By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick
I divorced my family today. I didn’t start the day with divorce as my plan. It wasn’t even a thought in my brain. I realized not; tonight the final event would be.
I am who I am, but I am not who I used to be. The used to be me, the old me, the depressed me, the pitiful me transformed. The family of origin cannot understand why the former me departed. Their eyes focused on the past, but no longer do I congregate in that place.
I was depressed. Very, very depressed ’tis true. Eyes fixed on the ground, mumbling my words, blankly staring at the walls. For naught was my existence. Oppressed. Depressed. Oppression. Depression. Folding my cards hastily; the false belief no worse hand was dealt.
A blustery day arrived. The steel door slammed shut. The depressed me, oppressed me was left standing alone. Fear ensued with shadows and the slightest noise caused me to waver. In confusion, my mind twisted.
I sat down on the hard wooden floor and wondered if the door would open. It had slammed before and reopened, but the sound was different. A draft. The door always left a draft.
There was no draft. I shivered alone not realizing a blanket lie in the corner. I was weary. I was always weary and fretting. The slam somehow sickened me and I lie down on the hard wooden floor and wept. Weeping until surrounded by a tear-filled puddle. Weeping into the puddle until sleep prevailed.
Beaming orange and crimson rays awakened me. Through my soul their warmth propelled. Struggling to rise, I walked placing my hand on the window pane. Into the stellar sunset I gazed.
Those that might have covered my shuddering skeleton or wiped my tears disappeared. I called out to those that stared. My echoing voice heard only by my ears. Why did they not hear? Perhaps ignoring my pleas.
Composed of seven were we. The first three eliminated through isolation. One walked away slamming the door, never once looking backwards. Deficient communication created distance with another three. Pretending my existence had never come to be. A different puzzle piece was I. Unable to force myself into the grooves of theirs.
Unaware was I, behind a curtain they stood peering into the room. They talked. Laughed. Drew the curtain. Walked away.
My thoughts dominated of my babies. Surely rescue her, they would. They did not. Daughter no longer visited the room. Son would arrive with damp eyes. Facing his mother, he could not.
Trapped. Looking for a crack, she glanced upward to spot the key. It had been in view all along. Carefully fitting it into the lock and cautiously twisted. Outside the bleak room, the sun shone.
Walking miles to call upon a wise friend who took me in. She taught me how to live without the seven. The woman turned back the pages in life’s book only allowing a glimpse. Overwhelmed I was; realizing the seven were absent all along. My dream mislead me. Longing for their acceptance.
A circle of love; an illusion. Deluded. Support forever was and will be non existent. The seven linked arms marching away. I watched from afar.
The typed papers lie before me. Signing quickly my name. Against the desk the gavel cracked loudly. Stamped with a seal.
Final. I divorced my family today.