I’m very focused towards Halloween at the moment; it’s always such a big deal for us and now it’s our wedding anniversary too. But it’s made me realise that the end of the year has already crept up on us. It’ll be my birthday soon, the big 3-0, and I’m so stressed about doing something adequate enough for it that I’ve left it in Will’s hands because I can’t cope with the possibility of organising something bad.
Then it will be Christmas again, and the new year. 2020.
The thing is, it’s a year I was never meant to see. I wasn’t meant to see 2019, either. So it’s brought a lot of things up again for me. And now I’m kind of sluggish and sad.
Even thinking about it all 9 months later, I’m not sure how things went so dark so quickly, how I lost so much because I let somebody tell me about things. And I can’t help remembering that, even half-dead, I held so little value for anybody that nothing improved for my husband. People kept being weird and snide to him and not inviting him to things. I almost died to prevent it but they did it anyway.
I thought my life finally looked so bright. I was finally marrying Will. He finally invited a group of people actually over to the inside of our house. I was leaving the house and seeing films and talking to people. For a short time.
There was someone, though, whose appearance marked a very sharp decline in my well-being. I never met them at all before my own wedding. I don’t know why Will wanted them to come, someone I didn’t know at all and that, in retrospect, he had no idea about either.
Because very suddenly it was “[He] wants to hurt you and Will for being Jewish.” “[He]’s going to goad you for being a Jew.” “Don’t talk about Jewish stuff in front of [him].” Someone came to my house and sat on my sofa and said that to our faces. I told Will I didn’t want him being alone with the person in question anymore.
This person told their own friends that they wanted to hurt us for being Jews. We were told about it, and things, after the fact. But, and here’s the important part, I never approached the person about it. Or about literally anything. We never spoke.
They must have realised that I knew, though, because suddenly I was hearing that I’d said this, that, and the other, and I directly saw a message sent to someone about me saying I “owed them an apology” for saying something horrible to them, although nobody would tell me what that apparently was.
And everyone, despite the fact that they must logically know what the person originally said about Will and me to them, started acting totally differently towards us. I saw my husband’s social life fall apart, because someone said something about me and then I was told about it.
Someone I thought I got along with started being nasty, and also apparently said some pretty grim stuff.
It was just such a strangely painful thing. There was really nothing I could do. Even if I stopped believing in God, I can’t stop being a Jew. It’s in my cells and my blood and in every breath I ever took. Yehudi.
I knew that Will was happy for years in Andover before his friends met me. Something happened upon one of them finally meeting me and it was the catalyst for everything going to shit. I wanted to take myself out of the equation so Will’s life could go back to normal. If you’ve been a reader for long enough then you probably remember that I took 4x the amount of Paracetamol required to kill a person and I almost lost 3 organs. I don’t want to rehash all of that stuff because it’s awful and I still feel a bit ill when I think about the drip I was on.
It was hell on earth and there were times I thought I was dead and stuck in that bed forever in some sort of weird afterlife. I don’t know why God didn’t let me go. I don’t know why I didn’t die. I’m not sure what I’m meant to be here to do.
Of course, this situation is still completely unresolved and people are still shitty towards my husband. He tries to maintain friendships but I can tell that some people don’t value him. It’s sad and awful and it’s all because I’m a kike, whatever the hell I’m meant to do about that.
I can’t look back fondly at our own wedding because I remember the person who was there who suddenly wrecked everything in the subsequent weeks. I can’t feel festive about my birthday or Christmas or New Years. Everything was taken. I’m just going to sit there remembering how badly I wanted out of life a year earlier. That sheer fucking pain and despair.
One of the paramedics, after putting me into a bay in A&E, said “One day this will just be a memory.”
Well, he’s right, it’s a memory nearly a year on, I lived. But I’m still not doing any better for it. I just don’t know what I’m actually meant to do with the rest of my life.
So what do I want for 2020?
I want to be happy.
I want to spend time with friends that don’t partake in cloak-and-dagger bullshit and have problems with something about me that they can’t say to my face.
I want to go out to places and keep walking my dog.
I want to make progress in life without setting high expectations with a list of things to complete during a year.