Time to move...
I know I mentioned my apartment horror stories on the LoT, but this weekend may just top that one completely. It's time to move, there's no doubt about it. I'm still reeling.
The weekend seemed to be going well. Friday evening was filled with a workout with J, and some relaxation. Saturday, breakfast, a nap, the Obon Festival and some movie-watching. Sunday... well, Sunday was something else entirely. The day started off well enough. Breakfast at Karen's Cafe, grocery shopping, light cleaning. J wasn't feeling so hot, so he took a nap. I was bipping and bopping around the apartment when things started to get loud. Deciding a cigarette break was in order (rare these days), I stepped outside only to hear some bitter and ...there's another descriptor I should use, but I can't figure one out... arguing, the slamming of sliding glass doors, and then quiet. Back into the house, things seemed to quiet down, but something didn't feel right. The things he was saying to his wife, his daughter, and whatever friend was over were ugly.
About 15-20 minutes later, things escalated once more. At first, I did my ignore tactic. Sounds stupid, but when you come from an abusive home it's your first instinct. This is not happening. I went back and forth between the horror of memory and shutting down for about... okay, I have no idea how long, not too long, but long enough... before I finally snapped out and woke up J. Realizing how sensitized and prone to inaction I was feeling, I asked him to call the police while I was preparing to throw up. He asked that we not be contacted by the police when they came. The upstairs neighbor was totally irrational and we didn't want to endanger ourselves unless necessary.
They were on their way, but things were alternately getting worse and better. All I could think of were the horrid screams, people slammed against the wall. Finally, the wife, daughter and friend got out of the apartment, and were "trying" to leave... but as many emotionally and physically abused people do, they didn't do it quickly. They shouted from windows, pleading, rather than getting the fuck out to safety.
Eventually, the police came... then there was shouting and tussling upstairs. More police came. Then, after an hour or so, they left. And the guy was still up there. And the wife, the kid, and the friend were back in the house. I presume the male passed out, but it's hard to say. From my position, after the freezing, I would get the fuck out, but then - I've been on the other side of this ugly coin before, and it's easier said than done. The yearning for peace where there's really none to be had, for consistency when that's the furthest thing from what has happened, the fear of change... all powerful motivators when it comes to staying in an abusive relationship.
Worst of all, I remember being that little girl. She's about 12, and one of the sweetest things I've met. I think of how she'll trust people, trust men, trust other women - I think of how I've trusted people, men, women. I'm heartbroken for all of that, none of it I can ever change. I also realize once again how damaged I still am... that this scenario still stifles me, still eats me up. You move on, you move forward, but you never really forget these sorts of things.
Perhaps worse were the drunken threats shouted about whoever called the police. Didn't exactly help me sleep at night. And that guy was always Mr. Mellow before yesterday... Guess it's hard to know everyone.
The weekend seemed to be going well. Friday evening was filled with a workout with J, and some relaxation. Saturday, breakfast, a nap, the Obon Festival and some movie-watching. Sunday... well, Sunday was something else entirely. The day started off well enough. Breakfast at Karen's Cafe, grocery shopping, light cleaning. J wasn't feeling so hot, so he took a nap. I was bipping and bopping around the apartment when things started to get loud. Deciding a cigarette break was in order (rare these days), I stepped outside only to hear some bitter and ...there's another descriptor I should use, but I can't figure one out... arguing, the slamming of sliding glass doors, and then quiet. Back into the house, things seemed to quiet down, but something didn't feel right. The things he was saying to his wife, his daughter, and whatever friend was over were ugly.
About 15-20 minutes later, things escalated once more. At first, I did my ignore tactic. Sounds stupid, but when you come from an abusive home it's your first instinct. This is not happening. I went back and forth between the horror of memory and shutting down for about... okay, I have no idea how long, not too long, but long enough... before I finally snapped out and woke up J. Realizing how sensitized and prone to inaction I was feeling, I asked him to call the police while I was preparing to throw up. He asked that we not be contacted by the police when they came. The upstairs neighbor was totally irrational and we didn't want to endanger ourselves unless necessary.
They were on their way, but things were alternately getting worse and better. All I could think of were the horrid screams, people slammed against the wall. Finally, the wife, daughter and friend got out of the apartment, and were "trying" to leave... but as many emotionally and physically abused people do, they didn't do it quickly. They shouted from windows, pleading, rather than getting the fuck out to safety.
Eventually, the police came... then there was shouting and tussling upstairs. More police came. Then, after an hour or so, they left. And the guy was still up there. And the wife, the kid, and the friend were back in the house. I presume the male passed out, but it's hard to say. From my position, after the freezing, I would get the fuck out, but then - I've been on the other side of this ugly coin before, and it's easier said than done. The yearning for peace where there's really none to be had, for consistency when that's the furthest thing from what has happened, the fear of change... all powerful motivators when it comes to staying in an abusive relationship.
Worst of all, I remember being that little girl. She's about 12, and one of the sweetest things I've met. I think of how she'll trust people, trust men, trust other women - I think of how I've trusted people, men, women. I'm heartbroken for all of that, none of it I can ever change. I also realize once again how damaged I still am... that this scenario still stifles me, still eats me up. You move on, you move forward, but you never really forget these sorts of things.
Perhaps worse were the drunken threats shouted about whoever called the police. Didn't exactly help me sleep at night. And that guy was always Mr. Mellow before yesterday... Guess it's hard to know everyone.