When do I say "Enough?"
When are the locks, and alarms, and dogs, and vigilance all that I can do?
Today, as I installed my stop bars in front of my doors, I saw something hit the tile.
It was a tear.
I was crying as I was installing my new, can’t get through my door because of the steel plate in front of it, anti-stalker hardware. I didn’t even realize until the point that the tear hit the floor that I am tired. I’m tired of worrying and looking over my shoulder. I’m tired of leaving the television volume on 2 so I can hear every cricket dragging his ass across a leaf in my yard. I’m tired of the migraine that watching my cameras give to me.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m a prisoner from sundown to sunup. I’m tired of feeling as though I cannot enjoy my awesome front porch with the red wicker set and the bright teal chairs because I don’t know who is in the dark watching me. I don’t know why I’m the one in prison when I’ve done nothing wrong.
I finished drilling into my tile and cleaned up my mess. I took the dogs outside and waved to my neighbors. My gardening coach and pineapple extraordinaire next door, Otto, walked over to see why I looked as though someone had shipped my best friend off to Venezuela.
I explained to him that no matter how prepared I am, no matter how many precautions I take, I just don’t feel as though it’s sufficient. And Otto told me the wisest thing I have heard this year. “Babygirl, it’s been sufficient. This is what you’re doing in the meantime. You can’t focus on removing the real issue, because he’s a coward who won’t face you. You’re a doer, a fixer. This is what you’re focusing on fixing until he shows his rat face around here. You’ll know what to do then”.
I felt better, as talks with Otto often leave me feeling. He was right. If I could have been digging a nice hole in my yard instead of adding to my prison of a home, it would have at least been a change of scenery, but I don’t want to waste a good hole. I’m doing what it is that I do, which is to prepare and prevent. I set up all of my precautionary measures, and I try to prevent myself from going over the edge with my anxiety at the wheel. Putting in the labor behind things makes me feel in control of things I have zero control over.
I don’t know when he’ll be back this way. He could be outside right now. It could be over. I won’t know until I know, and that lack of control is a difficult thing for me to accept. I do know that I’m ready. I don’t need to armor plate the windows.
I’m going to sit on my red wicker sofa and wait. Or if I get tired of that, maybe I’ll start on that hole.