Lilac Colored Glasses

When I woke up this morning it was almost pitch black.  I didn’t want to turn the light on though.  If I did I’d wake him up and receive another verbal onslaught; hurtful words criticizing how lazy I am, how poorly I keep the house, how incovenient the cats are.  I picked up a basket of laundry and noticed long claw marks in the wallpaper.  White drywall was glaring through the torn yellow paper. It looked like bone peeking from shredded, jaundiced skin.  I swallowed hard and walked into the office and my heart skipped in my chest.
He’d carelessly left the window open over night.  The room was empty; Rex and Luna were gone.  Defeated I slouched to the floor and suddenly noticed something in the laudry basket. None of the clothes were mine.  They were pastel linen and lacy silk that were all made for someone far slimmer than I am.  I fought the urge to vomit – to go back into the bedroom and smother him with a pillow for hating me so much.  Instead I gathered change for a pack of cigarettes.  That’s all I wanted: the feel of the filter between my lips and the thick smoke in my lungs.  That would make all of this finally go away.

And then I actually woke up.  Cb was curled up against me and morning light was shining around the outline of the window shade.  I opened my mouth and mumbled,

“I want a cigarette.”

CB, obviously confused, said, “Huh?”

“I want,” I said, louder and more distressed, ” a cigarette.”

“What do you say?”

“I want my car,” I started sobbing, “I want a cigarette.  I want my job and my crappy apartment.”

The tears were falling like rain now, pooling under my cheek.

“I want to make an appointment and not have to ask to speak English.  I want to understand my health insurance. I don’t want classes that make me feel stupid, I want to go to classes I enjoy.”

CB was supportive as much as he could be, coaxing me out of bed, hovering over me, even helping me get dressed while I sporadically burst into tears again and again.  We were both taken by surprise, although I guess I’m overdue for some homesickness.  My bad dreams and periods of frustration have been steadily decreasing.  In May I can’t recall any at all, so I guess it was about time for something like this.

And in all honesty I have to admire the cruel, manipulative manner of my subconscious.  Seriously, who’d have though that my psyche was a Heather? But really, what better way to exploit my insecurities than to strip me of the most important things in my expatriate life: the love and fidelity of my boyfriend and the companionship of my pets. In a way I guess this is a good thing, that homesickness is brought on by gut reactions to my darkest anxieties as opposed to the weather or tv commercials that brought it on in February.

It was for both of us though, to remember that I haven’t been here all that long.  CB is always good to me.  He is as close to perfect as a partner can be (well, as far as emotions are concerned anyway).  So maybe this was more an internal bitchslap, reminding me to be a bit more sensitive and sympathetic to myself.