I think I realized that my marriage was over when my husband didn’t understand the significant of my Supergirl underwear. It has this very cool Supergirl logo at the T at the back and I found them weirdly empowering. He thought they were silly and didn’t get my excitement over them. Mind you, he is also one of the few men I know that doesn’t care about lingerie. On me, that is. I told my best friend, Zadra, that I had gone almost 15 years without buying any sexy or interesting underwear and she thought that was way too long to go without sexy or interesting underwear.
I don’t know why I find that relevant tonight. I had about 100 thoughts in my head leaving my usual Thursday night karaoke, thoughts about how I never felt like I fit in anywhere in my life, that I’m always the outsider, the un-cool one wanting to hang out with the cool kids. Also about how I always seem to choose people in my life – until recently – that only made me feel bad about myself, never ones that made me feel good.
Somehow, all those thoughts led me to my Supergirl underwear.
Maybe because most superheroes and superheroines don’t fit into normal life either. They’re always in disguise, never able to show those around them who they really are. Keeping everyone at arm’s length and pretending that they are strong and don’t need anybody. They cannot show any weakness or let anyone see through their façade.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to build that façade in the past few years. Actually, probably my whole life. I’ve tried to put on that I’m confident and happy and okay with everything in my life. Even the night I almost committed suicide.
I was very logical that night. I knew I was not happy and I didn’t think anything would ever make me happy again. I didn’t call anyone because I didn’t think I could let anyone know how miserable I was. I couldn’t even explain it to myself. I threw out everything that was important to me – plays I had wanted to direct, scripts I had been writing, jewelry I had been making. I had piles of what was to go to the church as a donation and what was trash and what was to be given away.
I then very calmly went down to the kitchen, counted out how many Tylenol PM we had – the strongest drug we had in the house – and debated about whether or not there were enough there to do the job or just make me sick. In the end, I decided there weren’t enough and I wasn’t strong enough to go out and find something else. I almost literally crawled into my bed and waited for my husband to come home, to hopefully comfort me and help me find my way out of the blackness I was in.
He came home. He found me curled up, sobbing uncontrollably, babbling incoherently about nothing. I could not express to him what I felt other than I was very, very sad. He sat on the edge of the bed, confused, shaken, uncertain of what to do. He waited for me to tell him what to do. I told him to leave me alone, I was fine. Don’t worry about the sobbing and the hysterics. I just needed to be alone.
And he left me alone. Walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. I thought he would come back and check on me. He didn’t. I thought he might call my best friend or my parents or somebody. He didn’t. He went upstairs and watched TV while I lay downstairs, numb, angry, and almost deciding that if I did die, it would serve him right. I had a few hours before he’d come to bed. I would be good and dead by then. Then maybe he’d understand how much I was hurting.
Then it hit me. Give up my life because of him. I had given up so much because of him. To do this now would not be right. I wasn’t finished yet. And I think in that moment, when he shut that door and did not come back to find out if I was still alive, I realized that my marriage was over. It was nobody’s fault. I couldn’t tell him how I felt and he couldn’t figure out how I felt. It was as basic as that. After 14 years, we didn’t know each other at all.
Shortly thereafter, I discovered the Supergirl underwear. I decided that they were for me. I wore them religiously for show nights and any important events because I kind of enjoyed knowing that I was wearing them and no one knew I was. I even got a kick out of the times when the logo would pop up over the top of my jeans – those damn low cut jeans that are the only style that exist nowadays – and someone would see the logo and laugh. Somehow, that made me feel good about my silly underwear.
Then I discovered my old cowboy boots and there was no turning back. I had to go on this journey to find out who I was and what I was to become. I had left myself behind a long time ago and now it was time to go and see if she was still there somewhere. Unfortunately, he couldn’t come along for the ride. He had lost that privilege. And it’s not that he’s a bad man or a mean person or a horrible husband. He just didn’t understand.
So in this journey, the Supergirl underwear are worn a little more often, the cowboy boots, as you all know, are the standard footwear of every day and I’m finding myself trying to shed the superheroine façade more and more, let more people into the reality that is me, good or bad. Because I realize that you all see that anyway. You’re just polite enough not to peek behind the glasses and the disguise and let me pretend for a little while longer that I need the disguise. Eventually, there will only be me.
No comments:
Post a Comment