Unrequitted

Why do I always have to feel this way? 

Isn't it enough that I'm alive to live another day? 

In the grand scheme of things isn't that what everyone wants? To live? 

Sometimes the smile is real, but so often it's fake or forced. 

Why can't I just be fixed and not broken? 

I know there are others who have it worse than I do, I'm so selfish and pitiful. 

I don't want to be this way. 

I really try to do better, then my true self shines through and destroys any hope I had built up for getting better. 

I wonder what it will take to heal like I need to. 

Death? The ultimate cure. 

What's wrong with me?

What Washing Won't Wipe-Away

There are three types of soap in Alyssa’s bathroom.  A bar soap that smelled like roses, a liquid body soap that was a cucumber-melon mix, and another that is an avocado oil and a flower fragrance.  The bar soap is first.  She applies it diligently to the green bath rag she chose to bathe with.  She scrubs until her skin burns under the hot bath water.  It’s not enough.

She grabs the cucumber melon body wash and the yellow luffa that belongs to her.  It’s lined up next to a red one.  Guilt engulfs her again.  She puts an overgenerous amount on the sponge and lathers it over her entire body.  The heat from the shower has made an almost impenetrable fog that engulfs her in the small area.  The smell of fruit and flowers permeate every inch of the room that she has chosen to punish herself in.  She rubs and rubs, but it won’t wash off the feeling she has deep inside her.  The smell of him keeps rising off her skin.  She falls to her knees and begins to sob.

What is wrong with me?  She didn’t understand it.  She wasn’t lacking love or affection.  She was made to feel sexy, overwhelmingly at times.  Why did she have this self-destructing habit?  Her life wasn’t missing anything, yet she was set to ruin it.  Closing her eyes was a bad idea.  She had a flash of his silky dark hands roaming over her body.  She could feel a stirring deep inside of her core.  She loved the feel of him touching her.  The contrast of his dark skin on her light skin sent a thrill down her spine.

I’m sick in the head.  It’s the only thing that makes sense.  She grabbed the avocado soap next, then there’s a knock at the door.

“Honey, are you okay?” Ben.  He was back with the kids.  Her blood rushed through her veins and she felt like she would vomit.  He deserved better than this. He was a good man.  He always tried to help out around the house, even though he works a solid 12 hour day.  She couldn’t even blame it on her attraction to him; that side of their relationship never wavers.  He was a model citizen, friend, co-worker, husband and father.

“Si, mi Amor.  Yes, I’m fine honey.  I’m finishing my shower now.  Did you all have fun at the movies?”  It was small talk, but anything else would have been suspicious.  He gave a deep laugh.

“Well, it was a chick flick and the girls are elated and in love with the main actor, but I guess I managed out alright.  Another successful father-daughters night out.”  She smiled to herself.  Then, recalling why she was in the shower, bit her lower lip.  


My husband.  A great man who deserves more than the trash that I am and no amount of washing will remove what I am or what I’ve done.