The thing about trauma, and healing from it, in the midst of more trauma, is that nothing is linear and everything feels like a flood of emotions. Of blood, broken bones, bruises, cold lonely nights, and almost silent whispers of hope.  Memories of dealing with NBK in the past keep flooding me over and over again, things I had forgotten or not realized were locked in my mind are raging forwards screaming to be let out, to be heard, to be released. I know I have talked about my abuse from him in the past, but I was so eager to move forward in my life without him and without worrying about him that I never really told the story.  I didn’t want to tell the story.  I still don’t know if I am ready, but I am going to try.  I think I have to try because if I don’t the past is going to keep clouding what is happening now and nothing will ever be resolved for me.

I met NBK at my mother’s house.  He was leaned over my brother’s computer laughing about something.  All I saw was a smooth strong shirtless back and long ass brown hair.  I didn’t even need to see his face and I was hooked.  When he turned around I think we were both hooked.  His blue eyes dancing in delight at a new prospect and my heart skipping a beat to see that my brother actually had a friend that was so damn attractive.  I didn’t know a damn thing about him, but I was in my early twenties and knowing someone didn’t seem important anymore.  I had just gotten out of an abusive relationship with a troll of a man and the thought of a hot young thing taking a liking to me gave me butterflies.

We flirted a bit when we thought no one was looking.  Sooner or later I ended up staying at my mom’s for the night when he did.  And that was how our story began.  On my mom’s couch, in the middle of the night.

And we would talk nearly every day in one form or another.  He would send me songs (my true love language) and I would decipher them.  He would come over to my little lake cabin after working his second shift job and we would stay up all night talking about our lives and everything and nothing and then fall into each other’s arms.  We would go on dates and take long drives.  He would bring me lunch at my job and we would cruise for the short half hour just enjoying seeing one another.  I’m sure he was with other women at the time.  Hindsight says he was living with one of them, but back then I was reckless and didn’t care.  He was this beautiful hippy soulful man child that looked at me like no one ever had.  He listened when I talked and remembered what I said.  He put value on the time we spent together and I never thought to ask for more, I think I was afraid too.

And then I lost him. 

I never thought he was serious about me, even when he asked for my stability and home.  He was my rambling man and I didn’t have the courage or willpower to try and tame him.  I met my husband instead.  A safe bet.  NBK came over and I told him all about dating my now ex husband and he tried so hard to not break a part.  Asked if he could at least hold me for the night.  I let him.  I still don’t know if there was any truth to any of those actions, or if he just needed a place to sleep for the night… but I needed him.  I had never wanted to love someone so much in my life and not let myself. I never wanted to be loved so badly the way he hinted he would be able too.

I could write an entire novel filled with the small things that I still remember that break my heart open about those days.  Him watching me put on my eyeliner in the mornings and saying how mesmerizing and beautiful I was.  Bringing me flowers on Valentines day in front of my girlfriends and telling me to “shut up and take them” before I could start all my protests.  So many small moments that made it so hard to move on because I knew he would never be able to be faithful to me.  And then I lost him to heroin and a girl named Tara.  I knew I had no right to feel any type of way about what he was doing with his life because I had been the first to end our love affair… but it still felt like a heavy loss.  It still felt like seeing a part of my soul dying outside of my body for the second time.

When my husband and I split up eight years later NBK was there.  We sat in my car for hours listening to music and talking nonsense like no time had passed.  I doubt it even took two weeks for him to move in after that.  And I thought “here, here is your chance, here is your chance to be loved the way you want to be, the way you deserve to be, finally.” 

And I was so very, very wrong.

Part two tomorrow.