I’d love to save the world

[ahyd luhv too seyv th uh wurld]: This was used in the trailer for Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. Matt Stone and Trey Parker then used it in the trailer for Team America World Police to lampoon the “Fahrenheit” preview.

I always imagined that this song would be played at my funeral. It’s dark text about everything wrong in the world and how I would love to change everything around me, but that I would not know what to do.

I have always dreamt of dying in a dramatic way, some kind of tragedy that would have everyone wondering “why?”, but I never thought in my life that I would be lying there looking at the eyes of someone that was filled with rage with their hands around my neck.

Have you ever seen the look of rage in front of you? Not just in front of you by someone you have no personal relationship (like work), but someone you know? Someone leaning over your body.

Their eyes turn black. You see nothing there. Your life does not flash by as you lie there. The only thing that ran through my head was:

“Now I am just going to be a statistic”

That was what I thought about when I thought my world was ending. “Now I am just going to be a statistic”

“How on Earth did I end up here?” nope.

“I am going to miss my family” nada.

Just one thing could come to my head as he with rage in his eyes started to strangle me. I thought about death rates among victims of domestic violence.

It started simple enough. After moving from Japan to Texas, I was thrown into a different world. I used to have my own room in Japan, my own space. My TV, my books, my bed and my reclining chair I inherited from someone that left before me.

Besides the one time a mouse ended up in my room, I was happy.  (don’t even get me started on how disgusting that was when the Japanese man laid out glue paper when I went to work and I found a mouse with its’ skin ripped off. He thought it was funny as he held it up to show me, and I ran down the corridor screaming. Needless to say, I do not like mice now.)

When I moved to Texas I had a roommate. Her name was Glenda Shepard (we use last names in the military so be warned everyone but my ex-husband will be called by their last names.) Shepard used to have sayings like:

“I wonder if white girls can fly off the balcony?”

And she cooked eggs in a microwave (really? Eggs in a microwave?). That is what got on my nerves. That and that she kept having sex with Evans roommate Jones all the time in my room.

I had nowhere else to go, but up to Evan. He was always drunk and smoking cigarettes. But he had a magical charisma about him. He used to tell me:

“If you are mean to people, they only want me to like them, and do anything to try and be my friend.”

Little did he know he was doing Neuro-linguistic programming, which works as almost a hypnotic business tactic to sell or even lead people into doing what you want them to do without them even realizing it.

He had a natural gift for it, and I who was an admirer, but always was too nice to be able to pull it off, watched him in marvel.

I can never say I was in love with him, but I loved him for his abilities with people.

We started dating (having sex) and I changed roommates, but still kept him in my life. I eventually found out that why we were together he had sex with my new roommate. Something that hurt me, but I did not care. He was Evan. I admired him.

He would tell me I was awful at my job, and I started to fall for his tricks. He told me he was better than me and I believed it.

When we decided to move in together, he wanted a place to drink in peace and quiet, and I wanted to be alone. It seemed like the perfect solution.

Our boss that was extreme Catholic did not think so. “To be living together, you have to be engaged.”

So we lied. We lied about it to get the apartment security deposit cheaper. We played it out as much as we could.

Evan used to force me to have sex with him. He would tell me that he had needs. That it was how it was.

So you would see me leaned over a couch reading the newspaper, or watching a television program. He did not care, his needs were filled.

On the outside, we were the ideal couple. Me the up and coming soldier and him everyone’s favourite. When people thought of a couple that could balance career and being together, they thought of us.

Then one day after a company picnic, we find a note on the door that read:

“If you are not married, we would like a full security deposit for two people.”

We did the math, it was cheaper to get married. So we got in my truck and went to city hall. Him in Addidas shorts and me in jean shorts and flip flops, got married. I paid for some wedding bands and we ate frozen pizza that evening. It was probably the most sterile wedding day ever.

The company picnic was a lot more fun.

After we got married things got worse.

Holes got punched into walls. I would find him passed out on the floor surrounded by 24 beer cans and an ashtray full of cigarettes.

And I got promoted. He was pissed.

“You sucked cock for your promotion” he would tell me.

It did not help things that I discovered an early online version of chatrooms that made me understand my sexuality.

First, it was fun for him, because he was hoping for a threesome. When he discovered that he was not invited that made things worse.

I fell apart.

He got more and more violent. The forcing me to have sex with him became more brutal, and the hitting and yelling got more and more intensive.

We had a friend that was a local policeman. I tried to talk to him.

“What happened to the wall?” he would ask.

But Evan always had a response for everything.

I went to my boss and tried telling him, but he would answer “but you are such a good couple together, you are overreacting”

I went to my family, but instead of driving over and getting me out of the whole situation, they left me there. (I remember countless conversations with my mother on a payphone begging for help).

Then one day…I was lying on the couch when he jumped in front of me and put his hands around my neck.  He said something as his eyes were black and filled with rage, but the only thing I heard in my head was;

“I am going to be a statistic” “I am going to be a statistic” over and over again.

I signed up to go to Germany for more than one reason, but one of the biggest ones was him.

A few months after I had been there, he called me to apologise while he was in Bosnia. I guess seeing what a country looks like after a war changes your perception on life (I can relate, been there done the Bosnia thing).

He said that he heard I was not doing so well, that he wanted to see if I was ok.

I can’t say I forgave him, but it made it easier to put it behind me.

The last time I ever heard from me he called me in Sweden and asked me:

“Have they contacted you about where I am?”

“Who?”

“The Army. I ran away. You know you can go to jail for that.”

It just showed me what a coward he is, and that somethings I would love to change the world, the mistakes I made, but sometimes in the past, I just didn’t know what to do.

 

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