A Closet to Myself
I want to thank you for cheating on me.
All that glorious room!
I especially want to thank you for doing it in such a crappy way. Now there’s absolutely no chance that we could ever get past it.
At least as a couple…
I’m planning how I’m going to reorganize my clothes.
Oh, and the fact that you did it so openly, in such a humiliating and public way, means that although I can and do forgive you, I will NEVER take you back.
Thank you for including all YOUR friends in your lies. It makes me feel great to know who can be trusted. I feel awesome when I think that everyone knew but me.
Shoes on that shelf, boots on the other.
Knowing how many of the ones I called my friends were lied to behind my back and fell in with the “let’s fix that poor girl” plan infuriates me. I may be broken, but not the way you said.
My brokenness comes from the sorrow of losing a child, not the pettiness of a twisted relationship.
But I kept my head held high and pretended I didn’t know about the lies you told and how my own friends believed and validated your truth.
You did me a favor.
I can hang my caps on the right, scarves on the left.
I never realized how much time I spent tending to your life instead of my own, until I didn’t have to do it anymore.
I made sure your clothes were picked up off the floor, washed and folded them, put them away. I gave you the top bar because you’re taller than me. I always used to joke and ask if you knew you were way too tall for me.
I already moved all my shirts to the top. Color coordinated.
I made sure all your bills got paid on time, fielded phone calls, and reminded you to pick your phone and debit card off the restaurant table.
The credit rating that you now enjoy was a gift from yours truly. You’re welcome.
I also set up all your accounts, including your online accounts, and kept track of all your passwords because you kept forgetting them and refused to write them down. That’s what you had me for, you said.
My jeans will hang nicely on the bottom bar.
I can only surmise that you took the plane down in flames on purpose, realizing that I have access to EVERY SINGLE ACCOUNT, including all the social media accounts you own, SINCE I SET THEM UP!
I like to color coordinate.
Sometimes I had to tell you when you didn’t quite match, but I always tried to do that in a respectful way. I knew you were colorblind. It wasn’t really your fault.
I also made excuses for your behavior to my friends and family.
“He was abused when he was a kid,” or “He didn’t really mean it,” and “His bark is way worse than his bite.”
When you started getting physically aggressive, I found ways to blame myself for that, just like you did.
After all, I’m not the perfect wife.
I could probably cook more or clean better. I’ll always lose the comparison game you play, because you never explained the rules.
My clothes aren’t always the latest style, but they’re always my style.
I don’t know how many times it’s been pointed out that I’m “not from here,” so I’ll “never really fit in.”
It’s true. It’s not just my clothes that are different.
I don’t place value on status, possessions, or money, and I couldn’t understand your obsession with all three.
So, when you tried to control me with money, it wasn’t ever going to work.
I could see it for what it was — a last ditch effort to gain the upper hand in a relationship that should’ve been a loving and giving partnership, not the competition you always tried to make it.
I hate shopping, but my clothes will fill this space nicely.
I’ll never forget the day you waved your hand across our living room and said, “I love what you’ve done in here. It looks like something from a magazine.”
I was stunned.
Before I could stammer my thanks, you pointed to my desk in the corner and my art on the wall and said, “We just need to get rid of everything like that.”
Everything of me.
You wanted a perfect, storybook cookie-cutter kind of wife, and you ended up with me.
It seemed like it became your main goal in life to squash everything about me that you loved at first — my openness, my artistic nature, my free spirit. To kill all my dreams so I wouldn’t try to outshine you.
Or maybe that’s not why you didn’t want me to shine.
If the light was on me, it couldn’t help but also fall on you.
You didn’t want to be seen.
Maybe you’re content in the dark, with someone else fighting your battles and matching your socks for the rest of your life.
Perhaps you want to crowd out anyone who might make it seem as if you aren’t living up to all YOU can be.
I don’t know.
I just know I have all this space now.
I’m sure that your old (and now new) girlfriend has zero expectations of you. You can just go through life half-ass forever, never striving to do better, be better, learn better, or reach beyond what you can see.
That’s okay with me. I’m glad you cheated.
I didn’t even have a decent space in the closet.
Now I have the whole thing.
also published on moodyoops.com