BETRAYAL . CHAPTER 5 . COCOONING

CHAPTER FIVE

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Cocooning

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Caterpillars spin themselves into a cocoon and undergo a miraculous transformation.

From blindly inching along the ground, they turn into light-seeking winged creatures, so drawn to the light that they often go up in a brilliant blaze from flying too close to a flame.

I chose to die of a broken heart.

It was better than banging my fists on the window of my past life.

Now the storm is over and I have wrapped myself in silken threads.

I know I am cocooning because I live in a very tiny place – it is not a home like the home I grew up in or the home I built with my husband. It is a hidden place in the trees, small and warm and private.

When I lie on my bed I can hear the rain over my head.

I don’t think anyone knows where I live.

I feel safe.

I also know I am cocooning because I have developed ridiculous habits that keep me alone and away from risky relationships or activities.

On Monday nights I watch The Bachelor, and then sometimes I watch it again on a different channel.

On Friday nights I have a glass of red wine and look at the trees.

I make muffins for my daughter.

I work a lot.

I drive; the same well-worn roads over and over.

I have pleasant conversations with the people who work in the coffee shop, the gas station and the post office.

There is very little here that would indicate a vibrant life among humans. But yet I am not unhappy.

I know I’m cocooning because I was seriously considering moving in with my 94-year-old mother and dedicating my life to her. She is in some stage of dementia and often doesn’t remember I was there.

I’m now having second thoughts.

I’ve been deconstructing my marriage — placing things into piles labeled “want” and “don’t want.”

I’ve been seeing the ways in which I brought this tragedy hurtling towards me.

There was love — romantic and warm (want pile).

There are amazing children (want).

There was fear of losing love — a rollercoaster ride of exhilaration and dejection (don’t want).

There was a beautiful home with a fireplace and a piano and a garden (want).

But it was falling into ruin (don’t want).

There was a big kitchen table and family (want).

There was a lot of cooking and cleaning (don’t want).

And there was loneliness (don’t want).

There was passionate lovemaking (want), and not-so-passionate lovemaking (don’t want).

There were lies and hidden agendas (don’t want).

There was terrible unspoken insecurity (don’t want), resentment and disillusionment (don’t want).

There were adventures and laughter (want).

But there was mind-numbing, open-pit terror (don’t want).

There was a broken heart (don’t want) and loss of self (don’t want).

There was death (disguised rebirth — want and don’t want).

When I see him or hear his voice, I disconnect in some way.

We talk about the children. It’s friendly.

I have this vague unsettled feeling, but as soon as he’s gone, I don’t think about him.

Sometimes caterpillars wither inside the cocoon and never make it to rebirth.

I could choose to never love again and risk the pain of heartbreak.

I could learn to knit and buy a safety helmet for my bike.

I could grow old very quickly.

I want to choose something else — wings perhaps.

I wonder how long I’ll be in here.

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...to be continued...

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By Kate Larsen . First Published in Island Gals Magazine . 2012 . Volume 2 . Issue 1

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