Where we Run to. 2

Where we Run to.

When our world is on fire where we run to is not always the safest place. For all my insight and knowing I was a young girl in love, who had some pretty messed ideas about love and relationships.

I was at University or as I affectionately called it “Where Dreams go to Die”.

What with the terrible relationship (very high drama) and my course having more hours of work than a surgeon, I became very, very ill. It had started small. He was "trying to fix me". I was wrapped up in his world and it was all about things and money, for all his spiritual spouting. He could feel spirit but he was blind. It was me who did all the teaching, healing, seeing, channelling and him who took the credit. He had "needs" and if I was too busy or sick to fulfil them he would get them anywhere. He systematically sleep his way through almost all of my female friends, he even started on my male ones. His sexual deviancies got darker and darker. I was terrified. I was in bits. My family had disowned me again and I had no-where to go.

I even spent my 21^st birthday in bed, in agony with an ear infection. I was running a small coven too when I could. I look at it now I must have been crazy but the warmth and magick kept me alive.

I was so stressed I couldn't keep down food. 

That's when I saw my second faery. I was lying in bed when I heard this noise. A buzzing. A sprite dressed in red came through the wall behind me and flew past my altar covered in plants and through the open door. He was as real and solid as everything else in the room. He flew as though he had a jet pack on. He was dressed in patch-worked red leather clothes. He was pale with a healthy blush to his cheek and dark brown hair. He even had a hat on!

From that point on, things would move in my kitchen. Even as I watched. I had long standing difference of opinion with my “fiancé' (who called himself my Control) about where things went in the kitchen. From that point on things would rearrange themselves to where thought they should go, even if I wasn't there to do it.

Once I stood talking allows to “The Ketchup Faery” as I had started calling him and asked him to show me he was still there. Well a pair of large scissors began to rotate on the counter. Slowly at first and then more quickly. I could have been scared. Except all I did was laugh and lay my hand on the scissors to stop them spinning. I was not alone.

Slowly from being a broken pile of wet bones I rebuilt myself. Healing through Goddess magick and prayer. I scrapped by my degree somehow. Mostly by working my ass off. I wrote 10, 000 words in three weeks.
 I began to feel better and the last part of that was of course to leave the toxic relationship.

I left with only my magick tools and my duvet and nothing else. It all seemed like junk, or pointless. I had after all, been one of his things too.He gave away my clothes to several of the girls he was sleeping with (a lot of whom were f**ked up and 17, like I'd been when I met him).

I still have a lot of moments in those few years that will haunt me. Being drugged so he could get “what he needed” from a friend on my couch. Waking up finding him making out with a guy called Simon, or his fetish to stick cutlery up his ass. When we split up, I was the one painted as a whore, of course. He had two lovers, one of whom was engaged at the time.

Much as it was poison and awful, it taught me a lot and for that I grateful. I found a safe place to stay, it was tiny and I had nothing but for the first time in my whole life I was free.

Then I fell into bed with the sexiest man I had ever met. My knees went to water. My face flushed at the thought of him. I had no idea why it worked, but it did. I had met the love of my life. The man who would be my husband, my lover, and friend. My family and the father of my children.