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Who will clean up the blood?

Updated on February 12, 2016

The rain drizzled down at the cemetery like the food falls from the drop ceiling after the pressure cooker exploded. In the dreams, the drizzle is always there. It is more the feeling derived in the dreams that wake me with my chest pounding and the sweat across my brow. Sometimes his empty crazed blue eyes are dominating, sometimes his screaming, “I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you…you fat smelly whore” rules the moment, but the drizzle is always there.

Every time I close my eyes I start to hear the rain, I see the gravestones, and the dancing ends with the crushing blows against my back. I stay in my room because sometimes when I walk by the doorway I still see my blood on the floor. I don’t know why the panic attacks come and I don’t know why I can’t stop them. I can feel the 2x4 slam against my back…actually, feel it. I close my eyes and I can hear him screaming and I can hear the bustle of the cops…

Drew and I stood in the very spot where the blood from the back of my head, my blood, ran down my face to the floor. I thought I was going to die there in that spot. I cannot explain how that feels. The knowledge that I probably was not going to get up again wrapped in fear, serenity, and wants is overwhelming. I wanted to taste really creamy ice cream again and I wanted to hear my grandson laugh one more time. An entire list of people I wanted to say, “I love you” to, including the man beating me.

The reality made my heart almost explode. The man I once loved was killing me. He was full of hate and he was going to hit me until I was no more. Until I was a mass of blood, brains, and body parts on my own floor. “I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you…you fat smelly whore”

“Are you okay?” Drew’s voice was so calm, his body warm, and his arms comforting.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” I didn’t want to stand in that spot anymore. I was trying not to cry. The inside of me was shaking at the memory of my blood on the floor.

“Because I care.” I wanted to sink into him that moment. He was warm and he was safe. Maybe he could see me. Maybe he did know I was falling apart…

Drew is never in the dreams. Nothing safe is in the dreams. It is the constant fight for my life from the moment my eyes close until they fly open moments later. It has been so long since I slept. The last time I slept seems like months ago, but it is a night I think about when I combat the dreams. It is a memory I cling to here alone in this abyss.

“Curl up with those pillows and think about my arms around you and me kissing the back of your neck. Just relax…you need to sleep. I love you, baby.” It was the same calm voice. It was Drew. It was safety. I actually slept for hours.

But, sleep did not stop the nightmares. I woke with the feel of his knife against my neck. Trapped in my truck with his fingers pulling my hair backward he held his knife to my throat and whispered every horrible thing he had ever said to me. I drove as fast as the truck would go without bouncing…. In the dream, it bounces and the knife cuts me. It shreds my face and he laughs. He tells me he has made an improvement to my appearance. Again, there is blood, my blood; all over the floor and the reality…he has so much hate he wants to kill me.

Then a noise outside and I am up at alert with a pounding heart trying not to run. It is a stray cat or a car that went by, but I stand in the middle of my room petrified and alone in the dark. Fight or flight? The anxiety is immense. At first, I would just go back to bed and try to think about something else, but the fatigue is wearing on me. I need refuge from this nightmare that has gone on for days. Without strength, anymore, I just crumble into tears. Many of my hours spent in uncontrollable tears.

“I will hurt him.” Drew looked me in the eye. I just looked back into his eyes. “I will hurt him. If he hurts you I will hurt him.” He already hurt me. He wants to kill me I scream in my mind, but I fight the tears…

I remember my daughter went to call the police when I made it home and he had thrown the knife into the foot well. He and I were on the porch and he stood at the spot Drew sat when he said those words to me. However, the night I almost died, his drunken body stumbled into me as I stood in the doorway like a statue. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Drew was not there to save me. No one was there to save me. Then, he kissed me. It was one of those really good kisses, except I was in fear. It wasn’t good like when Drew kissed me in the driveway, but better than he had kissed me in over a year. He was kissing me, but his hand was positioned just below my throat in a place where he could hurt me without much effort. My back was against the railing. My heart was pounding. My knees were shaking. I heard sirens.

The kiss ended and he whispered, “I love you, fat girl” and before I knew what happened I was face down in the doorway wondering who was going to clean up the blood. He got in three good blows…one to the back of my head and two across my shoulders and neck. “I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you…you fat smelly whore.” The drizzle was all around me and the fog was a heavy cloak holding me down. The dreams remember every detail, but I only remember fear.

For days, I have been here in the drizzle. When I go into the living room it feels like a bunch of small demons are standing in my blood and staring at me until I give them notice. Even when I try not to look I can’t keep the anxiety down. I have been alone most of the time since they took him away. I don’t mean feeling alone in a room full of people…I mean physically the only one here.

I left once to go to court where I had to look at him for hours and listen to the lies he told. The court is the day I lost control. The court is the last day I remember clearly. It is the last day the clock was true to me. Now I simply look to see if the sun is up or the moon. Drew was supposed to come over that night, but he slept. He slept and I cried in fear most of the night. I wanted Drew then. The panic started then.

He calls from jail several times a day. I told the police, but the calls still come. At one time, during the day that I could keep it together, but the calls keep coming. At first, I worked in the front room and kept myself busy, but there is no more work to do. I only go into the living room when I have no choice. I don’t understand why the room scares me so much. I just need Drew to tell me I’m not crazy. Just tell me I will be okay. Just hold me so I can sleep and I don’t wake up scared and alone. I am not weak. I just need a good nights sleep.

He took my rationality. He took my safety. He took my living room, my home. If you can’t feel safe at home what else is there?

Yesterday I could feel it. I could feel the drizzle taking over. I tried to write because writing helps me, but I would sit in front of the computer and cry. The only words that came to my mind were, “I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you…you fat smelly whore”. Then, I started writing the email to Drew and apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

It is my flaw that I have trouble asking for help. It is my flaw that I don’t want anyone to see me cry. I tried to ask for help and it failed. I tried to talk to him and he yelled. I tried and he left. How do I say, “I need you because I am falling apart” more clearly? How does that get confused or ambiguous? Why am I not important anymore?

I know that I completely lost it and I think I am officially crazy. I know that Drew has all these perceptions that do not line up with mine, but it looks like I am not going to get the chance to talk to him. I know I need something safe and I thought Drew was safe. Drew is the only thing in a very long time that felt right to me and somehow I lost it. He is stuck in all these things that don’t matter to me right now. They are just things that we would have moved past and laughed at the huge misunderstandings years from now. These things he holds dear and allows to hurt him can be addressed later. I know they are important to him, but I am more important. I am not invisible. Drew, He wants to kill me! He tried to kill me and he plans to come back and kill me. Who is going to clean up the blood?

I feel like the lady in "The Yellow Wallpaper" lost and alone. I cannot stop crying. I cannot get my nerves calm and I cannot sleep without the dreams and nobody cares. I do not understand why being there for me is such a horrible request and I do not understand how somebody who tells me they care leaves me crying on the floor. I don’t understand how so many people just ignore me when I say, “he tried to kill me.”

Drew said twice he was going to come see me…twice I almost got safety, but he decided I was mad and he didn’t want to come. I have not been mad and for the life of me, I cannot figure out what keeps making him think I am mad and why he keeps talking about hurtful comments. He told me I had no desire to truly understand him, but he could not be further from the truth. Everything I do to pull him closer to me and try and stop his fear of being pushed away he takes as some kind of attack against him. I thought I spoke and wrote very clearly, but it seems I should look at that more closely because Drew reads things that are not there and hears things I do not say. I write him several emails saying I’m falling apart and I need you to help me and he reads that I want him to leave. How is that possible? Now he is in his cave hurting and I don’t think he is going to come back out and I am here stuck in these dreams and memories I cannot shake.

I try when I finally lay down to think about Drew and his arms around me with the kisses on my neck, but I still cannot fall asleep. I care that he is hurting and I care what he has to say, but nothing else matters to me today in the drizzle…I just need him because I am falling apart. Because he is safe and I need safe. I need to know he is okay. I need to see he is okay. I want to touch him. I want to look at those eyes and hear that voice, but he has more important things to do. I am not important to him. He said, “I want to be the man in your bed and the man in your life.”

“Are you okay?” Drew’s voice was so calm, his body warm, and his arms comforting.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” I didn’t want to stand in that spot anymore. I was trying not to cry. The inside of me was shaking at the memory of my blood on the floor.

“Because I care.” I wanted to sink into him that moment. He was warm and he was safe. Maybe he could see me. Maybe he did know I was falling apart…

She crawls into the covers and pretends that their touch on her skin is enough, but she already knows she will implode. The darkness is like a cloak that brings the feeling of disturbed ghost in the house and her body begins to convulse into tears. There is no way to stop it now. The only thought inside her mind since he hung up the phone is, “God please help me.” It chants like a voodoo princess, but nothing magical comes. The silence consumes her and she begins the 16th night alone. She will travel on the brink of her sanity unnoticed and when the sun rises she will be like a vampire looking for their first feed…desperate, anxious, and lost.

She tried this time. She let him in and she asked him to come, but again alone and doubting her worth she jots down a few words and closes her eyes. Her only prayer is that God will not make her open them in the morning. Another day alone, wanting, and needing was more than she could fathom. It was more than she could take. She made the same prayer on day ten, day eleven, and so on…but, the overwhelming loss of herself remains. His silence destroys her as she slowly comes to see that all of this emotion is as invisible to him as she is. “I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you…you fat smelly whore” and the dreams begin. The cold knife at her throat, the 2x4 slamming against her back, the blood on the floor, and the fear are all she is able to do. The fear she cannot shake begins to haunt her another night as she is stuck in Groundhog’s Day. Brick by brick her bleeding heart is enclosed whispering, “ I need you because I am falling apart.”


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