I love it, I love it not. I love it, I love it not.
That's the kind of relationship I have had with my apartment over the past 4 years. I've mentioned my apartment numerous times and I'm sure I have mentioned it even more than I recall. The thing is that my apartment has played such a significant role.
I moved in here the summer of 2010 with my husband, my 10 month old son, and my two dogs. I found this apartment and ended up choosing this apartment before Dale ever even saw it. We bought our house that way (you had to move quick back in 2004!) and he said he trusted me to do it again with an apartment. Well... he wasn't so happy. He was really upset actually. This apartment was smaller and not in as nice of a condition as the one we were currently living in at the time. However, we had already given notice and we had to find a place. I was the one looking and everything else that I saw in the neighborhood we wanted was smaller and pricier, except this place. It was smaller, but the biggest I had seen and it was significantly less than others in the neighborhood and $350 less than what were were currently paying. And since NYC was not a permanent home, I thought we could make it work for a year, two at the most. It made sense.
So from the very beginning, this place always did feel like mine. I picked it out, I defended it. I love it.
Looking back now, this apartment was one of the many things that was just picking at our relationship. Dale did get over it, as we obviously moved in, but the whole process was awful... the way he made me feel for choosing this place and the actual move itself. We even had issues getting our deposit back from our old landlords, $2000! What they were doing was unfair and I was about a step away from going to court in January of 2011. I dropped the whole issue when Dale accused me of spending more effort trying to get that money back than on him. January. 2011. I didn't know that he was in such a poor state mentally. He hid it well. What I saw was a man who was just not happy with me. Nothing I did was good enough and he was mean to me. Awful actually. I love it not.
This apartment holds the memories of my son's first steps and his first birthday. It also holds the memories of our lasts. Our last times and moments shared as a family. Our last birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Easter, and all of the other day to day memories. Memories of all five of us, dogs included. This was that last place that we all called home together. I love it.
This apartment also holds the worst of the worst. This apartment saw Dale's unraveling. This is the place where he threw his worst at me and I saw his demons. This is the place where he first attempted. This is the place where he attacked me. This is the place where I spent my last night with him, holding his hand as he sobbed and sobbed for what he had done until he fell asleep. All that I knew to do was to reassure him that the person that just choked me was not a monster. I knew he wasn't, but I also knew that I was afraid and had made the decision then to put the life and safety of our son and my own ahead of his. The absolute hardest decision I ever had to make and ever will, especially when you know what the possible outcome could be. A decision no one should ever have to make. This is also the place where during that same time, I think that Dale also decided to put our son's and my own safety and life above his own, in the only way that his unraveled mind knew how. This is the place where 17 days later, I got the call. The call that changed everything. I love it not.
This apartment is the place that allowed me to maintain what little of the life I once had. This was the place that I could afford on my own and allowed me to not disrupt my son's life anymore than it had been already by having to move 3 years ago. This was the place that was so close to work that it made my very difficult life, in those early days, manageable. This is the place where my son and I became this incredible team. This is the place that holds all-that-I-can-remember happy, warm, loving memories with my son as grew from a 20 month year old baby to a five year old little man. This is the place where I somehow battled the pain, grief, confusion, loneliness, and sadness. This is the place where amongst the rubble of a broken life, I found myself. This is the place that helped me to decide that NYC is home, a place and a feeling I hadn't truly experienced in my adult life. I love it.
If these walls could talk, I wonder what they'd say about me. In these past 4 years, these walls absorbed both the very worst and the very best in life and in the human spirit. This apartment... I love it and I hate it all at the same time. Pushing aside all feelings for John, since he is what this move is all about, I don't know if I am happy or sad to be leaving this place. I know that I hadn't yet, on my own. There's a part of me that wishes I could stay here and be happy forever. There is something stagnant and safe in that. Then there's that part of me that wonders why and how I could have stayed here after all that had happened. Perhaps it is your pick. On any given day at any given time, it could be either... I love it. I love it not. But more than likely it's a bit of both at the same time.
That's the kind of relationship I have had with my apartment over the past 4 years. I've mentioned my apartment numerous times and I'm sure I have mentioned it even more than I recall. The thing is that my apartment has played such a significant role.
I moved in here the summer of 2010 with my husband, my 10 month old son, and my two dogs. I found this apartment and ended up choosing this apartment before Dale ever even saw it. We bought our house that way (you had to move quick back in 2004!) and he said he trusted me to do it again with an apartment. Well... he wasn't so happy. He was really upset actually. This apartment was smaller and not in as nice of a condition as the one we were currently living in at the time. However, we had already given notice and we had to find a place. I was the one looking and everything else that I saw in the neighborhood we wanted was smaller and pricier, except this place. It was smaller, but the biggest I had seen and it was significantly less than others in the neighborhood and $350 less than what were were currently paying. And since NYC was not a permanent home, I thought we could make it work for a year, two at the most. It made sense.
So from the very beginning, this place always did feel like mine. I picked it out, I defended it. I love it.
Looking back now, this apartment was one of the many things that was just picking at our relationship. Dale did get over it, as we obviously moved in, but the whole process was awful... the way he made me feel for choosing this place and the actual move itself. We even had issues getting our deposit back from our old landlords, $2000! What they were doing was unfair and I was about a step away from going to court in January of 2011. I dropped the whole issue when Dale accused me of spending more effort trying to get that money back than on him. January. 2011. I didn't know that he was in such a poor state mentally. He hid it well. What I saw was a man who was just not happy with me. Nothing I did was good enough and he was mean to me. Awful actually. I love it not.
This apartment holds the memories of my son's first steps and his first birthday. It also holds the memories of our lasts. Our last times and moments shared as a family. Our last birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Easter, and all of the other day to day memories. Memories of all five of us, dogs included. This was that last place that we all called home together. I love it.
This apartment also holds the worst of the worst. This apartment saw Dale's unraveling. This is the place where he threw his worst at me and I saw his demons. This is the place where he first attempted. This is the place where he attacked me. This is the place where I spent my last night with him, holding his hand as he sobbed and sobbed for what he had done until he fell asleep. All that I knew to do was to reassure him that the person that just choked me was not a monster. I knew he wasn't, but I also knew that I was afraid and had made the decision then to put the life and safety of our son and my own ahead of his. The absolute hardest decision I ever had to make and ever will, especially when you know what the possible outcome could be. A decision no one should ever have to make. This is also the place where during that same time, I think that Dale also decided to put our son's and my own safety and life above his own, in the only way that his unraveled mind knew how. This is the place where 17 days later, I got the call. The call that changed everything. I love it not.
This apartment is the place that allowed me to maintain what little of the life I once had. This was the place that I could afford on my own and allowed me to not disrupt my son's life anymore than it had been already by having to move 3 years ago. This was the place that was so close to work that it made my very difficult life, in those early days, manageable. This is the place where my son and I became this incredible team. This is the place that holds all-that-I-can-remember happy, warm, loving memories with my son as grew from a 20 month year old baby to a five year old little man. This is the place where I somehow battled the pain, grief, confusion, loneliness, and sadness. This is the place where amongst the rubble of a broken life, I found myself. This is the place that helped me to decide that NYC is home, a place and a feeling I hadn't truly experienced in my adult life. I love it.
If these walls could talk, I wonder what they'd say about me. In these past 4 years, these walls absorbed both the very worst and the very best in life and in the human spirit. This apartment... I love it and I hate it all at the same time. Pushing aside all feelings for John, since he is what this move is all about, I don't know if I am happy or sad to be leaving this place. I know that I hadn't yet, on my own. There's a part of me that wishes I could stay here and be happy forever. There is something stagnant and safe in that. Then there's that part of me that wonders why and how I could have stayed here after all that had happened. Perhaps it is your pick. On any given day at any given time, it could be either... I love it. I love it not. But more than likely it's a bit of both at the same time.
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