I love my memories of my mom sewing our costumes. And I love trick-or-treaters knocking on the doors of places I've lived. I went through a phase in high school where I pretended to dislike this holiday, but still not-so-secretly enjoyed staying home and giving out the treats to the kids knocking on our door. I went through a phase in college where this holiday genuinely struck fear into my heart. Hampshire Halloween is legend - wait for it - dary. It actually has gotten quite tame but when I was there there were some old-school staff who remembered the days of "Trip or Treat" where the open campus attracted a lot of outsiders, drugs, and parties fueled by acid and kegs. As Hampshire's answer to RA's (more responsibility and less power than RA's in regular dorms) I was typically working from noon until 3 or 4 the next morning on different shifts: setting up drug-free activities, running drug-free activities, patrolling the dorm, patrolling outside the dorm, and seeing a LOT of naked, drunk people. I mean a lot. We weren't allowed to be in costumes, so I sort of fell out of the habit of costumes somewhere between high school and college. It took a major push to put me in a costume for Halloween in grad school and it only happened once (And it was an incredibly offensive inside joke. Ahem.) .
So, when I started working, I had hoped to retire costuming and just be the cool lady who handed out treats and stayed HOME watching scary movies. I have struggled, of course, on what to give out. I don't want candy in my house, and I don't really want to infect neighbor kids with corn syrup if I can help it, yet, you can't give out apples because most parents don't trust that, and with good reason. I gave out toys one year. I gave out water bottles another year, but of course I worried about being the "uncool" neighbor. Life has been easier in this condo because I don't get trick-or-treaters. Most people living in this development are young professionals. There are a few young families but I've learned they take their children to one of the local Halloween parties rather than trick or treating. So, for the past two years, I've made Halloween bags for the children in my building. This year they each got a toy (bug, mummy, etc.) or glow stick, a spider ring, a package of cheese crackers, a bag of organic animal crackers, and a water bottle. I know, so very Boulder-hippie-progressive of me.
As I was putting those together and delivering them yesterday, I was remembering how different things were three years ago. Three years ago I came home on Halloween afternoon devastated. I called my mom and best friend and left them messages updating them to tell them I was fine but not ok, and that I needed to be alone. I turned my lights off and prepared to drink a lot of vodka, and pass out ASAP and be left alone all weekend. In the end, drinking alone didn't appeal to me. I watched scary movies on my computer and pulled all the shades. It didn't occur to me until the next week that no one had come knocking so I must not have had trick-or-treaters. I was that emotionally absorbed.
See, I had arrived here only four months before. I came for my fiance, and my company created this position for me (though it has worked out very much to their advantage as well, so at least I don't have to feel guilty about THAT). About 2 months after my arrival, my dad, who had been sick, got much more ill very suddenly. My father didn't quite tell me what was going on, but between my mom having seen him in the hospital and being so, so quiet, and my aunt sharing news from the doctor, and my dad saying, "Well, I guess you should do something soon," in response to me asking if I needed to come home (sidenote: why everyone refers to Connecticut as my "home" is a mystery since I have not had residence there for as long as I DID have residence there . . . ) I decided to hop a plane with some black clothes. Sadly, I was right and I needed those clothes. I also needed the 10 days before he passed, and a couple of weeks after in order to clean out his house. All told, I was gone for more than 3 weeks. It was a long, hot, grueling, emotional, complicated 3.5 weeks where a lot of things happened that were just as difficult as my father's death.
It took a lot of fast foot work to make this trip happen, and a lot of financial maneuvering, but when I left I had a temporary apartment with my fiance, a security deposit on the condo we were jonesing for, bills paid, the move into the condo planned and paid for (even though I couldn't be there), and a relationship to come back to.
When I came back, well, things were subtly different. The condo was (and IS!) great, but the person I left in it . . . well, a lot of things happened to be sure, but let's just say that somehow he felt that my dad dying was about his feelings, not mine. I was shocked by his decision to not be part of anything that I needed, and frankly, I was exhausted from all of the family drama I had just flown back from. I had only enough fight in me to yell once, and throw one watermelon (yes that happened). It didn't quite sink in for me that the moment I needed something from the relationship he left. I had enough presence to say some really biting things and to insist that he take his things right away. I had scant threads of self-respect but just enough knitted together to insist that he pay me back for the money I had spent supporting him while on unpaid family medical leave. And then, nothing. Everything is a blur of unhappiness and trying to explain how this happened to various people. I put one foot in front of the other, I got up and worked, but my heart wasn't in anything. I was double-grieving and it sucked up all my heart and soul.
So, a few weeks later when he asked to meet me for pizza and then said he was getting counseling and wanted to start couples counseling with me, it seemed like a good thing. I took it as him taking steps to sort himself out, to try and make things better, to not give up on us. We had our first session which was really good and helpful, and I loved the therapist. We had a complicated time making our second appointment, and decided the only day that worked for all three of us was Halloween.
Do you see where this is going? I didn't.
In between the first and second session we had some things we were supposed to work on separately and together. And we had agreed on a couple of phone calls and a chance to get together in person. When he called, he immediately was stand-off-ish and had excuses why he needed to change that schedule. When I expressed my concern about that he hung up on me unceremoniously. After that, he wouldn't answer any texts, calls, or emails. I did let him know that barring hearing anything from him, I would plan to see him in therapy.
I had talked with my best, best friend about not wanting to show up after all of this. He said," It may not turn out well. But you have to go. Not only did you say you would be there, but if you don't go, you'll always not only wonder if things could've been different . . . I know you. You also need to know you did what you could. All you could. You need to be able to like yourself for that. "
So, Halloween arrived, and I took two hours off from work to get over there, and have time for the session and to drive back. I showed up 10 minutes early, and proceeded to sit in the waiting room for 25 minutes. It was the most humiliating 25 minutes of my life. I kept breathing, shaking, and checking my phone for the time . . . or any messages. It slowly dawned on me that he wasn't coming. It took me about 15 of the 25 minutes to really convince myself that not only was he not coming, but apparently didn't consider spending the 13 seconds it would've taken to text or email me so that I didn't leave work for this. Then it took me another 5 minutes to understand that the therapist didn't seem to be looking for me or him. And 5 minutes after that it occurred to me that nobody at the front desk was calling either of our names. This is how strongly I see and believe in the best in people. It took me 25 minutes of sitting in an empty waiting room before the horrible truth rolled over me.
Like I said, humiliating. Devastating. I felt so . . . used. Discarded. And so dumb. And honestly like the biggest asshole in the western hemisphere for making such a giant deal out of this thing that he so clearly thought nothing of.
I finally talked to the front desk, and the therapist, and found that my beloved (heh) had canceled the appointment four days before. Wow. So, I was stick-a-fork-in-me-DONE. I just couldn't fathom that this was the person who supposedly loved me so much just a couple of months before. I couldn't believe that I had done all I was asked to do and more, only to get this in return. I was absolutely floored that I had worked so hard to make it emotionally ok for me to show up to this session after being shunned, only to find that . . . he didn't care at all. Later is was clear that it was to his advantage to suggest free counseling and then run away from it because it delayed him having to write a check to me. But at the time, nothing occurred to me other than that he respected and cared for me so little after years of having my support (in a lot of different forms) and understanding and love that he would let me show up knowing he wouldn't bet there.
So, I drove home, sans candy but full of shock and profound numbness. I called a couple of people to say, "I'm not ok but I'm fine. He didn't show up." and I went to bed. At 3 in the afternoon.
All of a sudden today I remembered that this was my three-year anniversary of getting out of that relationship. What he did was shocking and hurtful, but in the end, I am so grateful I didn't marry him, or worse, have kids with him. I am grateful that I got OUT. I'm thankful, so thankful that I moved on. I never would have known how bad things were, and how needy and demanding he was if I stayed inside that environment, but from the outside, it is clear there was no room for me to take a deep breath, much less have a life or need things. So, even when I am struggling now, even when finding the time to work out is hard, when figuring out what to eat is effort, when my brain is consumed by new ways to walk, even then, I am grateful. I was sad, and lonely, and challenged by that break-up, but my life is truly better for it. I get to be MYSELF and figure out who that is now. there is room for me. sometimes I wonder if all this room will make it hard to have a lasting relationship with someone else, but I'm not sorry I get to be me. So, corn syrup or not, this is a day to celebrate and remember.
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