The Path to Redemption

This is not an article; it's a contingency plan. Tomorrow morning, I embark on a journey to begin the next chapter of my story. Of that much, I am absolutely certain. Today is the last day of this era of my life, no matter what comes of tomorrow. This is a bittersweet realization, and one I couldn't bear to carry all alone, but the loneliness is part of what is ending, and writing this will help.

ALIVE, or Alternatives to Living in Violent Environments, is a domestic violence survivorship program that helps people in violent or unstable relationships escape and restart life elsewhere without the specter of their abuser hanging overhead. They are my Plan A, but I need a Plan B in case my pending bankruptcy renders me ineligible for their aid due to the potential of address disclosure. I won't risk others' safety to secure my own sense of peace of mind and body.

To that end, I have revised my previously devised B-Plan into a path to redemption for us both, as individuals and as an entity. You're going to tell me how you'll do whatever it takes to make this work, but I'm going to make you prove it. It's the only way to fix what we broke—my psyche, my trust—but it's going to, temporarily, drive you crazier than usual, and it may break you forever, according to you.

You asked me what I wanted for our ten-year anniversary and my birthday? It's my sanity back. You are the only one able to give it to me, but it's going to cost you yours for two weeks. That much I'll give you. You won't walk this off, but you can do it if you want your face off my trigger without driving us further in the ground with another fortnight in the hospital. It will hurt you, but not more than the months of hurt I've endured to avoid it.

It's the only way to rewire the circuit and make me feel safe again. You said you want our next ten years to look different than the first ten. You asked me for a clean slate. You wanted me to talk about you like I talk about him, so follow when I tell you how to make that happen. This is your last and only chance and I will give you the keys to the kingdom if you just follow my lead.

This has a clock on it. It can't happen too far out or we lose the buffer, the circumstances expire, and the risks outweigh the rewards. It stops being a path to redemption and starts becoming a liability with too many variables. There is likely some wiggle room in the final timeline to allow for preparations (like extra dashing) and to account for the holidays because I'm neither a narcissist nor a psychopath, but it isn't entirely up to me and there is a reason I plan on working with ALIVE.

I need two weeks of peace. Not an indeterminate time, exactly two weeks. Two weeks without the performance, and you still choose me. Two weeks of absolute trust. Or I can go to Florida, solo, permanently. Either way, I get chosen by someone despite dropping the performance, but in the latter case I choose myself. I won't be able to rewire the circuit that is making me feel unsafe without the gesture, so there is no point in beating a dead horse. Staying will become a detriment to my mental health at that point, and I have a responsibility to our kid to stay alive.

You don't want me to air that bit of laundry here, but the circuit needs rewiring to stop my face from being numb. I finally figured it out, and I need a safe space to stay while I simply don't see or hear you. Space, like I said from the beginning. Listening, like I mentioned earlier. Doing the things I tell you I need, rather than what you think you would need if you were me. Please, one last miracle, and we can put it all behind us forever and move on with you where we both want you: in my life. Clean slate, hero worship, and all.