January 15, 2012 at 5:55 pm Leave a comment

I don’t recall the date I left him.  There is no anniversary to be had.  To be honest, I can’t even tell you the month.  I know it was a week day…

In part  I think I have no recollection of such a date as there has been no finality to it all.  Why recall a date for just another day?  Not that it was another day and I remember the details of said day with such clarity they often replay in my head like some climatic movie scene, complete with soundtrack.

It’s been 12 something years now. Tonight I realised that you never quite escape the clasps of abusive partners. Well, not in my case.

He is always around me in some shape or form.  From the furrow my son… our son… makes when he’s disgusted, to the self hating voice in my head that counts the calories with such precision and deliberation.  He’s never far away even after all this time.

In fact, I think it’s getting worse.  Almost as though the length of time between actually seeing him is creating sufficient space to allow the memories of him to expand;  hopefully to implode.

I am getting angrier at him over time.  A self-righteousness for that younger version of me that was not at my disposal at the time. My capacity for forgiveness is waning;  my excuses are running thin.

It’s not that I live in fear of him – I don’t.  I’ve looked deep into those crazed eyes and know first hand the look of a murderous fool, but I don’t fear him.  It’s a strange one to explain to those who have not seen it, but I don’t fear death nor further rapes.  To that end, it’s just my physical being and I hold no great ownership to it such that it would cause me anxiety.

But if I am honest, I don’t trust him.  I could never trust him.  That I did once, and continued to do so as a parent of a my son breaks my heart.  I shan’t be making that mistake twice.  I don’t trust him to get close to my son; I don’t trust him to be within a kilometer of my daughter or my son’s girlfriend.  He is not worthy of our trust.

So much so that almost 13 years since I walked out that door, I actively seek to remain anonymous to him and refuse to provide him with my address.

He is never far from my mind’s eye on a day-to-day basis, I don’t need him to know where we live.  And when he phones at 3.18am on a Sunday night…  my increased heart rate and anxiety is reassured by such caution and the only peace I feel comes with that fact that he doesn’t know where I am right now.

Maybe if the space between when I have to see continue to expand, all this negativity will implode and I will finally get some closure.  Finally have a date worth remembering – an anniversary to call nominate as “the day I left “.


Entry filed under: Reflections.

An eulogy not to be spoken George Francis Graham

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