Surviving the Marathon

by Amelia
(Canada)

Every day there are things that happen to every person. Routine events, surprising events, random encounters with others, average days filled with events. A couple months ago an event happened to me, and my world stopped.

My ex-fiancée has a history with drugs, crack mostly. We were open about it throughout our entire relationship, and one of my qualities, be it good or bad, is that I take people for what they are. I don't necessarily care what a person has or has not done. I care about their heart, and love them as they are. In this case, it could have cost me my life.

I chose to end our engagement after months of things not working. I was unhappy. I was broken in a sense. Without knowing it, I was caught in an abusive relationship that took hold of me so slowly I didn't know it had happened. After the break-up things began to stabilize to their equilibrium. I had friends again, I went out with these friends, and I was healing. It was okay, I was okay.

However, since the break-up my ex had been stalking me, mostly from afar. Initially, he would show up at the house on weekend nights completely blitzed out of his mind, kicking in doors, throwing things at the house and my car. He would phone, and phone, and drive around and around my house, stalking me quietly up the street, or in my back alley way - watching me. Waiting to find that I was with another man? Wanting to see that I was miserable? I'm honestly not sure what he wanted, or wanted to catch me doing, but he watched. I quickly began trying to do anything and everything I could away from my own home. I hated staying there with my senses heightened. About a week prior to the event I could feel a new gnawing in my stomach. I knew something was going to happen, but I wasn't sure what it would be. I googled the definition of stalking, and spoke to a friend about what I should do. I settled on the fact that if he did one more thing I would go to the cops and take legal action. Two days later, that something happened and my world stopped.

I was driving in my car when it happened. My brother phoned which is abnormal in itself, and when he answered he asked where I was. Speaking with anxiety in his voice, I had no clue what was happening. My ex father-in-law had phoned him asking about my whereabouts. My ex had lost his marbles. I was not safe to be home, and if I saw him I was to phone the cops immediately, not to talk to him, not to go near him, just phone the cops. In that phone call all of my stability, my home, my freedom, my ulcer-free stomach were gone. I did as I was told and ran. I ran to a remote location where no one knew where I was. I was nearly there when his mother phoned to tell me that he had been taken into the hospital by police. He was driving around with a shotgun, two shells, and my engagement ring in his pocket. No one really knows what he was trying or planning to do, but afterwards when I spoke to the police involved, they all told me the my ring was in his pocket, and to get out before he tried again. It stuck with them. Fair enough. I had to go.

So here I sit, new place, new car, new everything, except my name. People keep saying to me that it’s all a part of a plan, divine intervention, a good move, and I agree to an extent. But, at present what I feel the most is completely overwhelmed trying to find feet in a place that I know nothing about, have no job and no clue what I can and cannot say to people.

I was written off of work so I could leave quickly and quietly. The doctor said to make a plan of where to go and then not tell anyone where I was going. When I made statements to the police they said the same thing. Over and over again people in positions of authority told me to keep my mouth shut, not speak of anything, not to say anything to anyone. And, I will admit it was fairly easy enough to do when I was in the whole moving process. I didn't have the courage to go to my old place of employment both because I did not want to be stared at or falsely hugged as if they understood what was happening. When the questions were unavoidable I would respond with "I was told not to say anything," or "I cannot answer that question." All of which were fairly easy enough to cough out, but now, here I sit. Preparing to start over in a new place, new people, and have a separate life with a loss of what to say. I had no closure for my past life. I have small links with some people, but had no real good-bye, as those too were not recommended.

Nearly everyone asks what brought me here, and I have no idea what to respond with. I am not supposed to talk about what happened. I am not to tell anyone anything...right? They somehow forget to tell you how to survive afterwards, when you are seared with scars that no one can see. When you have had to run for your life and you eventually stop. How do you live after the marathon? I’m unable to be sure of what to say, how much to say, and how to behave around people when every time a loud truck drives by I am afraid. Loud noises make me jump, and squealing tires can make me vomit. How do you live through this? This whole topic is taboo to most so, how do you heal when you are silenced into an internalized being?

So for those who say that maybe this was part of a divine plan, as said before, maybe it was. But how do you live when you are haunted by the reality that he wanted me with him or dead?