Saturday, October 25, 2014


Am I a psychopath? 
I didn't cry at our wedding. Maybe that's why he left me. I stare at myself in the mirror. Even now, the tears wouldn't fall. I push my hair back. He loved my hair. Insisted I keep it waist-length. I stand at my sink, the usual clutter of lotion and perfume and makeup overwhelming. His sink, always neat, always perfect, was still perfectly neat. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.
I throw open a drawer. He's gone. The scissors glint dully. He's gone. I knew what I had to do. Yes. My hair would be the first to go. 
Am I psycho? 
Soft, beautifully shiny locks of hair fall to the floor around me. My toes itch as the hair blankets them. So much time and effort had gone into the maintenance of this mane of hair. And all of it had been for him. Only him. 
"Mommy? What are you doing?"
I turn cold psycho eyes onto my five year old girl. "Nothing. Go back to bed."
"Go back to bed! NOW!"
The tears came. Oh, they came in loud screaming bursts. But they weren't my own. No. Not mine. Gwen stomped up the stairs. "Where's daddy? I want daddy! You're so mean! I hate you!"
I squeeze my hands closed, nails biting into my palms. I want so badly to go upstairs and show Gwen the definition of mean. That settles it. Anger issues. Inability to empathize. I'm a psychopath. 
I look into the mirror. Hollow and empty. Just... nothing. I never thought of myself as one of those wives who lived only for their husbands, but it turns out he was the dam holding what was me in place. The dam broke and I drained away.
I study my new look. And I thought I looked ragged before. I throw the scissors down."Dumbass, what were you thinking? You don't have time to go to get that fixed tomorrow before his funeral."

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Photo from: 

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