#tellingmytruth

Kira and I ran off the bus and shuffled through the sea of kids trying to get through the double doors of Birches Elementary. Some push into Kira, pushing me, so she laughs, and I push her back. We do this playfully for a couple of seconds, and I say, "Oh my gosh, Kira, I'm going to kill you!" and we laugh and go to class. I felt like something had been off. I could always sense when someone was talking about me. I don't pay much mind to this. Then, our class goes out for recess, and I hear my name being called on the loudspeaker. Yippie! I thought, my mom never picks me up early. I wondered what she was there for. I couldn't think of any other reason I would be called down to the office; I wasn't one of those kids. When I get there, Kira is standing there with my other neighbor that we'd play with. The principal tells me that she heard I told Kira I would "kill her" and wanted to make sure I didn't mean it. "You didn't mean that, right?" she said. With her bleached-blonde pixie hair cut. "No," I was scared, ashamed, felt guilty. I don't remember much that happened after that; I didn't want my parents to know. I didn't want to be in trouble after all I was the only Muslim in the school I had to uphold our title. I kept that secret to myself for 15 years, that guilt, that burden, their wrongs. I was just being a kid.

For years, I have done good by not doing the ONE thing I told myself never to do when I knew I was ready but today I have foolishly played myself because I was completely not ready. I self destruct in the worst way and I have come too far to self destruct so I’m trying not to self destruct. Ok, so I did one self destructing thing and yeah, did not go the way I wanted it to be but of course, that was self destruction means, shit blowing up in your own face and now I’m thinking, do I know better? I obviously don’t. 

I really wish I could do this day over again. I really wish I could do a lot of things over again.... but especially one day that will haunt me forever that I can never go back to. 

The seed of doubt began to grow.

The next time he stayed in the big-city, I made an effort to text a few times during his evening outings. I purposely wanted his phone to buzz and light up while on the bar top. I wanted his eyes to look away from his friends and glance at his watch. I wanted him, if just for a split second, to remember me, us.

When his forays in the big-city began, I would receive  “Good Night” and “Good Morning” texts that usually read “Everyone up?”, but they began to fade, and with them, my trust.  One morning, I realized #1 left something home that he needed for school, so I looked at Find Friends to see if I could still catch his bus in the neighborhood. That is when I discovered my husband was not where I expected him to be.  I texted him a “Good Morning”.  No reply.  

I lie, there was one warning sign: One moment where I was baffled by something he said.  

Two weeks ago, we enjoyed a date night.  He and I strolling through our suburban-city holding hands, knowing our children were safe at home.  Each of us enjoying drinks with dinner, the warm weather we have been waiting for, and each others’ company.  Conversation on our long, relaxing walk began to change from comfortable and consistent to new and unnerving.  

(Backstory: He had been spending more time at work, late nights, early mornings, so a month before we had agreed that he should stay over night in the big-city.  This would ease his commute and keep him sane.  I was happy for him.  I saw his frustration with the long commute and his intolerable disposition when he came home grumpy.  It was not fair to our children.  I was thrilled that he would be able to win hours back by not commuting a few nights a week and have the added bonus to hang out with friends.  Not once, did I doubt the honesty of his request.  He has an older male friend with a studio that would let him crash. It was ideal.)

During the conversation on our walk, he begins to mention that he wants to talk to someone about some of his work issues: anxiety, lack of confidence, nerves.  I didn’t realize these issues were affecting his day to day.  I was caught off guard that he wanted to see a professional. He insinuated that the issues might be coming from his childhood.  The new information shocked me, but I want him to be happy, so of course I said I would support him.  He began getting very defensive about his time in the big-city, like a child afraid his video game is about to be shut down.  I reminded him several times that I was in complete support of his nights in the city, but it was too late.  His unnecessary defensiveness had planted a seed that could not be removed.  

I am an avid reader.  I enjoy reading.  I love holding a book.  Characters become my friends: I grieve with them, I laugh with them, I smile at their good fortune, and I feel their pain.  Or so I thought. 

For years I truly believed I empathized with characters. Their worries, concerns, fears, needs, feelings became mine as I read their stories. The most skilled writers were able to keep their characters’ stories resonating in my mind well after I turned the last page. 

And then he said to me, “I am not sure about us.” There were no previous signs that I may have ignored. No indication that he would ever utter these words.  Just those words, one night in bed, after making love. And my heart stopped. It broke into a tiny million pieces and has not found its natural rhythm since.