Far From Home

41

“No, no, NO!” I screamed as he was coming at me. With each step that got firmer and firmer I grew more scared. “Get out of my house!” He screamed. “Don’t ever talk about me like that again!” I’d said something about him being like his father and he didn’t like that all that much I guess. I suppose this was his ‘hot’ button. Chris had many buttons however, and they all seemed to be quite hot.

I’d grown to be afraid of being in my own home which was the first problem I’d had with being in this marriage. But a marriage it was and I was for some reason so determined to see it succeed. I’d only planned on getting married once in life. And that once in a lifetime was my ‘fairy tale,’ supposed to emerge. But if I only knew better. I feel if I only knew myself better, I could’ve also weeded out the assholes much more easily as well. I didn’t know what was in front of me, behind me and to the sides of me because A) I was too young to tell, B) I was too far into my depression and C) just always hoped everything would turn out for the best. But alas the best it was not and the best was only something I have in my inmagination as I would turn into my own worst enemy, and then my husband’s. I don’t think that he loved me and I think also that I could have loved anything that showed me any attention. I was floored when we first started going out, so when he asked me to marry him *ahem, over the phone, I smiled wide and gayedly said ‘Yes’. What was I thinking? You might ask. I did think I was in love with him, and I know now that I was so desperate to be loved that I would’ve gone to any length. I just did’t realize that any length is the road I was headed toward. I don’t know at this point why I said yes, but then I thought it was my ticket. My ticket out, my ticket to a new life away from all that was bad, and my ticket to my fairy tale. I laugh at that kind of thinking now but then, at 21, I had everything to look forward to in a new marriage.

Flipping backwards I could feel my breath deepen as I grunted directly after he’d grabbed my legs from the crossed legged sitting position I was in. I’d been sitting, not to be politically incorrect, but Indian style if you will when I’d made the comment about him seeming like his father. He bolted up from his position, yelling at me until I could feel the grip of his hands on my calves. Deepened was his grip as if he were grasping for life and onto something I never realized until just now. He was grasping with all of his might for everything he lacked as a person…which was a lot. His grip went even tighter into my legs.  I flew into a backwards summersault. I landed and immediately turned into fight or flight. I should’ve picked flight a bit farther away but I flew to the bathroom because all I could think of was getting into a room with a door that would shut. None of ours had locks and we’d recently moved from Seattle to Tacoma where I’d had nervousness about as well. It was nighttime as I slammed the door shut and curled into a ball in the corner of the room, he still outside yelling about how I’d disrespected him. I remember thinking to myself that it’s ironic, I sitting in the bathroom after what had just happened, crying my eyes out because I didn’t know how to show him respect, being I had no idea what he would do next with anything I ever did anyhow. I thought I’d seen hell with my depression but the angels of death looked as I realized I was being taken to a new level in a home I had no idea about, which couldn’t be farther from my family back in my real hometown where my heart of hearts always had been.

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