The Beauty In Rock Bottom

“I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!”

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART. WITH EVERYTHING THAT I HAVE. I SWEAR TO YOU, I FUCKING HAAAAAATE YOU!!”

I yelled through gritted teeth and salty tears, slinging my arms around with balled fists in a dramatic display of hatred.

All of the words, that up until this point, had been unsaid. All the tears left uncried. All the emotions that I had not allowed my heart to feel…OH I felt them now.

It was as if someone had finally lifted the lid off of a pressure cooker.

All of it. Years of it.

What felt like lifetimes of pain, bubbling up to the surface, spilling out of my mouth in the form of the ugliest, most hate-filled rant in the history of hate-filled rants.

Looking back at it now I can’t believe that was me.

But it was.

And at that moment I meant every single word of it.

“I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE!!! I’LL SLEEP IN MY FUCKING CAR BEFORE I SLEEP ONE MORE NIGHT IN THE SAME HOUSE AS YOU”

At this point, my entire closet was cleared out.

Half of it hurriedly thrown in trash bags, hangers laid broken all over the floor due to the rage in which I pulled them off the rack with, the collar of my favorite sweater now stretched beyond repair from me ripping it off the hanger.

As I picked up the first of two packed trash bags and slung it over my shoulder I caught a glimpse of his face. The look in his eyes told me right away that I had pushed too far.

I had pulled the lid off the WHOLE pressure cooker.

This look was not unfamiliar to me. I knew what was coming. Only this time I recognized the fear in his eyes. Even though he was acting out of fear, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“OOOHHHH, YOU HATE ME, DO YOU?!?!?!”

He spat as he yelled. Veins popping out of his forehead as if he were about to Hulk the fuck out. He stormed out of the bedroom, punching the door as he walked out, leaving a fist-sized hole as a trophy. I heard the familiar slurs of “Bitch” this and “Stupid ass slut “that

(We were real good with those type of words)

Then the crash of the 47-inch television that we rarely used as a family anymore, being ripped from the outlet and thrown to the ground.

All I could think about was the same thing I had been dreaming about since we had separated and decided to attempt to live as roommates nine months before that. Just getting the fuck out!!

My heart almost jumped through my throat when I ran into him as I rounded the corner with my shit slung over my shoulder.

THAT look was still there.

I felt like I may vomit as he stood right in front of me, chest to chest, pushing me backward with his body weight with every step he took. Once we were back in that bedroom I felt the all too familiar need to make myself as small as I could and hide.

To shrivel up into a ball and disappear, because I felt so helpless against his rage.

This is the usual moment when Little Stormy would make her appearance.

She would sit back in the corner, knees tucked to her chest, and give his wounded inner little guy center stage. She would sit and allow him to throw a fit. Sit in her fear. Her fear for herself, her fear for him, and her fear that she was starring at what the future may hold for her children.

I allowed little Stormy to take over as I curled up into the seated fetal position in my, now bare, closet floor and watched his outward destruction commence as my own internal destruction worked the same magic.

Pillows and blankets came flying in my direction, before I knew it he was at the foot of the bed that I had not slept in for over a year, the bed that we used to make love in, the bed that our children had once snuck into and found comfort in, the bed that we once shared. At that moment he was throwing the same rage at me that I had thrown at him in the form of dismantling the bedframe as if to show me that it didn’t mean shit to him either.

I saw my chance and stood up to bolt out of the door as he turned to face me. There we stood, face to face. Little Stormy was nowhere to be found. I stared him in the eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks, snot bubbling from my nose;

“You feel like a man?”

“Do you feel like a real big man now?”

“Now that you have destroyed the house, Do you feel better?”

My tone oozing with sarcasm and disgust. My brain told me to stop, but fuck it, if we were doing this, we were doing it big.

“You’re fucking pathetic“

I rolled my eyes and attempted to push past him.

That was it

I had said the magic words.

He grabbed me by my biceps and squeezed. I looked into his eyes and he was no longer there. The broken little boy was no longer throwing his tantrum, the man that could sometimes control his anger was not there, my best friend was nowhere to be found. It was like there was nothing behind those normally ocean blue eyes. Nothing but black skies before a thunderstorm.

I panicked.

I tried as hard as I could to break his hold on my arms.

The harder I tried, the tighter his grip got

He turned me around, never breaking eye contact, and walked me backward through the hall. I squirmed until I was finally able to break loose from his hands and I immediately dropped to the floor with my arms over my head.

I felt my shirt tighten up against my throat as he grabbed the collar of my shirt from the back and began to drag me through the living room toward the front door.

“YOU WANNA LEAVE, BITCH?!?!?! THEN FUCKING LEAVE“

I could feel the fabric of my cotton t-shirt pressing hard into my armpits until I felt nothing anymore. My shirt ripped at the seams, as I lie there, shirtless, braless, hopeless, in a puddle of my own shame and tears on the living room floor at the hands of the man that was once my best friend.

I had never felt so naked in my life.

I had never felt so ashamed.

I had never felt so alone.

Above all, I had never felt so far away from who I was.

I had dug myself a deep dark hole, crawled into it, and allowed the darkness to completely consume me. I was not me anymore.

There seemed to be no trace evidence of the woman I used to be. Only a shell of the woman I dreamed of being, I had no clue who I was, but it defiantly was not this woman. And I was scared SHITLESS because, in that very second, I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I had to be what I was so scared of becoming.

As I lie there, practically dry heaving at this point, from emotional overwhelm at my epiphany and sheer panic for what may happen next, I looked up at him.

Tears flooded his eyes as he looked at his hands, down at me, and back at his hands. That scared little boy was back behind his now watery blue eyes.

And I knew, this moment would forever change our lives.

Both separately and together.

Nothing would ever be the same.

The lotus flower grows from the mud. This beautiful flower grows roots in rock bottom and blooms into what it was always meant to be, a symbol of true strength. This was rock bottom. For both he and I.

I will forever be grateful for rock fucking bottom.