I had tried many times, over about two years, to separate from Peter. I guess I wasn’t quite ready emotionally, because I could never quite go through with it. It would hurt knowing I was hurting him, and there was also something to corrode my resolve. Sometimes he’d threaten suicide. Sometimes he’d attack my self esteem so harshly I’d question my own motives.
One time he started assembling his rifle with calm, methodical purpose. I became hysterical and threatened to call the police. Damn it, my time on this earth was not going to end that day, at the hands of my husband and a bullet. My hysteria calmed him somewhat. His mood changed from cold hostility to worried affection for me. After all, there must be something terribly wrong in my psych if I’d been that scared. He was just putting his gun together to clean, apparently, although he hadn’t touched the gun in around nine months. My genuine fear was enough for him that day, thank god. I know deep in my soul he was putting that weapon together to fire a bullet. I could feel it, somehow. I just knew.
Separation was a necessity. Our relationship was toxic. I was oppressed with constant misery, and as badly as I wanted to break free, I just didn’t have the confidence to see it through. I often wanted to end my life. I could see no other escape from the perpetual misery. I knew that unless I found the strength to change my life, the depression would consume me. I was scared. Of Peter. Scared of his cold aggression, scared of his ability to wound me with attacks on my confidence. I was scared of hurting him, because regardless of how much I wanted to be apart from him, I still loved him so much that living in misery was nearly worth giving him happiness. Above all, I was terrified of living without his love.
I’m a sceptic of paranormal activity, and religion and wouldn’t define myself as a spiritual person. I do believe in the immense power of the brain and it’s own problem solving abilities.
I had a dream.
Within the depression and despair, my good old dependable brain delivered itself a dream that was to finally encourage the determination and confidence to save myself.
I was riding passenger to my Mum driving her little old white Corolla. We were maintaining a non-concerning highway speed. Behind me in the back seats were three random dudes. Young, good looking but nondescript. They weren’t familiar to me but their energies were neutral. They weren’t important, but their presence felt somewhat significant to visually acknowledge before the road ahead became my focus.
We were driving over a long bitumen bridge with no railings. Without warning we had veered to the left and we plunged off the bridge. The distance to the ground was immense and I immediately knew death was imminent. I told my Mum that I loved her and thanked her for everything, and I was sorry for any hurt I’d caused her throughout my life. I felt absolved and content with her, although I hadn’t felt plagued by guilt. I was warmed that we were at peace before we inevitably connected with the dry sandy ground.
I had expected death, but I opened my eyes to the sweet relief of the sight of my beautiful mother unharmed. It seemed an incomparable blessing. I began feel the injuries in myself and realised I was broken and bloodied. I caught my reflection in the mirror. I was horrified that my body had been so badly battered. My face was an unrecognisable mess. It was a moment of gratitude for my life, whilst accepting that the physical change was permanent. I’d always be smashed and broken, and my scars forever visible to the world. Although I was ugly, I was alive and grateful.
Mum and I made our way out of the car. I don’t recall any pain except exhaustion. We trudged through the sand towards civilisation and seamlessly we were upon the outskirts of a small town street party in early evening and bustling with activity. The street was a hive of entertained people on rides and games.
I spotted my girls, laughing and happy on rides and dressed in ballgown style party dresses. Their happiness was my happiness. My disfigurement was now insignificant. My girls were happy and that’s all that was important. In front of me pokies type machines were colourful and lit up. A sheer abundance of gold coins was arcing out and I felt carefree and secure in the wealth. I saw my reflection in a section of mirrored glass. My disfigured face had unexpectedly healed completely and in that instant I knew, just knew without a doubt that despite the severity of the upcoming storm, I would not only survive into an optimistic future of emotional prosperity and freedom.
That dream and its significance was undoubtably clear as I awoke that morning, and is retained with perfect clarity in my mind to this day. With refreshed, restored confidence that despite the severity of the impending storm, I would survive it regardless.
That afternoon, though my heart was breaking silently, I calmly asked my husband for a divorce.
(As this blog is not in a specific order as yet, this was a chapter I have written two years ago).