Had Enough

 

My husband thought it would be a good idea for a story to write about when ‘you’ve had enough’. He said I should place it in any time or genre that appealed, naming off several – noir, fantasy, romance, a few others. I wish I could remember how this came about in conversation. I would like to remember the topic and my mindset at the time. I’m sure in his head, he saw me as my character spouting off, going on a rampage, or going into some icy cold fury. He’s never really seen me to any of those things, though they do go through my mind, so this is not the story he’s expecting. It is, however, the one stuck in my head. I’ve tried other writing, but this is blocking it, so it’s going down on paper, whether I want it to or not. If I were ever to reach the point of ‘had enough’, I’m fairly certain it would look like this.

 

I walked into the kitchen, numb. Each step felt heavy, pointless, necessary. Finally, I shifted a chair away from the table, angling it just enough to sit down. There was nothing left.  

Landing heavily in the chair, for a long while it was all I could do to just breathe.

Eventually, I looked around. The kitchen is the heart of the home, or so I’d heard. It was supposed to be bright, cheerful, and full of promise and activity. Right now, the empty room seemed dull, lifeless, just another weight, another expectation that I tried to meet and failed. Yet more work that needed doing that I could not face.

Breathing deeply did not help. I was just…tired. I had nothing left.

In the past, I cried, internally raged at the world, or turned all my furious energy to the problem at hand, using that to push past the point of exhaustion, just to make things better. Or at least get some sleep.

All that took energy I no longer had.

My mind did not shy away from the thought of any of those responses, so much as settle on the knowledge that it would not help. Not this time. Not anymore.

I reached out for help only to be rebuffed, sought support only to be ignored, looked for solace and found none. Not that it mattered. No one saw me. Noticed my need.

I even tried to dig up a list of the things that brought me to this place. The people that should have been better, or at the very least done their jobs. Situations that could have been dealt with differently. I looked for moments in my past that could stir up my anger or frustration. I couldn’t find the energy to do even that much. My elbows rested on the table with my head in my hands, fingers tangled in my hair.

Some time later, I realized that I had been sitting there like that, unthinking, for quite a while. Rubbing my hands over my face, I finally came to the only possible conclusion.

I was done. I was so done.

So, I did the only thing I could do.

The chair legs scraped across the wooden floor as I stood. I stepped through the door, not caring enough to close it, and walked away.