That seems like an odd title to me, but it's how I feel today.
I am very lucky.
I had a messed-up childhood riddled with various forms of abuse and survived.
I walked down the aisle three years ago to a man who worships the ground I walk on - most of the time.
My husband had a cancer scare and I survived.
One sunny morning, I was threatened with a machete to my throat.
Yes, you read that right. I haven't told you that story yet.
Somehow, it doesn't seem important anymore. There's no room for it in this current life.
But if that's true, then why can't I forget it?
Why can I remember every detail, right down to the sneer on his face, and the expression of the police officer when he found the machete?
Why can I remember his exact words as he pressed the machete to my throat?
Why can I still feel the cold steel against my throat?
Why can’t I remember the day I stopped being afraid but can remember that morning?
I don't quake in fear anymore whenever I hear his name. I can see his face now without my heart racing or my stomach churning until I puke. I can keep walking when I see him coming up the street.
For a long time I couldn't.
I went into a panic if he even stepped into the restaurant where I worked or came into the bar where I spent my free time.
The judge said he couldn’t be within 300 feet of me, but 300 feet didn't seem very far.
At least my bosses didn't cave when he tried to force his way in, and they lent me their support. That was lucky. The bouncers at the bar where I worked refused him entry. That was lucky, too.
So why can’t I forget?
It was one moment in my life. ONE MOMENT.
But it could have changed everything.