I don’t know where to start.
It started right after he attacked me and I was left bleeding on the ground with my family panicking. “Pass me a towel before I pass out.” I said, “I’m losing too much blood, pass me a damn towel quick!” I demanded. Meanwhile he stood there in shock, not aware that it was me he hurt, just staring me while I look back at him with my eyes filled with forgiveness.
I was angry till I see his face of disbelief; but that was just a split second.
I was in the hospital dreading about going home…
First it was hearing what’s going on back at home. Second was coming back home knowing he’s in there, so near yet so far. Third was the helplessness but that wasn’t the worst, no. The worst was not being able to say goodbye.
The house couldn’t afford another attack. As ridiculous as it sounds, I could’ve lost a leg from this little attack. My family couldn’t afford the same thing to happen to me again, they more couldn’t afford anyone else in the house to encounter the same accident. They wanted him out.
He had a traumatising childhood. He is wary of everybody. He has no known mental conditions and he was allegedly provoked mentally in a way that I wasn’t quick enough to stop the trigger. I honestly still don’t know but there must have been something.
I can understand the fear and worry on a human level but still, I fought for him till the very last moment I knew he’s not coming back. I still continue to fight for him even though he is no longer in this house. I grasp onto that tiny glimpse of hope that maybe, just maybe this was all just a horrible nightmare.
The guilt eats you alive. You know? Even though I am incredible at hiding emotions, sometimes I can hide them so well I forgot I can experience emotions. But not this one.
This was analytically the best decision. For him to go out and find a partner, for him to finally see what he has been missing out for years. For us in some ways. We set him free, made sure he has food and drink. Made sure he is getting used to the surroundings. Made sure the environment is safe for him and people around him. He has plenty of space, he was relaxing and enjoying the view the last time we saw him.
But I only saw him virtually through pictures and videos. I couldn’t walk. “I’ll go see him when I can walk” I promised my guilt. It’s not going to make things better, but at least I could confirm if I was the problem. Yes, there’s still a risk for me but for god’s sakes, I didn’t manage to say goodbye and it fucking kills.
I know they are right and that pains me even more.
First it was coming home. Second was sensing him being so close yet so out of reach. Third was knowing that was it, he’s leaving. Fourth was the worry then there came the relief. Fifth, I saw my room whenever I hopped out of my parent’s room. Then oh, the hardest part was to step into my room again, reliving that day.
It was the worst pain I’ve felt, I mean stepping into my room and having the emotions rushed through my veins. It came faster than the speed of light but felt like a slow, sharp, torturing pain. Yeah all that bleeding didn’t hurt me as much as the emotional damage this has brought to all of us.
Now it is 3 in the morning. 3:01AM. MacBook at 1%. I wanted to go to bed at 1:22AM but I couldn’t bring myself to. I have a loft bed and just when I wanted to head upstairs, I burst into tears.
It is only then I realize that the hardest part of it all is to accept that he’s no longer going to be a part of my life. I’ve cried an ocean writing this post and I am at peace with my decision to let this guilt haunt me for the rest of my life.
P.S. He is still alive. He’s probably with his new family now.