For nearly 20 yearsI was afraid of him.
I hid from him,
took great pains to not have my name in that thing they call the Internet.
Alas, he still found me
on that stupid thing called Facebook.
When I left,
I left because I was scared.
A voice told me I had to leave.
“Go now!”
It said.
“Get out!”
So I did.
I packed in one night,
only books, clothes, a zester and a salad spinner.
For nearly 20 years, I said I ran from a bad man.
I was convinced of it,
Convinced I did the right thing.
But then one peep started talking to me,
telling me he was okay.
It started with a whisper,
“He’s safe. He IS safe.
Talk to him.”
I ignored it,
but the whispers would not yield.
Finally, I gave in
And found him on that Internet.
And I was wrong,
Wrong about everything I believed.
All those years ago,
We did not know
I had DID.
My dear sweet love was having a hard time all those years ago.
He left the only job he had ever known.
There was despair and a hole in his heart in a life without that job.
He would hole up in that room all by himself,
and not say a word.
Just play his video games
and grunt my way.
One day I had enough of no talk.
He had a bowl of popcorn cradled in his arm.
He gave me a scowl and cower as I walked in.
I popped that bowl of popcorn straight in the air
and it rained popcorn on our despair.
A peep I didn’t know I had was scared,
and wanted to run.
My husband’s despair was a reminder of woe
the peep felt in the scary house of long ago.
This was not the same,
but how were we to know?
When I left he cried
and asked me not to go.
I left, and did not turn back.
Nearly 20 years later,
I turn back.
Now, I cry,
and ask him not to go.
A Year in the Life of PTSD 