Especially afte…

Especially after closing the door on my child, I felt much like a marionette. Being tugged and pulled and moving about at the hands of something or someone else. There was no time to think things through, I had to act with feriocity. 

My body moved down the stairs, through the sitting room, and dining room and into the kitchen. I could feel him on my tail, but was determined to get what I needed. There I was, reaching for the large knife I had pictured myself grabbing, but I fumble. I try again, this time grabbing whatever I could, he was so close to me. The wooden block was full of different knives. There was one in there that we never really knew what to use it for. The filet knife had a curved shape to it and was maybe 8 to 10 inches long.  Certainly not the knife I would have seen myself using to pierce the flesh of my attacker.

I am holding a knife. It falls to the ground. I can barely breath and know that I will die now. He is hovering over me, chest toward the ground. I am below him and as I stand and turn toward him I stab him.  The knife travels with ease through his layers of clothing, and into his flesh. My hand hits his pectoral with a thump. I release. He is caught off guard, arms flalling, body faltering, I start to fight him. I kick his ass right out the door.  His blood, fresh, on my floors is the reality of what just transpired in my home.

The SVU detective I spoke with later that night told me that he could’t understand why this man lived – I had hit a main artery in his chest and he should have died. At that moment I had wished he was dead. In fact for many weeks, and months following I wished that he had died. I couldn’t fathom meeting him again!  I knew there was to be a trial in the future and I did not want to face him again! I was terrified of him.

What if I had killed him? How would that have affected my healing and who I am today.  I don’t think I would want to live the rest of my life knowing that my life experiences include killing a man. I can’t imagine that my heart would hold the lightly, a burden I do not wish to bear.  Maybe this is why he lived, for me, so I could heal myself.  I am still very mad at him for what he did to us on that day in December, but I have forgiven him. Carrying a burden whether of death or hatred is too much in this short life. I choose, to be free.