Me, Myself & I
Woke up this morning with yet another almighty headache. I refuse to
use the word hangover, it sounds so common. It was a necessity to
drink such a copious amount of alcohol last night, it was medicinal.
I was in state of shock, what else was I supposed to do? My only
friend last night was a bottle of vodka, now it's just me myself and
I living in this big old house. Vodka has been my only trusted
friend of late, I know it will never leave me or forsake me unlike
others. My left arm's aching from sleeping in such a distorted
position on the sofa. How on earth I ended up sleeping on my
beautiful Italian leather sofa I'll never know, it's so unlike me.
Then again I had little choice, I was in such a traumatic state.
There was no way I could have slept in our marital bed last night,
not after what my so called husband disclosed yesterday.
I make an attempt to get up but it's futile, my head is pounding. It
feels like a herd of water buffalo have trampled all over me. My
cleaner's due to arrive soon, and she'll see me laying here like some
forlorn teenager. My stomach hurts, I feel like I've been punched
repeatedly. He caused all this suffering, how could he inflict
such hurt and pain on me? How dare he treat me like this. I swear
on my life I will never speak that man's name again under this roof.
How could he say such vile things to me of all people? I check the
time on my Cartier watch, another reminder of him, it was a fiftieth
birthday present if I recall. I can't bare the sight of it and throw
it across the room. My mind drifts as I ponder what possessions of
his I need to discard, no trace of him must remain in this household.
Maybe I'll just throw everything in a skip and be done with it. I
find it peculiar how a person's existence can be obliterated so
quickly. My head really hurts now, I need something to drink. I
wish today would just hurry up and end, I wouldn't actually care if
it was my last day on earth. If God suddenly said to me “right
Martha, you're time's up, you've overstayed your welcome,” then I
think I'd be rather elated. At least I would be free from this
heart wrenching pain that's consuming me. How could he say such
nasty things to me? His words were venomous, he couldn't even look
me in the eye as he announced that he was leaving me, declaring that
our marriage was over. His words linger in my head; “Martha, I
love you but you've become insufferable to live with, I just can't go
on like this.” I almost wish he'd left me for a younger woman,
rather than be told I've become “insufferable to live with.” I
hear a key in the front door, it must be my cleaner.
We were just two years away from celebrating our thirtieth wedding
anniversary, I gave over a quarter of a century to that man.
He's a thief, he's stolen the best years of my life. I sacrificed
my own career as a pharmacist to have his children and help support
his career as a geneticist. His life, his career, his bloody
everything, with no care or consideration for me. What's to become
of me? I'm a fifty-six year old woman with limited credentials,
void of any career skills. The children hardly ever visit me, let
alone phone me. I have no identity, I've become a living ghost.
Of course he blamed me for everything, claiming I drink too much.
His monologue went on explain about how he'd given me lots of
opportunities to sort myself out, and so on. Honestly, the audacity
of the man! He's the one who needs to take a long hard look in the
mirror and see what a contemptuous human being he's become. How dare
he accuse me of putting alcohol before our marriage. What utter
nonsense, he's deluded if he believes that. I only drink because
he drives me to it with his incessant moaning, it's become my only
solace. Over the past few years all I've heard is “Martha don't
you think you've had enough....?” Or “Martha dear, you really
ought to make that your last drink....nag, nag bloody nag. He's the
one who's become insufferable to live with, not me. Standing there
criticising me like some Roman general, who the hell does he think
he is? I'm in total control, if anyone's in denial it's him.
My cleaner has brought me a glass of water and some painkillers, what a
caring and thoughtful woman she is. She knows what I need, now that's loyalty. No questions asked, she sees me in need and without reproach just brings me the essentials. Then
again I suppose it's not the first time she's seen me incapacitated.
Ironically I feel closer to her than my own flesh and blood, they
don't comprehend me at all. I want to tell her about last night,
she'll understand my pain, and will agree that I've been treated
cruelly by that wretch of a man. I rest my head on a large cushion
with a cold eye mask and recount the events of last night. My
dear darling husband cited he was tired of covering up to people
about my erratic behaviour and unexplained illnesses. Of course,
I've met with many counsellors over the years, and each and every one
of them was a waste of money. I only attended the appointments to
appease my husband, but as predicted they all proved futile. I
like the occasional drink, so what? At least I know when to stop,
unlike others I can mention living in this hamlet. Honestly you
would think I was some kind of unkempt alcoholic who poured vodka
on her cornflakes. What he fails to appreciate is that I'm a highly
intelligent woman with a first class honours degree in pharmacy, and
equally as bright as him. I could have been just as successful as
him given half the chance. He forgets the sacrifices I've made for
this family, and what thanks do I get? Sod all.
I suppose it's time I got up, goodness knows this expensive leather
sofa won't appreciate my torso laying on it for so long. My
headache has subsided somewhat. As I head for the door I
pass the large ornate mirror above the fireplace. I'm taken aback by
the reflection starring back at me. She's a woman with limp grey
hair, and dark heavy circles and sad expressionless eyes. Her
complexion is dull and lifeless. She has a tired and doleful face, I
take an immediate dislike to her. “Who the hell are you?” I
ask. I reply, “Oh I'm a nothing and a nobody, don't mind me.”
I glance towards the bookcase, one of my many hiding places. I
contemplate whether today I need a trusted friend to lean on.