It's been 592 days since the walls bled, on the day I finally found the courage to lock the front door. It felt like only a paper thin barrier between us and you, and my rapid heart beat was the only thing I could hear or feel as I held back my tears in front of my children. They were too young to understand mental illness and abuse and love.
We spent 655 days with you before I locked that door. The first 75 consecutive days of that were undeniably joyful, peaceful, and full of new feelings, attraction, and butterflies. 330 days in, you were diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, and bipolar disorder, as well as disassociative disorder. I felt both helpless and obligated to help you. I knew everything was wrong, and I felt hopeless as I looked around and saw how entangled our lives were and how hard it would be to keep my head above water as I began a war for my own freedom while keeping everyone from seeing the turmoil I felt so trapped in.
Day 655 was the day the walls bled as I collapsed in front of my locked front door and tried to untangle the feelings I was left with after giving everything I had to push away someone I loved in order to put my broken pieces back together. I felt like I was in another dimension, this couldn't have just happened. The sounds of the world fell silent and my echoing breath and pounding heartbeat filled my ears and I felt sick to my stomach. Gravity felt as if it had shifted my world on its axis, and everything felt upside down. I couldn't catch my breath or even picture how life would look going forward...
You called me from blocked numbers, and you emailed me. You emailed me sometimes 7 times a day for over a year after day 655. Sometimes it was to break down and beg for our life back and sometimes it was to be malicious and tell me that you hated me and hoped I hurt the way you did. I kept myself together like a house of cards, but the thing was, I did hurt the way you did. You made sure of that, and then it fell silent...
I pushed it all down and locked it away because I was so afraid to open the closet and face the ghost of you. I pushed it down and every so often it would bubble over and I would be full of emotions that I didn't know how to handle and trauma that I didn't know how to cope with. Ironically, it was the first time I finally felt like a Disney princess... I was Belle and you were the prince I loved, trapped in a Beast of disorders so deep that I often wondered if I had watched you die in there somehow. Day by day I saw less and less of you left inside the beast. I wasn't a princess in the end, and there was no happy ending for us. How does one even start to cope with those emotions? I don't know either; down they go.
It's been 592 days since that day, and life is calm and light and happy. Each day I drink coffee in the morning, and proceed with my day, ending it with 2 anti-depressants and a sleep aid as I turn off the lights and lay in the dark. "You'll be here soon" I think to myself. You always show up at night when my defenses are down. I drift off to sleep, and there you are. You're there so often, in my dreams, except in my dreams you are typically calm, and just in the background, but I can FEEL your presence like the heat of the sun on the back of my neck. My trauma awaits its invitation to be sorted out, but reminds me each night that I cant push it down permanently. Your face in my dreams is hauntingly comforting as I had let my self worth dwindle down to almost nothing and as I push down my trauma, I remain stuck in a place where I feel like I am not worthy of better.
Your ghost lives inside me. I can feel you in my veins when certain songs come on. Its again another reminder that I can not simply wish my trauma away. As I lost my independence in our relationship and the aftermath, I gained 100 pounds of emotions and sadness. I let my healthy, active self hide behind the cushion of the weight because she felt lost. 592 days later, these pounds will not budge, and perhaps that is in part due to my inability to free myself. It is 8:45pm, and as I type this, I know that as I turn the light off tonight, you will be back again, leaving me feeling haunted. Trauma is a truly bizarre thing, and although I find myself afraid of opening the closet, and seeing what life will be like when you're truly gone from inside of me, I long to let go of the weight of this. I want to breathe. I want to not hurt. I want to not be haunted by you in my sleep. I want to let it all go, and I want to be me again.
As I sift through google looking at therapist after therapist, I can feel my comfort zone being challenged. I may never see your face again after this... I don't remember what that feels like and I fear I will disappoint myself or others when I only have myself to offer. I wonder if I am ready to break free and open the closet, releasing all of the things I have suppressed. One more war, only with your ghost this time... Only time will tell... In the meantime, I will see you tonight, with the goal to say goodbye.
