I remember the fear. The dread. The pain. The anger.
I remember feeling crazy. The kind of crazy that you think can only be solved with booze, drugs and therapy. The kind of crazy you think only lives on trashy TV shows and in best-selling books. The kind of crazy that can’t be explained with mere words.
I remember reading e-mails. The words blurring on the page as they choked me (my heart), and beat me (my soul), and screamed at me (my ears).
Kneeling on the floor of my bathroom, puking, heaving, sobbing. Thinking I should mop more often, start a bonfire with his clothes, buy a new toilet brush, act out a Carrie Underwood song, regrout.
The first time it came out of nowhere. The second, I was in constant fear. The third….the fourth….the ones I never knew about? They tore me apart, smoothly and with skill, brick by brick, till there was nothing left but regret.
Mysterious phone calls in call logs. And the voices on the other line when I confronted. So cautious and cocky at the same time. Like they’d won some prize in a discount lottery. “That’s between you and him. Not me.”
I rebuilt this person, who I am today, one brick at a time. The mortar is damp. The foundation still leveling.
I want it to be something beautiful. Something I can be proud of. Real estate not just anyone can afford. And I promised myself no more bulldozers and demolitions. I deserve at least that much.
I wrote this a long time ago. I remembered it today and just felt it needed shared.