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Savanna would have been 25 ten days ago. She's been dead for a year and ten days, is what that means.
We all agreed that we couldn't have changed anything; she would have kept pushing us away, kept brushing off all of our love, and then she'd find some other way to drown. Drown. Funny, how we still will never know her cause of death. Not funny, because the answer is suicide by overdose, like she had tried so many times before -- once, while on the phone with me.
It just occurred to me that she died on her 24th birthday. I wonder what was going through her head, why she decided that 24 was too late for her to still be alive. Maybe it was the same thing that had haunted her when she was 17.
This isn't what I wanted to write about.
For some reason, I had a dream about being forced to encounter my abusive, violent, narcissistic ex, Pat. I wrote about it in my dream journal. I don't know why, but for some reason I'm set on edge about it, thinking of him. His Facebook cannot be found at this time, though I know he still exists, because I saw an old friend mention that she was posting something that he'd like. "Friend." She doesn't know what he did to me, but she adores him, as a long-ago ex, and maybe she forgives better, but he was at least an ass to her back then, and he's always belittled her when he spoke of her. Maybe she just likes having people know her at all.
I don't know why. The idea of meeting him, of running into people who know and like him really perturbs me. Rapist. Abuser. Manipulator. Leech. Misogynist. That is what I know; fear and humiliation, resentment. The idea of people not caring what I've gone through, for the sake of liking him, this disturbs me. There are people I know who still have contact with him, and I avoid telling them what he put me through, because I do not want to disrupt their lives, shake their trust, or discredit myself.
Why is this coming back to me now? I do not want to be afraid like this. I am afraid. I wish I had some security. I will be safe and far away from him when I leave this place; for now, I know that he lurks in the downtown subculture, and that my brother, who also hangs out there, is trying to get local restaurants and bars ban him. Some of the main ones have already agreed. This is barbaric, I think, but I cannot say that I want any better for him. Ugh.
Why is this all coming back?
We all agreed that we couldn't have changed anything; she would have kept pushing us away, kept brushing off all of our love, and then she'd find some other way to drown. Drown. Funny, how we still will never know her cause of death. Not funny, because the answer is suicide by overdose, like she had tried so many times before -- once, while on the phone with me.
It just occurred to me that she died on her 24th birthday. I wonder what was going through her head, why she decided that 24 was too late for her to still be alive. Maybe it was the same thing that had haunted her when she was 17.
This isn't what I wanted to write about.
For some reason, I had a dream about being forced to encounter my abusive, violent, narcissistic ex, Pat. I wrote about it in my dream journal. I don't know why, but for some reason I'm set on edge about it, thinking of him. His Facebook cannot be found at this time, though I know he still exists, because I saw an old friend mention that she was posting something that he'd like. "Friend." She doesn't know what he did to me, but she adores him, as a long-ago ex, and maybe she forgives better, but he was at least an ass to her back then, and he's always belittled her when he spoke of her. Maybe she just likes having people know her at all.
I don't know why. The idea of meeting him, of running into people who know and like him really perturbs me. Rapist. Abuser. Manipulator. Leech. Misogynist. That is what I know; fear and humiliation, resentment. The idea of people not caring what I've gone through, for the sake of liking him, this disturbs me. There are people I know who still have contact with him, and I avoid telling them what he put me through, because I do not want to disrupt their lives, shake their trust, or discredit myself.
Why is this coming back to me now? I do not want to be afraid like this. I am afraid. I wish I had some security. I will be safe and far away from him when I leave this place; for now, I know that he lurks in the downtown subculture, and that my brother, who also hangs out there, is trying to get local restaurants and bars ban him. Some of the main ones have already agreed. This is barbaric, I think, but I cannot say that I want any better for him. Ugh.
Why is this all coming back?
