Not a Blueprint: It's the Shoe Prints That Matter

“I dare you to close one eye!” I screamed. “If you want to see tomorrow, it wouldn’t be wise.” I paced from the living room to the bedroom with a knife in each hand, waiting for his mistress to appear at our door. All through the night, I stared at the door, hoping she’d come. Each time I crept into the bedroom, Craig sprung up like a spring. He yelled, “I ain’t asleep!” No doubt Craig thought he was about to draw his last breath. That whole event was completely mind-boggling. A rush of electrifying combat adrenaline had taken over. It felt like one of those out-of-body experiences. To have had discovered this level of anger inside me was beyond frightening. Having the capacity to kill in the spur of the moment scared me out of my wits. Recognizing this toxic, killer emotion in me and knowing that someone had pushed me to that degree was a rude awakening.  That awareness made me realize the full volatility of our toxic relationship. Remorseful, embarrassed, and ashamed of my actions, my self-esteem had been diminished. It made me feel sick to stoop so low as to want to kill a human being.