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Women the weaker sex or what?







By Suzi

The day dawned bright and clear but inside she felt dark and dull. In her mind she was screaming yet no one knew, no one ever knew. Movement beside her. The very touch and feel of his arms made her skin crawl and she wanted to yell at him to stop, push him away or anything to cease the eventual invasion she knew would occur. This was the whole of her life and she detested it. She felt violated, used, and unwanted. Unfortunately, she knew she was too weak minded to make a stand, too weak to do anything about it, so to endure it was her only hope. To make it over with as soon as possible, to give in to his demands, so he would never realise just how sickening it was to her.

He was not a bad man, quite the contrary. He was kind and gentle and sometimes caring but deep inside; she knew he wasnít the man she married. Not the man she had fallen in love with more than twenty years before. The only man she had ever really loved and the only man who made her feel safe and protected. This man was not him, and try as he might, he would never be him. He had changed too much, become another person entirely, and one she found she just couldnít like, no matter what.

This man was sometimes kind and gentle but always determined that he was right. He felt it was his duty to remind her that she was nothing without him. He felt the need to gloat over the simple tasks she found so hard these days. Her confidence had been eroded to such a degree that it could barely hold its head up in public anymore. He loved to remind her that he was the one who could be replied upon and that she was dense and stupid. Nevertheless, not so stupid that he wouldnít ask her to help him when he couldnít be bothered. Or to do the lions share of the work whilst he took the easy option, every time. And even when she was sick, wasnít he poorly too, so she would have to still look after him. He was always so ill, much worse than she was and he felt her illnesses were deep within her own mind. Nothing worth bothering about really. He had depression, that illusive complaint that gets blamed for everything. The stress made him shake, something that happened on much too regular a basis so she would have to be strong. The tension made him quiver so she would have to do the hard things and the anxiety made him sick, so she would have to play the bitch. He had her worked out, knew how to get the best from her and knew how to play the system. He knew how to do just as little as possible and it made her sick to her stomach. He knew that if he played on things being too hard then she would have to step in and take the flak for his problems as well as her own. Sometimes it was too hard for her too, and many times she would look for his support only to find him lacking,

The everyday struggle for existence had taken its toll on her life and she was left with a feeling of deep mistrust. She was slowly disappearing into her own abyss. She felt as if her whole soul was being replaced by the person he wished her to be. The mild mannered man lying beside her, hid the organising, manipulating person he really was. The person who never listened to anything she said. Never paid any attention to the needs and wants of her and who was content with the hum drum existence that was their life together. Oh, it was easy when the children were small. She had felt needed and wanted then, like she was a real person, but slowly the years had made their mark. The kids had grown up and she had done well in teaching them to be independent. A little too well, as they didnít seem to need her either. With them leaving they had also taken her will. The will to make a stand, to make a decision, to do something before it was too late. She was left feeling empty, isolated and alone. It was amazing just how alone you can be in a relationship.

She knew this was the last thing he suspected. He didnít think she would have it in her to leave, to plan her escape and to actually get away. She was trapped like a moth towards a flame and he felt confident in her inabilities. Over confident, that she would never rock the boat, or lose her precious kids. He felt that he had the upper hand, and that she would be nothing without him. Gradually he had eroded her confidence, the very being that was her soul and replaced it with a feeling of self loathing, and doubt. Now she would need twice the strength she would have needed before, twice the depth of meaning to leave and twice the gumption to follow it through.

It had all been down to the famous Internet. Her hope for a better future, a way out, her escape. That grey box full of lights and hopes and dreams. Seeing the screen light up with a thousand pages, each one new for her to discover and each one holding a promise of the future. She had tried the web through the local college, something she was told to do when he was busy with other things, another woman probably. It had been an adventure and she had easily, in fact a little too easily, managed to persuade him to get on line. After that the main problems had been actually getting him off his computer games so she could log on.

He never noticed the subtle changes in her, after all that would imply he actually took notice of her. His life had taken another different tone and he was content with things as they were. Even when she began subtle changes, he was so wrapped up in his own world to actually notice. The interest in doing other things, the independence and the new outlook she had on life was quite easy to hide from him. He never envisaged that this machine would be his undoing. He never saw his rival until it was too late. That grey machine which talked and held conversations, answered questions and became the missing friend. If it could make tea and make love, it would have been perfect. She had made the contacts, arranged the flat and done all the moving online. She had even paid the bills and the accounts and before he knew where he was, she had gone. Itís amazing just how much you miss something when itís suddenly not there anymore. An empty space in the wardrobe, a barren stove in the kitchen. The bed seemed colder at night and the regular banter about the rubbish on the television had now silenced. He was going to miss her. He really knew that now, but the problem was, now was too late. He should have been with her, paid her attention and treated her like she was someone special. Being taken for granted is the one loneliest thing you can do to another human being. At last she found the courage to leave, the strength to start again and the guts to be herself.

Are women the weaker sex, or what?



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The following comments are for "Women the weaker sex or what?"
by Morganth

weaker sex
Bravo Morganth. I felt everything you said to my heart. Weaker sex, like hell. We can be as cunning and silent as a wolf, and as deadly as a female grizzly protecting our young.

( Posted by: Kimberly Bird [Member] On: July 22, 2003 )





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