Creative Nonfiction: Flies in the house/ Moscas en la casa (ENG/ ESP)

in The Ink Well3 months ago


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Flies in the house

After the deception, there was a stage in which we decided to move away. We sensed that the distance between our bodies would motivate us to build a bridge to be able to find each other.

If love survives, we will come back," we said, putting too much responsibility on a feeling that clearly existed, but perhaps it was not enough to cure everything: it was as if we were drinking soup to cure pneumonia.

It was true: we needed to heal, to forget, to forgive and for that we had to move away, to be alone. Even animals seek refuge, to move away, to be able to lick their wounds, we said, and with that motto we stopped seeing each other.

However, the heart is stubborn, blind, and the days are made of habits, routines, and perhaps that is why we decided to try a second time:

"Give me another chance! This time it will be better," he told me. It will be different! -he repeated.

"Give him a chance. He has changed, the others said," advocating the restart of the relationship.

I hope so, I said, not so sure, letting myself be carried away by the wind, by the circumstances and deaf to my instincts, to that sixth sense that screams when we are about to make the same mistakes.

That he tried to be different, of course he tried to be different. He was the man he was at the beginning of our relationship: attentive, loving, nice, cool. But, unfortunately, I was different too: the wound of betrayal was open, fresh, and exuded a venom that only he who has been betrayed knows what burns, breaks, kills.

I became a bitter shadow who ruminated in the corners looking for clues of a new betrayal. More than a detective, I became an exorcist who saw ghosts everywhere. If he was late, the plaintiff would ask:

"Where were you? With whom?"

His hesitation, his nervousness, his silence, accused him more than his words.
I was working and then I stopped by to do some shopping," he would say, and even if his words had been true, I never believed him again. Like a piece of glass that after breaking, even if you glue each piece back together, it is never the same again, so is our relationship, so is our trust.


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One day, I started hearing fly noises. Strangely, sometimes, in any place and for no apparent reason, I would start hearing fly noises. He would tell me that maybe it was the result of stress, tiredness, or sometimes, he would simply say to me:

"You're going crazy, stay calm! -minimizing my feelings and sensations, rather than placating or eliminating them, created in me a state of rage and discouragement. The anger was not only with him, but with me. I wondered why I had given him a second chance, why I had not had the courage to get him out of my life and why I accepted that he treated me like that. But as men are creatures of habit, I let the hours pass as if time had no value for me.

Then the noises of the flies were joined by the tingling sensation in my body: as if small animals were walking all over my skin. Insomnia, lack of appetite and a sadness with which I covered myself, day and night, trying to keep the cold and bitterness away, also began.

One day when I was scratching my skin as if I had a rash, I saw how my hands, my skin, were very bony. I saw myself in a mirror and it was as if a hurricane had passed over me. Then I realized the damage he was doing to me: the poison inside me was not killing him, it was killing me.

I clearly remember calling him to talk, telling him how bad I felt and although he asked me to think about it, I decided that the relationship could not continue: "A second chance had been a mistake". Not for him, who had tried to be better, but for me, who still did not forgive anything.

After that, I felt that a weight that was crushing me disappeared and I could walk upright, light, without so much anger. Then no more flies, no more shadows, no more itching in my body. Then, from that moment on, I began to walk calmly, without any hurry, the joy of loving oneself.

The text is of my authorship and translated in Deepl.

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UNTIL A FUTURE STORY, FRIENDS


Click here to read in spanish


Moscas en la casa
Después del engaño, hubo una etapa en la que decidimos alejarnos. Intuimos que la distancia de los cuerpos, nos motivaría a construir un puente para poder encontrarnos.

_Si el amor sobrevive, volvemos –expresamos poniéndole una responsabilidad demasiado grande a un sentimiento que a todas luces existía, pero que tal vez no era suficiente para curar todo: era como si tomáramos sopa para curar una pulmonía.
Era verdad: necesitábamos sanar, olvidar, perdonar y para ello debíamos alejarnos, estar solos. Hasta los animales, buscan refugiarse, apartarse, para poder lamer sus heridas, dijimos y con ese lema dejamos de vernos.

Sin embargo, el corazón es terco, ciego, y los días están hechos de costumbres, rutinas, y tal vez por eso decidimos intentarlo una segunda vez:

_¡Dame otra oportunidad! Esta vez será mejor” -me dijo-. ¡Será distinto! –repetía él.
_Dale una oportunidad. Él ha cambiado, decían los otros abogando por el reinicio de la relación.
_¡Eso espero!, expresé no tan segura, dejándome llevar por el viento, por las circunstancias y sorda a mis instintos, a ese sexto sentido que grita cuando estamos a punto de cometer los mismos errores.

Que él intentó ser diferente, claro que sí intentó serlo. Fue el hombre que fue al comienzo de nuestra relación: atento, amoroso, simpático, genial. Pero, lamentablemente, yo también era diferente: la herida de la traición estaba abierta, fresca, y destilaba un veneno que solo aquel que ha sido traicionado sabe lo que arde, rompe, mata.

Me convertí en una sombra amargada que rumiaba por los rincones buscando pistas de una nueva traición. Más que en una detective, me convertí en una exorcista que veía fantasmas por todos lados. Si él llegaba tarde, demandante preguntaba:

_¿Dónde estabas? ¿Con quién?

Sus titubeos, su nerviosismo, su silencio, lo acusaban más que sus palabras.
_Estaba trabajando y luego pasé a hacer unas compras –afirmaba y aunque sus palabras hubiesen sido verdad, jamás volví a creerle. Como una pieza de cristal que después de romperse, aun pegando cada pieza, no vuelve a ser igual, así nuestra relación, así la confianza.

Un día, empecé a escuchar ruidos de moscas. De manera extraña, a veces, en cualquier lugar y sin aparentemente ningún motivo, comenzaba a escuchar ruidos de moscas. Él me decía que tal vez era producto del estrés, del cansancio, o a veces, simplemente me decía:

_¡Te estás volviendo loca! ¡Quédate tranquila! –minimizar mis sentimientos y mis sensaciones, más que aplacarlas o eliminarlas, creaban en mí un estado de rabia y desaliento. La rabia no solo era con él, sino conmigo. Me preguntaba por qué le había dado una segunda oportunidad, por qué no había tenido la valentía de sacarlo de mi vida y por qué aceptaba que me tratara así. Pero como los hombres son animales de costumbres, dejaba que pasaran las horas como si el tiempo no tuviera ningún valor para mí.

Entonces a los ruidos de las moscas, se unió la sensación de cosquilleo en el cuerpo: como si pequeños animales caminaran por toda mi piel. También comenzó el insomnio, la falta de apetito y una tristeza con la que me cubría, día y noche, intentado alejar el frío y la amargura.

Cierto día que me rascaba la piel como si tuviera una erupción, vi cómo mis manos, mi piel, estaban muy huesudas. Me vi en un espejo y fue como si un huracán hubiese pasado sobre mí. Entonces me di cuenta del daño que me estaba haciendo: el veneno que llevaba por dentro, no lo estaba matando a él, me estaba matando a mí.

Claramente recuerdo que lo llamé para hablar, que le expresé lo mal que me sentía y aunque él me pidió que lo pensara, decidí que aquella relación no podía continuar: “Una segunda oportunidad había sido un error”. No por él, que había intentado ser mejor, si no por mí, que aún no perdonaba nada.

Después de eso, sentí que un peso que me estaba aplastando, desapareció y pude caminar erguida, liviana, sin tanta rabia. Entonces ya no más moscas, ya no más sombras, ni picores en el cuerpo. Entonces, a partir de ese momento, comencé a transitar tranquila, sin apuros, la dicha de amarse uno mismo.

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Trust once broken is hard to heal again. If only we could live forever in the beginnings of love. Many times, we find ourselves going back to what and whom we had promised never to go back again

That's right. After it's broken, trust is hard to regain. Thanks for commenting and reading. Regards

You're welcome

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While there is nothing wrong with second chances, broken trust does not provide a good foundation for reconciliation. In this creative nonfiction story, you really did a nice job of capturing those complex and challenging dynamics, and how the decisions are never easy. It's fortunate that you discovered the damage that you were experiencing by continuing to try to be in a relationship with someone who had been so disrespectful to you — and broke free.

How easy things look after we get out of them. Your words encourage me. Thank you and best regards

This is interesting to read I must confess. You are good! Once trust is broken in a relationship, it becomes very hard to build it back no matter what. Trying to keep a relationship without trust is deadly.

I agree with you: on that basis, nothing can be built. Thanks for reading and commenting. Regards