Life is precious. I didn't used to appreciate life; New Year’s Eve 2010 changed everything.
If I’m being honest, I don’t remember much of our relationship- there were so many drugs and parties involved, I don’t think I ever realized that we had nothing in common. The only reason we didn’t fight constantly was because both of us were too stoned to move, let alone talk.
On paper, you were a great guy. You were in college- an art student. Grew up on a big farm, family-oriented, you were passionate- even though most times it was about the wrong things.
We were invited to a party at a hunting lodge outside of town, and it also happened to be your 21st birthday on January 1st- sort of a double celebration. At midnight, we popped champagne and all the minors were kicked out of the party, except for my friend and I. Perks of dating an older guy, I guess.
That’s when things went south.
Most of the people had cleared out, save maybe twenty people. My phone buzzed in your pocket with a single message of “hey” from a guy. My phone was thrown at my head, leaving a huge knot on my forehead and I was shoved up against a wall in front of a room full of people. Mostly guys, who had previously claimed to be the small-town chivalrous men who didn’t agree with men hurting women- yet here they were, giggling and ignoring what was happening. I told myself, “he’s drunk, he’s high on who knows what- he didn’t mean to do this.” You told me the same thing. You said you were sorry. You kissed my forehead, made me a drink with a side of Klonopin- probably hoping that I wouldn’t remember.
Yet here we were again around four in the morning, laying in a bunk bed with a room full of other people trying to sleep. You wanted to have sex with me. I told you no. I turned over with my back to you, and you said to me, “I don’t want to live anymore.” I told you that was a dumb thing to say (in hindsight, that was a dumb thing to say). So, you offered to kill me instead. You pulled your arm over my throat in a chokehold. I couldn’t breathe and I was stunned, grasping your arms and gasping harder for air. You let go, and I started to cry. I could hear people in the dark room giggling and saying “stop freaking crying,” and “just go home already.” A few minutes passed, and you tried to kiss my neck again. I pushed you and moved to get out of the bed, so you decided to get on top of me and choke me with your hands this time. I finally kicked and scratched hard enough to run. I went to the other room where two girls comforted me. Two other guys did, too, but their credit for being concerned gentlemen was ruined when they both tried to take advantage of me a little later after that.
I wonder if that eats them up inside.
I’ve asked myself “why” a million or more times, but can never fully answer the question myself. Part of me wants to blame the drugs and the alcohol and that not pressing charges or telling anyone was the right thing, and part of me wants to believe that maybe you are just inherently evil and deserved to rot in jail for attempted murder.
Neither of these things are true.
You’re now engaged, on your way to being a husband to a great girl and a step-dad to a wonderful little boy. I hope you’ve changed. I hope you make them happy and that you don’t ever turn into the person I met that night with them. I hope you get to be normal and functioning and loving and happy, even if I can't. I’m still terrified of soft smiles and hands near my neck; shirts too tight around my throat will literally make me sick. You made me feel like my life wasn’t precious enough to keep; but after all this time I have finally learned that it is.
Through everything, you made me appreciate being alive, and for that- I thank you.
I almost forgive you.
