Tag Archives: abuse

Revenge

I have encountered three narcissists in my life: a cousin who lives to torture me while playing victim; some guy I was seeing who loved to tell me why I wasn’t good enough and watch me hurt until someone clued me in to narcissists and what they do for the sheer joy of it, and; Glenn T. , who will sing some version of “Poor Pitiful Me” if I let him. Oddly enough, the cousin and Glenn both decided to wave their “I’m the only and sole president of the Narcissist Club of America” flags around the same time. The thing is, I didn’t know there was a pathology until the second listed abuser came along and someone recognized the behavior pattern, after which I did my own digging.

Glenn T. has always been his own worst enemy. He listens through the filter of his projections because he fails to grasp that most people aren’t like him. Most people do not operate with an ulterior motive in mind and they certainly don’t operate with the most twisted and perverse ulterior motives in mind. That is the way he thinks. That’s the way he gets his kicks. I guess marrying another narcissist, mean girl, bully and the attendant conjugal “benefits” aren’t doing it for him anymore. Oh well. Not my problem.

My problem is two-fold. The first is that justice should be meted out to Glenn T. and his spouse because, in this case, the fairness demands such. In this instance, since neither perpetrators are going to admit their abusive acts or voluntarily do penance, justice could arguably take the form of revenge.

That brings me to the second fork of this problem.

Although I have no idea exactly who is attributed with the saying, there is the aphorism that living well is the best revenge. It is also said that revenge is a dish best served cold. What does this mean when put together?

Justice, (i.e. revenge), will come when it is least expected and when I have the will, the power and the money to exact a four-star Zagat rating. Until then, I will take care of myself and do those things I want to do with my life. I will have a life well-lived.

Just a thought

I think there should be a special judicial system created to try bad significant others (SO). Divorces in most states are now no-fault, so the dirty spouse doesn’t get punished and the (less) innocent spouse doesn’t have the satisfaction of justice.

The court I envision would not be only for married couples, though. It would be for ANY couple where one party alleges some form of abuse that isn’t covered under criminal or civil law. I had an addendum to an old post that added a discourse on fighting back bullies, but decided to leave it for another time when the post could stand on its own. That’s what emotional abusers are–bullies. There is nowhere to bring a case like that in our current judicial system. One might think of “intentional infliction of emotional distress,” but getting that in by itself won’t usually work. There should be other allegations.

In my mind, I envision a jury of women deciding the fate of an abusive man. As they hear the evidence, they yell, heckle and boo him. The penalties for being guilty should be between 10 days and life. I mean, are you really going to give a guy whose only “crime” is watching sports continually all weekend as if his SO didn’t exist five years? That would be a bit extreme.

There are some things for which no penalty is enough. I am morally against the death penalty because it is not meted out fairly. However, if anyone were to deserve it, it would be SOs who physically and/or sexually abuse their SO and/or the SO’s family members. Someone who does that just needs to die.

I’ve often believed that all males should be isolated once they reach puberty. At that time, they go live with men who teach them how to be human AND male. There really are men who are quite comfortable being both. There is no shame in showing one’s emotions or having empathy with another. Women love men who are like that. Kindness is a virtue across the sex and gender divide.

I am reminded of a couple of documentaries I saw that either had a segment on elephants or was about elephants. Pesky, randy male elephants are thrown out of their herd because they are a nuisance. Some roam around solo and wreak havoc; some roam around with others like themselves and wreak havoc, and; some find themselves in the company of an older male who teaches them not to be a pain in the ass. Unfortunately, there are those few who never learn and become dangerous to other wildlife and have to be moved or put down. Most often the latter.

So, in my fantasy, boys are turned over to someone to be trained in the ways of manhood. They are provisionally released at 18 and permanently released at 21. If they mistreat or misbehave after that, they go in front of a judge while the State brings charges against them.

Mind you, the system is set up for females too, but they are taught at home and during regular schooling. Somehow, I sincerely doubt that women will appear in this Court nearly as often as men.

As I said, this is just a thought.

Cries in the wind

There are days when I get sad and I don’t know why. I think this is one of those days. I have a feeling that it has to do with reading my old journals last week. I was deep in hell when I wrote those entries. It was almost a foregone conclusion that I’d suicide. Anyone would under the circumstances.

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My experience with abuse is long and horrid thanks to the pedophile my mother married. It was so horrible that I had to blank out to endure it. “Blanking out” is called “dissociation.” We all do it at one time or another. The spectrum goes from daydreaming at one end to “dissociative identity disorder,” AKA “multiple personality disorder,” at the other. I don’t remember most of my childhood. I don’t remember most of what was done to me. What I do remember tortures me with flashes and, either when I feel safe or feel extremely vulnerable, I get full-fledged flashbacks. I also get body memories. I think those are the worst. That’s what happened when I began reading the journal entries. I knew that I was in my bedroom–the room where I did my best to end the torture I’d experienced–but I felt the agony that befell me that nightmarish night. For a moment, I seriously thought about suiciding again. Then, I realized that I was in the present, ten years later. Still, I had to scratch and claw my way out of The Pit.

I tried to do the right thing by TEWSNBN and told him what was coming. Since he swore he didn’t remember, I dug out the journals, read them, scanned them and realized it was going to take more time because I was even more prolific then than I am now. I was in the process of a complete meltdown when I wrote those journal entries. The scars on my arms are a testament to the pain I was in. I couldn’t scream, so I burned my arm with a lit cigarette almost down to the bone again and again and again. In addition, I’d cut. Unlike the burn scars, the razor’s scars are barely visible. The irony is that I can blame those on either the cats we had or my dogs because they all have/had sharp claws.

I am so angry that these people thought nothing of what they did then nor today. What was done was so insignificant that it wasn’t even remembered. I don’t know who was at the keyboard that last time, true. However, TEWSNBN was still a huge part of the trap. When I told him what happened, he couldn’t have cared less. What the hell happened to him? Now, I’m just plain curious. It really doesn’t matter because he can’t be “saved.” I’m curious because that’s my nature. I’ll never get an answer because he’s too much of a coward to talk. Oh well.

I am so tired of abusive men. I’m tired of abusive people period. My mother, partly due to physical illness and partially due to mental illness she refused to get treated, was very abusive all too frequently. There were times when I had to hide out in my bedroom with the door locked because she’d charge at me like a pissed off bull. She definitely had physical abuse on her mind. I sometimes kept a knife under the pillow because I was afraid of her. She’d come in when I wasn’t around and take it away. Needless to say, she triggered PTSD episodes, as did her brother, Ted, who walked into my house and started going off on me for something he thought I’d said about him. I hadn’t said anything about him at all. Do you think my mother stood up for me? Nope! The only thing she cared about was that I told him to “Fuck off!” She didn’t care about what he said and did to get me to that point. For example, he said, “That’s why no one likes you!” and a bunch of other stuff. But to come into someone’s home and go off on them about something he thought he heard is inappropriate times two. According to my mother, I was supposed to just stand there, take his shit and endure. No! ! No way!! Why do people think that I’m never supposed to defend myself as if the abuse is acceptable? It isn’t acceptable at all.

I can’t write anymore. I have things that must be done today. I don’t feel like doing anything. I’m tired. I’m just so, so tired.

For Glenn

Gang, I apologize in advance for what I’m about to do. Since Glenn has been snooping around here and he’s said he didn’t want me to contact him, this is the only way for me to let him know some things. I really, really hate that this has to be public, but he’s left me no choice. He’ll regret it soon enough because he lost a real opportunity to have input into my book. There’s nothing I can do about it. It was his choice and he has to live with the consequences just like everyone else. Such is life. *shrug*

Well, Glenn, I hope you found what you were looking for. I know that you weren’t happy with a lot of it, but there is nothing I can do about it. I wouldn’t if I could for the simple reason that I told the truth about my feelings. I’ve been reaching out to you for a few weeks over a decade with no response. I didn’t know why. Most of the time I assumed that it was because you wanted to see me in pain. That was your motivation a decade ago. You are the kind of person who withholds necessary knowledge because it gives you power. You’ve always been that way. It’s pretty miserable if you’re the person who needs the information that’s being withheld. It also signals a certain mean-spirited mindset.

I’ve always known that you had a mean streak that could overtake the rest of you if you weren’t careful. I’ve seen it and been on the receiving end of it. You strike out at people before they can strike out at you, so you believe. That way, you have more control of the situation. I knew that if you married your spouse, the chances were very good that the wonderful, beautiful, promising parts of you would be lost. She is who she is and she’s one mean woman. That meanness walked two feet in front of her at all times. I was warned about her when I asked someone what her problem was when we were all at Oberlin. I didn’t know who she was in relation to you at the time. The two of you got together and destroyed the person I was and damn near killed me, quite literally. While you didn’t make me swallow a nearly-full bottle of Ativan, you pounded and pounded and pounded my psyche into the ground until there was nothing left. My suicide was definitely a foreseeable event. I don’t even think you would have cared when the cops came knocking at your door, because they would, you know. The journal entries you decided you didn’t want to see give a pretty good recitation of what was done.

It had been my hope that you’d marry me. You know that. However, what you may not have known is that I knew you wouldn’t “go over to the dark side” if you were with me. The problem is that, had you decided to “punish” me for some perceived slight, you could and would verbally slice me to pieces. Our marriage may well not have lasted because I would have found the strength to leave. Then again, I may have become so hardened as a way of protecting myself that I’d be practically unrecognizable. Yes, Glenn, you are an abuser. It is what I’d hoped you wouldn’t be. Because I was young and dumb, I thought I could make you happy enough to keep you from being abusive to me or anyone else. There really is such a great person inside of you. That’s the young man, then the not-so-young man, with whom I fell in love. I still love that person, but you aren’t him. I cannot love the person you have shown me you are now. You cannot imagine how incredibly sad that makes me.

Ever since I refused to have phone sex with you and told you that I was, at that time, identifying as a lesbian, you haven’t said a civil word to me. In fact, you’ve said some pretty awful, hate-filled things to me, about me, about lesbians. What the hell is your problem? Has no one ever told you “No”? Sorry, but it happens like that sometimes. I wasn’t your dial-a-whore, but that’s the way you treated me that night. You showed no respect for, or empathy towards, me. It was all about you all the time. I’ve long suspected a couple of things about you. The first is that you were abused emotionally, physically or sexually at some point in time. Frankly, you show a great many symptoms. Be that as it may, that doesn’t excuse your evil deeds and evil words.

I was about to say that I think you’re a narcissist. I can’t do it. Yes, you have a lot of narcissistic traits, a lack of empathy and projection of your own thinking onto others for starters, I’m not in a position to tell someone else they have some personality disorder. However, you do tend to think I have ulterior motives when I’ve been open and honest about what I wanted. You were actually patient and encouraging during that two week period a decade ago when I was very afraid of telling you how I felt. You completely fooled me. I walked into the trap and was savaged by you and/or your mate. I will never understand how you could do that to me when we were lovers for 17 years and I’d done nothing to you except told you that I was a lesbian and that I wouldn’t get you off over the phone. Granted, I didn’t do it in a particularly sensitive way given that that was the first time I’d heard from you in a year and then you call because you wanted phone sex, but I didn’t deserve what you, your spouse and/or your business partner did to me. I am 75% sure that your fingers weren’t at the keyboard because I couldn’t get the person to call me and discuss things. That person obviously didn’t want to have his or her identity discovered. It was a cowardly, twisted, disgusting individual who did that. Was it you? I bet you’d cop to it to keep me from thinking it’s your spouse. Therefore, don’t bother answering the question. You’d lie.

It would have been so simple for you to avoid whatever it is that you’re afraid of and also spare me a great deal of pain. Granted, you don’t give a damn about me, but you could have saved yourself all of the concern you obviously feel. All you had to do was talk things out with me. I’m not out to hurt you, although you aren’t going to look very good at all in my book. Believe it or not, I really wasn’t into making your spouse look terrible either. However, I’m also not going to water things down. You had an opportunity to influence what I write. Now, you don’t. You assumed that I am devious, manipulative, unscrupulous and a liar. That isn’t who I am at all. Look in the mirror. You’ll see the person you think I am. I honestly feel sorry for you and sad because you can’t fully enjoy life if you think everyone is out to get you. I do, however, wonder how many compromises you’ve had to make in your life given who you’re married to. But, that’s not my problem and neither are you. Those questions are for you and your spouse to answer for yourselves.

In conclusion, I wish to reiterate that I no longer want any kind of romantic or sexual relationship with you. You grew into the person I feared you would given 24/7 association with your spouse. I’m also not going to waste time on someone who can’t manage a civil word out of his mouth for reasons that totally escape me. As I said, you’ve been that way since I refused your request for phone sex. I also can’t deal with your homophobia. That’s evil. In fact, a lot of the things you’ve said and done are pure evil. That is not what I want in my life. I’ve spent 34 years of my life loving you. It ended last week and I feel somewhat relieved. I have my life back. Be that as it may, a decade of my life was taken, stolen and robbed from me. That’s something I can’t forgive or forget. I will leave that to God, but don’t be surprised if Fate deals your household a dirty hand. The world likes balance.

Depending on what I write, I may have my attorney contact you. The manuscript won’t be finished for a long time yet. I’m looking at possibly two years, perhaps 18 months. This is much bigger than just you. I am writing about emotional, physical and sexual abuse. It’s a subject I know well. And yes, you will be included, as will your spouse to some degree. If you’ve consulted an intellectual property attorney, I’m sure s/he told you that you really can’t do anything to me until the book is published. Even then, New Jersey law is not in your favor since I do have a right to write about my own life.

You had so much promise. Now, knowing what you’ve become, I feel nothing but sadness. I don’t know if it’s even possible for you to change should you walk away or somehow become unmarried. I think you’d still be the angry, bitter, paranoid, mean person you are. You can put a smile on your face, but that doesn’t take care of what’s inside. It’s what’s inside of you that’s toxic. How very, very sad.

Moving on

I don’t know how many posts I’ve written about Glenn, but I do know there are a lot of them. Anytime I begin to feel guilty about not moving on from a thing, I get very insecure in my interactions. What runs through my mind goes something like this: “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I know that people are sick and tired of hearing about it. I should probably have moved on by now, but I can’t. Maybe I’ll just avoid people or put on my ‘face’ so no one will know how I feel.” That is not good. What’s worse is that I’m starting to feel that way. That’s very unhealthy for me because no amount of antidepressants will reach that level of depression. Once I get in The Pit, getting out of it is hellishly hard. Therefore, it’s best not to go there in the first place.

In order to feel comfortable in my relationships with the little community we have here, I need to write about Glenn where I won’t feel as though I’m being judged. I should say that, as far as I know, I haven’t been judged at all. You guys have been great! It’s just that I’m beginning to get paranoid and feel guilty. That’s all on me. I also need a space he can’t get to and I know he’s been here and on my other, very public, blog. I found out about the latter Monday because I religiously pay attention to site metrics. Of course, I’m also very sure that he jumped to some damn stupid conclusion he made up in his head. He really has seen Fatal Attraction too many times. Because he won’t pay attention to anything I say due to that fact that he firmly believes everyone is as devious, cynical, toxic and mean as he is, I’m sure that he thinks I’m going to stalk him or something. I don’t have to. He’s made himself quite public and it will come back to bite him in the ass.

Now, if he were to say that I’m obsessed, I’d agree with that assessment, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m obsessed with finding answers. I am always obsessed about finding answers no matter the subject or people involved. That’s just the way I am and I won’t apologize for it. He owes me a hell of a lot of answers, but he won’t give them up. He does what he wants and damn anyone and everyone else except his inner circle. Actually, even the inner circle can go fuck off as far as he’s concerned. What matters is him and, perhaps, one or two other people who are in the innermost circle. In short, although I have said this before and then changed my mind, he is a narcissist. Narcissists are always bad news. Where I am concerned, not only is he narcissistic, but also non-consensually sadistic and quite homophobic. He hit me with a string of homophobic rants among other things the day he destroyed the person I was a decade ago. I’m not going to allow that again at all. He tried to bully me into not writing my book, but he can’t touch me legally until it comes out. Even then, under New Jersey law, he has only about a 25%-40% chance of winning since I’m writing about my own life. As I said the other day, he really thinks I’m an idiot. I’d have to be not to look at the applicable laws involved.

*sigh* I’ve probably already said too much. I didn’t want him to know that I know what he is up to. He’s trying to set me up. Uh uh. I am not falling for it. If it weren’t against the law, I’d say that he needs his ass kicked but good. It’s not against the law for me to say it, just for someone to do it. Ah well. I can fantasize.

Due to my insecurities about writing so much on the topic of Glenn when he really doesn’t deserve my attention except for the fact that it bugs the daylights out of me to have questions hanging over my head, I need a new space to write what I need to write. I’ve set up a private blog where I can say what I want without making my hands hurt by handwriting journal entries. Geez, that’s now three blogs I’m maintaining. There’s a fourth that I don’t really do much to unless I know someone needs to look at prior work. Even so, that’s a lot. Granted, I’m only writing for myself on the new blog, so I really don’t need to write in it all the time. It’s conceivable that I start writing this year and leave it alone until the book is ready and Glenn begins his twisted little rampage that will give the book more sales than if he’d sat there and shut the fuck up.

I have one final major thing to say about him here. He’ll probably check in here a couple of times more and then satisfy himself that he’s won or some such nonsense. So be it. What I’ve come to realize is that he seemed so sophisticated when I was younger because he was from the NYC area and I was raised here. Now, I realize that I am far more sophisticated than he’ll ever be because he doesn’t see that most people don’t think the way he does. He’s been all over the world and he still can’t get that most people are fairly decent even when it seems there are a lot who aren’t worth two cents. I think I may actually have encountered more types of people than he has even though his passport is full. He’s not nearly as accepting of people, which is something that I’ve just realized although the signs were blazing neon all along. Well, at least since I came out. Ever since then, he’s been very angry with me and it seems to have continued. That was over 20 years ago. I mean, I do understand hanging on to feelings for that long, but had we actually had a conversation, those feelings would have dissipated. I’ve been willing to talk ever since that night when he called in search of someone to get him off and I refused. Maybe he’s never been refused. I don’t know anymore and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he didn’t grow into the man I’d hoped. I find that sad and the person he is to be pitied even as I watch out for him to come out of nowhere to stab me wherever he can get me. He’s assuming that I’ll crumble. Not this time. Not this time at all.

It’s War!

Photo of Lucy Lawless as Xena: Warrior Princess

Lucy Lawless as Xena: Warrior Princess, the ultimate warrior woman. Photo courtesy of LucyLawless.com and CirceSkye

I’ve been scanning my handwritten journals from 2003 for the last week in an attempt to send Glenn the information on which my book will be based. I was trying to do a good deed because he swore up and down that he had no idea what I was talking about when I called him and told him about my last suicide attempt when I could no longer fight the horror of the mindfuck he’d laid on me. I dived back into the Ninth Circle of Hell to retrieve the entries and it became really clear how and why I couldn’t fight. There were a lot of things that I’d forgotten over the years–phrases and words that he’d used. I also now have three suspects who could have been on IM the day he pounded and pounded my psyche into the dust.

As I said, I’d dived back into that Ninth Circle of Hell to get information for him. My next problem was how to get it to him. I set up one method of delivery, but it became clear that if I used it, I’d be running a great risk that someone else’s hands would get the package. If I waited until next week, I’d be stuck waiting with this crap on my mind all weekend and it was bad enough that I’d devoted time I really didn’t want to or have on it. I sent a text to the cell number I’d discovered in my journals telling him that he had a choice of pulling the info out of a cloud storage service or getting the disk(s). What I got back was a declaration of war based on two legal theories. BAD IDEA! He should not have done that. I waited for a bit and then sent a return text saying one or two other things, but essentially acknowledging receipt of his . . . or her message.

That damn fool obviously thought I wouldn’t recognize what was contained in the words and the exact phrasing that was used. I am continually surprised at how stupid he thinks I am. No, let me rephrase. I am continually surprised at how stupid he/she/they think(s) I am. I know Glenn has no choice but to support hagbeast because they are married and have a house and lot that were worth $892+K, not to mention his studio, office, business and god knows what else. That’s not even considering the fact that they have two kids who, at this point, should be in their late teens or early 20s. If he didn’t support her, I’d actually think he had a grasp of right and wrong regardless of who did what! The best I could have reasonably hoped for was that he’d stay the hell out of my way. Let’s just say that I know him well enough to know that probably wouldn’t happen.

I am going to do a couple of things regarding this blog. The first is that the “glenn thornton” tag and category will be changed to “glenn t.,” and; the “dr. robin watt” and “mrs. robin watt thornton” tags and categories will be changed to “dr. w.” and “mrs. r.w.t.” The “glenn” and “hagbeast” categories and tags will remain.

The second is that I will continue to write about ME and MY life as it relates to one or both of the above-referenced individuals when appropriate. As I told him/her/them, “Be careful what you wish for.” Believe me, I know that he has seen this blog, as have a couple of other folks in his circle, probably including someone with a law degree. He’s scared and he’s hoping like hell that I’m going to fall down into a crying heap as I’ve done so many times before. Ain’t happening! Re-visiting the horror I went through was an incredibly painful experience, but it just made me stronger. I’m not the person he mistreated before. And yes, those journals revealed that HE mistreated me, regardless of who was on the last portion of the last IM session. I am strong. I am coldly angry. And every cell in my brain is determined. I am gearing up for war.

I remembered somewhere in these last 36 hours that I am one formidable woman. I did not ask for war. Indeed, Glenn had an opportunity to influence what went into the manuscript so that he wouldn’t look like the puss-blowing jerk my journals show him to be. All bets are now off. I’m thinking the way he has thought since I’ve known him: knowledge is power. Hence, I’m not going to reveal what I got out of his text. Let him continue to think I’m stupid. He’s his own worst enemy and always has been. I think that was his attraction for me. I thought I could “fix” him. No more. I wish I’d understood my motivation sooner. This puts a good ending on the book and the story.

Oh! One more thing. Glenn, or anyone monitoring this blog for him and/or hagbeast, I have two words for you:

Photo of my eyes

These eyes have seen too much. These eyes have cried enough. These eyes are determined that no more tears will be shed over you. Forever.

fuck off text

Panic!

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I woke up very shortly after two Valium let me nap when I had hoped to actually sleep. I tried to go back to sleep, but it was pointless. On top of that, I was physically ill due to having my world turned upside down. This could turn into a good thing, but right now, all I know is that a truly malevolent creature stole a very large and important chunk of my life. Whatever the case, being sick was/is not something I can handle right now.

Most people eat when they’re upset. Not me! The more upset and depressed I get, the less I eat and the more I don’t want to eat. The thing is, I don’t drink either and I dehydrate very easily. I don’t mean a little bit. I mean ending up in the ER because my heartbeat gets irregular, I get light-headed and I have no veins except in my neck. I then have to lie to the doctors who know I’m lying but can’t prove it so that I don’t get locked in a me tal ward because I’m “a danger to myself.”

I didn’t have any anti-diarrhea meds so I had to get that before I even tried to eat. Otherwise, it’s a pointless effort. I also had to get just about every other prescription I had filled, especially the Valium. Valium is my friend these days. It’s the only thing standing between me and panic attacks, body memories and full-on flashbacks. Yes, I have post-traumatic stress disorder. It is made worse by fibromyalgia and fibro is made worse by PTSD. I’ve also had to cancel my life for most of this week because I can just barely cope with reliving the last 10 years of pain, apparent betrayal, heartache, abuse, suicide, profound loss, self-hatred and loneliness. Yet I have no choice because I have to make the love of my life understand what his hagbeast monster of a wife did to both of us. She took my life when she already had him and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her for me. She took my life. MY life.

I had to play Jane Bond and try to find a way to get Glenn, and only Glenn, the documents that detail what happened and all the times I’ve tried to reach him only to be met with silence. He never got ANYTHING I sent him via e-mail. So, I can’t use e-mail. Furthermore, I need figure out how to encrypt the data on a DVD I’m sending to him. It’s quite possible to do, but I need to find out how by tomorrow afternoon.

I went to the grocery store deli because I figured that’s about all my stomach can handle right now. The store is huge and it was crowded. I nearly had a full-blown panic attack three different times. I barely got out before the last one nearly emerged. Had I been there a few more minutes, that would have been all she wrote. I’m fairly good at talking myself down from them, but even I can’t beat them all when I’m tired, sick, upset as hell and want my mom because she’d know what to do when I don’t.

Speaking of Mom, I realize that some would see my letter to her and think I’m nuts. No. As I wrote, I kept hearing and seeing her in my head trying to tell me to not just hang on to him, but insisting I do so. This, from a woman who never particularly liked him. When I called to tell him about the book (a publisher had already offered a deal several years ago that I didn’t take then) and HE answered, I could barely speak. I didn’t believe him at first when he said he didn’t know anything about what I was referring to. But it gradually sunk in. And that’s when the world in which I have lived for a decade began to fall apart. That’s why Mom was so insistent. That’s why I could never shake my love for him even when I hated him for doing what I thought he was doing. Well fuck you Dr. Robin Watt. He may have no choice but to take your side because he put a ring on your finger, but he will sure as hell know who and what you are. Beast!

Now, I just have to get through the rest of tonight (sleep and/or working on that disk) and the day. I cannot get sick and I cannot have any panic attacks or flashbacks. I have to be strong.

Letter to Mom 4/8/2012

Dear Mommy,

I’ve thought and thought about this letter while taking the girls out for their pre-dinner potty break, during their dinner and while taking them out for their post-dinner potty break. There’s so much to say. In fact, if you were alive, I don’t think I’d say any of it for fear of an argument, but I sense you’re at peace now and can listen to me when you couldn’t before. I envy you that. I am anything but peaceful. I ache inside.

I haven’t quite learned how to manage the house yet. That’s mostly because I stay so depressed that I don’t move. I lost an entire day last week. I have no idea where it went or what happened. I just know that I woke up one morning and couldn’t remember what happened the day before or the day before that. I guess it’s fair to say, then, that I lost two days. It was distressing at the time. Now, it’s more like, “Oh. OK.” It’s as though I’ve shut down because I’m in so much pain I’ll overload if I don’t. I guess you know now that I don’t overload because some of the pain goes elsewhere to crop up at some unexpected time, usually very inconveniently. That’s what happened this go ’round with Glenn. He was the last person I wanted to think about, but I also needed the Glenn who was supportive and who cared for me once upon a time.

Mom, I know that even though you never liked him, you knew how much I loved him. I know that you wanted me to marry someone older who would let me be all of who I am. I thought that Glenn, even though he’s only a couple of years older, would be that person. He’s the only man I’ve ever seriously thought about marrying. Otherwise, I’d be perfectly happy to live a nice, quiet, woman-focused life with dogs, adopted grandkids and a lovely wildflower garden where my partner/wife and I could sit and just enjoy the life we’ve made for ourselves. Well, at least after I get the magazine off the ground. I really feel good about that possibility. No, that opportunity. I think I’ve found just the right investigative piece I was looking for. It will help me make a name for the magazine and, at the same time, establish the demo I’m looking for. Sometimes God fools ya and drops things in your lap when you least expect it. But I’ve got to get out of this funk if I ever plan to get started. Is it right to dump the other piece I was working on periodically for this? My gut doesn’t feel right about it, but I can’t see doing them both right now. There’s still too much going on in my head and in my heart.

Right. Glenn. Mommy, what happened to him? What turned that sweet, yet sometimes insensitive, sometimes volatile, man into whatever it is he is now? I want to understand so badly that I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there is anything I can do anymore. I had to start protecting myself. In the shape I’m in, he could finish what was started years ago, only this time, you and I would be reunited in heaven. No more failures. You’re not here to inadvertently save me. If I ended up in ICU again, it would be because I’m about to die and I’m an organ donor. It’s the girls who’ve kept me going. Add in Glenn’s penchant for inflicting non-consensual pain and I wouldn’t survive even with them. My God, Mom, I can’t even begin to fathom the things he’s done. If he didn’t live 500+ miles away, I think I’d be seriously concerned for my safety. As it is, I had to draw the Daddy card on him and may well have to use it. If I think I’m in a nightmare now, that could easily turn into something worse. I called Glenn on all his shit. I should have done so years ago, but didn’t. Maybe I didn’t because then, I didn’t have confirmation of things I knew–those things I can’t even write or else I’d get a knock on the door asking me about cold cases. Even with the family’s help, I don’t think the non-related cops would understand how I just knew some things that were only confirmed last year. You remember, I’m sure, the barber shop I took you to. The barber, whose name shall remain with us, started asking around. He told me what he discovered. He confirmed what I knew and added something I didn’t. It’s what he added that’s my ace should I need it. I only hope the barber has the sense God gave him and keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t know how close he is to more truth that would most assuredly get someone knocking on his door and it may not be the cops.

Mommy, I keep hearing you in my head telling me to be patient with Glenn and that he will come back. Yet, you never say why you know this to be true. I long ago stopped asking how you knew some things. Again, I just learned to accept. You were right too many times like a few other women in our bloodline. There is usually a basis in the old ways and now I get it. Since you’ve been gone, it’s as though your gift has passed itself along to me. I always had it in relatively small quantities, but I feel it getting stronger. Again, it’s just one of those things I accept. “Oh. OK.” What I always found utterly amusing about you is that you accept that you’ve got the sight, but can’t accept that this house has at least one spirit. The girls see it all the time and have for generations. It doesn’t bother me and I don’t bother it. It’s the same way Micki knows there’s a critter out in the back even though I can’t see it. She’s right too many times for me to disregard her. I just have to brace myself in case she decides to go after it. Unfortunately, I don’t know if Glenn fits into the category of “I just know.” It isn’t that way for me, probably because this is the one thing I’m fighting like Muhammad Ali. I can’t be wrong. I can’t hope. Yet, I also can’t deny that I love the man he was before whatever happened to him happened. I know that he was seduced by the Benjamins. I don’t know that he’s happy at home, even though I’m sure he’s fucking that Tilman chick. She’s a yella gal like you and he and Daddy have that in common. In having to re-write this post, I am seeing that they have more than that in common. I hope his daughter was a Daddy’s girl like I was once we finally got together. Anyway, where women were concerned, the lighter the better. It’s sad, really. Very sad. It’s not like he’s all that dark. We were virtually the same shade, although I had more red thanks to Grandmother Clara.

You said that I never considered that Glenn treated me so badly because I was the one who really could threaten his marriage. Maybe. Again, I can’t hope. I hate that he’s crushed that part of me. If he were to come back to me and explain everything, tell me he loved me, he was sorry for hurting me, yada, yada, yada, the only thing I might believe is his explanation for doing what he did. I might believe that he loved me, but he’d have to be extremely convincing. I’m not sure I’d buy it then because we both know abusive men go through a honeymoon period where they apologize, say they won’t abuse you and things are fine until it happens again. It is so hard for me to write or say or think: he is an emotionally abusive man. He wasn’t that way before, but he is now. I wish that I could scream into the night and ask, “Why?!?!?!” Of course, I’ll never know. That hurts a great deal. It’s in my nature to ask questions and not be satisfied until I get an answer that makes sense. I don’t think I ever will with this one.

I think the thing that hurts me most is that he never accepted my disability. I thought he had, but he didn’t. I think I even confronted him about it when we were together. I seem to remember him saying something about being younger then. While that’s true, he obviously took it into consideration when he asked Robin to marry him. What would he have said if I’d asked him to marry me? I wasn’t even thinking about marriage then, but what if I did? He’d probably tell me no and then marry Robin. I don’t like this part of myself, but I wish she would find someone else, decide she didn’t want to be married or just die. It’s the last one I hate. I don’t want her to die. I just want her to go away. I want him to have a chance to be who he wants to be within reason, and find his way back to me. He always felt like home to me. Am I totally pathetic for thinking of him that way? Yes, I am. After everything he’s done to me, it IS pathetic and I’m not sure I care. That’s what this has been about from the start. He’s my home and I can’t break the link. I want to. Mom, you know I’ve tried. This is the first time I’ve admitted it to myself, to you, to anyone. Damn it, I now have to send this to him. I love him and I dislike him all at the same time. He damn near destroyed me thanks in part to Dr. Trouble’s magic pills; I let go for years, only to find him in my mind and heart again, up from the basement where all the deep, dark, bad is kept; I’m pestering him for an explanation that I do richly deserve and have every right to require; he lets me swing in the breeze with nothing, laughing all the while. I deserve better and I know you agree. He’s an incredible disappointment as a human being, much less a potential lover/partner as things are now.

I sent him the lyrics for Lady A’s “Dancin’ Away With My Heart.” It fits so perfectly with the exception of the age. Mom, I have never loved anyone like I loved him and still love some deep, nearly-inaccessible portion of him. He is a part of me and always will be. I can’t lose him even though I  have already. Why did he do this to me? Why did he treat me like garbage? More accurately, why did he do the equivalent of throw garbage at me? I hadn’t done anything to him at all except tell him how I felt. I didn’t know I felt as I did, but it all came flooding back and I made that horrendous tape. He mocked me, embarrassed me, tormented me, shamed me. Tell me, please, why do I still love him? I keep thinking that was an anomaly, but he hasn’t had the guts to face me since. What does that say about him? What does that say about me? I deserve better. I know I do. But I also know that there’s something I’m missing. He’s behaving like a sociopath with narcissistic tendencies. Granted, they don’t have to go together, but they often do. I wish I had a DSM. I think it would help me understand what’s up with him and what is going on with me.  Am I experiencing something like battered wife syndrome even without the paper between us? Am I experiencing some sort of PTSD?

It’s nearly two and a half hours into Easter. I tried to save as many flowers from the sprays as I could. I don’t know if any of them will bloom again. I should be grateful for having them as long as I did. I think that’s what Mandy was trying to say to me: At least I had a mother for nearly 50 years; she didn’t and that’s affected her. Anyway, many lasted nearly a month. As I watch them die, no matter what steps I take to make them last, they eventually give way to what is termed the “natural order of things.” I miss you, Mom. The natural order took place, but gives me no comfort. This is a rite of passage. I remember how cold your beautiful hands were the last time I touched them. I still can’t believe you’re gone. You looked like you were asleep. Now, I think I’m glad that you wanted to be cremated. I don’t think I could bear thinking of you in the cold ground. I do feel your spirit around me. It’s why I can write to you now when I couldn’t talk to you before. I just wish you were here to hold me while still being at peace. I don’t think you had much peace in your life. I am sorry for anything I did that caused you to have more aggravation than you deserved. I love you. I forgive you. I want you to rest in peace now, but feel free to come back when you feel the urge. Like I said, I miss you.

Love always,

OnX