First of all, I would like to thank everybody for their lovely comments on my last post. They really touched me.
I'm not good with praise, never have been. Anytime somebody pays me a compliment, I am quick to play it down. It makes me feel uncomfortable, I feel like I don't deserve it. There is always something I could have done better, I could have dealt with in a better way. And I feel like I need to explain that really, what we have been through, as tough as it was, was nothing exceptional, really. A lot of people go through it. I couldn't have done it without Mr Foodie. If anything, he deserves more praise than I do. He carried us all through it.
Some people think I am strong. I am not. All I did was let instinct take over. Fight or flight. I chose flight that day. I did fight though. I had been fighting for a long time. For as long as Marie had been alive. Against a lot of things. Fighting against my better judgement too. Things gradually heated up. Mentally, I became a shadow of myself. I was walking on egg shells. Trying to please, when the only thing that could satisfy I could not offer. I couldn't speak freely. I hid everything that was going on for years from my parents, my family, my friends. I was hiding behind a mask. When I opened up, it all came pouring out. To Mr Foodie, a virtual stranger. Such an appropriate term, virtual as it all happened through our computers. Stranger as I had never met him in person. I realized that I had to do something, that life was not worth living that way. And I took a first step, and the steps turned quickly into a run. I ran away. How is that being strong, I ask you?
Whatever happened afterwards was just consequences really, of that decision to run away. I put us in that position. I had to deal with it. We had to deal with it. I was never alone in dealing with anything. Mr Foodie was there all the way, he was thrown in at the deep end and took all my battles on (and he still does). So if anybody deserves to be called strong, he is. Not me.
I think that post also made me sound a bit paranoid. I feel the need to explain. Although I am not 100% comfortable in my area, I am not living like a recluse. I do go out, I do live a normal life. I don't look over my shoulder all the time. I just try and stay clear of some areas. I go there sometimes and nothing has ever happened. I haven't bumped into any of them. And even if I did, I'm not even sure anything would happen. I would just get a rush of adrenaline and feel unsettled probably. I probably would get a look and, if I'm really unlucky, I would get called some unsavoury name. Nothing life threatening. But moving will help avoid that stress, the probability that I will be put in an unsettling position. Sometime, distance is all that is needed.
The human mind is something quite incredible. Time helps smooth the corners of those hard memories. It puts them somewhere at the back of your brain and helps you get on with life. A while back, we were watching some program on the tv about repossessions (I know not very uplifting), and Mr Foodie turned around to me and said: 'I can't imagine what it would feel like to get your car repossessed like that.' He was serious but we looked at each other, and burst into laughter. Not that getting your car repossessed is anything to laugh at, far from it. But for the fact, that we know what it feels like because it did happen to me. We had just simply 'forgotten' about it. And I take this as a good sign. A sign that all that has happened is now in the past and some parts of it we can now even laugh about. Those tough times are part of us and of our past, they will NOT be an active part of our future!
