july 19, 2003.

Man, did things ever get crazy yesterday. On Thursday, we got in from my parents just in time to be thrust in the middle of the Continuing Story of Male Crazy Neighbour. (His name is Brad, by the way. I refuse to protect his privacy anymore.) He slammed doors, stormed up & down the stairs, and pounded on Female Crazy Neighbour's door with a ferocity that badly frightened me. That night I suddenly experienced a return of my fear of the dark - I didn't want to go to the bathroom, in case he was behind the bedroom door with a knife.

Yesterday was more of the same. We left Mount Olympus at 9:30 to go to a doctor's appointment, but not before we heard him demand (and get) entry to the other apartment. When we returned about 6 hours later, it was worse. I could hear him shouting hoarsely, and thought I heard slapping.

If you'll recall, Female Crazy Neighbour is the landlord's daughter. At about 4:30, the landlord showed up with his wife. FCN got in the car. Brad chased them out and shouted threats to the car. The three of them sped off.

The Boy & I exchanged a look. Now it was just the two of us; locked up on the third floor with a psychopath in the basement between the door and ourselves. We checked the door locks, a habit that's becoming compulsive with us these days. Then we barricaded the front door.

FCN came back with cat food. The slamming & yelling continued. Her parents drove up again, and she left with them for a second time. I got on the phone to Dirk, having already called the police for advice. Brad started pounding on her door, and the Boy, trying to defuse the situation, called "she's gone," down the stairwell.

This is when the Boy heard his own name in the shouting/muttering. "We're going to have a chat," and "I'll bring a baseball bat," and "fuck shit up." Without telling me why, the Boy grabbed me off the phone and said that we were leaving, NOW. We packed in two minutes and snuck down the back stairs, praying for silence, praying that it was more bluster and braggadocio than homicidal rage. I didn't start breathing again until we were blocks away. I stopped again when I found out why exactly we left.

We spent the night in Dirk's basement. The cops are being very unhelpful, so we decided to go back and check on the cavy instead of cowering in the East End. The landlord, perfectly willing to kick out a quiet couple because his daughter accused them without proof of running a crack den, won't evict a man who threatened himself, his daughter or his other tenants (not only is Brad his daughter's friend, but the landlord thinks the whole thing is kind of funny). FCN claims that he's only bad when he drinks. Since she seems to bear the brunt of the abuse, this seems like victimthink of the worst kind. Besides, he DRINKS ALL THE TIME.

We're looking at rental notices today. It makes me crazy-sad, because I love my apartment. I love the high ceilings & the deco tile in the bathroom. I love the curved hallway and the blue bedroom. I love the ceiling moulding & the swirly stucco on the livingroom ceiling. I love the tree in the front yard and the squirrels in the backyard. I love the quiet, residential neighbourhood. I love that I'm a block away from both the library & the KFC. I love that we're right next to a highschool, so on the rare occasions when I play hooky, I can laugh at teens from the comfort of my own home. I love Bread & Roses. I love the 2 for 1 movie rental. (I hate the kitchen and the vertical blinds that individually commit suicide every few months, but that's about it.)

Now I feel trapped in the apartment, three flights of stairs between me & the front door. I feel like there's an invisible monster penning me in my home, and because it's invisible, I can't decide whether fight or flee. I almost wish he would show his hand, so I wouldn't be plagued with so many self-doubts. I don't know if he'll sober up & move on, or if he'll just cycle up & start to abuse us, too. All I do know is that I'm very proud of the Boy right now. He is so, so brave without being foolish & risky. He protects me by both engaging the problem & backing away when appropriate. He is not driven by ego or cowardice. As much as it's possible, I feel safe around him.

I'm trying to figure out if it's worse to feel this threatened while pregnant, or while carrying an infant. Still, it's not like I am, or would be, the first mother to be driven out of my home under the threat of violence.

The ultrasound showed that the Sprout has both kidneys, and a bladder to boot. I can't say that I'm not a little relieved. Also, my family doctor seems pleased that I'm off the meds for now. She wants me to keep rating my days, so that I can track a downslide in mood if one appears. Fair enough.