Our coming move is welcomed on SO many levels. We moved from a large house into a tall skinny inner city home nearly 9 years ago. We were moving with our 4 kids; 1 college age, 2 high school and 1 elementary. We had to find a home that could accommodate all our needs. We ended up with a 1930s home with a tiny back and front yard, shared driveway and large garage. 2 kids would be in the unheated but insulated attic, and the rest of us would be on the 2nd floor.
On my first morning I met the neighbours. Friendly Diane to the right of us, and then I met the neighbour to the left…
The moment I met Mark, my heart sank. I looked into his eyes and saw nothing. No connection, no spark. Just darkness. A dark hole.
And my instinct was spot-on.
He represents to me what is evil. Sounds crazy I know, but he terrifies me. His behaviour ebbs and flows with the moon, with the season… One winter he threw compost in our backyard every Saturday night – I thought it was a raccoon until the spaghetti hit the deck.
There have been eggs and ripped up plants and things stolen from the front porch and side window. Our van was targeted once and he throws his ear plugs into our garden on a regular basis. I cannot blame everything on him, but as time when on, it became a given. If something bad happened, it was him.
He is verbally abusive to me, to my husband, and to the neighbours on his other side. He calls us names like a child would. He calls us lazy, and stupid, and ‘goof’. He calls us idiots. I now believe he calls us all the names he was called as a child. He is damaged to the point where at Christmas, his wife and kids go out, perhaps to her family, and they leave him behind.
He holds down a job, though. He provides.
This morning I heard him throw small pebbles at our porch roof. Rat-a-tat. That is what he does right now. Not a lot of verbal spewing, though.
I had to write about Mark. His behaviour has crippled me for these nearly 9 years. I am empathic, and I cannot block his hate. I hear his voice, and my heart beats – flee – danger. I am sure that his evil spilling over our home gave me cancer. Toxins. Toxic. My poor kidney trying to filter out the evil.
I will not garden in my front yard. I will not use my front door unless I have to, preferring to use the neutral exit to the alley.
And all of this is about to end. We will be moving away, and I will have to learn to love my front yard again. My ears will still be attuned to the timber of his voice, but I will not hear it again. In a month.
I will learn to straighten my shoulders and not always brace for verbal assault.
It will take time.