Eyebags & Dimples by Bonnie Henna

Author:Bonnie Henna
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jacana Media
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

18

In Sickness and in Health

BACK IN SOUTH AFRICA AFTER the whirlwind and excitement of the trip, we quickly settled back into the administration of life. We had work to find and bills to pay. On the surface, all went smoothly. Our lives were interesting and successful, we were deeply in love, and there were plenty of good times. But despite the happy picture, something else was brewing beneath the surface. Only we couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

There’s a certain level of safety in the distance of dating, where aspects of you and your partner lie hidden. You have the luxury of space and time to prepare yourself and be on your best behaviour, to put your best foot forward. You can keep your carelessness for when you’re behind closed doors, not attempting to impress anyone. You can choose what part of yourself to expose and what to expose yourself to. It’s like putting on a pair of tight stilettos for an appointment, bearing the pain, comforted by the knowledge that in a few hours you’ll be able to kick them off again and let your toes breathe.

But in a marriage there’s no such luxury. The distance and space disappear, and spouses suddenly get a front-row seat in the drama of each other’s lives.

Within a year of our marriage, both my husband and I began to realise that something was wrong. We had no idea of its source, but I believed it lay with me. It had begun to reveal itself as soon as we crossed the threshold into married life. We never talked about it, because we’d never identified it; it was the proverbial elephant in the room.

There were long, cold silences in the mornings. As the first signs of daylight crept through our window panes, I’d pull the covers over my head so the day couldn’t find me; it was my daily ritual of hide and seek. From the moment of opening my eyes, hopelessness greeted me, draining my body of all energy or enthusiasm. We were newly married, supposedly in the honeymoon phase, yet I had no energy for anything, not for getting up, sex, eating or even – perhaps especially – talking to my husband.

I was constantly trying to hide from my husband. It didn’t happen consciously; it was a habit I’d come into the marriage with, a survival mechanism. I made no attempt to reveal to him all the baggage I’d accumulated – I’d grown so accustomed to carrying it, I was hardly aware of its weight. To explain my strange behaviour, lack of libido and constant fatigue, I had to come up with a myriad excuses. Sometimes I was so tired that getting off the couch to give him a hug when he got home felt like a four-kilometre hike. He’d be standing there reaching for a hug and I’d say, ‘I’m tired love, really tired,’ and he’d stand there paralysed in puzzlement. He took it as rejection, as me withholding affection because I didn’t care.

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