Nic Narrates

Troubled might be the word for it. Haunted maybe. It’s my remembering of our arguments.

A long time ago, I stopped journaling about them–our words to one another. I didn’t want a record of it, a reminder. I didn’t know I wouldn’t need one.

At the most unplanned moments they come back to me: sitting in traffic, pretending to listen during meetings at work, washing my hair, reading a book, even clicking off the TV into sudden silence. I find myself unconsciously wincing and know my memory has taken me there again.

In my mind I’m hearing our words to one another, always yelling. I’m seeing horrible scenes of picture frames being thrown and stomped upon, clothing flung into the street, doors slamming, faces being slapped, cars speeding off, accusations, name-calling, manipulation, threats, revenge-taking.

I see and hear the hurt we’ve done to one another and to ourselves. The scars are on the inside too. And I feel those hurts all over again, feel them anew.

How do memories such as these have a place in my story? I’m not a bad person. I’m someone’s daughter and sister and friend. I love and am loved. Yet, I’ve witnessed and participated in unspeakable moments of emotional anguish. Moments that didn’t begin with him, but with him, will end.

I shake my head as my eyes turn sad and my face becomes pained. I want to shake these images and echoes from my mind.

I want to unremember them.

Filed under: boys suck, break ups suck more, people should be nicer to each other, work in progress by Nic