Photo by Kristian Seedorff on Unsplash
Introduction
Writing saved her.
Words strung together, forming a lifeline to pull her from the deepest, darkest, swirling waters of heartbreak and despair.
Phrases came to her, as if divinely inspired during moments of trying her best to think of anything but the confusing sting of betrayal.
Stories unfolded, careless and effortless, without the worry of edits and rhyme, guidelines or rules. These words were meant for her eyes only as they spilled across the pages of her journal, releasing the frustration and pain that otherwise felt locked within her soul.
Annemarie’s poems didn’t need to make sense to the outside world. It didn’t matter if they met criteria for acceptance or standards of creativity posed upon her by a publisher seeking to be “moved” in Times New Roman, 12-point font, double-spaced and theme based.
Writing was the teacher, leading her down the path of delving deep within for a healing journey that exposed both shadow and light.
Writing was the medicine, soothing and dissolving invisible walls she’d built around the sorrow. The walls, meant to be a hedge of protection, resulted only in holding the grief within... Until writing freed her pain, allowing it to flow freely from her in a tidal wave of merciful relief.
In her season of healing, soulfully documented in the pages of her well-worn blue journal, writing saved her.
From Annemarie’s Journal:
“Accomplice”
I played a part in the collapse of my dream,
this new-found clarity haunting me.
Providing me with unwanted education.
An unpleasant exercise in truth and love.
I broke my own heart by deceiving myself.
Ego asked me to do so and I complied,
to admit things were not as I chose to see them,
would surely bring about humiliation,
shattering my already fragile heart to pieces.
I lied, ever so gently, to myself.
Through starry eyes, consumed with love,
I looked beyond red flags.
Believing elegant words like soulmate and twin flame.
Building my life on all his empty promises,
as he walked away, bored and indifferent.
I cried, truth ravaging me against my will,
overtaking me in my exhaustion.
Forcing me to look upon the thin air
that existed in place of all my dreams.
Tossing me brutally to the depths of my soul,
left to contemplate reality in dark solitude
as my heart continued to bleed.
I mourned the loss of all he pretended to be.
Left picking up the pieces in confusion and tears.
Obligations carelessly tossed upon my shoulders alone.
Realizing with every painful task and challenge,
I was a partner in my own undoing.
My gentle heart placed in precarious hands
because I believed love demanded blind faith.
Chapter 1
Five Years Gone
It’s very hard to explain how one comes to terms with the realization they had dedicated themselves fully and faithfully to a carefully crafted lie, a beautiful mirage. A fake future, endlessly out of reach, while one partner hustles to fight for the dream and the other sits back to enjoy the ride and resources provided.
It’s even more complex to describe the push-and-pull dynamics. Standing patient, loving and kind after being pushed away, waiting and hoping to be pulled in close and seen as loveable, interesting and worthy once again. The chaotic rollercoaster ride: enduring the confusing, unexplained hostility and silent-treatment lows, riding them out hoping for the exhilarating high of romance, joy, sweet promises and peace just around the corner.
Oftentimes, they were, briefly...
Annemarie could remember countless times. Even as she worked hard to move on and forget, her memory was always willing and ready to vividly replay the scenes, both good and bad.
How he’d gently come up behind her as she was cooking at the stove, his arms tenderly wrapped around her, his face nuzzled softly in her hair... It had been day 4 of angry silent treatment. She had no idea what triggered the mood, the punishment of suddenly being cast to the outskirts of existence in his world and treated as if invisible. She’d done her best to stay out of his way, which is hard when you live under the same roof and share the same bed. During those days of silent treatment, his body would visibly tense with annoyance at the mere sight of her, but without explanation. At times, he’d shoot a look of disgust across the room at her, then shake his head and look away. She’d never know why, for even when she asked, the questions were met with total silence. No argument had taken place to set off 4 days of walking on eggshells in her own home, made to feel like an unwanted roommate in the house she owned. It was awful to be ignored completely, but she’d give him his space and patiently wait.
Because he was her soulmate. And that’s what you do when you love someone, she’d tell herself... She’d wait and stay by his side through good times and bad, no matter how long it took, to prove to him she wasn’t like the others. She would not abandon him. And eventually, he’d have to see that she was truly “the one.” She’d already dedicated several years to proving herself to him, fading in and out of the shadows as needed to suit his mood. Surely her love would heal him soon and they’d move past these difficulties to the happier times he had promised from the start.
Annemarie was cooking a dinner she knew he would like, even though during “silent treatment” he’d been known to refuse to touch whatever she cooked out of spite, even if it was something he loved. Instead, he’d go buy a cheesesteak for himself from the deli up the street, then sit to eat it while seething with bitter resentment. She was hopeful the pot of homemade chili and warm cornbread would be pleasing to him, but knew that even if he rejected the cooking, it was worth the chance to prove herself to him. A good wife would cook a good meal, and she wanted to show him she was worthy. She was a dependable, faithful, kind, patient woman who would stand by him and love him, even when he behaved in this confusing manner.
Her heart raced as he pulled her against him in the unexpected and loving embrace. A wave of relief crashed over her as she excitedly realized he was ending the silent treatment. She knew there would be no apology or explanation, but he would be sweet and gentle and make sure she knew he loved her. After embracing her from behind for a moment, he gently pulled her away from the stove and turned her around to face him. Annemarie looked up to find him gazing down at her lovingly with his beautiful blue eyes. A tall, strong man, his handsome face sweet and full of adoration. “Let me hold you, my love...” he said, so sincerely, pulling her close again as she fit perfectly against him. Wrapping her arms around his chest, she nestled into the warmth of his body, quiet tears falling as she listened to the sound of his heart and felt soothed by his scent, his touch, his voice. With gentle fingertips, he tilted her chin upwards and kissed her softly. “You know I love you baby, you’re the love of my life... You’re my soulmate, my woman, my angel.” He kissed her again, passion building as they held onto each other tighter, like two lost souls finally reunited after a lifetime journey apart. He held her face again, his blue eyes blazing with desire as he looked down upon her. “My wife.” He kissed her again and repeated the words she had desperately longed to hear... “My wife. You know one day I’m going to make you my wife. You’re the best woman I’ve ever had in my whole life. My angel. My Annemarie.”
Just like that, the episode of silent treatment was over. It would never be discussed or explained and there would be no apology. They made love passionately, enjoying the night and each other as if nothing had ever happened.
Annemarie wiped away tears from her face as she recalled the memory. He’d been gone from her life for over a year now. How is it possible to still feel that range of emotion from cautious fear to sweet relief, confused sorrow to blissful ecstasy, to remember the dreadful sting of a hateful look, yet still recall the taste of his kiss, the smell of his skin, the touch of his hands?
To remember the joyous thrill of having him speak of commitment and marriage.
Fresh air, she decided... If there was one thing learned during this painful healing journey of mending a shattered heart, it was this: stepping outside to take a breath of fresh air helped clear her mind of ruminating thoughts. To feel the warmth of sun on her face or see the beauty of moonlight shining down through the woods behind her home brought peace. When her mind tried to drag her backwards to heartache and confusion, she learned to find something, anything, to ground herself and be grateful for in that moment.
Today, she was grateful for a quiet, restful Sunday... Thankful for being wrapped in the comfort of her cozy bed, content in the peaceful atmosphere of her little home. There was happiness in knowing the day was hers to enjoy as she pleased. Maybe a trip to the Farmer’s Market for a new cinnamon candle or a fresh baked apple pie, a visit to her sister’s house to catch up over coffee or just soak in the serenity of sitting in the backyard with a book or her journal. She’d been contemplating a poem about the change of seasons... words were coming to her mind here and there, but nothing solid yet. Poems had a way of writing themselves when Annemarie was patient enough to let the words come to her freely instead of chasing them.
After brewing a cup of tea and grabbing her comfy sweater, Annemarie stepped outside to let nature calm her soul. Surrounded by trees, she smiled at the sight of their autumn colors, decorating the landscape with majestic beauty. This is what she would focus on, she decided, as she sipped tea from her favorite blue mug and tried to determine what color leaves she liked best: ruby red or bright pumpkin orange.