sleep. Instead, I allowed that behavior to continue for months and dealt with the repercussions of that trauma later.
And so finally, the fourth happened while I was housesitting for some good friends in March. Basically, the nail on the coffin of our marriage had already been set, but I just needed something to tip me over the edge and pound it in. You had decided not to come with me for the housesitting gig, even though you had in the past. And you texted me one day:
While it may seem cute and nice and trivial without context, I read those words and realized how much you did not actually want me or care about ME. Your words showed that you only wanted me around for the things I could do for you. And that is not a marriage at all. That’s not even a friendship. It’s more of an indentured servitude.
There is so much still left unsaid. So many hopes, angry words, stories, reasons why/why not, well-wishes, and desires. All this time I was waiting for you to show up… but my self worth did instead. Who knew you’d be so easy to replace?
