Doomsday

He gets out today.

I don't know whether to scream until I'm hoarse, cry until I'm dried out, tremble until I shake apart, worry until I throw up, or tear myself to pieces to ensure he never gets a hold of me again.

I want to whisk my mom and sister away to a place where he can never see them. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't save her again. If he came back while I was away.

I'm heading for an emotional lockdown. I feel numb and terrified and despairing and empty.

I want to be left alone but I want to curl up in someone's arms so they can protect me.

I want to sit and let myself be pulled into that place where the world is too heavy, where talking and feeling and smiling and breathing is too much. Where all I can do is exist. But I want to live and breathe and smile and laugh and love and feel. To stick it to him. To prove that he didn't kill me.

I think he did though. A part of me. A part of me I don't know how to repair. A part of me he spent my whole life cutting away at piece by piece. Maybe I should be happy he's finally destroyed it for good. He can't hurt it anymore. I can't help but want it back though.

My heart races, my hands shake, the tears thunder behind my eyes, trapped by my own stubborn resolve to face this with the same desperation to LIVE that I did when I faced him bleeding and sobbing and begging for him to give me the wrench. When I stood between him and my mom, in my three inch heeled boots, stance wide and grabbed him by the throat and told him to stay away. I want to curl up under a rock and die like after the first hit when he had me on the floor, and stood over me, holding me down for the second one. When I heard him tell me that it would be ok, and he used my nickname, and I wanted him to kill me so I didn't have to live knowing this had happened. When I didn't know if my mom was alive or dead and all I could think about was how I could save them from him. When I thought my sister would be left alone.

I want to rage at the world for leaving me alone. For the doctors and nurses at the hospital who wrapped me in a blanket, separated me from my delirious, bleeding mother and then closed the door. Trapping me in a room, the only person who saw. Who remembered. And left me alone to face a future that was crumbling in front of me. Later, to the police who separated me from my mom and sister to take my statement. And then put me in a room, alone. To my friends who were innocently unaware of what had happened who understandbly never thought to reach out to find out where I had gone and why I had left them. To the therapist who saw me and told me I was coping as well as he'd seen and he had nothing more to offer. Unfairly, to the family who cannot see past my hard exterior because I won't let them. To the boyfriend who wants to be close to me and can never truly understand why I can't let it happen. Who is hurt by my distance. At myself, for blaming my father for so many of my malfunctions. At him, because my blame falls true.

I want to cry. For all of the people he hurt and extorted. For the lives he has ruined and the futures he has inexplicably altered. For my cousins who lost a close uncle. For my aunt who fears her own brother. For his cousins who lost out on so much trust, and so much money. Who shared my nightmares of him and who now protect us so dearly. For my uncle who is dying who has lost one of the true friends he thought he had. To my sister who is torn over what to do. To my mother who lost everything financially, who almost lost her life with her children and who was so horribly betrayed by someone she loved. For my friend, my almost brother, who lost a second family that was whole and loving and stable. For myself. Who lost her father. Whose memories are tainted with emotional abuse. Who knows that he made a choice. To lie and let her live, or to lie and try to kill her. And he chose to try to kill me. Because some of my family does not believe me when I tell them how hurtful he was to us. How cruel he was to me. How abusive. That they believe the lies and the image he created of our family.

I want to rejoice. For my mothers freedom. For the end to the abuse and oppression and disdain he wrought upon her. For the freedom to have fun and to be with friends and to come and go as she pleases. That she had regained her independence and her vitality. For my own freedom. For the chance to live life the way I want without such negativity. That we are no longer controlled by him. That my life will not be governed by his guilt trips and his condecension and disdain. That I no longer need his approval.

I want to live, to spite him.
I want to die because he has destroyed everything. He has polluted my views, my ideals. He has changed me in ways I can see and ways I know I won't see yet.

Though not an anniversary yet, today is a day I wish I didn't have to face. Today is the reality, that though he is out in the world, he is dead to me. Today is the reality that though he is dead to me, he is very much alive, which makes him dangerous. Today is a day of nightmares.

Though that day shattered my existence, today is every bit as much a Doomsday. I am too weak to hold together. I am too stubborn to fall apart. I float disconnected in between. Waiting for something to pull me in one direction or the other.