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Trash: A Love Story

written by Blue Whimsy Dulac

(Remixable Divided Original: 2016 background/pt1/pt2/pt3/pt4/pt5)

(Integrated Updated: 20240828)

This story was written from life experience as an example of how misunderstandings can impact relationships, especially when there may be unexplored differences in cognitive and emotional processing we are unaware of. [This story was written with an XX/XY gender binary & heteronormative monogamous husband/wife dynamic, but can apply to any gender or relationship type—because I've lived it in various formats.]

by XY

I was sitting in the kitchen writing down ideas for my newest novel, crumpled up pieces of paper strewn across the table. I heard her coming downstairs, so I cleared a spot for her to sit and got up to pour her some orange juice. I set out a bowl for the cereal, took out the milk, put a spoon in the bowl, and set the glass of orange juice down beside it. Then I sat back down.

She walked in wearing a gloomy expression. It had gone on for days now. No, not days, almost a week had passed since she had last spoken to me. It was like she was two different people lately, and the sulky teenage side seemed to be winning. Except, she wasn't a teenager, she was my wife of 3 years.

I knew early on that something wasn't quite right. After 3 months of complete bliss, I started to notice that she got upset more easily and overreacted more often than not. She had few close friends, and the ones she did have didn’t last very long. One minute they were her best friend, then they would do some small thing she didn't like, and, suddenly, they were her worst enemy. More often than not, I felt like I was walking on eggshells, but I loved her.

I am an easygoing person, and I don't ask for a lot out of a relationship, but there were some very trying times when I wondered if staying with her was the right decision. Yet, I could never leave her. I loved her unconditionally even if it meant accepting some things I sometimes didn't like very much. Also, I worried what that would do to her, me leaving. She's been left so many times, and I've seen what it does to her. She just crumples. Sometimes she acts tough and says she's better off without them, but then late at night I hear her crying. I know she misses them, but she shuts me out when I try to talk to her about it.

That's where we are now. She's shutting me out. Of all of her behaviors that I dislike, this has to be my least favorite. How does she not understand that it makes me feel like crap to be her knight in shining armor one minute and then less than a stranger the next. The truth is I'm not even sure what I did or said, I've just learned over the years that asking usually makes things worse. I can expect a few weeks, at most a month, to go by and then she acts like it never happened coming up and giving me a hug out of the blue.

I even try to make things right with her. Sometimes I apologize even though I don't think I have done anything wrong but she obviously seems hurt. The first few days after this fight I even said good morning to her, even asked her how she was doing. She said nothing. It's so frustrating, not just to feel ignored in my own house, but to not know how she is feeling. For her to trust me that little, and that she thinks I wouldn't understand. She's never given me the chance to understand. I know she loves me, without question, I just wish she treated me better sometimes. She doesn't know what it's like to be me and be discarded at a whim. Actually, she does... I would guess that's how she felt over the years when people leave her. So she has some idea of what it feels to be discarded like that, to be...

Just then she let out a sigh, as she got up and went to the fridge. She poured the last of the orange juice into her glass. Noticing it was empty she threw it away. Not even a glance backward, she just tossed it in the bin and went back to her breakfast. Wait a minute. Like that... to be treated like that, treated like trash. She'll get upset at me and that's it. I can do nothing right, and she decides she's done with me. She walks away. Nothing I say makes any difference. That’s exactly what it’s like. The thing I don't understand is all of these people have left her over the years–if they all discarded her like trash, then surely she knows how it feels. It doesn't feel good. So if she knows how it feels to be trash, then why would she ever want to make me feel like that?

by XX

I opened my eyes. Morning, great... I glanced over at his side of the bed, good he's up already. Maybe he's gone out. No, I'm not that lucky. If he only knew what it felt like to be me. Well, I guess I'll get this over with and go downstairs. It's just another day. What's the worst that could happen? I've already fucked it up sufficiently this week. What's one more day?

On my way downstairs I began remembering our fight. It was so stupid! Honestly, I wish I hadn't gotten so upset, but it's too late, over and done. I've already gone days without speaking to him, and... I stood with the realization hitting me like a 2x4 upside the head. No, wait. Has it been a week already? Wonderful an entire week ignoring the love of my life. I stomped my way towards the stairs, head hung low. Well, aren't I the perfect wife? I could feel my face twist into a grimace as I reached the last step. Heaven help me make it through breakfast.

I started to make my way to the refrigerator, but I noticed he had set out everything except the cereal. I guess he didn't know which one I'd want. As I pulled the box down from the shelf I wondered how I got so lucky. This man is the sweetest person I have ever met, and he loves me. He loves me, unlike anyone I have ever met, unconditionally. He accepts all of me, even my messy bits. And how do I repay him? I treat him like crap. He must hate me. I hate me. I wouldn't blame him if he agreed with me.

With a cereal bowl in one hand and the glass of orange juice he had poured me in the other, I sat down at the table across from him. He was working on ideas for his new book. I remember back when we first got together, we would work together. It was fun, our little brainstorming sessions over breakfast. He would tell me the idea he had in mind, and I would help him build on it. We'd go back and forth, just mucking about with totally off the wall ideas. A small smile tugged at my lips as I savored the sweet memory while staring down at my soon-to-be soggy cereal. I wish we could do that right now, that I didn't have to say I'm sorry–again. I wish I could take back my rage at him, and the things I said when he didn't deserve it. I wish I wasn't here right now... He deserves someone way better than the likes of me.

He had finished his breakfast already and was scribbling away. A few times I thought he might say something, but he never did. So we ate in silence. Those first few days he even said good morning to me, and asked how I was, but I pretended like I didn't hear him. I'm so stupid. Why don't I just leave? I'd be doing him a favor. Then he could go find a woman like him–kind, sweet, smart, and everything he should have. I wish I had answered him that first day after the fight. I just get so mad, I can't do anything right, and I yell, loudly and say awful things. Then later I feel so bad. Every time I think about the memories rush back like it's happening all over again. I can get up feeling good, and then I'm right back there screaming my head off at him. I'm so ashamed. Then it just becomes easier to not do anything. Less chance of me fucking more up. Why does he even love me?

When I popped back into the present, I was staring so hard at my glass it took me a few minutes to even notice it was empty. I must have drank it. Sometimes it's like I'm not even here. Time passes and I'm so busy in my head, it's like someone else is in my body walking around living my life. I used to cut and burn my thighs. It helped take the emotional pain, and it also had the side effect of making me feel real. Sometimes it was the only way for me to feel present. If I can feel this razor, if I can feel this flame, then I'm here. I'm real. I'm alive, not that I’m any use to humanity. I wish I could do more with my life, contribute more, but most days it’s hard just to get out of bed. Also, I can never make up my mind how I could contribute.So then I feel lost like I'm just floating aimlessly. I can be really good at something and think maybe that's my thing, but then I find something else and think that's actually my thing. It's so confusing.

What was I... The small sound of him shifting in his seat brought me back. Oh, yeah, the orange juice. I forgot I was going to get more. As I got up I let out a sigh. Sometimes being me is just so exhausting. I wish I had an off switch. I opened the fridge and poured the last of the orange juice into my glass. It was empty so I threw it out and returned to my breakfast. I wish I was that orange juice carton. Then he could just throw me away. He deserved so much better than me. Alright, I've decided that's enough of this nonsense. He is my husband. I love him, and he deserves a wife who treats him right. So I'll just give him a hug, and we can forget this ever happened, as soon as I finish my breakfast. As I finished my last bite of cereal I looked up at him. He's busy writing. I don't want to interrupt him. Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow.

by XY

I really thought she was going to say something. Too afraid to look up, I paused my writing when she finished eating, but then she just put her dishes in the sink and went back upstairs. Maybe tomorrow? I wonder how many times I'm going to have to wind up waiting until tomorrow. What if tomorrow never comes? Then I just wait until the next time that I'm discarded, trash, yet again. Will the cycle never stop? At least if she could see how much it hurts. I put down my pen, put my head in hand, and sighed. Maybe tomorrow.

by XX

The rest of the day went alright. I had to go to work for a bit so that helped. Since I wasn't home I couldn't do anything to screw things up further. I picked up some pizza, and when I got home he joined me at the table to eat. I liked him waiting until I got home to eat so we could sit together, even if it was in silence. Some guys wouldn't be so considerate. I appreciate him so much, everything he does for me. I wish I could tell him that. He went back to his book when he had finished eating. I went upstairs to watch some tv. I hadn’t planned on falling asleep so early, but I must have.

by XY

It was tomorrow, Saturday. She usually liked to go out to eat on Saturdays. Last Saturday didn't go so well. I'm still not exactly sure what I said, but I guess I'll have to be more mindful of my words. I'd rather not go another week in complete silence, so I've decided I will say something. I'm sitting at the table drinking my coffee and collecting my thoughts to prepare. I hear her coming downstairs. She's dressed and pauses to look at me before she pours herself a cup. Well, that was something.

She sits down and seems a bit lighter. Here goes nothing. "Would you like to go out to eat?" I say quietly without looking up, afraid that might set her off. "Yes," she replies. Great. She is talking to me. I know it's only one word, which isn't much, but it's more than yesterday and the week before that, so we're getting somewhere. I knew better than to ask where she wanted to go, that'd be pushing it. Besides, I know she gets anxious making decisions, so I usually just drive around until she tells me to stop. It can be time-consuming, but it's better than the alternative. As her anxiety builds while trying to choose it turns into a fight, and we come home with nothing, not speaking again.

by XX

Morning again. I could see the sunlight through my tightly shut eyelids, willing the night to come back. He was moving around, probably getting dressed. I just pretended like I was still asleep. It's easier than the alternative. When we get up at the same time, I am trying to get my stuff done at the same time, and we usually bump into each other at some point. I'd rather avoid anything that could trigger any negative emotions this morning. I'm feeling good, so I'd like to keep it that way.

After he leaves I quietly get up and get dressed. It's Saturday. I'd like to go out to breakfast. I want to make it downstairs before he eats anything, so we can go out to eat, but I know he'll wait for me. He always does. It's nice not to feel rushed, so I take my time and take deep breaths while I get ready. "Today is going to be a good day," I whisper to myself in the mirror. "He loves me. I love him."

I made my way downstairs and paused in the doorway to take stock of the situation. As I expected, there was a cup of coffee in front of him, he was not eating. He waited. I crossed the kitchen and poured my own cup, then joined him. We sipped silently for a few minutes. Then he asked, "Would you like to go out to eat?" I looked up, but he wasn't looking at me. I kind of wish he would, but it’s easier for me to reply while not meeting his eyes and feeling the shame of how I've treated him. "Yes."

by XY

We quietly head out to the car once we have finished our coffee. A morning without coffee at our house meant we had no hope of having a decent morning, let alone a decent day. We learned a long time ago that we are not morning people. Taking it black was a shared preference we learned on our first date. It was a coffee date. I remember she arrived early, already sitting prepared for my arrival, looking beautiful as ever. I know now that she always arrives early. She hates to be late as it sends her anxiety into overdrive. So she arrived a full hour early and finished one cup of coffee before arrived. She wanted to pick out the perfect table and appear calm and relaxed when I arrived. She did, but I later learned that was the exception, not the norm.

by XX

I'm glad he hasn't asked me to choose a place. Whenever someone asks me to make a decision, I immediately start to panic. I don't mean to, and it's not like choosing a restaurant is a big deal. But from my reaction you'd think it was a life or death situation. I start to breathe faster and faster. It feels like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. If I even get up the courage to open my mouth, I’m tripping over my words, worried I will choose the wrong place. He knows this, so he didn’t ask. He is so good to me. I turn to look out the window as he drives off, and I smile a little smile to myself. He loves me.

by XY

We'd been driving for about 30 minutes. I'd passed all of our usual go-to places to eat, but she hadn't made a peep. I turned down a road we rarely take heading back towards where we lived when we first met. Maybe she's looking for something specific I thought. She immediately perked up. Well, that's a good sign. I guess I'll keep heading in this direction. She'll let me know when we get there.

At one point, I glanced over to see her smiling. I smiled in return but looked away when I did. I didn't want her to think I was smiling about her. She had a tendency to think the worst. So even though my smile was genuinely a response to hers, filled with only love, if she caught me smiling at her she may accuse me of thinking she looked funny, or something equally ridiculous. I never knew what story was playing in her head, and she usually just left me guessing. Sure, she has a lot of quirks, I thought to myself, but they're part of what makes her who she is, and that is something I would never want to change. I hope we can find a way of being that is different from how we have been, especially lately. Maybe just smoother sailing for longer with less bumps along the way. I suppose I can dream.

by XX

We had been driving for quite some time, but nothing seemed right. I didn't want this to be a normal Saturday morning breakfast. This was special. I was going to tell him how much I loved him. I was going to apologize for being such a bitch. I was going to tell him how much I appreciated him. I was going to tell him how sorry I am. I do not deserve someone as wonderful as him. He is my everything, and I need to start treating him better, or he will leave. Like all of the rest he will go, and nobody (not even I) would blame him.

Just then he turned towards the direction of our old neighborhood. Does he have somewhere in mind? I sit taller in my seat and strain my eyes and my mind, thinking hard about somewhere special we could be together for a while. Maybe somewhere old we've been before, but not somewhere ordinary. Then it hit me. Our first date. We went to a little family owned diner. Their food was delicious and they never had a breakfast rush. It was mostly a place the locals went for brunch so they tended to arrive later. This made it a quiet place for breakfast. It would be perfect for us. I smiled, having made my decision. I'll let him know when we get there.

As we got closer I remembered our first date. I was so nervous. To this day, I cannot believe I even agreed to the date. Meeting people I didn't know, in a place I hadn't been to, by myself, to try and make conversation was just about my worst nightmare. Thankfully, when he offered to let me choose instead of my usual anxiety-filled overwhelm, I immediately chose the diner. I'm not sure why, but I always felt comfortable there. I had scoped it out weeks before I made my first visit, watching the crowds come and go so I knew the times I would feel most comfortable and least claustrophobic.

I suggested we simply have coffee. He agreed. This way, if it was going horribly I wouldn't feel like I had to stay for an entire meal. Unfortunately, this had happened before, and I got sick to my stomach with every bite, risking vomiting right there at the table. But I learned from my mistake. Thankfully, our date had gone so well that we did stay for breakfast. We didn't even leave until the brunch crowd showed up. He saw that I was getting a little anxious with all of the people and invited me for a walk. We could leave the crowded restaurant, but still be together. It was wonderful how observant he was and how considerate. I knew then that he was different.

by XY

As I was slowing for a red light, I realized our first date diner was on the corner. "Here," she said pointing. "Okay," I replied as I got in the turn lane. Luckily there wasn't much traffic this early in the morning. As I pulled into a spot I chanced looking over at her once more. Now, she was grinning. I grinned in return and she caught me. Quickly, I looked away, but I felt her hand on my arm and turned back to look at her. We grinned at one another. Maybe this will be a good breakfast, I thought as we got out of the car. Walking towards the restaurant she slipped her hand in mine. It felt so good to have her back again.

by XX

This was our place. This was where we were going to start to rebuild us. This was a new beginning for our friendship, our team, our partnership, our marriage. As he pulled into a spot I found myself grinning at the possibilities. I couldn't help myself. I looked over and caught him grinning back at me. For an instant, I feared he was about to laugh at me, but I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. No, he loves me, and instead I reached out and touched his arm. He turned back to me, and we grinned together for a moment before we got out of the car. As we walked up to the diner, I took his hand. It felt so good to have him back.

by XY

Breakfast passed uneventfully. Not much talking, but more than the silence there had been the entire week before. That was good. It seemed everything was going well. Yet, I knew the time had come. I had to really say something, something more than the safe chit chat we’d shared during our meal. When she finished eating she wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin, staining it with the blackberry jam from her toast. Then she crumpled it up, and set it on top of the pile of dishes. The waitress came and began clearing our table. This is my chance, I thought as we picked up the check and walked over to the cashier to pay.

by XX

We talked a bit through breakfast. Not much, but it was nice to exchange some words together, not in anger or frustration but in love. When we were finished I wiped my face with a napkin which came away with a spot of blackberry jam. Goodness, I thought. I wonder how long that had been there. Why didn't he tell me? He let me look like an idiot! How dare he... I closed my eyes, shaking my head, hoping he didn’t notice me slipping backwards in my old patterns. No, I will be different. I will be better. He loves me. I repeated this over and over and felt my racing heart slow. Somehow I need to get my mind right, or this will never last. We will never last, and it won't be his fault. This is me, my mind, my emotions, my actions. He cannot fix me, that's my job. I just need to let him love me, even when I don't think I deserve it, so I can fix myself.

After we paid and headed outside, he pulled me over to sit on a bench. I thought perhaps he wanted to sit and people watch, one of our favorite pastimes, but then he said, "We have to talk." I felt my body tighten. Oh no, here it is, he is done with me. He's going to say something like we make better friends, but he can no longer be my husband, which is entirely understandable. How could anyone stand being with me? "I need to tell you something." My mind wandered. I knew I should be listening, but I couldn't rein in my runaway thoughts. What can I do? "I love you and I want to be with you forever," he said. Well, that’s not where I thought this was going. I love him too, of course, but I just need to show him that things will… Oh, crap, he’s still talking. Pay attention, this is important! "I just have to tell you that when you treat me the way you do sometimes when you stop talking to me for instance, you make me feel like nothing like I don't matter to you at all."

by XX

Oh no... I never thought. I didn't think. That was the problem. I focused so much on myself. I couldn't help it, I had so much to focus on, to control, to keep under wraps to... Here I am doing it again. Nothing, I had made him feel like nothing, the love of my life. There’s been so many things that I’ve done, I’ve messed up so much. I have to do something or say something to show him how sorry I am!

by XY

She opened her mouth to speak, but I stopped her. I had come to realize when I mention something she doesn't want to hear, she immediately becomes defensive. This time, I needed her to listen not to spout off all the reasons why she said or did XYZ. I took a moment to breathe before continuing, and thankfully she sat quietly and let me. "Do you remember that napkin? The one you just wiped your mouth with." She nodded. "What do you think about that napkin?" I asked. "Think about it?" She looked confused. "Yes, what do you think about it?" I asked again. 

by XX

"Nothing," I replied. "I guess I don't think about it at all."

"Exactly," he said. "Nothing, because why would you give a second thought to a piece of trash?" My mind wandered again, while I struggled to focus. Trash... Then I heard him say, "... think about how it would feel to be that napkin, that piece of trash, discarded as if it were nothing." Oh no! That would be. I started to cry. That would be awful. He continued, "I would imagine you may have felt like that napkin, like trash, when all of those people left you. You may even imagine them not thinking about you at all afterwards like you were nothing." He was right. I had thought that many times. I didn’t want him to think that. I have to tell him. No, I have to show him, show him that I will do better. I have to...

by XY

Before I had even finished, she jumped up and ran back into the restaurant. Well there, I've gone and done it now. She's done, and we were doing so well. Why did I have to open my mouth and ruin such a perfect start to a perfect day? I can't win. Perhap I should just meet her in the car. No sense in dragging things out, as I know we’re just going back to the silent treatment. Guess I’ll just have to get used to it.

by XX

Hopefully, I'm not too late. Frantically, I looked for our waitress. There she was still standing over our table. Back to me I couldn’t tell if, maybe she didn't... as I got closer I realized she was talking to another waitress. Thank goodness! There on the table sat our pile of dishes, and sitting on top was my napkin. "Did you forget something?" the waitress asked and moved aside so I could get to the table. She watched my hand go to the napkin, but I had to be sure it was the right one. I opened it. There was that spot of blackberry jam. "Just this. Thank you." I smiled, taking in her confused expression, probably wondering why a crying woman wanted this dirty napkin, this piece of trash. Looking down at the napkin, I thought for a moment. "Do you have a pen I could borrow?" I asked her, smiling through my tears.

by XY

Just then, the door to the restaurant opened. She came back over and sat down on the bench with me, still crying. She opened her hand and showed me what she was holding. It was the napkin she had used to wipe her mouth, stained with blackberry jam. In her other hand was a pen. She spread the napkin on her lap and bent over it as she wrote something. Then she handed me the napkin. It read: I love you, and I'm sorry. Let's begin again.

by XX & XY

She noticed his surprise as she reached up to wipe away the tears that had begun falling down his face. It's not often that he cries. He looked back down at the napkin and smiled. Then he broke into a grin as he looked up at her while nodding. They sat there, crying, arms around each other. Both of their hands, still clinging to the napkin, the trash that saved them so that they could have a new beginning. And they knew that together, they could write a new love story.