My First Love Saved Me Twice

As a 10 year old who was raised in an abusive home, I never comprehended what “normal” meant. For me, normal was drunken parents who argued loudly, and the never ending fear of my Father sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night, while my Mother slept off her drunken stupor.

Our house was always filthy, and my older brother and sister were rarely home to care for me, or help me with chores. They were 5 and 6 years my senior, and by the time I was 10, they stayed out of the house as often as they could. I never blamed them for leaving, yet I remember being extremely lonely and scared of being left to my own devices, with our parents.

Because our parents were rarely home, by the time I was 8, I knew how to cook, clean, do my homework and put myself to bed. We lived in a small town, and in the late 70’s there was no such thing as locking doors, or calling Children’s Services when a child was left alone. As much as it was an easier time for many families, for me, it was hell. I had a few friends that I could visit if I snuck out, but I always had to make sure that my parents could find me. Typically I would get the call from the local bar at around 7 PM, to start something for supper. The drunken parent, on the noisy other end of the phone, would tell me what to make.

Most mornings, I would wake up to find the meal I prepared, congealed and cold, still in the pots from the night before, on the stove. At this point in my childhood, I had matured into the parent role, yet still had the tortured innocence of a lonely kid.

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Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

When Love Walked into My Life

I had no idea, when Michael came to live with us, that he was such a kind hearted boy. He was 5 years older than me, and was a friend of my brother’s.

Michael had left his home, as his abusive Dad had kicked him out, yet again. The 15 year old kid had nowhere to go, so my brother invited him to stay with us until he could find a better option.

My brother’s friends came and went, and I had seen Michael at our house before, but never with a packed bag of clothing. Typically I hid in my bedroom when the “teenagers” were over. They scared me. I was bullied by a few of the local teens, and spent my childhood watching over my back constantly, and running often.

But, Michael was different.

It was on a Saturday afternoon, while my parents had driven into town to buy groceries, when I saw Michael in a new light. I was home alone, and was quietly reading, when there was a soft knock on the front door.

When I saw through the window that it was Michael, I wondered why he knocked, when he was basically another resident in our strange household. I answered the door and giggled at him for being so ridiculously polite. Politeness was not a quality in our family.

Embarrassed by the mess in the kitchen upstairs, and nervous of being alone with my brother’s buddy, I awkwardly sat on the top step of the bi-leveled house. The kitchen was 9 steps up, then there was a landing, and the basement was 9 steps down. I chose to sit at the top, near the kitchen, with my book in my hands. I hoped he would just go downstairs to the bedroom he and my brother shared.

Instead, he joined me on my step. I felt my ears turn red, and my hands shake. I tightly clutched my book in my sweaty palms. He was a scary teenager.

Michael started talking softly. He stared straight ahead, while he told me about his Father and how he had been locked out of the house. During his chatter, he explained how he was adopted and that his dad was an alcoholic who slapped him around. He couldn’t stand his life at home, even though his Mother was nice to him. She worked long hours, usually in the evenings, so she never witnessed much of his dad’s abuse.

My young heart broke with empathy and understanding for this shy, handsome guy. For the first time, I saw how blue his eyes were and how he blushed slightly when his eyes met mine. I was far too young to understand the nervous butterflies in my tummy, but mature enough to know that it was a deep connection to this young man.

He slid his hand into mine, and neither of us said a word. Our silent understanding never needed to be spoken. We simply sat there, with his thumb sliding back and forth across the outer edge of my childish hand, until my parents and brother returned home.

That was an afternoon I never forgot. It was the start of a few months of hidden handholding and quiet talks about our abusive homes. No one in the house knew that Michael and I had a secret crush and strange understanding.

Michael disappeared from my world a few months later.

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Photo by Sergey Zolkin on Unsplash

Michael’s Return

Life has a strange way of coming full circle, especially when the hands of fate are intertwined.

My life took another traumatic turn, once I was in my teenage years. My first real boyfriend was another abuser. He was physically psychotic, while his charismatic charm and similar appearances to Tom Cruise, skated him through life. No matter what he did to people, he was either easily forgiven or feared.

During my time with him, I thought about Michael often, even asking his Mother about his whereabouts. She worked at the Legion in our small town, and everyone knew her. She told me that Michael had joined the Military. Hearing those words made my heart sink, even though I was proud of him for being so damn brave.

After a few terrifying years with the boyfriend, I found kindness and love in a man of 21. I was 17 at the time, and had spent my life as a wounded bird, terrified of my own shadow. It seemed everyone wanted to hurt me, and I wanted to be in a trusting, loving relationship.

At 19, I was married, with plans of traveling, having many children, and being a wife for the rest of my life. During the late 80’s it seemed like this was every woman’s fantasy. We didn’t have money, but my husband was kind and a hard worker. We set up a tiny quiet life, living in the Yukon territories for awhile, British Columbia, and finally back to Alberta.

We had a baby girl in 1993, and I hid her away from my abusive family. My life was a continual battle, looking for justice, closure and unconditional love. I toughened up, learned to be independent, and fought for what I believed in. Being a mom made me strong and resilient.

Yet, during all of my years, married and a Mommy, I never forgot about Michael. Thoughts of him came and went, randomly, and I hoped he was okay. I worried when 9-11 happened, knowing he was in the military and not knowing where he was.

As soon as Facebook became available, he was the first person I searched, and found. Images in his profile showed me that he was the Dad of a son and a daughter, and he was married. He looked so grown up and dashing in his wedding photos, wearing his military uniform. His sweet face hadn’t changed, and my heart jumped when I looked at his blue eyes. I was relieved he was alive and well.

We exchanged a couple brief greetings in the message box, and I returned back to life. I felt such comfort knowing that I had found him, even if we never actually spoke. He was at least back in my world, even if we had become strangers.

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Photo by Justaf Abduh on Unsplash

February 2019

In 2009, my marriage crumbled. It was truly neither of our fault, yet both of us were not without blame. We had simply grown apart, and for some strange reason, we both understood that our time together, aside from sharing our daughter, had come to an end. My daughter and I moved out on our own, when she was 17.

I had found a new partnership with a man ,who I felt had my best interest at heart. We met in a bar in 2010. In 2019, I had been with him for over 9 years. I knew he was a controlling narcissist, but I had been through much worse, and had settled into a life where I was neither happy, or unhappy. I just survived.

I also knew that he, as my common law spouse, had cheated on me, and was unkind to me. We seemed to share a mutual disrespect and distrust for one another, and I succumbed to it. Again, having gone through so much worse, I sucked it up, and as much as I wanted to leave, I had resigned to the life I had. Who would want a 49 year old woman with a shady past, and the baggage of a narcissist? It was simply easier to stay, than to find my way out. It wasn’t all bad. We traveled, and had friends, and lived in a lovely house.

I never felt like a victim. I simply knew that in order to maintain my life in the circumstances I was under, I just had to put up with not feeling secure or truly loved. I felt like if I didn’t love the narcissist, in spite of his shortcomings and behaviors, no one else would. I told myself I was doing him a favor by sacrificing my own value. This helped me sleep at night. It wasn’t a horrible life. It just wasn’t healthy.

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On a chilly February 2019 afternoon, I was scrolling through my phone, lazily on the couch. My partner was watching another annoying trucking show, loudly telling me how the drivers had no idea what they were doing, over and over again.

Out of the blue, I saw a message come across my screen that read, “Hey pretty lady”. I did a double take when I saw it was from Michael. I assumed his profile had been compromised, and ignored it, at first.

Curiosity got the worst of me, and I sent him a short reply, asking if he was being hacked. His response was immediate, with a, ”No. How’ve you been?”

The man on the couch beside me nosily asked, “Who are you chatting with?”

My nervous, yet guarded, reply was that it was an old friend of my brother’s and I brushed it off as trivial. My heart said otherwise, but I was skilled at hiding emotions from the narcissist.

Over the following weeks, Michael and I messaged, spoke on the phone, and greeted each other with good mornings and goodnights. It was as if he had never left me, and I felt myself falling into an addiction to him, before I ever saw his aged face. I found myself distracted, hourly, waiting to hear how his day was, and to hear his voice on the phone.

Through texts, we shared everything- our feelings in our current situations, our pasts, our hopes, and our dreams. I never felt guilt, as Michael was once a huge piece of my world, if only for a few months, and I welcomed him back, even if it was only virtually. Both of us were too shy to video chat with one another-both having deep insecurities and past trauma. We understood each other, without understanding why. He told me that he regretted leaving me behind, when he left at 16. I told him that he didn’t need to worry, we both needed to do what we had to, to survive. We both knew that a 10/11 year old and a 15/16 year old could never have been together, back in those days.

The next month Michael made the leap, allowing his insecurities to surrender for once, and booked a trip from his home in Ontario, to come to visit me in Alberta.

I was a wreck with nervousness, fear, anxiety and excitement, ripping the very fibers of my soul apart. I could not wait to see him. I was terrified that my 49 year old face and body would scare him off, yet deeply, I knew better. I had a sense of knowing that seeing him would be a life altering decision, and I told him as much.

I met him at the airport and drove him to his hotel. As we drove, the familiar hand slipped into mine and his thumb caressed the outer edge of my hand.

I have never felt so safe, understood, and loved in my life.

We are marrying on October 21, 2021. I will forever be grateful that my first and final love saved me when I needed someone. I saved him as well. We have both been survivors through our lives up until now. Now, we are both enjoying a quiet, modest, life of laughter, unconditional love, and endless talks. His hand in mine still makes my heart race, and we still blush when our eyes meet.

He is my best friend. He is the person I need. He is my soul’s perfect mate.

I am blessed that he has re-entered my life, for good this time.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

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This post was previously published on Medium.

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