SHEDDING THE LAYERS

An unexpected opportunity to work in Washington D.C. came up, and I eagerly took the job. It was a short-term project, but was just long enough to feel like a real get-away. While prepping for the trip and packing, I noted a big difference within myself compared to the previous times I'd taken trips. I realized I wasn't carrying the deep, raw emotional pain I'd usually feel whenever I had to face something that we used to do together.

Instead, I was quietly excited, smiling, thinking forward to the flight, and what I would do once I landed. I thought about the project I was assigned to, mentally preparing to do my best work while there. I was looking forward to the time away. I realized that, in this quiet time, I had no thoughts of him. 

With most of my past travels, I struggled with immense pain in not having him there with me. With him having control of most of my life, though it was wrong, I'd grown accustomed to everything just being handled. Whenever we could manage to take a trip that he hadn't sabotaged beforehand, he would take care of everything, beginning to end. Everything was done with the confidence and efficiency that those in law enforcement seemed to inherently possess.

I always felt safe from outside danger. It seemed he could do anything, from navigating unknown locations to subduing public threats. His resourcefulness, his badge and gun, meant that I would be okay...

Ironically, I failed to see that though he fiercely protected me from the outside, he just as fiercely left me unprotected from himself. It was a conflicting dynamic that took me years to unravel. Still, at that time, it felt good to be under whatever protection he would offer in the moment.

Not having such total coverage after I left - crippling and consuming though it was - left me feeling wideopen, raw, panicked. It's taken almost two years to grow used to living without such complete domination.

And this trip has helped me to see how far I've come. 

I planned, I coordinated, I flew, I worked, I dined, I navigated the city, I networked, I had conversation, I laughed. Without any of that deep, emotional pain. I was never in any imminent danger.  He wasn't on my mind; I did not feel him in my heart. This was significant for me.

The only real snag in the trip was when he suddenly reached out to me the night before I was to leave for D.C. For months before then, he'd made his customary mystery calls, using masked numbers similar to mine, to call me several times a day. Doing just enough to keep himself in my periphery. Now, that passive routine was being broken. On the night before my trip, he called. He sent a frenzy of texts with photos. He sent emails. I felt angry and nauseous.

I don't believe this was coincidence. My gut told me that, somehow, he was still tracking me. He knew I was about to take this trip, and he was breaking his semi-silence to let me know that he knew. It was very unsettling, and took me awhile to slow my pounding heart and racing thoughts. But I did, eventually, and I was okay.  Instead of feeling angry, I had the growing sense that I just didn't care if he knew. I didn't care how he knew.  I didn't care about what it could mean, or what his motives might be. I just didn't care. 

This, too, was a big change for me. I had unknowingly shed more layers of him, and the new skin beneath was something unknown and glowing.

I enjoyed my time in D.C. I did alot while I was there. There was something special about the quality of time and attention I was able to give, because I was so completely unfettered. This was truly a gem in what has felt like an endless and dark period. I'm so happy I had this opportunity. 

                (Beautiful Colors in D.C.)