Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda (Gonna)
There is something I should have done in 2010, that I DIDN’T do because I was afraid. I was afraid for a lot of reasons, but mostly I was afraid that I didn’t matter, so I stayed quiet.
Someone who said he loved me, jammed his shoulder into my face, while I was laying beneath him on the floor. He did it twice. It was the second time he did it, that I heard a pop in my left eye. I was drunk, which is unfortunate, but it wasn’t a reason to bust the orbital floor of my left eye.
The actual reason he did it, is because I, was daring to become uncontrollable. I wouldn’t be told on this particular night, that it was time to go to bed. I didn’t have to work the next day, and I had just spent a week taking care of him, while he was drinking his way through his friend’s death. I just was taking a night, to listen to music, have some solitude and non drama, and a half a bottle of rum.
It’s always bothered me that I was shit faced drunk, because I really don’t drink that often. The details are blurry because of the drink, but in NO WAY, does that mean I deserved to have the floor of my eye busted, because I wouldn’t go to bed, or grabbed a cell phone.
I grabbed the cell phone, because he threatened to call the police on me for being drunk. Because I was drunk, I didn’t stop to think that the police couldn’t arrest me for being drunk in the place I was calling home. I was old enough, at home, and so fucking what?
It was the grabbing of the cell phone that set him off, and though I can admit, it was a drunkenly STUPID thing to do, knowing he had a temper, but I did not deserve to have the floor of my eye broken. It was stupid of me to stay with him too. We broke up, but true to form…I went back.
It’s not surprising that a year later, he assaulted me again.
I was still secretly paying for bankruptcy from the reconstructive surgery, that he told me NOT to declare bankruptcy on.
I didn’t have insurance. I didn’t call the police. I didn’t press charges. I didn’t sue him.
After the second assault, I left him. I lived in a closet in my mother’s studio for a year and a half, because that, was preferable to living with him while trying to go through bankruptcy and rebuilding my credit and my life. That is also when I went crazy. That was when the walls of hate that I had carried with me, for so long, crumbled. Overnight. Completely.
Pressing charges, doing all of that, would have impeded my spiritual journey, that slapped me in the face. It also would have meant, dealing with a lot of negative shit, and I really had just been so negative and angry for so long, it suddenly was toxic to me. I had to walk this path and learn the things I have learned with the Universe.
I probably had to get unafraid too.
The night before Mel died, I have said we talked about EVERYTHING. It’s almost weird that we spoke of so much and makes me think she knew something was happening to her. We talked about this man. I told her that I wished I had made a police report. She told me it wasn’t too late and that it would probably help the next woman, because we both know there with be “the next one”. I hung up the phone that night, knowing she and I would talk more about it and she would support me through it.
Well, I never got to talk to her about it again, but I am going to follow through on it. I don’t expect them to arrest, file, or do anything. Too much time has passed. It’s not about that. It’s about documenting. Not staying silent. Calling him, what he was to me.
Do I still forgive him? Yes.
Do I ever want to see him or have him in my life in any manner? No.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda…gonna.