I finally had the courage to do it.
The ashes have been there for a while now. I have been ignoring them. Hell, over time they became part of my decor. The emotions grew less and less with its sight. Nobody asked questions anymore. When they did, the lie had been repeated so much my brain recognized it as truth.
The truth was it was a symbol of freedom. Freedom from excuses, half-baked apologies, manipulation and self-pity. All the things I despised in life. I’m not even sure what I was holding on to and why for this long. It has been years. It had been an abusive relationship. Playing the hero and resuscitating its death each time. Finally, I let death take its cause. I got tired of saving all these suicide attempts.
We had known each other longer than I could remember. It slowly grew to what it was. When I was younger, my intuition could never allow me to get close to her. As time went on I learnt to switch off those voices. Voices I should have never said no to.
We didn’t even spend that much time together. The times that we did, she would mostly use it to vent about this or that. It was ok until I needed to vent, which she didn’t give me time to. Slowly the abuse started. It was emotional. I hardly saw it coming. We made lifelong plans together. I made it easy for her. I recall each detail how we would come up with ideas for us and we did it. Ha! who am I kidding, I did it for us. I made it happen. The hero, the makmende of the relationship. Always saving the day, always there, letting nothing get through the cracks.
Love blinds you, a lot. I don’t care what anyone else says. It does blind you. However, at some point you get tired, your heart and soul get tired. I got tired. Tired of the apologies that sounded like excuses, the complaints, the extreme level of selfishness. I was done. Nothing as bad a woman being done. That’s the day she almost died for real but I saved her. I paid for my stupidity though.
It was a few months before our big day. We had talked about this day since we were little girls. We arranged everything, talked about the decor, the food, the ambiance, the venue. As always, I did most of the organisation. As months drew closer, the more distant we got. The calling, texting even the WhatsApp messages stopped. It was overwhelming. I was constantly tired. I had saved her too many times. The thought of her suffocated me and I was slowly drowning. I was the one who needed saving. Who would save me? At that point, I had to make a decision. Was I going to drown or swim? I knew our love was stronger and she would fight for it. I just forgot I was the fighter, the swimmer, the everything in this one sided relationship. So I swam. I swam faster than I have even swam to save myself from drowning.
The shock came on our big day. I was all alone. She didn’t even make an attempt to call or text. Was I sad, angry or bitter? No. I knew it was the day she would finally die. Her ‘savior’ was too busy to show up this time. She was busy saving herself. Her happiness and sanity did matter after all. I really didn’t care. However, that feeling was short-lived in the few months that followed. I agreed to meet. I even dressed up and hosted the meeting. I had expected too much. At the very least, a heartfelt apology. Yes, in this relationship even that too much. Somehow I forgave her. She didn’t even have to plead or pretend. I just forgave her. But did I?
A week later, she decided to put me to test and I failed dearly. To see if I still had my saving skills. Fortunately, I didn’t. I had to keep my promise to myself. I had to save myself. This time I just watched. I watched her die. She had died one to many times and this had to be her final death.
Days later I gathered the strength for what I thought would be goodbye. I took the body from the mortuary to the crematorium. I even paid the morgue driver to drive there. It was personal. It was painful. The betrayal, the disloyalty, the deceit.
I didn’t know how to deal with all that emotion. Driving was meant to keep me sane. At the crematorium I watched as she roasted. At some point she was perfectly cooked meat. I wondered how disgusting that meat would taste if the flavour was her character. As the process continued, I kept thinking of the good times we had. A sad reality hit me when those moments were a handful. All those years and I could count each and every amazing moment using my fingers.
I got the ashes and that freedom I felt earlier. The one that had become more of my decor, didn’t feel like freedom anymore. It had eventually led to being indifferent.
It was 12 months later, I packed my bags and left for a dream destination. My dream destination. We got on the yacht with the finest champagne and a violinist. It had to be big. It was her first and definitely her last anniversary. The last time she would ever be celebrated – by me at least. This was also the best moment in life. She never really knew how to enjoy life at least the version of her I knew. In a moment of celebration, she always found a way to spoil it with her self-centered and attention seeking self. Over the years I had promised myself to enjoy to the fullest in her presence without her interruption. To enjoy in my own terms.
This was my chance. I did things as I pleased. No self-centered distractions and interruptions. The ambiance was perfect. The chilled champagne and the violist that came with the cruise on the private yacht was worth every coin.
As time went by I felt the need to be alone, hence I let her go early and fast. I didn’t even bother with the speech which I was looking forward to. Or spreading the ashes. In the midst of the violinist serenading the whole place, I just threw the jar into the ocean like you would do with unwanted trash. Suddenly I felt peace. Peace that surpassed my human comprehending capacity. It felt right, safe and free. Such a relief.
I sipped my champagne and continued with what I call life. I remember thinking,’ Let the dead be dead and the living keep living’, as I enjoyed the rest of my cruise and the rest of my life.