Saturday, October 8, 2011

13 Boxes

When I made the decision to move to Wisconsin, I hadn't thought at the time that I had any real expectations, other than to enjoy a new start to the next adventure in my one day at a time.

Driving that moving van with what little belongings I had...perhaps a third of a 10-foot truck full...I was excited!  I felt so youthful again, as silly as that sounds, I'd found my spontaneity again...and was spreading my wings.

The first couple of weeks there...I was so sure that I had made the right decision, that I had found a place to belong...had found a place I could again call "home".  I was in love again...and everything was falling in place.

Out of the blue, he and I had our first argument, on which the following ones were built, an argument that could not find a compromise. Neither of us were willing to give in, but the biggest issue is that he wanted me to change and be someone I was not.

By the end of the 2nd week there, I knew I was coming home...back to whatever waited for me here in New York.  Anything was better than being there...with someone who had lied to me, who was verbally, mentally and emotionally abusive after that first argument. He didn't understand me at all, and refused to believe that he had done anything wrong. 

Refusing to be baited into an argument that had repeated itself far too many times already, I said everything was my fault...I thought I could be happy there, and could handle being away from my family...I used every excuse I could think of to make it my fault, so that he would be decent to me until I left.

I know that was wrong of me to do, since I have a mental illness: PTSD, along with deep depressions (which I have talked about in past blog entries). I was all alone one to turn to...but living there with him for 3-1/2 weeks and going through what I did...I did what I needed to. 

But I paid a hefty price.

By the time that I touched down in New York this past Tuesday, I was a mental and emotional wreck.  The next two days, I cried and cried. I felt so lost and that I didn't have a place to 'belong' any more...I could feel myself sliding quickly toward that abyss again...toward another breakdown. 

My youngest son was there for me...and we spent hours talking and talking...which helped a lot. As well, I wrote four very long letters to friends, detailing exactly all that had happened to me in Wisconsin...and that helped to keep me from sliding any further downwards. 

Thursday...things hit home again when the UPS truck came.  My life has changed so drastically in less than 30 days...and I have been reduced to what meant the most to me...packed in 13 boxes. My life's possessions...reduced now to a third of what I had left New York with, just a few brief weeks before.

13 boxes. 


  1. Stay strong Debra, you did a good thing by coming back home.

  2. I know I did...I'm still struggling though with all that has happened...Thanks.

  3. You know I'm always here for you & in your corner! Keep your chin up. I'm just glad you're away from that creep, & now things are bound to get better. Hang in there - you're going to be fine! :-)

  4. I know that, Laura. I'm doing by day...

  5. Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning. (Psalm 30:5b)

  6. That's true...Marg. Very inspiring...thanks! 8)