“Do you think I need to double-bag this,” I said, holding one of the black garbage bags, one of its pointy ends swinging like a pendulum over my kitchen floor. “Or do you think the garbage truck will take it like this?”
“You probably should,” he said. My husband was always the voice of reason. “You don’t want the toxic stuff to leak.”
“I hope I don’t need a HAZMAT suit,” I muttered under my breath, not wanting this toxic mess to ruin my clothes.
“It’s a little late for that, but at least you’re wearing those,” he chuckled, pointing to the mess on my gloves and apron. “Be sure to check your shoes before you walk across the carpet.”
“Do you think they’ll even notice this is a body?” I asked. I’d seen too many of those television shows, the ones with the Q-tips and solutions that turn red or purple. “Or do you think the toxins will make this unrecognizable?”
These were rhetorical questions. Eventually, the poison, venom and acid would turn inward and destroy its host. I knew that by the time the garbage truck arrived, all that would be left of this toxic person was a few bags of goo and a load of laundry.
I’d been struggling with my decision to dispose of this body for years now. My brain knew that keeping this toxic person in my life would have ill effects on me and every member of my family. I knew that this poison would seep into all facets of my life. But, my heart wasn’t ready. The history I had with this person was powerful, but it was just that: history. Any chance for good times in the present tense had been completely destroyed by the poison. All that was worth saving were the happy memories of the past, and those were on the brink of destruction as well, if I stayed this close for much longer.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Was it? Or did that even matter? The more I shared my story with others, the more of the same stories I heard in return. I wasn’t alone. I knew I had to make a life-changing decision.
It was possible to dispose of a body. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it.
My brain had been tugging me down this path for a long time. My heart had been tugging back. What I’d forgotten to figure into the equation was how much my heart needed this to be done, too. The thought of my daughter thinking it was okay to live like this scared me to death. Allowing someone to treat me this way is never acceptable. Allowing someone to treat my family this way is never acceptable. Getting rid of this toxic person was the right decision, and as soon as my head and heart were on the same page, I started the process.
I’d done it. I’d taken matters into my own hands. I fought the battle and won, and what I was left with was a toxic body on the floor of my kitchen.
I’d done most of the work already. I’d chopped it into more manageable pieces. It had take a lot of energy, but I’d put it all in garbage bags. All that was left was to haul it to the curb.
As I stood looking at the mess, I realized that I was just a few garbage bags away from having this toxicity out of my life. My family wouldn’t be exposed to it anymore. We could get on with our lives, breathing easier…literally, without the toxic fumes.
“Can you help me with this?” I yelled over my shoulder to my husband, as I started dragging one of the bags toward the door.
“I can get the door for you,” he said. “But you have to do all the lifting yourself. I wish I could do it, but you know you have to do this part yourself.”
He was right. He’d always been supportive of me, but the disposal was most effective if I hauled the bags to the curb myself.
So, I did.
As I struggled to get the last garbage bag to the curb, I realized this was the moment I needed. This was the moment my brain had been seeking for years, and this was the moment my heart was too afraid to feel but needed so desperately.
As I stood looking at all the garbage bags slumped on the curb, it felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Who knew that a toxic person could weigh so much?
I practically floated back to the house. I checked my shoes again. I mopped the kitchen floor. I wiped down the sink. I threw a load of clothes in the washer.
I have my memories of a happier time, and they are safe from the acid. I have a future free from poison. For once, my current state is not clouded by a toxic mess. My husband, my daughter, and I can live in the toxin-free environment we deserve.
As it turns out, disposing of a body is not as hard as I thought it would be.
Just don’t send the Crime Scene Unit to my house with their little Q-tips and magical fluid, or I’ll have some major explaining to do.
Well, one of the pictures actually came out okay. Here is the picture that was snapped right before the camera took a tumble.
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