My Nightmare before Christmas…
Earlier on in life I was stabbed. It wasn’t much fun. To be more accurate, I was sliced, and then pinned to the wall with a 10″ hunting knife. Still not much fun. I was left with minor nerve damage, muscle damage to the left tricep, and a severeley damaged psyche (although most who know me will probably say it was baubled way before then). Definitely not fun. He was sentenced to 18 months, but got out after 14. It wasn’t his first conviction for stabbing someone. There are other things that I’m aware he’s done in his sordid past, including severe cruelty to animals, multiple burglaries, and multiple beatings. A restraining order was put in place for 18 months after his release. His sister, Boy’s mother, wanted nothing to do with him, especially as by then Boy had been born, and that’s how things stayed.
For the next 4 years I developed agoraphobia, and refused to go out into public places unless circumstances were well-controlled. The associated anxiety attacks which would leave me choking and hyperventilating resulted in 2 years avoiding eating solids. Occasionally, almost 10 years later, I still have nightmares.
My partner, who has been a close friend for nearly 11 years, and who became my l’il fuzzy soulmate in 2006 is responsible in no small way for breaking me out of my chains and allowing me to venture out to public places, and in 10 years I’ve only caught glimpse of the chap a handful of times, and each time has sent me spiralling back, retreating into myself, and hermitting myself away at home. The thought of him still being in the same town as me is enough to make me shiver.
Tonight, I went to collect Boy from his mother’s. She wasn’t in, so as per usual when such things occur, I let myself in and proceeded to make a brew. 10 minutes later, I hear Boy come into the living room and pop my head round the kitchen door to say hello, and find myself staring straight into the face of… no, it couldn’t be *palpitations*… fuck, it is *shakes, choking feeling*. Following him through the door was Boy’s mother, chatting cheerily with him as though this was some everyday occurrence. Coffee is made and polite chitchat ensues whilst Boy has his tea, and once completed I pop him into a cab and get the fuck out of there. During the taxi ride home, my mind flashed back immediately to that night. My stomach turned. I was shaking like a leaf, and felt as though I’d just been hit by a truck.
1: I didn’t even know she was back on speaking terms with him, let alone allowing him within half a mile of Boy.
2: You’d think some warning would be given by text message that he was with her. After all, I’ve only been picking Boy up every Friday evening for 5 years, and she knows full well my feelings about him, and the effect the entire experience had on both of us.
So, now I sit here. Teetering on the edge of a pit, trying desparately not to topple over the edge. Tomorrow, I have to return Boy to his mother for a Christmas at hers, which will apparently include him being there for Christmas dinner.
You have NO idea how much I really don’t want to…