Maybe I’m Crazy
Maybe I’m crazy.
Sometimes I feel so much anger, I don’t know what to do. I watch him walk
across the room, and all I can think about is how much I can’t stand being
around him. It isn’t because of any one thing—it’s all the little things that
add up, like how he corrects me whenever he has a chance. He doesn’t listen to
what I’m saying. He just listens for any mistake I might make so he can jump in
and tell me what I’m saying is wrong—the wrong pronunciation, the wrong use of
the word, the wrong phrase, the wrong whatever. Usually it has nothing to do
with what I’m saying. When I finally get to my point after all his
interruptions, he is dismissive of whatever I say: “Did you think of that all
by yourself?”
For years I tried
to figure out why he needed to do that. I’ve wondered if he just needs to feel
superior, but he is much more accomplished than I’ll ever be. Perhaps, despite
all his success, he still feels insecure. Sometimes I think that I get under
his skin as much as he gets under mine, and this is his passive aggressive way
of letting his anger out. Whatever the reason, when his talk gets too much for
me, I say something, like, “Will you let me finish before you tell me how
stupid you think I am?” and he is better for while, but the old pattern soon
comes back. He attacks and I shut down. It’s hard to keep talking if you know
you’re going to get shot down no matter what you say. I try to find safe
topics, like the weather or taking care of something in the house, but I run
out of things to say. I’d just sit there in silence which never feels right.
That isn’t how couples should be with each other.
Our friends have
noticed how he attacks me. They’ve pulled me aside and said, “Why do you put up
with that?” and I just shrug my shoulders. Shaking their heads, they say, “You
don’t have to live with that.” If they only knew the whole truth about our
relationship, it would make them wonder even more why I stay with him. We
stopped making love years ago. We never cuddle or show any affection toward
each other. We never laugh together. We never say kind things to each other.
All we are is civil. We don’t fight. We just exist, day after day. We have our
routines. We’re roommates who share a roof.
I don’t know why I
stay. I could walk out, get a divorce, but I’ll never take that step. Maybe
it’s the years we’ve put in, a kind of investment I don’t want to give up on. Maybe
it’s that I’m afraid to be without him, that he’s convinced me that I need him
to get through the day. Maybe it’s because, despite it all, I love him, love
what we once had, love the idea of us together, love knowing he is with me.
Maybe I’m just crazy.
Tags:
Short Fiction