We lost our castle
I let a man into our lives. I let him stay a night which turned in to another and another until he told me that the people he was staying with had asked him to leave. I wasn’t ready to live with another man. I offered him a place to stay until he got himself sorted with his own place. How long did it take for that to happen? Two years and how did it eventually happen? I finally put my foot down and refused to live at war in my own home for another minute longer.
The phone rang in the middle of the night. I scrambled to pick it up before it woke Rapunzel. He was on the other end in tears. He’d been at a family engagement, one of many that I had refused to go to as I had learnt they only meant trouble when he put a drink to his lips. He had knocked his sister over while punching his dad and caused a huge scene. A recent rule of ours was that he was not to come home if he had been drinking, so that night he was supposed to be staying at his sister’s. Well, she told him where to go, leaving him homeless on a freezing cold, snow filled street. After a few hours of his emotional turmoil I phoned the council trying to find out where he could go for the night. I wasted another hour or so passing this information on to him through the sobbing tears, the anger, the suicidal thoughts, from it being all my fault, his dad’s fault, his sister’s fault and off course never his fault that he had yet again let that drink near his lips.
I had friends from the area on the phone telling me he was going crazy in the street and the last I heard from him that night was the soothing image he painted for me that he was going to kill himself. I spent the rest of the night jumping at every sound in case he broke the rule and turned up at the door.
Next morning a few restless hours of sleep had passed and I had just returned from dropping Rapunzel off at nursery to find him walking through my door. He had lost his family and I was the only thing he had at that moment. I hugged him tight and covered up the shivering wreck on the couch. Just then the phone rang, I ran through to the bedroom to find that the council were ringing me back in regards to my phone call of the night before. They couldn’t arrange anything through me, they had to speak to him. “Oh great,” I thought, as I shakily walked back through to him. As you can imagine, his reaction wasn’t exactly pleasant though it was clear to him that the council was his last chance. I was not allowing him to stay another night and I certainly wasn’t letting Rapunzel see him in the state he was.
Well he fell out with the council lady and I took the phone back trying to explain to her, nearly pleading with her to take him out of my hands. Why should I be left to deal with him? I explained to her that he had a huge family argument and now had nowhere to go. He needed to be put in to temporary housing and all she really needed to do was book him an appointment! Why do people that work in her position not get training in how to handle vulnerable people? Sitting there in her nice warm office telling him she didn’t believe he was homeless, that he hadn’t been out on the streets last night until God knows what hour. He was and I had the black bags under my eyes from the sleepless night to prove it.
I felt awful, I didn’t want it to be the end for us though at the same time I did. I loved him and couldn’t stand seeing him in such a mess, though I didn’t know how much longer I could stand by his side through all of the chaos. I had to get him to the appointment. It would mean that I had done everything I could for him. It would mean I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about not letting him back in to my home. I could let go.
After a few hours with my insides in knots, getting the full emotional blackmail thrown at me, being told I was his everything, being told how much I hate him and that I was proving that by throwing him out, I managed to get him calm enough to get to the appointment just in time.
That day the council in our area had no available temporary housing, not even homeless night shelter. His only option was to go through to the next area by a set time to have the chance of a homeless shelter for each night until our area could give him a temporary house. The weather at this time was awful and it was nearly impossible to get a bus. Where did he end up? My house of course; and was a pleasant, “thank you,” and a cosy night cuddled up in store? No, it was another night of arguing because I was such a terrible person to make him go to the council helping him get his own house.
He finally got a temporary place in a hostel. We kept trying to make it work, thinking that now we had a little space from each other that the war would ease. Oh how wrong we were. He now has his house and I have lost mine. I am living in a refuge, miles from my family, trying desperately to get a new castle for us to be safe in. Will another man be allowed to enter our castle? Hell no! From now on I demand to be treated right and this time I want to be courted for years with dates and flowers before they even get past the front door, let alone the chance to move in with us.