It was, at times, unbearable, like in the car, the tension of having to drive a distance with nothing to say. Talking became work, the thought of having to keep up a conversation like we were strangers with nothing in common, once again. I kept silent. My guidance wasn’t welcome either when he’d take a wrong turn. I watched the volume dial get turned up, even if I had something to say, I was silenced. Looking out of the window, I watched the world go by, my silence followed behind. He controlled everything: the ride, the time, the music, and me. 

I received no help making my way out of the car or being escorted inside the venue. Inside, we drifted apart as if we had pre-rehearsed the entire scene.  I lost him in the crowd.  Was I sad? No. It was liberation of sorts, gaining life for a few hours from the constraints of endless confinement. Was I disappointed? Yes. I did wish we were normal, like other couples. Arm in arm, drinking and laughing together, not on display, fearing when my freedom would end.  

I never expected my life to be silenced, that one day I’d shut down completely. The silence that consumed me made me believe there was no hope for a better tomorrow. I became silent because fighting exhausted me; silence gave my eyes a break from the tears that became weary of crying. I’d stare at the pages of a book as if they were blank because I couldn’t comprehend what was being scanned, and there was no motive in anything I did. Silence kills your will to try, and eventually, you just find yourself standing and staring into nothingness. 

I consumed food because it was there. I drank to quench a thirst that I didn’t know existed. I’d try hard to engage in conversations, but somewhere along the line, my mind would drift off, and I would see the lips move but not hear a word. I’d manage a smile to some humor that was expressed, but I didn’t get the joke, and with that, I slowly retracted from the crowd.  I had this false illusion that my family and friends were there to save me. I realized very quickly that no one could save me, and so I began a slow descent from the very things that had kept me going. I silenced my inner being.

Now and again, I’d see him faintly in the crowd; now and again, he’d appear to show me he was present. I watched his behaviour towards others, how differently they were treated, how expressive and attentive he was, as if nothing was amiss in his life. What an act he put on, or was it? I commended him for his ability to show care and emotion to anyone but me. He could make me feel worthless at the click of a finger, throw at me the most hurtful comments, make me believe I was crazy, and then, as if the aftereffects of his thunder had no impact, he’d walk out. Just like a storm passes with no mercy, but the damage? It is left for the innocent to pick up. Why couldn’t I be like him? Nothing phased him; everything hurt me.

I listen as he speaks; he never stops, but has nothing relevant to say to me. I listen to his raised pitch, I feel the heat, and watch his anger. We lived most of our lives in a silence of sorts. That silence was different; we kept out of each other’s way and just went about our lives. We talked to discuss matters at hand.  This silence happened out of hurt; I became silent because I was failing. I tired myself of trying to put up a fight and trying to make something work that had no hope. What I didn’t know was that silence is actually deadly. It was the silence that created the scene for an attack.  It gave birth to a monster. It was the silence that caused damage to my character.  It opened up wounds that I had put to rest. Purposely digging deeper and making me so sore I couldn’t deal with the agony, so I chose to silence it. 

How much poison can one take before it ends? I continued to drink and drink with no end in sight. We know and yet we say nothing. It’s what is haunting me that will take my life, and what is killing me that can set me free. My world came crashing around me. I fought in silence, then wept in silence, and finally I gathered myself, waiting in silence for the next time. 

I couldn’t be the hero in his story, no matter how hard I tried. From within these very walls, a misogynist appeared, and I became its prey. Some things just don’t work together. Exhaustion sets in, and hope says its final goodbye; It took my soul with it. From the constraints of not speaking, I become the villain in his performance. I did, however, learn one more thing: silence is also the best revenge.