Friday, September 20, 2013

Lately there seems to be an increased of tragedies related to guns. Tied in with that, the perpetrators more often than not, suffer from some form of mental illness. And every time someone takes a person's life driven by psychosis, I am still amazed that I am still alive today. While the fear is no longer raw, it is ingrained in my mind. Having to turn my back to make sure he was not there. Having my heart jumped out of my chest when I saw a shadow that resembles him. Having to stay quiet when he came knocking at my door. Those were some very unpleasant years. But here I am. Alive and well.

We were innocent lovers. He was a sweetheart and never in my wildest dream did I ever imagine that he could be ill. And when it hit, it gave me no warning. He went from someone with spunk and rough on the edges, to someone with hollow eyes, hyperventilating, and living in fear of everything that moved. Living in fear that someone was going to harm him. Every move was a threat. Every color was signs for a violent act. Every gesture meant imparting some form of secret messages that he was fearful of. Anyone who was within his eye sight was potential victim. Anyone who drove by his house, was following him. As he became progressively worse, his thoughts were finally put into actions. Started with a push of a random stranger in the street, to burning down a bus stop. Over time, I had to admit that my life was in danger. That at any time, I could be a target. At any time, he could turn on me. That's when I began to plot for my departure.

I remember that day so vividly. I got dressed. Left the house like I was going to work while he left to look for a job. I went to the beach instead. It was a work week. The beach was quiet. I sat on the rock. I looked down at my feet with tears streaming down my face. Then I looked over the horizon. I saw hope. I looked at my watch and it was time to return. I knew my window of opportunity was small. Met up with 2 friends. We took my personal belongings. I looked at our apartment, bit farewell, and walked out the door. A friend took me in. Gave me a bed. That night, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I looked up the ceiling and cried my eyes out.

I did it all with friends by my side. No support from anyone who was suppose to be my family.

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