З життя
Його турбота виявилася пасткою, поки я не подала на розлучення
Спочатку я справді вважала, що проблема в мені. Що я якась неправильна — незграбна, нежіночна, ненатуральна. А він… він нібито просто це помічав, піклувався, хотів, щоб я стала кращою. Але минуло два роки, і раптом наче лупа з очей впала: я зрозуміла — справа зовсім не в мені. Це він, мій власний чоловік, кожного дня, немов з лупою в руках, шукав, за що мене вчепити. І робив це під виглядом “турботи”.
Він запевняв, що каже мені всі ці зауваження заради мого ж щастя. Мовляв, якщо не він, то хтось інший обов’язково вкаже на мої недоліки, але тоді мені буде набагато боляче. А він — рідний, тому його слова треба сприймати як допомогу. Зручна позиція, правда?
Першою його “порадою” була моя хода — виявляється, я ходила, як слон у крамниці, а спина була ніби зігнута дугою. Сказано це було ніби жартома, з посмішкою. Але я, довірлива, схопилася за це, як за вирок. Почала шукати способи виправити себе: записалася на плавання, потім — на бальні танці. Все заради того, щоб стати більш витонченою. Мені це здавалося важливим.
Минули місяці, я почала помічати зміни, навіть колеги на роботі казали, що я ніби розквітла. А він? Він просто байдуже кивнув. Сказав: “Ну, молодець. Продовжуй.” Жодного визнання, жодної теплоти, наче це було чимось самим собою зрозумілим.
Потім він знайшов нову “проблему” — мій голос. “Занадто дзвінкий”, “ріже вухо”, “як у вчительки початкових класів”. І знову — все жартома, з півпосмішкою. А мені було боляче. Я почала уникати телефонних розмов, говорити тихіше з колегами. А потім записалася на вокал, щоб якось “виправити” голос. Викладач лише розвела руками: “Дівчино, у вас цілком нормальний голос. Хто вам сказав таку дурницю?” Але мені вже здавалося, що це я винна, що зі мною щось не так. Усе, що він казав, я сприймала за чисту монету.
А далі пішло як по маслу: мої щоки “занадто повні”, макіяж “дешевий”, хоча я майже не фарбуюсь. Він нарікав на все: як я готую, як складаю білизну, як сміюсь… Усе в цій жінці, яку він нібито “кохав”, викликало в нього глузливість. Коли я спробувала поговорити, запитала прямо: може, він просто хоче піти? — він жахливо образився: “Та як ти смієш! Я ж тільки добра тобі бажаю!”
Але знаєте, навіть мої вороги не говорили про мене стільки поганого, скільки казала людина, яка називала себе моїм чоловіком. А коли я одного разу у відповідь зауважила, що він сам поправився і міг би подумати про себе — він завмер, зціпив зуби, а потім прошипів: “Від тебе я такого не очікував.”
І тут я зрозуміла: він хоче лише одного — жертву, покірну і вічно вдячну за те, що її, таку “неідеальну”, взагалі хтось узяв. А я — не жертва. Я більше не хочу виправлятися, вибачатися, підганяти себе під його мірки. Я хочу жити. Дихати.
Я подала на розлучення. Чоловік досі ходить, наче в оцті вариться, жодного слова не сказав. Але це вже неважливо. Головне — я знову відчуваю, що можу бути собою. І мені цього достатньо.
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