Happy Anniversary

I have dated many suitors over the years, and none have been prince enough for me. I am the Princess that has gone running around ponds since puberty struck, kissing any frog that shows promise. Alas, they have all turned out to just be frogs (and people wonder why I hate Disney and fairy tales so much).

    To add to that, Disney has also indicated I am not actually a Princess, because I can't sing so beautifully I summon birds and rodents. My singing has the complete opposite affect, I don't have thick long flowing locks and my parents never locked me in a tower...surprisingly. 

    I am no Disney Princess, I know this, I don't think they needed to go out of their way and remind me so many times over the years. (it's one thing to see the movies, it's another to receive officially documentation from them). OK, so I am not a typical Princess, actually I am a thirty year old singleton who lives alone with her cat. Either way, I've kissed some frogs.

     In some cases they were nice, in some they were not, in all cases they were nuts (wait, is this a ME thing?...no, it's them). I don't feel the need to pour out all the sad details of my dating life, besides, that's an entirely different book. I will tell you this, there have been times in my life, that I have ignored my intuition, fell victim to loneliness, and settled for what turned out to be bad men. There have been two who were abusive, and this story involves the first.

    The first such boy who is not what I consider a man, was Justin. He was a an off medication bi-polar fellow with serious mother issues and the moral compass of Genghis Khan. So picture a skinny Genghis with glasses and an evil glare and you've got a mental image of this boy.

    My family didn't like him from the start, they knew he was the wrong assortment of nut and gave me fair warning about continuing on seeing him. My mother said the first time she met him the hair stood up on the back of her neck, and at the end of the relationship his step-mother of twenty years told me to stay away from him because, he's “crazy.”

    This story is not one that is light, it does takes a rather dark path. I do promise a happy ending for you, and know that in order to see any light at the end of a tunnel, one must first walk through the dark tunnel. Poetic, I know.

    I knew he was not taking his medication, I knew his past, I thought I could give that frog a big old kiss and he would turn into a Prince. He didn't. They never do, and after years of emotionally damaging research, I now know, they never will. Searching for a Prince? Forget the frog, forget the Prince, locate good friends. 

    In the beginning like many abusive relationships, it was all consuming and failytale-like. Or rather just like beauty and the beast without the happy ending. If you think deep about that story, Beast was an abusive asshole Belle tried loving into a prince. Disney ended it wrong, he would have stayed a beast forever and she would have remained locked in that tower until escaping and obtaining a restraining order.

    Think about it, he abducted her, isolated her, and her friends were the household appliances, enough said on that matter. Don't get me started on Disney...

    Justin was no beast at the start it seemed, because he wore a mask.  He had nothing but nice things  to say, and made me feel like I was the only woman in the world. I was convinced in my silly brain that this was it, despite my gut crying out that something was wrong.

    There was passion, good memories made, and I started to fall fast and hard. There were a million and one warning signs, I ignored them all. As the relationship progressed, it turned into a roller coaster. He was emotionally and verbally abusive, jealous and constantly trying to control almost all aspects of my life.

    Our relationship did not survive a full year, but within that we broke up four times, and he moved cities to follow me, twice. When I finally ended it he became physical, but I was able to take him down and toss him out the front door (silly move for him to come at someone in training for law enforcement...even if she's insanely clumsy).

    I assumed the nightmare would end there, but it didn't. After I broke it off with Justin, he moved himself into the shelter down the road from my apartment, and the stalking began. It took two months of convincing the small town police where I lived that I had reason to be fearful, but eventually he was charged with Criminal Harassment and Assault.

    When my school program ended months later, I packed up my car and moved out west, leaving the pain of everything in my life behind (trying to actually, again, whole other story). I worked a job as a Conservation Officer and began to revive back to my old self, and when the season ended I moved into the closest town from the Park I lived in, and found myself working at a Woman’s Shelter.

    I was good at my job, not only was I educated on the subject and a former volunteer at a shelter, I knew what it felt like to be abused. All seemed to be running smoothly, until winter hit. I received a letter that the court case concerning Justin would be in January and that I was required to appear. It took me back to a scared victim, and I counted down the days till Christmas so I could go home and see my family. Being far away from these maniacs is well worse than being too close.

    The northern Alberta city I lived in froze over at the end of October that year, and by the time I got the letter in early December my eyelashes were freezing on the walk to work. Freezing. I am not fucking joking for those of you who have not had the joy of northern Canadian winters, your nostrils freeze too.    
   
    When my time off at Christmas came, I couldn't wait to get home. I missed my maniacs, I couldn't wait to be reunited with my manic cat after months apart and there is nothing like my mom's home cooking (salads had been improved by this point in my life).

    I stepped off the plane in Southern Ontario, and removed my coat during the walk to the terminal (yes, I walk on the tarmac because I fly cheap). It was a balmy minus two, and I had just left minus forty. This was going to be a beautiful Christmas vacation I remember thinking.

    As I approached the terminal I started to feel the tears rising. I made my way inside and stepped out into the crowd of people waiting, I saw them through the crowd and dodged my way through thickets of hugging to reach them. The minute I reached my parents and my parents threw their arms around me, I burst into tears.

    It was emotional, and I am sure a spectacle. After waiting for my luggage and downing a diet Pepsi we made our way out to the car where I repeatedly told them about how warm it was. My parents and I made our way down the highway back to their house, and my father was surprisingly well behaved. When I got their my sister headed over with my brother-in-law and we all gathered around the table for a family meal.

    I finally felt at ease about everything, as glanced around the table. I finally let out a sigh of ease, and the door bell rang. I ran to get it hoping it was a friend welcoming me home, but opened the door only to find a police officer on the other side (bonus, he was cute).

    Many thoughts run through your mind when you are face to face with an officer at the door, and I had not factored in anything to do with court. My mind went all over. The officer then requested me by legal name, and when he didn't then add that his name was officer loaded gun while taking off his pants, my heart sank. When I confirmed who I was, he handed my a piece of paper and informed me that I was now given notice to appear one Month and a day from now in court as a witness to the charges against Justin. He had to say his name, and when he did it stung. It was official now, and the officer went on to explain they would fly me home, and provide a hotel room in the rural town.

    I looked at the officer and said “gee thanks.”

    He told me not to worry, and that I could bring family for support to the courtroom if I needed it. He obviously didn't know my family. I can say that I have dealt with some police officers in my time that have needed some lessons on people skills, but this gentleman was not one. He shook my hand wished me luck and a Merry Christmas.

    I closed the door and looked down to the paper he handed me. There was my name, my information, his name, and his information. It was all in-front of me. The screaming, yelling, put-downs, grabbing, fear and overall torment I lived came flooding back.

    My parents had come to the door, my sister and brother in law peeking from the table. I looked back up at my parents and said, “this had to happen the day I get home, what are the fucking odds.”

    My tone was intense, and at this time in our family history, they had to tread lightly around me as I was a constant time bomb of emotion waiting to go off (side-note: to get rid of this feeling, deal with your emotional baggage). I could feel them all stiffen. I was still in many ways not healed, I hadn't learned that lesson fully yet, so I was sitting on top of a pile of anger.

    My mom suggested we all sit back down for dinner, and I returned to the table. With the family all around, and perhaps to pick a fight or to have permission to lose it, I read the document out loud. I got to the date last, and as I read it I interrupted myself.

    “Wow”. I paused and then added, “today is a year to the day I kicked Justin out the door.” I could feel myself getting ready to unleash the sob monster.

     I slouched down and was ready to lose my shit. My family sat there in solitude only for a moment, all secretly trying to figure out a way to diffuse the bomb. The moment felt stretched out as they all watched me sink down into a dark place, and I repeated in an irritated voice “a full year to the day.” 

    As soon as I finished my sentence all persons at the table took no time in responding in the most inappropriate manner. Suddenly; and with no pre planning for this event, in complete unison and starting at the exact same millisecond, my lovable maniacs bust out with “Happy Anniversary, Happy Anniversary, Happy Anniversary.......Haaaaaaaaaappy Anniversary!” all the while stomping their feet and clapping their hands.

    Picture it if you will, a table full of lunatics, smiling, clapping and signing in the joy of this event. The end of an abusive relationship anniversary can only be celebrated in our household, with the flailing of limbs and the loudest of cheer. These are the collective choices we make.

    For a long time I have been plagued with nightmares and restless sleep, awaking in the middle of the night, trying desperately to remind myself I am OK. I can say the nightmares of that variety are in the past and I am no longer kept awake by the monsters of my past.

    What keeps me up in the middle of the night now is not the fear of the past, it's the full puzzle of how it is every member of my family had the ability to know that every other person was going to sing the same damn song.  How the heck they did it I will never understand, I don't think they will either. I can only walk away from it knowing that indeed, they are the same kind of nuts.

     As they finished the last Happy Anniversary, with no hesitation, we all burst into laughter. The bomb was diffused, and we could continue on with catching up, and enjoying a salad that was fully stocked with good stuff.

    There are definitely some very sad moments in my life; such is life. I struggled with trauma from abuse for many years, along with a continuing stream of unexpected set backs, and can say I get there are sad times. I do feel that there is a reason we walk the road we do in life, sometimes we make wrong turns and it can take years to find the way back, but we are stronger and wiser for the journey.

    I know it sounds sappy and lame, and you have heard that concept preached before, but here is one more person confirming it's worth. The people around the table with me on that particular night, know how to make me smile. They all know me so well, they were able to demonstrate it in unison. They are, and have always been my light at the end of any dark tunnel. It's what lovable maniacs do.

    So if ever you find yourself in a pit of sorrow, do what I now do, break into song. Find something that fits. Getting fired? Why not sing Jolly Good Fellow to yourself on the way out the door. Feeling lonely on Valentine's Day? Who ever said serenading a restaurant full of couples with Love Stinks was a bad idea, after all, you will feel better.
   
    Basically, I want to say thanks to my family, for having such appropriately inappropriate timing. If ever you feel like your life is going directly down the crapper, I recommend doing something stupid about it (the silly kind), that, or call any member of my family, we'll know what to do.