prologue and chapter 1

Am I really ready to start writing this? Its been swimming in my head for awhile now, thinking it might be a good way to purge all this negativity that hovers over my shoulder. To deal with the hurt and anger, the insecurities that sing out from my sleeve. I guess it can't hurt to start. No one really reads my blog anyway, so its a safe place for me to let go and scream louder than I knew I could. So here it goes, *deep breath in*...oh, oh, let it out!! Breathe Sarah, one breath at a time. This will hurt more than it did the first time. Only now, the scars will start fading one at a time. Till they are all but a shiny spot on your heart that one can vaguely recognize and ask what was there.And you'll tell them, only this time no tears will come, no anger will surge in your chest, and all you will feel is a memory come and gone. Slow and deep, but no longer stinging and stabbing.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this. I dont love you anymore." Words that will always be sizzled into my brain. Causing a pain I didn't know was possible to feel. I've felt pain before, so badly I was left on the floor seeing black. But this pain...this pain felt like my heart being torn out of my chest and shattering on the ground. Screams, so loud and inaudible. I have no idea what I said. It might have been, "why?" or "how dare you?" but it's such a blur.

The night from hell, one of many I had when I worked in inpatient acute behavioral health for teenagers and children. I had called at least three times; for comfort, for soothing, for a reminder that when I got home things were supposed to be ok. Each time, no clues or warnings about what was waiting for me there. I can't remember what made the night so bad at work, I can only remember the aftermath.

Three days after I turned twenty seven. One month and eight days shy of our four year anniversary. I had asked for one gift that year- that he clean up the clutter that overwhelmed our little house. I even paid for my own birthday dinner, in hopes it would only encourage him to keep moving the crap. I was so nieve. Thats exactly what he'd told me he was doing. He finally gave me what I wanted without a fight. He was moving his extra stuff to his parents. Only to find out he'd be lying yet again.

I walked through my doorway at 1:15AM to find the walls bare, the TV gone, and him sitting in our living room chair fully dressed. He worked in the morning, so I typically came home and climbed into bed with him. Let the heart shattering commence, let the pain begin poisoning my veins . I can't breathe, I don't know what to do. He just keeps trying to talk to me, get me to stop yelling. I grab my keys and run for my car. I start driving with the intention of heading to my mom's because where else could I go? But five minutes into my tear blurred drive, I think, "All I have to do is talk to him. I can fix this." I turn around and get home, still blinded by the hurt and anger. I walk into my empty, lifeless house and realize not only is he gone, but he has taken Boomer. Boomer, our special needs kitty who we raised since 2 weeks old. Who I had to convince him to keep b/c who else could love a broken kitty as unconditionally as we could? Who spent every night in our bed between us, cuddled and warm. The anger takes over the pain and I speed to his parents, who live five minutes away. Because afterall, where else could he possibly go? I pound on the door and bust into the house. Hes standing there with a look of shock on his face. I start screaming and he tries to shush me; I only scream louder. He makes me go outside, causing me to start shrieking. He keeps trying to make me calm down and be quiet, tells me a neighbor will call the police. I told him to let them, b/c he stole my cat and I would be damned if I was leaving that porch without him. I knew if I screamed loud and long enough he'd give in. He hates conflict and fighting, and would always back down first. He finally cowered and handed Boomer over. I took him home, and was again reminded I was alone. I was along because he no longer loved me. I tried to reach my mom, but she doesn't hear her phones at night. I called my sister Colleen, because I knew she did. I cried and sobbed, she tried to comfort me but couldn't. She told me she'd call me in the morning. I don't know how I slept that night, probably from exhaustion and loss of adrenaline. But I did. I slept, only to woken up in the morning by an ache that I didn't know was possible. That I had only read about in stories and has seen my friends experience. It wasn't supposed to happen to me.