The Encounter

I've always wondered how I'd react if I were to ever come face to face with him. We live within 30 minutes of each other. It's a small community. I know it's bound to happen eventually. In the last decade or so I've gone over every possibility. Scenarios where I leave him crying in a ball of shame. Where I slap him. When I do worse than slap him... Where I just run away. Where I let him know that I am not afraid of him and that even though he tried, he didn't break me. Where I tell him that I have forgiven him... Scenario after scenario of all the ways I would handle it. And in one breath, one brief moment, I realized that all of those possibilities were wrong. The second I looked up from picking out a new mascara and saw the man at the end of the aisle, I froze. In that split second a thousand thoughts went through my head. I knew almost instantly it wasn't really him but that he just looked strikingly similar. But although my mind knew it, my body didn't and refused to believe the truth. My breath caught instantly and I broke out in a cold sweat while my eyes filled with tears. All in less time than it took for the man to glance away. The first thoughts I can remember clearly thinking were that my kids were safe at home and that Nick was right in the other aisle and wouldn't let anything happen to me. Then the shame set in. Shame that I had froze. Shame that I didn't think of protecting myself on my own but that I wanted my husband there to save me. Shame that I reacted like I was a scared little 4 year old girl again wanting to run from the bogeyman but knowing that there was no where she could hide. After what seemed like minutes but really only took seconds, the man walked away and I closed my eyes and tried to collect myself. Tried to remember how to breathe. How to pray. How to do anything else but cry. So I stayed there. In the makeup aisle.  On one knee with my eyes closed. Looking like an absolute lunatic no doubt. But eventually I stood up and walked away to find Nick waiting on me who was thinking I was just taking a long time playing with make up as I usually do. I smiled at him and we continued shopping. I have no idea what we spoke about for the next 30 minutes or so but I know I was trying desperately to keep it together. And that Nick questioned me multiple times if I was okay. And finally after leaving the store and after safely locking ourselves in the truck, I told him what had happened. And just while telling him, I teared up again and my entire body broke out in goose bumps. Even though I knew that it wasn't even really him! Again, my body refused to believe I was out of danger. I find it so hard to accept that something that happened so long ago, can still physically and mentally hurt me. But it does. And probably always will. Through all the counseling and tears, I've learned that it's okay that it still hurts. That it's normal to still be scared. But sometimes, I really hate it. And him. I hate what he took from me. What he did. The pain and fear and self loathing that was given to me at such a young age. I do, I really hate him sometimes. Which I don't want to do. I don't want him to have that much power over me still. I don't want to have a panic attack in the middle of the grocery store. I don't want to be constantly on guard. I don't want the nightmares that torture me. It's not fair. It's not fair my husband has to worry because I haven't spoken more than a few words in days and he knows there's nothing he can do. Or that I'm short with my children because my mind is in a panic. It's just not fair. And most of the time, I'm okay. But sometimes, when my guard is down, I have to face the ugliness again. And those around me who love me do too. And I guess, that's okay. I have to remember that I am loved and that others don't mind sharing my burden. That Nick will gladly take every cold shoulder and silent day if it means I cry even one less tear. That my kids will love me no matter what, even if I yell at them to clean their room instead of just telling them they need to clean up. I still hate that I sometimes crack. And I will one day learn to embrace those cracks and be grateful for everything they've taught me. Just maybe not today...and you know what?
That's okay too.