![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: Drowning
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Melanie has an epiphany of sorts.
Date: June 1984
Notes: Melanie is not normally like this.
WARNING: depressive thoughts and behavior.
It broke over her suddenly, on a walk one day in June, all the despair and the smothering fear like a wave driving her under, and she knew.
"I can't do this," Melanie said.
It was a sunny day-- she remembered that later, the clear sunshine like a pane of yellow glass. The sandals she wore, slightly too big for her, flopping like a fish on the deck of Nathan's boat. A fish. She used to like to fish. She felt like a fish, a beached fish, gasping for breath and finding none, and she hadn't even known it until just then. She clenched her hands on the hard rubber handles of Aaron's stroller, put her head down, and inhaled. "I can't do this," she repeated.
Beside her, Connie glanced over, oblivious. "Hmm? Of course you can, Mel. What are you talking about?"
"This," she said, and waved a hand at everything; the park, the stroller, her son, fascinated by his hands. It was all too much to see; the light hurt her eyes, and so she closed them. "Oh, God, Connie. I didn't want this. I don't want this. How did I get here?" She knew distantly that she was starting to hyperventilate.
"Mel?" Connie was starting to sound alarmed. "Melanie, what's the matter? Come on, let's go sit down."
Connie guided her to a park bench, then went back, presumably to get the stroller, and Melanie had to fight not to laugh hysterically; somehow, she started crying instead. God. She wanted to run, she wanted to escape, and she couldn't, she couldn't...
"Mel." Connie's voice again, soothing. "Come on, Mel, it's okay. I'm here. I'll help you. Let me help you. What's the matter?"
"Mama?" Aaron asked, his small voice sounding worried. She opened her eyes again and looked down, saw his small hands reaching up for her.
All right. She pulled in a breath, another, clenched her hands. All right. All right. Connie would help her, everything was going to be okay. A third breath, slowing the tempo. It was going to be all right. "I can't do this," she said, again. Was it all she could say?
"That's okay," Connie said, still in that soothing tone. "That's okay, Mel. Just tell me what you can't do and we'll fix it, I swear. Is it something with Nathan?"
She closed her eyes again. Of course it wasn't Nathan. "God, no. Nathan's... he's as good as he can be, away all the time. God. He swears he'll quit, but he won't, he never will." He never would. He loved the sea, he loved it more than he loved her. Not more than he loved Aaron, though. He'd leave for Aaron.
He'd leave for Aaron...
"Is that the problem?" Connie asked, and patted her shoulder, and she lost that thought, couldn't even remember why it was important. "Tell him you can't handle it and he will. He loves you, Mel."
Did he? He had, once. Melanie wasn't sure that he did anymore. But he tried, and maybe he would quit if she begged him, but it wouldn't change a goddamn thing. "That's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
"All of this. All of it!" Her voice was rising to a shriek and Melanie couldn't stop it. "I hate this! I..." She saw Aaron again, lowered her voice abruptly. "I didn't want this, Connie," she said, very softly. "I didn't want this."
Connie was starting to look alarmed, now. "Want what?"
She couldn't. She hadn't wanted this, but she couldn't say it in front of Aaron, not when her too-wise son might hear. Abruptly she rose, and said, "Aaron! Look at the duckies! Aren't they nice duckies?" It came out more of an order than she'd meant, but fuck, she wasn't good at this.
"Duckies," Aaron said, obligingly, but he was still looking at her, worried. He wanted so much to please her, always.
"Yes, look at the duckies," she said, and pushed his stroller a little closer to the pond. Still well within sight, and she put it on a level patch of ground and put the brakes on hard, but he couldn't hear her if she spoke quietly, and with any luck Connie would keep her own mouth shut. "Look at the duckies," she said again, and went back to Connie.
Connie was looking at her strangely. "What was that about?"
Melanie didn't answer, or at least not directly. "I never wanted children," she said, instead. "Nathan did. I never did. But I thought I would, if I had them. I thought it would work if I just had them."
Connie blinked. "Don't be ridiculous. You love Aaron."
"Yes," she said. "But I don't want him, and I never did want him, and I have to get out of this, somehow."
Horror dawned in Connie's eyes. "Mel..." she started, then trailed off, and Melanie saw the look she directed at the stroller. The fear.
"No!" she yelled, her hands clenching, and lowered her voice immediately. Don't scare Aaron, don't... "No, no, not like that, I love him, I do, he's my son and I fucking love him, and if you think I'd hurt him then fuck you and fuck this, I'm leaving." She made no move to get up, though. Connie had said she would help.
Connie stared at her. "Mel," she said, after a while, and very gently, "Mel, I think you're overwrought."
"Maybe," Melanie said, and then nodded; of course, Connie was right, but that didn't change a damn thing. "No, yes, yes, I am overwrought, but it's true."
Connie inhaled again, then stood. "Maybe we should go home. And you should call your husband."
"My husband," she repeated, and then, "I want a divorce." Melanie didn't realize until it came out of her mouth that it was true.
Connie's eyes widened. "No need to be hasty, Mel," she said. "We'll get you a cup of coffee and some chocolate, and I'll take Aaron for an afternoon or something, and you can calm down and think it over and..."
"I want a divorce," Melanie said, cutting her off. She wasn't talking to Connie anyway, and it didn't matter anymore, because suddenly it all made sense. "I'm going to give Nathan custody and I'm going to walk away because I can't fucking do this, Connie. I can't. I can't. Oh, God. I have to get out."
"Melanie," Connie said, and sat down beside her again. "No. Think about this. Every mother feels like this. It's just... it's postpartum depression, or something."
"No," Melanie said, and it wasn't, because now that she'd decided, she didn't feel so crazy anymore. "Aaron is a year and a half old, Connie. I have felt like this since I found out I was pregnant. This is not postpartum depression and it is not going to change."
Connie closed her eyes, inhaled. "Okay. Okay, Mel. But I want you to come home with me, okay? Let me take care of you for a little while. And I want you to see a therapist before you do any of this. And I want..." she hesitated, then evidently decided to go with it. "I want you to let me have Aaron until you do."
Melanie looked at her, at her open eyes and pale cheeks and at the very slight shake in her hand, and understood. "No, Connie," she said, and shook her head. "I'll stay with you for a night, fine, but I'll take care of Aaron."
"No," Connie blurted, and Melanie felt a sudden flash of rage. How could she even think that, after everything she'd said? For God's sake!
"I'm not going to hurt him," she said, through clenched teeth, and didn't hit Connie because it wouldn't be polite and probably wouldn't help her case any. "I wouldn't. He's my son and I love him, and I will be his mother." Or she'd try, anyway. She was trying. But she was shit at it and he'd be so much better off with just his father and God, God, she had to get out. "I wouldn't hurt him. Not ever. Believe that."
Connie studied her face for what felt like a very long time, then nodded. "All right," she said. "I believe you." Her face was still pale, but she looked as if she meant it.
"Good," Melanie said, and rose. She was so much calmer now, so much more settled, and more importantly she felt as if she could breathe again. "Thank you, Connie."
"Don't thank me," Connie said, softly.
She didn't understand.
It didn't matter.
Melanie was getting out.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Melanie has an epiphany of sorts.
Date: June 1984
Notes: Melanie is not normally like this.
WARNING: depressive thoughts and behavior.
It broke over her suddenly, on a walk one day in June, all the despair and the smothering fear like a wave driving her under, and she knew.
"I can't do this," Melanie said.
It was a sunny day-- she remembered that later, the clear sunshine like a pane of yellow glass. The sandals she wore, slightly too big for her, flopping like a fish on the deck of Nathan's boat. A fish. She used to like to fish. She felt like a fish, a beached fish, gasping for breath and finding none, and she hadn't even known it until just then. She clenched her hands on the hard rubber handles of Aaron's stroller, put her head down, and inhaled. "I can't do this," she repeated.
Beside her, Connie glanced over, oblivious. "Hmm? Of course you can, Mel. What are you talking about?"
"This," she said, and waved a hand at everything; the park, the stroller, her son, fascinated by his hands. It was all too much to see; the light hurt her eyes, and so she closed them. "Oh, God, Connie. I didn't want this. I don't want this. How did I get here?" She knew distantly that she was starting to hyperventilate.
"Mel?" Connie was starting to sound alarmed. "Melanie, what's the matter? Come on, let's go sit down."
Connie guided her to a park bench, then went back, presumably to get the stroller, and Melanie had to fight not to laugh hysterically; somehow, she started crying instead. God. She wanted to run, she wanted to escape, and she couldn't, she couldn't...
"Mel." Connie's voice again, soothing. "Come on, Mel, it's okay. I'm here. I'll help you. Let me help you. What's the matter?"
"Mama?" Aaron asked, his small voice sounding worried. She opened her eyes again and looked down, saw his small hands reaching up for her.
All right. She pulled in a breath, another, clenched her hands. All right. All right. Connie would help her, everything was going to be okay. A third breath, slowing the tempo. It was going to be all right. "I can't do this," she said, again. Was it all she could say?
"That's okay," Connie said, still in that soothing tone. "That's okay, Mel. Just tell me what you can't do and we'll fix it, I swear. Is it something with Nathan?"
She closed her eyes again. Of course it wasn't Nathan. "God, no. Nathan's... he's as good as he can be, away all the time. God. He swears he'll quit, but he won't, he never will." He never would. He loved the sea, he loved it more than he loved her. Not more than he loved Aaron, though. He'd leave for Aaron.
He'd leave for Aaron...
"Is that the problem?" Connie asked, and patted her shoulder, and she lost that thought, couldn't even remember why it was important. "Tell him you can't handle it and he will. He loves you, Mel."
Did he? He had, once. Melanie wasn't sure that he did anymore. But he tried, and maybe he would quit if she begged him, but it wouldn't change a goddamn thing. "That's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
"All of this. All of it!" Her voice was rising to a shriek and Melanie couldn't stop it. "I hate this! I..." She saw Aaron again, lowered her voice abruptly. "I didn't want this, Connie," she said, very softly. "I didn't want this."
Connie was starting to look alarmed, now. "Want what?"
She couldn't. She hadn't wanted this, but she couldn't say it in front of Aaron, not when her too-wise son might hear. Abruptly she rose, and said, "Aaron! Look at the duckies! Aren't they nice duckies?" It came out more of an order than she'd meant, but fuck, she wasn't good at this.
"Duckies," Aaron said, obligingly, but he was still looking at her, worried. He wanted so much to please her, always.
"Yes, look at the duckies," she said, and pushed his stroller a little closer to the pond. Still well within sight, and she put it on a level patch of ground and put the brakes on hard, but he couldn't hear her if she spoke quietly, and with any luck Connie would keep her own mouth shut. "Look at the duckies," she said again, and went back to Connie.
Connie was looking at her strangely. "What was that about?"
Melanie didn't answer, or at least not directly. "I never wanted children," she said, instead. "Nathan did. I never did. But I thought I would, if I had them. I thought it would work if I just had them."
Connie blinked. "Don't be ridiculous. You love Aaron."
"Yes," she said. "But I don't want him, and I never did want him, and I have to get out of this, somehow."
Horror dawned in Connie's eyes. "Mel..." she started, then trailed off, and Melanie saw the look she directed at the stroller. The fear.
"No!" she yelled, her hands clenching, and lowered her voice immediately. Don't scare Aaron, don't... "No, no, not like that, I love him, I do, he's my son and I fucking love him, and if you think I'd hurt him then fuck you and fuck this, I'm leaving." She made no move to get up, though. Connie had said she would help.
Connie stared at her. "Mel," she said, after a while, and very gently, "Mel, I think you're overwrought."
"Maybe," Melanie said, and then nodded; of course, Connie was right, but that didn't change a damn thing. "No, yes, yes, I am overwrought, but it's true."
Connie inhaled again, then stood. "Maybe we should go home. And you should call your husband."
"My husband," she repeated, and then, "I want a divorce." Melanie didn't realize until it came out of her mouth that it was true.
Connie's eyes widened. "No need to be hasty, Mel," she said. "We'll get you a cup of coffee and some chocolate, and I'll take Aaron for an afternoon or something, and you can calm down and think it over and..."
"I want a divorce," Melanie said, cutting her off. She wasn't talking to Connie anyway, and it didn't matter anymore, because suddenly it all made sense. "I'm going to give Nathan custody and I'm going to walk away because I can't fucking do this, Connie. I can't. I can't. Oh, God. I have to get out."
"Melanie," Connie said, and sat down beside her again. "No. Think about this. Every mother feels like this. It's just... it's postpartum depression, or something."
"No," Melanie said, and it wasn't, because now that she'd decided, she didn't feel so crazy anymore. "Aaron is a year and a half old, Connie. I have felt like this since I found out I was pregnant. This is not postpartum depression and it is not going to change."
Connie closed her eyes, inhaled. "Okay. Okay, Mel. But I want you to come home with me, okay? Let me take care of you for a little while. And I want you to see a therapist before you do any of this. And I want..." she hesitated, then evidently decided to go with it. "I want you to let me have Aaron until you do."
Melanie looked at her, at her open eyes and pale cheeks and at the very slight shake in her hand, and understood. "No, Connie," she said, and shook her head. "I'll stay with you for a night, fine, but I'll take care of Aaron."
"No," Connie blurted, and Melanie felt a sudden flash of rage. How could she even think that, after everything she'd said? For God's sake!
"I'm not going to hurt him," she said, through clenched teeth, and didn't hit Connie because it wouldn't be polite and probably wouldn't help her case any. "I wouldn't. He's my son and I love him, and I will be his mother." Or she'd try, anyway. She was trying. But she was shit at it and he'd be so much better off with just his father and God, God, she had to get out. "I wouldn't hurt him. Not ever. Believe that."
Connie studied her face for what felt like a very long time, then nodded. "All right," she said. "I believe you." Her face was still pale, but she looked as if she meant it.
"Good," Melanie said, and rose. She was so much calmer now, so much more settled, and more importantly she felt as if she could breathe again. "Thank you, Connie."
"Don't thank me," Connie said, softly.
She didn't understand.
It didn't matter.
Melanie was getting out.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-02 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-03 05:25 am (UTC)Thanks!