The Underground Woman

Out of Spite
2021-05-07 00:06:37 (UTC)

Fairness

For the fifth day in a row, I awoke feeling nauseous. It was October of 2016, and the room was dark. To the left, my roommate from Spain slept restlessly. She had been missing her lover who stayed across the Atlantic for the semester. To show him she still thought of him in her bed, she bought red lingerie. He never replied, and she decided it was the perfect time to get drunk with the Japanese students in the same foreign exchange program. I did not join her because I'd been feeling worried that my week-long nausea was caused by something else. Staring up at the ceiling, listening to the cars drive past my window, I decided that I needed to take a pregnancy test. Though he was still asleep, I texted this theory to M. When he awoke, he would know the truth. He would know that I indeed took a test, and he would respond by asking me to induce a miscarriage. He would never know how I felt when he said that, nor how I felt in the moments leading up to the results that would change my life.

Later that day, I sat in my communal bathroom staring at two different brands of pregnancy tests. They were on sale. $1 off if you present the code to the cashier at the time of checkout. Both boxes instructed to wait ten minutes for accurate results. I suppose I was ready for the wait. I anticipated the anxiety of the timer, but after initiating the process, the results were transcribed in a matter of seconds. The plus sign appeared quickly as if to say, "Ha! You're so far along–the HCG levels in your body are embarrassed that you even had to check."

I remember I started to laugh. This was perfect. This would happen to me, of course. I sent M a picture of the results, and when he responded, I stopped laughing. Denial. Denial. Doubt.

When I became pregnant, a silent commitment was made–one I didn't necessarily want. The next time I saw M in person he took me to a resale jewelry store to buy a ring. He wanted to propose to me–to make things official, but I was uncomfortable with this plan. It reminded me of our initial arrangement: to focus only on pleasure; there would be no love. That was the arrangement, but after our third time together, he told me he loved me. Now, he was wanting to propose to me, and I still didn't love him. I did voice my concerns, and I did explain to him that I was uncomfortable with the idea of forcing a relationship, let alone a marriage, due to this pregnancy. Nonetheless, I had to chose a ring. He was insistent about it, so I picked one that was very beautiful. It was silver with a lone pearl. I love that combination–I'm not one for gaudy.

He paid the $60, and when we got back to his mom's house, he got on one knee. I told him I'd wear it, but we weren't getting married. He sulked for a while, probably in the same manner as when I told him I would not induce a miscarriage. Despite my actions, I would deal with the consequences. It's only fair, so I went through with the pregnancy; however, I did not tell anyone other than my immediate family. I was afraid that I would be judged if I posted my status on social media. I was afraid of being pitied, so I didn't tell a soul. I did not want to be a statistic, so I worked extra hard to get what I wanted, not just for me but for my child's future. I grew and matured as much as I could for my girl. I learned to love and worry in a way I had never known before. I absolutely love my daughter, and I'm always thinking of her needs and happiness. One of which is her need for her father to be in her life despite how I may feel about him.

Over the years of dealing with excessive gaming and the low-priority of his family, I've grown to resent my relationship with M. Two threats to commit suicide and one threat to become homeless if I were to leave him has left me with a growing grudge. Though he's trying to show his love for me and planning for our future, I can't help but feel immense apathy.

We're moving into his mom's old house. Paining rooms, pressure washing the brick, cutting down old trees. Now, talks come up that maybe we should buy a jungle-gym for our daughter. Instead of being excited about this purchase, of which I really want to get it for her, but I can't help but feel this hesitation. It mainly has to do with the commitment that comes with buying it and placing it on the property we're supposed to live in for the rest of our lives.

I guess I've always subconsciously thought of an escape route. The ring on my finger, for example, is different from the one he originally bought me. Last year, we went to Zales to buy wedding bands, of which I chose a plain black band for $450 dollars. I figured if I left him it wouldn't be a waste because it's an investment that looks good on any hand, not just the left ring finger. But, if I buy this jungle-gym and place it on the property, I feel like I wouldn't be able to leave him or the house anymore because of the amount of money I'd be putting into the situation. Of course, my daughter would love to play in it, but what if we had to leave? She would miss it. She would add one more thing on the list to hate me for: abandoning her jungle-gym and being a selfish bitch who divorced her dad.

I already feel like my identity as a mother is waning; why not add "bitch" into the mix? In society, many women feel they lose themselves in their identity as a mother and wife. For me, I feel as though those identities haven't stuck to me. It feels like a constant battle to validate myself as this type of person. Since the freeze in Texas, I've been living with my family, and I feel like I'm not a mother. I don't cook like I used to. I don't have bedtime like I used to. The grandparents are budding into everything, and I feel like this essential identity of mine has been ripped from me. I suppose an action that furthered these thoughts was when my dad hit me again during the first night of the freeze when everything was dark and cold. It must have been difficult for M to see his spouse in that situation. It must have been difficult for him to deal with a wife who doesn't let you call the police on her own father. It must have been difficult to be the one that's getting yelled at for caring. Ultimately, I feel pity for him.

This brings me into a thought I've had lately: developing relationships and friendships are toxic coping mechanisms that bring others into your life in order to deal with someone else's problems and situations. I've brought him into this situation where my father hits and yells every now and again. I've brought him into this situation where because of my trauma I won't ever fully trust him, my husband. I've brought him into this situation where all the anger I feel has been feeding into me through emotional osmosis ever since I was little. I've brought him into this situation where I'm constantly struggling not feed this same trauma, guily, and misery into my daughter. What ever happened to normal?

Tomorrow is Mother's Day, and I'm having the hardest time caring. This, in case you were wondering, is the apathy portion of the emotional hamster wheel I've been describing for the past five months. Tomorrow is Mother's Day, and everyone is scrambling to find the wrapping paper.
Where do I want to eat on my special day? Why is it special? I'm fucking up as a mother and a spouse, and you want to celebrate me? God, please don't. Let me finish the six-pack I've been eyeing for the past week. None of them deserve to be around me while I'm in this mood. They deserve to celebrate someone who matters. I wish M would leave me already. He deserves better. We both deserve balance.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day, and I'm thinking about why people decide to get pregnant in the first place. I want to be in love–to love someone enough to want to plan for something like that. But since it will never happen, I'm thinking tomorrow is Mother's Day and maybe I should get sterilized.




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