Is it Me?

I still remember your birthday.
The name of your first love.
Your greatest defeat.
Your stories of childhood.
Your struggle with Hebrew.
The way you preached.

I remember parts of your vows to me.
Your grandfather's hand grabbing my ass.
Your sister's elitest comments.
Your mother's control.
Your manipulation.

Were there any good times?
Truly good times?
Or were they all manufactured...overworked.
Like that sickly sweet aftertaste from cheap candy.

Was I ever carefree? Was I ever comfortable?
I was constantly performing, pleasing, sacrificing.
Whatever you want...
on the walls,
in the decor,
in the location,
in bed.

I was a good wife to you.
I was.
I was loyal.
I was protective.
I was accommodating.
I loved until there was nothing left.
I gave it my all, my everything, until the end.

I am still so angry at how you so easily dismissed me.
Like driving away to go out to lunch while I ran and screamed your name.
Like your annoyance at the vows I lovingly painted above our bed.
Like your insistence on making a home that looks like your vision.
Like your need to always be wanted, craved, even at the price of cheating.
Like your inability to compromise on dog names, on the colors of the walls, on dinner.
Like the way your eyes just roved over me without noticing me--the real me.

You made me feel invisible.
Unimportant.
Just another one in the pond of humanity.
Me.
Your wife.
I don't understand how that could have happened.
Even now, 10 years later, I don't understand.
You so flippantly disregarded me and it makes me question my worth.
If someone can treat me like that, then maybe there's a reason.
Maybe it's me.

July 1, 2018