Caged

My marriage lasted 10 years, a commendable feat for someone who'd caged themselves the moment they'd said I do. I'd stayed eight years too long, fully aware of the mistake I'd made by year two. Sure, my husband was handsome, something that my mother had fixated on from the moment I brought him home, but there'd been no depth. And what I hadn't realized, due to our short dating period, was just how angry he was all the time. "Why do you always have to analyze everything?" he'd snap, as I attempted to discuss a movie, a book...our relationship. And so, I stopped sharing my thoughts, and instead, found myself walking on cracked eggshells most of the time.

The truth was, I despised anger. Not that I didn't get mad myself at times, but I wasn't the type to blow-up. Instead, I was the wounded girl who cried when no one was looking, and it had stemmed from growing up in an unpredictable and somewhat volatile environment. I'd come from a loving home, with me never questioning the love my parents had for me, but underneath the calm there always seemed to be a storm brewing. Because my mother was bipolar, which she wouldn't be diagnosed with till years later, her moods had been unpredictable. My role in the family was keeping her happy and calm, which was one of the hardest tasks, since she could be set off by anything. Once that occurred, she'd end up in bed for days, as a depression settled over her like a dark cloud.

I was scared of saying anything wrong. I was scared of her sadness, her anger, and the creative manicness that always came with a crash. With Dad busy and non-present, and my sister now married, it had pushed Mom and I together, and it wasn't long before I'd unwillingly become her confidant and companion, as she attempted to live vicariously through me. By the age of 17, I could barely handle living at home, so I decided that perhaps L.O.V.E. was the answer to all my problems, especially since my parents had ruled out higher education after graduation. The only real prospects I had was a low paying job, marriage, and motherhood. I decided to choose option one and two, and by the time I'd exited my marriage, I had a three in front of my age.

How I escaped, well that's a whole other story, and it begins with one of the most tragic losses...my mother.