Chapter 9 - Background

I have to stop telling my story for a bit, just to fill in some background information. I started this journey on March 4, 2007 when I sent the first e-mail. I keep asking myself why did I go there? What was I expecting? What did I think would happen? These are tough questions, questions that keep you up at night.

I had hated Rett for so many years. In my head, I thought that I couldn't forget him because I was carrying around all this hate. It wasn't a normal hate. It went much deeper than that - it was a white-hot hate. I knew what computer company he had worked for, and in my household we were not allowed to buy any products made by that company. I'm not sure if it was fate or karma or what it was, but not once in my life have I ever met another person named Rett (as I mentioned this is not his real name).

His memory had always followed me, lagging just a few steps behind me, even when I bought my house. I didn't look at many houses before I bought, but this one, as soon as I stepped into the front door, I felt I was 'home'. It wasn't until after the papers were signed that I realized I was just two streets away from where his office used to be. Each time I went for a walk, there he was, just a few steps behind me.

I also remembered every detail about him. I knew what street he used to live on, that he was living with his parents, that he was into kickboxing, that he enjoyed Teddy Pendergrass, that he played the flute, and every minute detail of our time together. I even remember the smell of his aftershave, and the taste of his skin. When I close my eyes I can see an image of him as if he were right in front of me. I can still feel his hair between my fingers and the smoothness of his skin. Everything is stuck in my head...everything. That does not come from love...that comes from hurt.

I wish the memories would go away, get out of my poor tired beaten up and abused head. Time may heal all but it does nothing for the memories, they are there for life. And-he-didn't-even-remember-my-name...

So, I now have opened up the Pandora's Box and let the memories come out to play. And play they did. I was having flashbacks to the hospital, and the pain, and the suffering and the hurt, and the guilt and the hatred. All mixed up and flying around me like a swarm of flies. I could grab one or two but they outnumbered me. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't eating and I felt as if I were drowning. I couldn't breathe.

One day when I was at work, I was outside getting some fresh air with a friend, and I was listening to her but my mind was elsewhere. Suddenly I could feel the tension building in my chest, and I tried to suppress it, but it wouldn't go away - it kept building and building. I couldn't breathe.

The colour must have been draining from my face because my friend asked me if I was okay. I said "No...I can't breathe!". She came with me inside and I headed off to the nurse's office. I got into her office and she asked what was wrong and all I could say was "I can't breathe." She took my blood pressure and it was high. She asked me if there was something bothering me or if something had happened to upset me. As soon as she said this...the tears welled up in my eyes and I started to cry.

I was having a panic attack. I stayed in her office and cried for quite a while, but it passed finally. The walls of my fortress were starting to crumble.

I decided that I needed help. I wasn't able to handle this all by myself, so I made an appointment to see a therapist and I got a prescription for anti-depressants. The meds helped because they had a sedative with them, so I could sleep. The therapist was great too, but she made me go down alleys that I didn't want to go. She made me talk out loud about the pain that I had held inside for 26 years. Once you start down that road, there is no coming back.

And I wrote. Writing has always been cathartic for me. When I was first going through this years ago, I kept journals. But I destroyed them many years ago because I found myself going back to them over and over again, looking for answers that just weren't there. It wasn't healthy. There were no answers in the journals because I only had one side of the story.

I needed Rett to fill in the parts of the puzzle that I was missing. And I needed to share with him the parts that he was missing, because he needed to know, and I needed to know he knew. There's that word again - need.

Yes, it was going to be rough, but it had to be done.