What a pain in the neck, those “always be yourself” and “do never forget who you really are” sort of quotes. But we always listen to them though, because they sound so true… so much like the key to happiness. My question is: how could I possibly be happy about not forgetting something I haven’t even discovered yet? I guess that is how life works: we learn more about ourselves as we grow older and gain experience. Nevertheless, I do know what I am not: I am not the obliging, naïve and lying teenager I once was, and I thank the night of January 8, 2016 for that.
It was his 20th birthday and we decided to go out with some friends; we were going to leave Felipe, who was 5 months old, under his grandma’s care. We didn’t go out much, not only because of the baby but also due to our usual arguments, which seemed to feed on alcohol and jealousy. Anyway, we needed a night for ourselves, away from the crying and baby vomit. We couldn’t have a fight on his birthday, after all.
Already at the nightclub, I secretly felt surprised at how well we were getting on with each other. He joked with his friends, I went to the ladies room with mine, and then we hanged out together for a while. We went to different clubs and bars, until we arrived at the last one. It was a bald, old man who was just passing by who triggered Leo’s irrational jealous rage. The man had been leering at me (probably at every single girl at the club), and when my boyfriend went to ‘politely tell him to stop’, his eyes were saying come hit me so I can hit you back. Apparently the shaven-headed fellow caught the message right off the bat and attempted to break a glass bottle on Leo, who fortunately managed to dodge it. Less than 3 minutes passed till the security guys took Leo out of the club. That I didn’t know at the moment, so I wandered around for a while searching for him, inside the club. Those 10 minutes I spent in the club and not outside with him were enough reason for him to start
being mad at me.
Along with the others, we went to the station to take the 4 a.m. train. I was really upset, partly because after having yelled at me, my boyfriend went on laughing and kidding. We didn’t talk to each other, not even in the taxi cab or when we arrived to his house. He walked ahead of me along the corridor and unlocked his door (he lived in a separate building, opposite to his grandparents’). I had to go knock his grandma’s door myself to fetch Felipe. ‘He slept like an angel, do not worry. Is he drunk? Are you okay?’ I faked a smile and told her everything was fine, before thanking her and kissing her goodnight. I went upstairs with my baby in my arms, completely asleep, and placed him on his buggy (the cradle stayed at my house).
Leo was downstairs sitting on a chair, obviously waiting for me to go and start the talking. I did so, because I knew that ignoring him would be much worse, and because I always did what he expected. I always tried to make things easier; I always did whatever I could to calm things down: I was annoyingly obliging, as I said before.
-What is it? -I asked. -What have I done this time?
-So you don’t know?
-I know that you’re angry; I just don’t see why it is my fault.
The rational part of the conversation ended there. The following was just a series of insults and nonsense talking I was actually used to hear. I was standing next to the first step of the stairs, in case Felipe cried, and it was when he called me a ‘whore’ (because I must had enjoyed the fact that a bald man was staring at my ass) that I went straight upstairs and began taking my shoes off. He followed me. I looked at him with my tired, tearing eyes and noticed he was nervous, furious, drunk. He cursed me in any existing way and I started telling him how tired I was of him being like that, going mad at me over everything, criticizing every aspect of myself, no matter how hard I tried to be the girl he wanted me to be. I said I didn’t want to go on (I had said that before, so he didn’t take it seriously) and that he was a terrible boyfriend and father, among other negative aspects he had that made me ‘hate him’ and ‘cry every day’.
I don’t know how or when did it happen, but all of a sudden we were lying on the bed and he was grabbing me from the neck telling me to shut up. On my right, Felipe was waking up as a wrinkled hand took him out of the cradle, of the situation. I remember myself struggling to push him off me and then curling up to cry on the bed. I realized I had been deaf for those hourlike seconds when I gradually started hearing Leo’s voice telling his grandma that he didn’t mean to hurt me; that they were both overreacting. I stood up, I wiped my tears away and took Felipe back in my arms. ‘Sorry’ I whispered him. ‘Sorry for being so stupid.’ Claudia, the grandma, called me a cab and I silently started packing my belongings. I somehow managed to set Leo’s whining to ‘mute mode’ and I took off. I arrived home at 7 a.m. and told my mother I was going to explain it to her later, although I never told her the whole story.
That was the last time I cried and suffered because of my boyfriend. From that night on, I have been trying to re-discover myself, to erase that personality I had carefully created and find the true one. No more being obliging, no more exposing Felipe to a harmful atmosphere, no more lying to my mother and behaving as if everything were fine. No more faking for me.