What Remains True

by Janis Thomas

But I don’t trust him. He is still a man, and men are incapable of maintaining any of their good qualities for very long. I should know.

I’m in bed at six o’clock on a Monday evening. Or is it Tuesday? I’m not really sure, but then, it doesn’t really matter what day it is. Every day is the same. Every day is the same. Misery and pills and tears and screaming, and feeling like I’m missing a limb or a vital organ, some part of me that makes me whole, but it’s not a limb or an organ,

In the corner of the room sits a small round table with a single chair shoved beneath. I rarely eat at the table. Its diminutive size and the lone chair remind me of my solitary existence. Mostly I take my meals on the couch with my constant companion, the television.

In this technological age, I was surprised that he had taken the time to write to me longhand instead of just sending me an e-mail or composing the note in a word-processing program and printing it up. He’d grinned and told me he was old-fashioned, that printouts and e-mails seemed so impersonal. Handwritten notes were the only way he communicated with people he cared about. I remember how my face grew warm at his words as I realized that he was talking about me. He cared about me.

Divorce is not just about the separation of two individuals. It’s the separation of families. A drawing of lines, never to be crossed. My family is now solely mine. Your family is yours. His family is his.

I hate him because I never trusted men, never opened myself up to them, always assumed the worst about them. Until Charlie. He came along and changed my mind, and I was happy, happier than I ever thought I could be, until he changed my mind back, irrevocably. And there will never be another Charlie, and possibly there will never be another man. I hate him because he doesn’t need me anymore.

you can’t miss something you can’t remember, and if you don’t miss it, you won’t be sad.

I ease myself closer to him, but the closer I get, the less I see him. As though he is an optical illusion, smoke and mirrors, only the smoke is my pills and the mirrors are my desperation.

happiness was not some elusive force that only showered down upon the deserving, but a choice we all make despite the fact that life is hard.

What’s that line from The Matrix? It’s the not knowing that drives you mad.

She still locks herself away in her apartment night after night, never goes out with friends, and she still hates all men on the face of the planet,

Marriage tears off the rose-colored glasses and forces us to look at each other for who we are rather than who we want each other to be.