Please don't leave me

The front door of our home slams shut. I slowly appear in the upstairs hallway to explore the post war damage. I stand still at the top of the stairs carefully peering over to see who and what remains.   

No one in sight. 

I crawl down six steps on all fours like a leopard watching her prey. Before the staircase spirals, I stop and sit alert for any movement or sound, midway down, to stare at the silence, which sat relieved in our living room. I look intently at the off white double doors with gold fixtures tightly shut, almost frowning as if they were fed up too. When is Ma coming back? Fu, Lu, and Shou, the three old Chinese wise men representing good fortune and longevity, stand in front of the doors in porcelain form, staring right back at me. They don't know either. 

At age 10, I didn't know that my normal wasn't normal. Regular family arguments erupted unpredictably. Explosive tempers. Glass plates thrown at walls. Knives pulled as threats to self harm. Striking slaps and physical brawls. Between mom and dad. Between mom and sister. Between brother and brother. Between sister and brother. All combinations were welcomed. All issues were welcomed. All octaves of yelling were welcomed. As a small person, I often sat in a corner of a bedroom or bathroom and listened to the chaos of egos and unresolved wounds manifest downstairs. My mom often left the house abruptly, usually the dramatic outro of a tired song of anger. I was commonly left alone staring at the doors slammed shut in panic wondering when she'd return. 

This underlies my fear of abandonment. Emotionally and physically. 

Please don't leave me. 

This was my echoing mantra in my marriage. It was my desperate plea. It was my gripping hold for safety and security. It was my struggle to be seen and loved. 

They say your partner will either be your wound mate or your healing mate. I was so convinced of his healing abilities, I couldn't see the pain of age old wounds that tore open every time the hurt in his heart left mine abandoned. I couldn't see the injury I caused my own heart every time I deserted myself to seek assurance and love. We were blind to how the pain of our own wounds controlled the ways we treated ourselves and each other. He hid on his own island while I left mine, trying desperately to swim to his. We were oceans apart without knowing.