Piecing a household together
I don’t remember a lot of the next month or so. Much of it was a blur of working, unpacking the few boxes (mostly books) of my belongings, and securing the many things I was going to need to exist in my condo.
Yes, I had dishes. And my dog — a new young dog from a friend who bred miniature poodles. Charlie…Charlemagne. My companion. He was an incredibly smart dog — the only one of my books he chewed up, no lie, was: “How to Train Your Poodle.” Uncanny.
Also, my boss from work had kindly thrown me a housewarming party that brought me a lot of really useful things I did not have — kitchen and cooking tools, towels, and all the basics I had not yet acquired.
Then there was furniture. My mother and I visited the local discount store – “Railroad Salvage” — where I managed to pick up a bed, sofa, a couple of lamps, and a few other items – my sparse furniture for the condo.
I had taken along my sofa bed and bookcases from home. A friend of my mother’s gave me her old table set and a very old washer and dryer that still worked. And I went to the local department store to pick up those pressboard kits for a TV stand and microwave stand.
Somewhere in there, I had a laparoscopic surgery, a procedure where they make a tiny cut in your navel and insert a tube with a camera and pump you full of gas to expand the area for clear visibility. I’d been having more abdominal pain, so the doctor decided to check it out. He found some ovarian cysts but nothing else, and at least those were benign. So the pain was shrugged off as the cysts. And while that procedure leaves you feeling a bit like a shaken-up soda bottle – every time you sat up or lay down, the gas bubbles fizzed in your gut until they were eventually absorbed — it was a lot better than the gallbladder surgery I’d had a few years earlier. As to the abdominal pain, it would still be years before I, or medical science, would understand the connection between abdominal upset, ovarian cysts, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, abuse, and stress.
Overall, I was settling into a peace and quiet I hadn’t known my whole life. And loving that. At least until I came home one day and discovered my father had gone into my condo, unannounced.
The violation
I suppose maybe it was meant as a peace offering for his attitude about my moving out — he came by and installed a garage door opener for me. On the surface, that was a nice gift. But it totally freaked me out.
Yes, I had left a key with my parents for emergencies. But this was my private place. My nest. My safe inner sanctum. And he had just shown up and let himself in without ever telling me, or just checking first to see if it was convenient.
His venturing in there like that triggered a terror response that surprised even me. But the fact that he felt he could walk in any time without asking left me feeling vulnerable, exposed, almost violated. I was actually shaking. It was worse than the time he showed up unannounced on my camping trip with friends.
While I couldn’t fault him for doing something nice…I even felt like an ingrate for being upset with him; still, I was just terrified. I couldn’t shake the sense of yet again, having no control over my space…just like I’d had no control over my own body. And would he think that he could come by here anytime and pursue me again?
Unable to shake the intense fear, I changed the locks. And this time, I kept the keys except for one, which I gave to a friend for emergencies.
But while you can change lock to keep the outer threats at bay, the inner ones are waiting for you…
Soul Mosaic 
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