The Story that Saved Her

She didn’t understand the power of what she was doing as she was doing it. She just knew she had to write it down. He couldn’t articulate it to the doctors and she wanted to make sure they knew every last detail. She wanted him to remember. Her optimism made her believe that he would use this experience to conquer his demons, so she wrote it down. It gave her hope that he would survive.

Eventually, the little black book became worn just like her hope. It had disappeared from her life and so did he. It was lost in the chaos and rubble and left to be forgotten.

After a year and a half of her wondering and worrying, there he stood. Black eyes, no coat, belligerent and manic. He was crossing the street at the junction she passed everyday talking quickly. He had that familiar unstable smile he’d wear when replying to the voice in his head.

What was it telling him this time? Are those yesterdays black eyes? Where is he going? Her mind was racing.

Before turning her car around, she thought Is this a test? As if giving into the impulse to help him was failing all the work she had done so far. No, she talked back, he needs help. She turned her car around and headed towards the street he was walking down. She saw his shoulders first, perfectly parallel with the ground, then those same old jeans, and dress shoes. Not proper footwear for snow.

It felt all too natural. Her car pulled up beside him, but his gaze was locked ahead. She lightly pressed the car horn to grab his attention, and as his eyes met hers they didn’t change like eyes do when you see someone you know. Bewildered, she rolled down her window and called his name once, and then again. He turned his head sharply, and his face was suddenly very different. It wasn’t him at all. The stranger she now saw continued on his way and she sat there in disbelief, heart pounding.

Despite it being a year and a half of seeing him, she still carried the pain of seeing his black eyes and how he got them. She still feared for his well being. The boiling panic in her chest still happens once in a while, and she would spiral and pray he was safe. Unknown Callers and Private Numbers triggered that familiar codependent fear that he needed her, or that he disappeared and was gone for good.

It was real, but it isn’t real anymore, she thought. Even though it feels like it is. It is a story now. It’s a chapter but, just a chapter. As she thought this, she remembered, she had written it all down. Every detail of his story sealed in her little black notebook.

As she walked into her apartment she noticed how much of her life hadn’t changed since she left him. It was still chaotic, although it was much calmer. The sun exposed this as she approached her living room, as if her life was on display at a museum. An unfortunate exhibit. The sun's rays reached half finished projects, piles of clothes and dishes, pictures she had yet to hang. As her eyes trailed across the room, they landed on her bookshelf and she saw the spine of something distantly familiar. There it was, that little black book, the one she thought would save him.

As her hand reached for it a feeling came over her. Despite the events this afternoon, she felt that same pull of optimism that got her up most mornings when she was with him. Her index finger hooked under the elastic band holding the notebook shut, she slowly ran her finger down it pulling the book opening. Her eyes began to scan the pages, and she was brought back to two years earlier.

She woke up to sobbing. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. She wrapped herself around his broad shoulders, his chest damp, as he inhaled gasps of air. He was a big man, but when he was like this, she felt like she was a rip tide tucking him into her chest.

“My head hurts, baby”. That’s what he would say when she would ask him to tell her what was wrong. He wasn’t referring to the many times his fist had turned his face purple. He was having intrusive thoughts. He was very private about them. Most nights he left her in their room to get high, so he could pass out and get an hour or two free of consciousness.

At first, they were nightmares. He couldn’t sleep because of these painful invasive dreams he would have. She knew very little about them. Eventually the nightmares weren’t contained by night. They invaded his waking thoughts, and eventually completely clouded his vision.

She would place ice in his hands and would tell him to repeat after her. Referencing her notebook and what the doctor suggested she would ask “what are 5 things right in front of you?”. Trying to alert the senses and distract him from his recurring red herring.

This continued for months, until he became depleted of the urge to keep fighting and she begged him to get help. It all happened very quickly. As she was saying goodbye to him she realized he wouldn’t remember their farewell, she needed to write it down in her notebook so he would remember and took a picture of him too, so she wouldn’t forget. He was unrecognizable.

She spent the first night without him dressed in his clothes, with swollen eyes and an aching chest. Only hours ago she had said goodbye. She kissed him and held him one last time, but the Xanax and alcohol prevented him from being in the reality of that moment.

She didn’t know if she slept but she opened her eyes to her phone ringing. It was 6am. Her phone read Private Caller. That familiar boiling panic pierced her chest. “Hello?,” she answered quickly. “He’s gone,” the voice on the other line said.

She knew this day would come. She had played it through her head many times. She had his baby picture in her little black notebook, and would pray for him every single morning. She wasn’t close to religion but prayer was all she had left.

“He has ran away, we don’t know where he is, the RCMP are looking for him”. The voice kept talking. It was -25˚Celsius. She imagined him waking up in an unfamiliar place not remembering the hours leading up to then. Panicking. Running.

She thought he was finally safe. “Please find him,” she begged to the voice, heart and hope sinking. Please be safe, she thought, please. She found his picture in between the pages of her notebook and held it tightly between her pressed hands. All she could do now was wait.

The sun was now fading in her living room, closing her eyes and exhaling these memories from her mind, she closed her notebook. Realizing now, this wasn’t meant to save him, but it was meant to save her. Despite living her new life away from him she hadn’t actively tended to the wounds the words in this notebook had left on her heart and on her mind, this had been proven earlier this afternoon. She needed to begin letting it go. The notebook stashed away on her bookshelf, forgotten, was symbolic for what she did to her pain.

She opened the notebook to a fresh page and wrote today’s date and could feel that familiar optimism burn inside her chest, hope.

It has been one year since her chaos to calm transformation began. Her old, reliable, notebook sat in front of her, as did a room of 100’s of people. She did not know the power the words in this notebook would have on her life and on the lives of others. She had began to share her experience and unexpectedly was rewarded with a 6 figure business that healed her and supported others.

Once she dusted her pain off the shelf she watched her life transform. With every word she released from her notebook, she gained success. Healing was her intention, not money, but it was the manifestation of all the love and healing she had given herself. It represented the hope, the burning optimism in her chest, that she could not smoother now. She rested her hand on her little black book, rubbing its smooth surface, as if to say thank you.