Kevin didn't know that I was already having a bad day on Tuesday, that I was tired and that the book I was reading made me sad. He didn't know that I cried in the car that night on the drive back. He doesn't know why I wept on his chest when we got home. I was too tired to tell him, and feminine throat cutting is too subtle for men to appreciate. Likely he didn't notice Beulah being mean, and he definitely couldn't have anticipated the plummet of my thoughts from there to the little mush of sadness I felt myself afterward.
He did know that I had a bad day yesterday, one that--now rested--I want to write off as being the result of two bad nights. He doesn't know, however, that I sobbed myself to sleep when I got home. He bought me flowers and encouraged me to talk, but I was cried out and mostly asleep even while he spoke. And then, this morning, I was not sad: I had done my crying and had a full night's rest. My inadequacies, my fears, my insecurities, my sorrows, were held at bay again by a good mood. And that makes it all the more likely that Kevin will never know what set me off on Tuesday and why it brought me down.
I have a habit of viewing everything through the lens of my current mood, which rather invalidates past emotions. Today I am not sad and Beulah's pettiness is reason for pity not anger: perhaps she is trying not to be antagonistic, but to be important; perhaps she is lonely and overlooked. So, today, I find ridiculous and weak my sorrows of last night. I feel I have gotten over it, and the reasons why I felt that way to begin with are of no more value. I am embarrassed that I fell apart, so I don't want to dredge it up and tell him why I hurt; I am ashamed.
2 comments:
Sunk emotions are not irrelevant. They come back with interest. Don't be ashamed. You didn't do anything wrong. Your feelings are valid and your actions were proportionate.
I told you when I met her that from minute one I didn't like her. She's damaged goods.
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