Four days after my ovaries, uterus, and
cervix were unexpectedly cut away…we broke up. We both knew it had been coming
for some time, it was now just a matter of getting the last of my belongings
out of his place and saying goodbye. Our relationship had always been one of
convenience, not desire and I often found myself shouldering the weight of
everything we supposedly shared. So after 28 years, ever by my side, I had a
conscious uncoupling with my purse.
It started as a flirtation. A crush really.
All of the women I knew had a little something on the side, dangling from their
shoulders, on display for the whole world to see. But the truth behind what
kept their relationship together was zipped away in a little inner compartment.
Secrets completely off limits. Personal. Purses were so public and private at
the same time. I was infatuated.
I remember my first time. The awkwardness
and fumbling as I showed up to middle school with my purse slung over my
shoulder, confirming the whispers behind my back, that I had experienced a
scarlet right of passage between my legs. For the next few months, my purse was
an ever-present proclamation, more powerful than the perky peaks on my tiny
torso, that something had changed. I was now and evermore would be a woman.
I thought we would be so good together. I
thought I was ready. I thought I knew what it meant to have a real purse in my
life, but I didn’t. I was just too young for such a big responsibility and I
did not understand the gravity of what I was taking on. There were times when
the weight of it all was just too much and I literally walked away and left my
purse knowing I could always come back and he would be right there waiting for
me. We would makeup and breakup every three weeks or so when my purse would not
so subtly hint at all of the private details of my intimate on-goings to
everyone around me. But what business was it of theirs anyway? Overall, I was
pretty sure of myself, it was my biological clock that occasionally went off
schedule. What became a problem was when I unexpectedly needed my purse, and he
wasn’t there for me. My purse demanded a commitment. I finally swallowed my
pride and settled. I would be in it for the long haul with my handbag.
I decided I may as well make the most of it.
I went all out pouring myself into him filling my purse with everything we
could possibly need. He put on weight. I didn’t mention it knowing that this
sort of thing happens over time. But then he started hiding things from me.
Forcing me to dig deep to pull out the least little details. Gum. Sunglasses.
Bankcard. Once he hid my keys so I couldn’t leave. So passive aggressive and
such a time drain, that even though, every twenty-eight days we would have a
week of intimate time, the rest of the month I was beginning to see him for who
he had become, unwanted baggage completely full of crap. He held on to too much
of the past and never carried enough for the future. Something had
to be done.
I sought some heavy-duty retail therapy. He
trimmed down and we went for a designer label. I made an effort to hold him,
instead of just expecting him to tag along at my hip. I was intentional with
our time together and treated him like the expensive treasure Neiman Marcus
proclaimed him to be. But our relationship became familiar. Sure there were
times we dressed up and went out on the town. Times I even flaunted how good we
looked together. But the truth was, for the most part, we slumped through the
everyday errands that made up our stale relationship and the slightest wear and
tear seamed to distress my handbag. And I had to keep an eye on my purse all of
the time now. If I left him alone for even a second in a crowded bar, he might
go home with someone else that night.
And I was starting to have needs that
weren’t being met. Something wasn’t right. I was losing more of myself all of
the time. Too much sometimes. And once it would start, it wouldn’t stop. It
just kept going. What should have been a once a month need from that secret,
zippered, inner compartment, had quickly become an everyday dependency. One
that often emptied out and used up every scrap of femininity I had tucked away
in there. I decided to see a doctor about our situation.
It turned out, my purse was not the only
unwanted mass I had been carrying around. I had several growths, one the size
of a grapefruit that had to be removed in the next two weeks. I was beginning
to think my purse should be amputated right along with it.
We set out to be together in sickness and in
health. But when I was ill, my purse couldn’t handle all of the forms, pills
and changes of clothes for my upcoming tests and procedures. When I needed him
most, he refused to take on any more and so, I looked elsewhere for comfort and
slipped into the open straps of a small backpack.
What started as a one-time infidelity became
more and more frequent over the next two weeks, until it was a full-blown
affair. Finally, I decided to leave my purse at home altogether as I took the
next four days away in the hospital recovering from my surgery to think about
what I was willing to carry with me from here on out. I had always been a woman
who needed a purse, would I still be one when I did not?
I came home from the hospital and sat down
with my purse. I looked deep inside. Every pocket, every flap, every crease. I
unpacked that little, inner, secret, compartment and pulled out every feminine
fragment. Then I zipped that chapter closed.
No, my backpack and I are no longer
together. He held everything together when I just couldn’t do it myself and I
am grateful. He had my back through a rough time, but in the end, he was just
more unnecessary baggage.
And sure, on occasion, my purse and I go out
together, but we’re not codependent anymore. It’s a good familiar feeling, but
one I can live without. And the minute things start getting too heavy, I put my
purse back in its place…the closet.
I don’t need a purse to be whole. And
despite my missing accessories, on both the inside and the outside, I am still
just as much a woman. That’s something no amputating of appendages, especially
those of the retail variety, can take away from me.
I have officially moved on. I even have a
new adornment in my life. A wallet/phone-case combo. I don’t need it, but I
like having it around, for now. We’re taking it one day at a time.
This piece was previously published on
Sweatpantsandcoffee.com
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