one year
A year ago today I was standing outside an apartment in Indiana. I was exhausted and sobbing. We had driven back to Indiana one last time.
Our wedding photo was replaced with an anime character with control over death via a notebook. A quote about honesty because I had begged for the lies to stop. And a quote about respect in his bio because I begged for the same respect I gave to him.
I knew it was over. I was pretty sure he knew too based off what he was posting on social media..
After I begged him to respect me the way I did him. He didn't speak to me but did overhaul his page. He posted this.
All of it wouldn't be worth a second glance from the outside, but to me, it was a VERY public temper tantrum. Everything a backhanded comment on what I had asked for. I begged and pleaded for love, for friendship, for respect. And this was the response.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull my hair out. Tell him he was being an idiot, and this behavior was exactly why I couldn't bring myself to stay. Instead, I just quietly turned off the notifications on his chat. I cried a few tears of grief over what should have been, but I was mostly numb at this point. And then I started planning.
With my parents' help I picked a date and we decided to make one last trip to get my things. I had only planned on being here for my niece's birthday and so I had packed about a week's worth of summer clothes and not much else.
I listed out the things I wanted room by room and in order of importance. Everyone had assignments on what to grab and where to start. All the while he continued to post, trying to get a reaction from me.
Even his family got in on it.
All the while never speaking to me.
I knew he was looking for a reaction. Something he could use. DV survivors call this hoovering. Trying to suck you back in. Get you to play their game.
We got to my parent's apartment in Indiana late October 26th. We wrapped plates and cups in silence. None of us had words for what we were doing, or what needed done. We planned to get up early, get the moving van, and load up my parent's apartment then quickly go across town to get my things from the apartment I shared with my husband as soon as he left for work. I would leave him and his mother letters explaining my choice, and we would get back on the road.
But he didn't leave for work. After discussing options, I finally got the nerve to look at my messages from him. I got a message from him the 19th. My heart dropped to my stomach. He had tested positive for Covid.
This was before the vaccine, and he was only a week into his quarantine. I went through a series of emotions rapid-fire. Confusion, frustration, disappointment, disbelief and concern gave way to rage.
I was told to be especially careful since I was still technically immunocompromised from my cancer treatments and my airway is permanently altered because of the surgery, making intubation extremely difficult. His job was remote. There was NO excuse for him to have been exposed. Had I come home when I originally planned I would have been exposed and likely contracted covid because of his carelessness.
The rage fizzled out into frustration. Didn't he know how bad this could be for me? Didn't he care about me on the human level of not wanting me to contract a potentially deadly virus? Just when I thought he couldn't surprise me, when I thought I couldn't be surprised by his actions I was proven wrong.
I couldn't set foot in that apartment without exposing myself and my entire family. I would have to leave behind my irreplaceable family heirlooms, my new bedroom furniture, and the kitten he had gotten me the last time he seriously messed up.
I went numb trying to shield myself from the blinding pain. Which gave way to a soul-deep ache.
My best friend called me, knowing I wasn't alright. She read me my favorite poem and reassured me that out and safe with no furniture was better than in danger with all the possessions in the world. I cried until I physically couldn't any more.
I alternated between numb and and aching as we packed the last of my parent's apartment and drove to his mother's house. This wasn't the white hot sting of a new pain. This was the persistent low throb of an old wound that never got the chance to heal properly.
I had sat her down in August and explained what all had been going on. She had asked me to tell her if I chose to leave so she could watch out for my ex as he had threatened suicide if I left.
I left a letter for her detailing some of the worst of the abuse and explaining that I gave him every opportunity to come with me, build a life, be part of a loving family, but he had refused. In his letter I told him I still loved him but this was not what love was supposed to be. That I couldn't bring myself to survive cancer only to die slowly, broken and numb because of the actions of a man who claimed to love me.
I blocked his phone number and all of his social media as we pulled out of town. I had removed most of our pictures together by the time we crossed the Indiana state line.
The rest of the way I mostly slept on the center console. I hadn't slept for several days leading up to this and the process itself was draining.
Once we made it back, my sister and her family met us at the house and immediately started helping to haul in furniture, reassemble the bed and the table and do anything they could think of to make this house a home.
It's had to believe it's been a year. There are still hard days, but I'm safe and loved and not going back.
I'm learning to like myself for the first time.
I'm spending time with my family and friends.
I'm saying yes to adventures and experiences simply because I want to try.
I'm trying to accept that failure is okay.
I'm attempting to learn to forgive myself.
I struggle with feeling like I've done enough in the time I've been out. I feel like I should have more to show for it, but I think this year has been laying ground work.
One year ago I was broken beyond measure, crying outside an apartment in Indiana.
Today I went to a karaoke night with my grandparents, my aunt, and my uncle. I came home to my rescue pitbull who is now butted up against me and snoring.
So in this I'm trying to remind myself to be kind to me as I process. And keep in mind that groundwork isn't showy, but it is vital.
