This time a year ago I was icing my thumb and crying.

It was a Saturday morning and I had not yet been added to the Saturday rotation at the gig. I can still almost hear the voice of the little one, advising me I could let it go.

When we spoke on the phone later my years flowed freely as I tried to describe the events of the prior day. I never did find the words, and today I don’t have to, she can see it for herself. She won’t most likely, because people who actually give a shit about me can’t read what was written and watch that video and not be angry.

I tried to explain to her how hard it was to be that close to him after the prior two months. There was still ‘love’ then. There was still confusion on how everything had pivoted so quickly. By then I’d stopped thinking it was Stockholm and accepted that it was a choice, and because of that acceptance there was disappointment and pity. It would not be until May 2, 2023 that I would hear the story. Even as I type this I still have doubt about it, as the words on that day were less than transparent and designed to paint a picture of me they’d created in their head over the prior year.

If I take what was said at face value? It makes ‘sense’ but it also generates sadness. I used to discuss blind spots and this was in that area. So much time has passed and so much animosity has been generated – over there – that when they read this, they still won’t see it or believe it. When given a similar moment, I chose their happiness vs my ‘best interest’ and stood firm. Don’t let her leave I said. You love her, you have history I said. If you let her leave without at least attempting a conversation you will regret it I said. And…..they listened. When the shoe was on the other foot as the saying goes, their happiness was not the priority. That was their choice though, and they have to live with it. They’ve already begun the new circle of dysfunction. My benefit is that I am no longer on that merry go round, and I don’t have to do the emotional labor it involves. That is a motherfucking win better than anything which happens tomorrow.

I tried to explain to her the assault and the physical intimidation. Once more she can see it for herself, but she will not. She heard the recordings of the conversations, she knew the other voice. What she would not hear until May were the events. That he towered over me and tried to rip the clipboard from my hands. That when I got up to leave he pushed me and ripped the clipboard away. That’s how my thumb got hurt. She asked me was I going to Urgent Care and I told her no. The swelling was down and I would have enough range of motion back by Monday to ‘work’. We both had trouble wrapping our heads around the physical parts, it was unlike the person we knew, but just about everything since May 7 2022 was different than the person we knew – back then. By May 7 2023 absolutely nothing would surprise us.

In the weeks/months after from time to time I would ask myself why I just didn’t take the paper back from Monica and walk out the door. I made a judgment call in that moment, and it was the right one. They could have escalated physically even more, they could have redirected it towards the leasing staff. Being transparent, a part of me still had hope that they would do that which they promised. Why I was banking on the promise of someone who’d pretty much broken them all leading up to that moment? shrug

In that parking lot, that was where I would see for the first time the character of the person. Not the person I thought they were, but the person they actually are. That’s visible now as well, what is also visible is how broken I was in that parking lot. Do I want others to see me that way? Fuck no. I reserve that exposure of myself to those who give a damn about me. I can’t control their choice, so out there it is. There are consequences though, just like any other behavior, and when revision enters the conversation again I drop the reminder that I didn’t do any of this.

Just days prior I’d told them I was down to $13.00. That is what it took to pay July rent after the separation. There was not a way to make it through the next 7 days on $13. They knew that and how they chose to abuse that knowledge, is again out there for the world to see now. Just like the tears rolling silently down my face after the emotional assault leading up to the button push as they call it.

In 2 days after I would make the first of multiple trips to Fairfield the next week. The system for restraining orders here is, well not efficient. In my head, it was going to be over. I’m on my side of town, they on theirs, the paperwork says stay apart we go on with our lives.

In PA there is no section in a TRO request for unresolved finances, here there is one. I told the truth then, as I always have, there was $980 agreed on that they never paid. I would eventually just let it go. Not because it wasn’t agreed on, and not because I did not have need, but because letting it go removed the power they had. Reclaiming my power meant more to me than money.

Tomorrow is the weaponized abuse of the power of money left in the hands of an undetermined jurist. I could speculate why tomorrow is necessary, but I will reserve that for after the decision.

Last night I was in bed at 3 having a conversation and many of my questions and thoughts were received. It was not precisely the version of pillow talk I prefer but I am thankful to the listening ears. I am thankful to the reassuring arms.

In the morning, barring some obscene deviation, the chapter closes. In the evening the little one comes home. At night, I get to watch the missed episode of Secret Invasion with someone who is my kind of nerd. On Tuesday the 11th, one year after I made the first trip to Fairfield – in theory, it will be “over”.

On Wednesday the 12th I can file all of the conversations and papers away.

On Thursday the 13th, I can begin the next steps of my life in California.

What comes next you ask? I know what I hope – but the past year has also taught me to plan for other than which I hope. Plan I have.

Forward.