Musing; Broken
He had broken her.
She who thought she had a strong resistance. He had reduced her to an always crying, weak and defeated girl. She didn't qualify to be called a woman anymore. After all, women are strong. They don't give in, they keep trying till they find a solution. They don't cry about everything like babies. They have super powers, handing a hundred tasks simultaneously, with only two hands. No, she was not a woman, she was a girl. She had thrown in the towel. Hunger had broken her. Finance had broken her. Neglect had broken her. Strong dislike had broken her. Abandonment had broken her. Ill health had broken her. She gave in, she shouldn't have.
Every woman got married and popped out a baby. That couldn't be a tough task, she thought. She should be able to do it effortlessly. So the journey to popping out her own baby began. The shock that greeted her was no small one. Then, she opened her eyes clearly and looked around well. Yes, there were other women also in the waiting room. She was slightly comforted. But each time he did something that tore at her heart, she tied it to her failure in that area. Someone even told her if she could give him an offspring, everything would be fine.
What they didn't know was the deep sadness that accompanied her monthly flow. Every time she saw it, her heart sank. On some occasions, she cried. No one felt her pain. No one felt her loneliness. She also wanted someone to love since the one she was to love was rejecting her. She had thought the child would be her consolation. In the vast world, with billions of people, she felt like the only one. She thought he would love her again if she produced a child. She felt like a failure. The burden was heavy.
The second time she conceived, her joy knew no bounds. She eagerly waited for that time the child would be in her hands. Like the first, this also left her. The third one went the same way. She was shattered. Each of those times she lost her seed, it felt like a child dying in her arms. She grieved, silently. Who understood anyway? They were probably blaming her for the losses. She imagined what the whispers were about. Even he had started looking at her with disgust. More disgust than before. She had tried, she was trying, all she should do medically.
Some of those tests were as invasive as they were painful. She had to open up to a male doctor every other day to track the growth of her ovaries. She always bit the inside of her lips on those visits. But the doctor understood. He was old enough to be her father. He always had a kind word for her. He understood the desire of a young woman to have a child of her own. He kept her hopes up. He always gently presented unpalatable news. His kindness sometimes poked at the defence she went to those appointments with. She hoped he would go with her, the child was not for her alone. But he always had a reason not to. She braced herself and faced the doctor's examination table each time. This particular test was painful. She had 'dye' pumped into her, was dilated . . . The kind doctor looked at her when they were done and commended her courage. He called her strong, she doubted him. The nurse helped her clean up and get dressed. In all of these, there was no reason for her not to be able to bear her seed. She was given medication to just aid things along, as she hoped and prayed and looked forward to the good news.
This journey was not an easy one, especially as she was going it alone, he didn't seem to want to get involved. So, she faced her 'inadequacies' alone, with the growing distance between them. She looked in the mirror and could not recognize herself. She had given all of herself to make a man happy, but she didn't seem to have done enough. She didn't think she had any more to give. She was on the verge of letting go of her hold.
He had broken her completely.
She who thought she had a strong resistance. He had reduced her to an always crying, weak and defeated girl. She didn't qualify to be called a woman anymore. After all, women are strong. They don't give in, they keep trying till they find a solution. They don't cry about everything like babies. They have super powers, handing a hundred tasks simultaneously, with only two hands. No, she was not a woman, she was a girl. She had thrown in the towel. Hunger had broken her. Finance had broken her. Neglect had broken her. Strong dislike had broken her. Abandonment had broken her. Ill health had broken her. She gave in, she shouldn't have.
Every woman got married and popped out a baby. That couldn't be a tough task, she thought. She should be able to do it effortlessly. So the journey to popping out her own baby began. The shock that greeted her was no small one. Then, she opened her eyes clearly and looked around well. Yes, there were other women also in the waiting room. She was slightly comforted. But each time he did something that tore at her heart, she tied it to her failure in that area. Someone even told her if she could give him an offspring, everything would be fine.
What they didn't know was the deep sadness that accompanied her monthly flow. Every time she saw it, her heart sank. On some occasions, she cried. No one felt her pain. No one felt her loneliness. She also wanted someone to love since the one she was to love was rejecting her. She had thought the child would be her consolation. In the vast world, with billions of people, she felt like the only one. She thought he would love her again if she produced a child. She felt like a failure. The burden was heavy.
The second time she conceived, her joy knew no bounds. She eagerly waited for that time the child would be in her hands. Like the first, this also left her. The third one went the same way. She was shattered. Each of those times she lost her seed, it felt like a child dying in her arms. She grieved, silently. Who understood anyway? They were probably blaming her for the losses. She imagined what the whispers were about. Even he had started looking at her with disgust. More disgust than before. She had tried, she was trying, all she should do medically.
Some of those tests were as invasive as they were painful. She had to open up to a male doctor every other day to track the growth of her ovaries. She always bit the inside of her lips on those visits. But the doctor understood. He was old enough to be her father. He always had a kind word for her. He understood the desire of a young woman to have a child of her own. He kept her hopes up. He always gently presented unpalatable news. His kindness sometimes poked at the defence she went to those appointments with. She hoped he would go with her, the child was not for her alone. But he always had a reason not to. She braced herself and faced the doctor's examination table each time. This particular test was painful. She had 'dye' pumped into her, was dilated . . . The kind doctor looked at her when they were done and commended her courage. He called her strong, she doubted him. The nurse helped her clean up and get dressed. In all of these, there was no reason for her not to be able to bear her seed. She was given medication to just aid things along, as she hoped and prayed and looked forward to the good news.
This journey was not an easy one, especially as she was going it alone, he didn't seem to want to get involved. So, she faced her 'inadequacies' alone, with the growing distance between them. She looked in the mirror and could not recognize herself. She had given all of herself to make a man happy, but she didn't seem to have done enough. She didn't think she had any more to give. She was on the verge of letting go of her hold.
He had broken her completely.
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