Happy Anniversary, and Thank You, Captain Crazy!

(Or, the letter I know all of you wish you could write)

Today is my 3 year anniversary of going No Contact (NC) with Captain Crazy of the S. S. Melodrama.  Really.  3 years of no phone, no text, no email, no direct contact of any kind, and pure bliss over it.  The first two years were at my flat refusal and most of the third year…and for the rest of my life…is the result of a legal document.  There is a postal mail address he is required to use for all correspondence and I don’t even read it, someone else does and lets me know the bottom line.  But of course, there were the tens of thousands of dollars spent on attorney fees because of his obsession with destroying me, launched when?  Right after I went No Contact!  We’re not even going to talk about that, except to say that if anyone knew my real name and searched on Gwinnett County Georgia and Montgomery County Maryland Court websites, they would see precisely who the aggressor is and has always been.  The funniest part is that I have all of his phone numbers (cell, home, work) and email addresses (even the ones he doesn’t think I have).  Were I the person he portrays me to be…the crazy bitch who won’t leave him alone and move on, the one who is so consumed with bitterness and rage over the divorce I myself initiated that I can’t let go…don’t you think I would have availed myself of those communication methods many, many times?  Not once.  Not.Once.

All I wanted was OUT.  I mean out, gone, faint memory.  I was so glad when he moved away, even though it was his attempt to relocate and isolate me again, I literally danced around my house the entire day after he left.  I knew I had a lot of strategizing and careful planning to do, but I suddenly had a real future and so did my kids.  He still thought I was going to cave, as I had 3 times before.  But now, life held potential instead of imprisonment, possibility instead of entrapment.

So on this occasion of my third No Contact anniversary, I have made a list of things for which I would like to THANK Captain Crazy.  Seriously.  There are so many things to be grateful for in this godforsaken nightmare that I decided it was high time to give him at least a partial acknowledgement of all the things he has done for me and my girls.  Yeah, it’s long.  Yeah, it’s bitchy.  And, yeah, there’s some swearing just because it’s sometimes therapeutic.  But I tell you what, this is some steam I am ready to let off.  He will use it to say I’m crazy and bitter and blah, blah, blah.  I no longer give a damn.  I wrote this for me and for anyone who wants to read it.  Here goes…

 

Dear C.C. (M.P.P.),

Thank you for your crazy, screaming outburst at our children in the train station on May 31, 2009.  It was the wake-up call I needed to finally see that I had to get us away from you, no matter what it took.

Thank you for doing really stupid stuff that made it even more obvious that you were trying to “snow” me, like renting an apartment that didn’t take pets when we had two dogs.  Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are we? 

Thank you for making the first words out of your mouth when I told you I was filing for divorce, “I hope you know I’m going to have a hard time with it when you start dating.”  The fact that you said that in front of my therapist gave him all the info he needed to properly coach me through the next couple of years of your crazy.  His favorite line to me every week after that was, “Stop trying to make sense of crazy.”

Thank you for threatening our daughter with taking her to court when she asked if she could go on a trip with a friend instead of coming to spring break visitation.  Because you needed her to make yourself look good to the newest victim, you shot yourself in the ass with that one.  By dropping your mask, you gave her the opportunity to stop trying to have a relationship with a lunatic, and she took it.  You’re lucky:  had she come to visitation, she was ready to “out” you because she had had enough.

Thank you for constantly attempting to track our movements by annoying the shit out of the kids’ healthcare providers and schools.  They know your game, have seen my evidence and court documents, and trust me…they only give you what they damn well feel like giving you AFTER they have talked to me.

Thank you for not knowing a thing about your children because you never cared to.  I used to think that was so tragic.  Now I realize that it is a great protection for them, because I bet there aren’t 10 questions a judge or custody evaluator would ask you about them that you could actually answer correctly.

Thank you for lying on your interrogatories by stating that your attorney did not withdraw from your case in Georgia.  When I whip out the actual documents from your attorney that include his Line of Withdrawal, it shows what a liar and complete con artist you are.

Thank you for telling the truth on your interrogatories when you explained how you had me found in Maryland.  Not only could I then subpoena all the records from the investigator you hired after you had already had visitation, I got another glimpse of just how bat-shit crazy you are and what precautions I have to take.  I still don’t think you have any appreciation for how utterly insane it is to hire a Private Investigator to find your ex-wife’s physical address when you have phone access and visitation access to your children, but everyone else sure does.

Thank you for putting your delusional threats and aggrandizement to your work targets on email.  That was just freaking brilliant.  The one you sent to Shallamar was particularly great, especially given that you sent it months before our divorce was even final…to a newly single mother 20+ years younger than you who was your indirect report.  You couldn’t believe she wouldn’t want to “date” you with “all (you) have to offer”?  Pffffft.  When she rejected you, is that when you decided to tell me you had “made a mistake” and were “working on a plan to get back to Georgia”?  Too bad I didn’t fall for it, huh?

Thank you for pissing off enough people in New York that they all banded together in contacting me and continue, even 2 years later, feeding me information that helps me protect myself and my daughters.  Trust me, dude…I am the least of your worries.  You have an entire population of people in Schenectady, Albany, and Rochester, who are eager to see your entire world implode. 

Thank you for 27 years of ungodly horrible sex.  Sure makes me appreciate what I have now, especially my happy surprise in realizing I am not only not “frigid”, I am quite passionate.

Thank you for taking that job in New York, running your same, tired, bullshit lines on me to try to isolate me again, and then calling my bluff.  I know you thought I’d fold like I had before, but you gave me the one opportunity I needed to finally get away from you.

Thank you for having Robin in Florida and Lisa in New York at the same time and spending your money to travel back and forth rather than pay for your visitation with your children.  This one piece of information, received over a year after the fact, showed me and everyone else clearly just what your priority is, and it isn’t your children.  By the way, this doesn’t make you a “stud”…it makes you a pig.  On that note…

Thank you for constantly skipping, changing, and shorting your visitation times.  Another clear indication of where your priorities lie, despite your victim act about not seeing your children.  Are you really so delusional that you think I didn’t keep every single communication about visitation, including all the expenses I paid for while you said you were “broke”?  Rest assured, I won’t EVER let anyone forget how you were “too broke” to pay for your visitation but you went out and bought yourself some jet skis. 

Thank you for lying repeatedly under oath and in various court documents.  Since I have actual proof and documentation to demonstrate that you have lied to the court over and over, this means you have zero credibility.

Thank you for constantly making accusations about things I was or was not doing, because I know how your massively screwed-up brain works.  Each time you flapped your gums, all you did was tell me what you were doing by projecting it onto me.

Thank you for leaving that SIM card behind from the Palm Pilot you used at MVP Healthcare years before I divorced you.  It was lovely and reassuring to see your ad for a young woman “For a night or maybe longer, great opportunity for an upscale place, you must be 18 to 22, blonde, blue-eyed, small breasts…”  I mean, damn, if I hadn’t been convinced that I wasn’t the problem before this, you nailed it.  I never stood a chance with your brand of crazy.

Thank you for committing a felony in April 2014 (OCGA 19-5-45, look it up) when you sent our daughter alone to another state instead of where you were legally bound to return her, where I was waiting.  That statute of limitations won’t run out anytime soon and she is fully prepared to tell a custody evaluator the entire story, because she is still incensed by your behavior.

Thank you for stealing your current girlfriend’s house and then lying to the court about it.  No one but you is sucking up your story about the two of you “buying a house together”.  You got her to put you on the deed to the house she owned outright, then took out a joint mortgage of $105,000 and a line of credit for $56,000…while your kids were homeless because of your actions.  Know what that makes you?  A grifter, and a massive failure as a father.

Thank you for your smartass text to our daughter after we moved to Maryland.  “Well you kept that secret pretty good, didn’t you?  Your mother has taught you well.”  Do you think she is so stupid that she doesn’t know you moved away from them and never came back despite all your bullshit promises?  Funny thing is, she doesn’t even know that you were the chronic liar, cheater, and secret-keeper in our marriage.

Thank you for the things you have done to our children.  That might sound crazy, but once I gave them both their own voices to say whatever they wanted instead of continuing to “cover” for you, they outed your ass and now they won’t stop talking.  I can guarantee, your relationship with them is effectively over, because of you and you alone.

Thank you for not even coming close to adhering to the visitation schedule you agreed to.  Once I gave the girls the visitation schedule in print so they would know how to plan, they figured out pretty damn quickly how many times you had ditched them.  They are way smarter than you give them credit for.

Thank you for putting on the little show for my family law attorney in New York.  Your boo-hoo routine in the hallway, followed up by your refusal to settle the child support over ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS a month, gave her entire firm all the fire they needed to come after your ass.  Oh…and rest assured that you aren’t getting away from that ruling.  At.All.  Buckle up.

Thank you for driving 16 hours with a piece of furniture I didn’t want, and a concealed firearm, then trying to get me to come over to your car.  Following that up with a text message pretending to be our daughter was just priceless.  You didn’t even think about the fact that a 9 year old wouldn’t know to put a decimal in front of the gun caliber, which is what let me know it was you.  The very best part was then you lying about it in interrogatories later, stating that the trip was “last minute”, when you had made arrangements through my attorney weeks prior.  In writing.  All of which I have.

Thank you for thinking you’re smarter than me.  It gives me the upper hand.  Every.Single.Time.

Thank you for assuming I don’t know how to do things like trace an IP address and preserve source codes, and that I haven’t saved everything.  Rename and “lock down” that YouTube channel all you want, but I can still get to it for the court.  The funniest was when you renamed it from “whosstinky” to “GFYBitch”.  Who’s the bitter one?  Still wondering why you like that Emily Osment song.  Or maybe it’s just because you have such a thing for teenagers.

Thank you for filing false contempt charges against me when I refused contact with you.  Not only did you clearly show me just how disordered you are, you entered some great testimony into the record which is at the ready any time I need it.

Thank you for filing a total of three frivolous court actions against me in just 2 years.  Bankrupting me and your children, costing me my health and my job, forcing us to rely on others for housing, and leaving us with essentially nothing, taught me one very, very important lesson:  no matter what you do, YOU CANNOT BREAK ME. 

Thank you for having your girlfriend’s daughter spy on our younger one and report back to you.  Sending our daughter a text message about something she didn’t want to discuss with you scared the crap out of her, but also gave her a healthier respect for social media.  Funny, I would’ve thought you learned something when you did that to our older one and scared the living crap out of her when she didn’t want you to know about homecoming.  Then again, maybe that was the point.  You sure do get a lot of sick enjoyment out of scaring and degrading females. 

Thank you for having other people spy on me and the kids.  It gave me an opportunity to teach the children important safety lessons.  Unfortunately for you, there are only a couple of people even still speaking to you and they are just as crazy as you are.  Besides, my “spy network” is way bigger than yours.

Thank you for being so arrogant about everything, your temper tantrums, calling me a whore and making accusations to others about me after I made it clear we were finished.  Those were so incredibly easy to disprove when people asked me about them that your credibility immediately imploded.

Thank you for lying over and over and over.  No, really.  You make it so easy to demonstrate how disordered you are.  I don’t even have to say anything.  I just produce an email from you or a document or a text message and it does the talking for me.

Thank you for being so paranoid that you insisted that all documentation in my possession never be disseminated after July, 2014.  It reaffirmed my much earlier decision in which I sent piles of documents out to over 60 people all around the country, Canada, the UK and Australia, including the expert testimony reports.  That way, if you do succeed in physically attacking me or hiring someone else to do it, you will be faced with an ARMY of people ready to point the finger at you and ensure you end up where you belong.

Thank you for putting yourself on the Warlock’s radar, because that shit’s just funny.  I’d bet real money that you peed the bed AGAIN after your little meeting.  You still pee the bed, right? 

Thank you for living in your little fantasy world of obsession, five years later, still trying to ruin my life.  It reaffirms for me that all the things that you did to me and to our daughters were not my imagination and not my fault.  You have shown the entire world exactly who and what you are and I guarantee that you will NEVER be able to keep your cover again. 

Thank you for your many years of negative messages, telling me I wasn’t worth a damn and that I would never achieve anything I wanted to achieve.  You gave me the fire that still keeps me going and will lead to me accomplish more than I ever thought possible, much more sooner than later.  The funny thing is, when you think you are doing things to break me, all you do is strengthen my resolve to prove you wrong.  So, to this “thank you”, I’ll add a “fuck you”, too.

Thank you for showing me with crystal clarity that you have absolutely no conscience, no remorse, no moral compass, and no empathy.  Essentially, you have no soul.  That made it a lot easier to finally let go of the illusion that someday you might see the horrific damage you have caused and try to make it right.  Also made it far easier for me to allow the girls to honor their own individual needs to be done with you.

Most of all, THANK YOU for assuming that everything you have done to me over the last few years would break me down and shut me up.  All you did was give me the resolve to keep talking so I can help others who have suffered through this same kind of hell on earth to understand that they can survive and thrive, regardless.  You started this war after years of watching me go on with my life happily and successfully.  You can bet your ass I’m gonna finish it.

Oh…one last little tidbit:  I recently consulted with Dr. Carl Gacono in reference to protecting the children.  I’d like to thank you for giving me so much documentation and a clear, 5-year pattern to present to him.  Made his job of assessing the progression from sociopathy to psychopathy much, much easier.

Happy Anniversary to me!

AC

P.S.  Hi, Steve!

Money, Control and the Price on my Head

The pain was below my left shoulder, radiating down my left arm and up to my jaw. I ignored it for a few hours and convinced myself it was muscular when I began having shooting pains through the center of my chest. I was at home with my daughters, who were 4 and 8 at the time. Their father was at work downtown, about a 40 minute drive away from home. I didn’t dare call him because I didn’t want him to think I was being a drama queen or making a big deal out of nothing, as had been said before. I successfully fooled myself for a few hours until it eventually became so frightening that I got light-headed and clammy. I decided the smartest thing to do was call 911 and have the paramedics take a look. The smartest thing, yes. Easiest? No. I knew that meant some big bills would potentially come our way and I was not eager to be fussed at about it.

I called 911, talked it over with them, then while waiting for their arrival, I called my neighbor across the street and my dear friend Ann to come get my kids. I think my neighbor made it from his house to mine in 3 leaps, despite being in his 60s. I’m fairly sure Ann broke some sort of land speed record that day and I was grateful for a lack of police presence on her route. Still, I had not called my then-then-husband at work. Even as I was carted off in an ambulance I told Ann she should probably call him to let him know where the kids were, but that she didn’t have to rush about it. I calmly told the kids I would be okay but it was just the smart thing to do to go have a doctor check it out.

Over the years I had a number of health problems that I have now linked to the stress of being in an emotionally, psychologically, sexually and financially abusive relationship and the constant environment of worry and anticipation. I had chest pains, occasional panic attacks, chronic gastrointestinal problems, headaches, sleep issues…and I’m not entirely convinced that my 3 miscarriages weren’t at least partly a result of extreme physical and emotional stress. What made the physical situation even worse was the constant work to keep the horrors of our home life a secret, to put on the pretty family face in public. The shame, the embarrassment, the juggling act to try to keep things calm at home and look nice to the outside world took a huge toll.

Ann told me a few days later (after she calmed down from being furious about it) that when she called my now-ex-then-husband, he angrily said, “Let me understand this. My children saw their mother taken away in an ambulance? Whose idea was THAT?” When he arrived at the hospital, he wasn’t the slightest bit nurturing or concerned, he was mad. He kept commenting on how much the ER bill was going to be as I lay there apologizing. He quizzed the nurses about when I could be released. Fortunately for me, a dear friend from high school turned out to be the charge nurse that day, so I was well informed. As it turned out, they couldn’t find cardiac problems (thank God) but strongly suggested I see a gastroenterologist for possible gall bladder problems. I had to negotiate an appropriate time—financially—to go to the doctor, who ordered a series of tests. It took another month before I had the guts to tell my then-then-husband about the tests and schedule the appointments. When the bill came, I read it, hid it and was nauseous for days until I finally showed it to him. His comment, “Do you know what we could’ve done with this amount of money?” I dunno…Buy you another $1200 watch, a more expensive motorcycle or trade your Mercedes in for a newer model? The gastroenterologist could find no problems with my gall bladder or g.i. tract in general which, to my ex, meant that I was making up the entire thing. In Captain Crazy’s view, I was just a lazy hypochondriac who was trying to get attention and sympathy.

Emotional abuse is about the abuser being more important, in his or her mind, than those around them. It is about the desires and urges of the abuser, who has a completely skewed view of how the world should operate. The worst part is that, as you are desperately trying to hide the fact that you are being abused, you internalize all the pain and anger which will manifest in physical and psychological illness. There is a cost to your life, your happiness and your bank account. It becomes a vicious cycle where you frequently feel too physically ill to participate in things you enjoy doing and you fall more and more under the control of your abuser. I gave up doing many things I enjoyed because I just didn’t have the energy to do them.

Once I escaped my multiply-abusive marriage, I became healthy as a horse, started playing sports again, hiking, kayaking and many other things I love. Although my time is limited by other responsibilities of life, I am not limited by someone else’s influences. I received confirmation that my previous illnesses had been a result of abuse when I had one more episode of severe chest pains followed by faintness and sweating. It was shortly after my ex-then-husband began to threaten to come take my home and sell it out from under my children and me so he could take the money. Although I knew the house had been deeded over to me and his doing that was impossible, I suffered the same reactions as I had before. I knew then that I could never let his vicious attacks, especially now that we were no longer married, take up residence in my body.

Be good to yourself. Nurture your body and your spirit. Find ways to laugh (America’s Funniest Videos never fails me). Pray or meditate. Breathe deeply. Shoot, pound the crap out of the ground with a hammer if you need to. Most of all, don’t forget that you are an awesome creation, of great value and worthy of respect.

Fly free,
AC

Abuse and the Other Escape

Like the rest of the world, I have been processing the news of Robin Williams’ death, the cause of which was torment.  It doesn’t matter the manner in which his life on this earth ceased to be, only the underlying cause of that end.  Pain.  Excruciating, unrelenting, all-consuming pain.  As I watched tributes and read Tweets, my sadness grew a little stronger.  When I reached the Tweet by Evan Rachel Wood, I began to sob.  In her short 3 words, she reminded me of exactly how I almost became a casualty like Robin.  With a picture from Aladdin, she said simply,

“Genie.  You’re free.”

The heaving sobs I had been holding back since last night finally came.  I’m pretty sure I scared my pets.

It isn’t that I knew Robin Williams personally, other than following his career and philanthropy since his Happy Days/Mork and Mindy debut.  It is that I saw him as a bright light in a weary and conflict-filled world.  He gave of himself and by all accounts enriched the lives of so many more people than he would have given himself credit for.  There was so much Robin magic left, but this world failed him.  So he freed himself to go to the next in the hope of escape…of peace and an end to pain.

I know that feeling.  Exactly.  Precisely.  I felt it overwhelmingly on July 9, 2009, which I now think of as my “Alive Day”.

Those who are my friends would have a very hard time understanding how I could not feel loved or valued, but 5 years ago, I was a very different person.  I had just failed, for the third time, to escape my abusive marriage and liberate myself and my young daughters from a life of fear and torment.  I was brutally ashamed and considered myself an abject failure.  I was also faced with going to “marriage counseling” the next day, which I knew would be an utter farce and yet again designed to blame me for his permanent state of anger and unhappiness.  That entire day, I cried.  I have never cried so much in my life as I did that day.  I made excuses to my girls that my friend was dying and I was sad, which was true.  My friend Keith was frighteningly close to the end of his journey with AIDS.  The truth, however, was that I saw no other way out of the hell we were living in.  I had been taught to live every moment in fear of his wrath, which vacillated between very predictable and thoroughly arbitrary.  True to form, the next day, he launched into a diatribe about how I had “forced” him, 23 years prior, to end his “brilliant” Navy career as an enlisted man who once burned the letters “FTN” (fuck the Navy) into his arm.

I just wanted to be free. 

What an amazing feeling it would be, I mused, to wake up in the morning and not feel trepidation.  To not fear the normal events of the day or the backlash for my lack of cooperation, whether real or perceived.  I wondered what it would be like to not feel sick all the time, exhausted, nauseous, or both.  I imagined that people in the world did live like that, but I couldn’t imagine it was possible for me and my daughters.

Eventually, I took a shower.  Then I sat for hours on my bed, still crying, wrapped in my bathrobe, with a huge box of Ambien samples in my lap.  Somewhere during this process of disengaging with the physical world, I wrote notes of farewell to people I was close to.  The note I wrote to him, though, was an instruction on why I had done what I did and how he was responsible for being a good father to the girls, a task at which he had failed astronomically.  I still believed it was all my fault, though.  The words he had spoken before rang in my head:  “If you killed yourself, everyone would know just how crazy you really are.”

Somehow, in the midst of this deepening abyss that tried hard to swallow me, I saw a picture of my girls on my nightstand and it altered my thoughts long enough to leave room for clarity.  Who would I be leaving them with?  What kind of life would that create for them?  Imagine being a survivor of a mother who committed suicide and then being stuck with a remaining parent who is violent, abusive, angry all the time, yet presents a completely opposite face to the world.  They would grow up with no one believing them or advocating for them.  “But he’s such a nice guy.”  No, he is the real face of terrorism.

I look back and wonder what, exactly, saved me that day.  I had always had the love of friends and family.  I had, and still have, a strong faith.  I had an inner fire, a determination to do good in the world and help others.  But that day, I felt as though I would never be able to help myself or, more gut-wrenchingly, my children.  Many times, a survivor of abuse sees no other way out but this one.

I realize the things I would have missed.  Not just the obvious joy of seeing my girls evolve into the amazing young ladies that they are, but seeing who I was able to evolve into.  My life has become nothing short of magical and I have experiences every day that I could never have fathomed.  Had I known the type of terror I would face post-escape, I may have made a different decision.  But I also know that surviving the multiple court actions, the harassment, the stalking, the threats, the financial destruction, and the obliteration of a once-healthy body has shown me that there is no amount of anything that can crush a spirit determined to live.  As Garth Brooks says, I’m glad I didn’t know the way it all would end…the way it all would go.  Had I known, the challenges that lay before me likely would have seemed insurmountable, and I wanted to escape the pain of over 25 years of this torture. 

All I wanted was to be free.  It is what I am still left fighting for, both for myself and my girls.  So I understand Robin Williams’ decision better than many.  But I am still so sad.  It has been a very hard road and there are days I am absolutely weary, which is clearly the point at which Robin had arrived.  His spirit was no longer determined to live, but wished for release.

I thank God for whatever happened July 9, 2009 to keep me here.  Many abuse survivors have not been so lucky and I grieve for them, even as I know they are free.  Just as I grieve along with the world that we have lost such a great and powerful energy for good.  

Peace and love to all who knew him,

AC

Zen and the Art of Venting

Zen and the Art of Venting

There are two things a person should never be angry at: what they can help and what they cannot. 
–Plato

A reader asked me how I got to such a point of peace and acceptance of CC's continued attacks, threats, legal filings, refusal to cooperate with regard to the children, and attempts to punish me, especially in light of the fact that I have not had direct phone contact since March 6, 2012, or emailed since 2011.  It’s very simple: sometimes I get furious, I swear, I rant, I call him every name in the book…then I move on. I never do it to him and I never share it with my children. I have wished him dead, I have wanted to pummel him to bits with a baseball bat, and I have fantasized about having the power to actually make a voodoo doll work. I have hoped he’d get a sexual disease or develop Erectile Dysfunction. I have even hoped he’d become an alcoholic like his father. These instances are how I let out my negative emotions to, for lack of a better term, cleanse myself of the nastiness he left behind.

I’m human.

The difference is that, in my process of liberation and deliverance from abuse, I have learned that letting off that immediate steam is helpful in the short term but does not get me to where I need to be for the long run. I spent many years having horrible gastrointestinal problems, severe headaches and of course, clinical depression and PTSD—or, more accurately—Intratraumatic Stress Disorder, that was misdiagnosed as bipolar disorder. Being sick was a physical manifestation of all the fear and pain being kept inside as I fought to protect my children and to appear normal to the outside world. I am grateful to not be there anymore. It kept me from going to my children’s school events sometimes and the stress of having to try to cover up my horrendous situation caused me to become almost a hermit, avoiding other people so I didn’t have to “act” all the time. Those who know me personally can tell you I am the furthest thing from anti-social imaginable.

What does work in the long run is a multi-pronged approach to dealing with the continued crazymaking. First, I look at the behavior from the sharp eye of understanding specifically what the pathology of an abuser is. I know exactly what the craziness looks like and can now predict with great precision what the next act of stupidity will be. I try to find the entertainment in that predictability and sometimes even bet my friends in advance. (I even won a bet Monday!) Second, I look at how whatever has just happened can be of benefit to my children and me. Third, I document, document, document, which helps me feel empowered in that I am taking some kind of action in response to the Lunacy of the Week. Last, I force myself to say (usually out loud), “Okay, God. He’s your problem to deal with now.” Might sound a little corny but it almost feels like outing him to the one and only “person” with authority to really give him a good smackdown. Although I don’t really believe in a God of retribution, I do take some comfort in knowing that God/the universe/Karma has a way of evening things out. That’s proven true in my life for certain.

I do have my moments, though. I have moments where I seriously ask God why my dear friends had to go to heaven while a monster whose only goal in life has been to destroy me (and, by association, my children) is still allowed to walk the Earth. I have moments where I fantasize about doing all sorts of things as payback for the pain. But I have to remain true to my own morals while doing what is right.  I am not that person who, even though the law says if the other party doesn’t arrive at the appointed day and time to collect the children he surrenders that visitation, refuses to allow visitation to happen. Yes, I could very easily say, “Well, that’s just too bad now, isn’t it? You didn’t adhere to the schedule, so you have lost your chance.” What exactly would that get me and how would I explain it to my children later?  My job is to give my daughters wings to fly and a strong moral compass, which includes allowing them to make their own judgments about this person. So far, they are both doing a fantastic job.

Seriously, CC is doing great showing his true colors without me even making an effort. Time and time again, the behavior demonstrated has been vindictive, abusive, controlling, manipulative, lying, cheating, threatening, thieving, and soulless, not to mention completely idiotic in many ways. He kept referring to me as “Mrs. (maiden name)” in court, over and over, which really made me laugh. But you know what? Our friend Plato was right: This person will never change and there’s no use getting mad about it. There’s also no use getting mad about things I can change, I just take action to change them. You are all familiar with the Serenity Prayer, I hope: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.” Trust me, if you can begin to master this idea, you will have a lot more peace in your life.  Another bit of wisdom from my fabulous therapist who got me through 3 years of hell:  "If he was so damn happy, you'd NEVER HEAR FROM HIM!  The checks would come, he would show up for visitation, and that would be it.  He is a miserable human and you have to stop buying into his Broadway show."  Yeah, I got over that, too.

I think that what makes this so hard to deal with during recovery is that we just don’t want to come to terms with the fact that the man/woman we were married to, had children with and attempted to build a life with was really a horrible person. I’m not saying that they are not worth something, because God created them and that gives, in my opinion, inherent value. However, it is extremely hard to accept the fact that not only did you devote yourself to this person, you tried to justify it based on some thin “redeeming” qualities. Then you find out they really have no redeeming qualities at all and it can make you feel like a sucker. Interesting how we make excuses for our own abuser, but if a friend tells us the same about their spouse/significant other, we practically raise up a lynch mob to take care of it ourselves. Hey, a friend will ask why you’re crying. A best friend will already have the shovel ready to bury the loser who made you cry!

As I have progressed through the stages of grief in dealing with this lunacy, I have discovered that I can find exactly zero redeeming qualities in this person. Really. So, he makes a six-figure salary, big deal. He certainly would not have risen to where he is without me, that’s for sure. I used to justify my remaining in the marriage because he was this, that or the other, none of which really matter…some as ridiculous as the fact that he’s a good cook. This is another reason it’s hard to forgive yourself for staying in the relationship and “allowing” the torture you endured. Reminder number 2,319: this was NOT your fault.

So, don’t get down on yourself if you need to vent, just have a healthy vent. Find a friend or a pillow and let it all out! Say whatever you want and punch the snot out of the pillow if it helps release the energy!  My friend Kimberly keeps a stack of unwanted plates just for this occasion and smashes them to bits which she then leaves where they are, because she says, “I was always picking up the pieces”.  My favorite technique became pounding the dirt in my yard with a hammer (sometimes with something of his underneath).

Yes, there are healthy ways to channel your outbursts and I hope you’ll use them. However, I also hope you’ll cut yourself a break and not feel guilty or feel like you are backsliding in your recovery when you do have one. I have accepted the fact that any time CC lashes out and involves my kids, it’s going to royally piss me off…and I have a plan to deal with it. Meanwhile, the behavior is like a petty child attempting to get payback for all the “sins” he feels I have committed against him, the most grievous being having the audacity to escape him and move on with my wonderful life.

Breaking free from abuse does not mean disconnecting yourself from your emotions. Just learn to channel them appropriately and you will find much more peace in your life!

Go pound dirt,

AC

The Stupid! It Hurts!

I was helping a client earlier today when she received yet another rambling, threatening email from her abuser ex.  It was priceless.  I even apologized to her and said, "Sue, I swear I'm really sorry but I can't help but laugh at this idiot.  He is a special kind of stupid!"

This guy's major complaint was that he was peeved that she was making supposedly unilateral decisions about their special needs daughter, for whom she provides 24/7 care.  You all know how that one goes, right?  You send emails, forms, questions, copy them on stuff, and they defer to you because they can't be bothered.  I've even had literally YEARS worth of communications attempting to arrange visitation totally ignored.  Not joking.

But what was really priceless about this guy was that, on the heels of his ranting and raving about how he's not included and she's not doing this or that, he follows it by saying he feels he is left with no choice but to stop the child support payments and take her back to court.

Wait.

Let that sink in.

He is so mad because he accuses her of not co-parenting (when she sends stuff that is ignored) that he's going to STOP supporting his children per court order and take their mother to court over it.

I went threat-by-threat through this email with her and pointed out all the realities behind his crazy.  She knows he's wacko, but his threats still affect her physiologically.  I said, "Seriously, he has his own business and it's incorporated, right?  His child support is collected by the state on a garnishment to his business, right?  Well, DUH!  If he stops sending the payments, he'll get hit for being a non-compliant employer AND a non-compliant non-custodial parent!  Do you see how empty his threat is?"

This stuff is so hard to see in the moment.  Captain Crazy can still occasionally push my buttons, but then I coach myself to look at just how unbelievably funny it is.  My favorite one this week was his assertion to someone about the many "attacks" and "failure to adhere to agreements" of which I am supposedly guilty.  You know how many times I have violated the legal agreements in 4 1/2 years?  Zero.  That would  be zero.  He is, so far, up to almost 50, not including the felony charge of Interstate Interference with Custody for purposely sending my 11 year old unaccompanied to Baltimore when he knew I was in Georgia waiting for the return exchange.  Know how many legal actions I have proactively filed against him?  1.  A protection order when he hired a private investigator to hunt me down so he could send a package to my house to let me know I cannot hide from him.  This while he had full phone access to the children and had just had a visitation.

I absolutely get that this takes a lot of training!  I have had to work my fanny off to survive the constant legal actions, threats and off-the-wall demands...like demanding that I pay for his long-distance visitation expenses if I wanted him to see his children who he moved 1,000 miles away from.  Yeah, I have actual bills he sent me.  He can bloviate about it all he wants to.  Doesn't make it true, doesn't give him power.

So empower yourself with knowledge and then learn to laugh at the stupid.  They can threaten anything they want but the joke's on them.  I promise you one thing that I have proven to be true in my own case, over and over:

Give them enough rope and they will absolutely, positively hang themselves!

Go on with your bad self,
AC

Lipstick on a Pig

Tell me if this sounds familiar, remembering that I speak from personal experience:

YOU are the most miserable, unattractive or (insert negative descriptor here) person the abuser knows...and they make no secret of that opinion.  You are too fat, too skinny, too bossy, have a sucky job, or are not enough whatever.  Interestingly, the abuser is exactly as he/she describes of you.

Then, you break free, and the first thing the abuser does is a total makeover.  Suddenly, he/she goes from couch potato to marathon runner, wears nicer clothes, gets a new car, and basically "puts on the dog".  In my experience, this was also the tip-off to know when sights were set on a new affair/victim. Instead of sitting on his ass eating and watching TV or porn on the computer, suddenly, he needed to work out and eat better.  It was SO obvious it was ridiculous!  I knew it...where I "failed" was in not speaking up and calling it out for what it was.

My beautiful, Southern grandma used to call that "lipstick on a pig".  She'd say, "Honey, some people are just ugly all the way to the inside.  You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig and always will be."  I remember that so clearly and not really understanding until much later in life what she was talking about.  I would watch this person pretend to be something he clearly was not and never will be and alternately laugh and become enraged.  I was only angered because it has been this person's mission in life for over 30 years to destroy mine, while doing his very best to put on a mask to hide the evil from the rest of the world.  (If you think that's hyperbole, wait until you read my book.)  It wasn't just me, it turned out.  It was a whole collection of unsuspecting, decent people who had no idea what had just gotten its claws into them.  That was a relief on many levels, but it was also terribly sad.  The evil had been unleashed on others.

I know you wish you could warn others and tell them about the pig under the lipstick, but you can't.  You could try, of course, but believe me when I tell you that the abuser has been so hard at work smearing you, creating an alternate reality to make himself/herself out to be a victim, no one would listen.  This, my friends, is why it's so critical to keep documentation for the future.  I just counted all the additional documents from a yearlong lawsuit and the requisite discovery.  My total now stands at well over 5,000 pages of damning evidence, clearly and squarely pointed at one person.

It's also tempting to wonder why this person didn't make this effort for you.  Well, why would he/she?  He/she already had you under the thumb, in control, in the over/under relationship.  The packaging no longer mattered.  Remember that only FAKE PEOPLE need packaging (yes, I would be writing under my own name if my legal situation was different; I don't care if everyone on the planet knows who I am).

The thing about lipstick is...it ALWAYS wears off.

Revealing the oinkers,

AC

The Birth of Aubrey

In April, 2012, about 2 1/2 years after my escape from over a quarter-century of domestic abuse, it occurred to me that maybe there were some others out there who might benefit from hearing about my path to healing.  I thought that maybe a couple of people might read it and get something out of it if I started writing a blog with insights and raw honesty about what it's like to recover from a long-term abusive relationship.

So, on April 26, 2012, the Emotional Abuse Survivors Network project was born.  It was the first time I had talked openly about what I had experienced from 1981-2009 at the mercy of a highly disorder person. I was still the target of abuse, although it was from a distance and manifested as stalking, threats, harassment and proxy abuse by court.  I wrote under a pseudonym and did not identify the other party. Two days later, I added a Facebook page for open discussion about my writings.

From shortly thereafter, when this person discovered I was writing this blog, he began trying to have it shut down, in addition to contacting friends of mine and having a proxy abuser attack me openly as well as covertly.  After a second court action, a lawsuit for defamation (which, by the way, met none of the burden for proving defamation), dragged on for over a year, I chose to go to mediation to settle it.  Mind you, this was after losing my daughter's entire college fund of $30,000 and going into debt another $30,000 all for legal fees and expenses.  I also had to leave a high-paying job due to severe PTSD brought on by being hunted down by a PI (Lord, you should the see PI's notes we obtained in discovery!) and the relentless falsehoods of the suit.  As part of the mediation, I agreed to shut down the Emotional Abuse Survivors Network project and live within certain "rules".  I did not, however, agree to stop my crusade to call out emotional abuse, its effects, or the vicious individuals who perpetrate such abuses.

At the time I "retired" the Emotional Abuse Survivors Network, I had an average of 6,000 readers a week between the Facebook page and main blog feed.  There were hits in more than 40 countries and over 4,400 "likes" on the Emotional Abuse Survivors Network Facebook page.  That didn't even account for all those who couldn't participate openly for safety reasons.  EASN did far more than I expected.  It touched lives, it freed people, it created friendships.  Moreover, a number of friends came forward to me about their own abuse experiences and I helped a number of them move through the process of escape and disengagement.

Aubrey Cole is the Nom de Plume I chose with the help of a dear, longtime friend.  Aubrey comes from a song by the band Bread and was the name I wanted to give my younger daughter.  I saved the entire 2 years of my writing and am editing it to publish as a book for survivors of "no scar" abuse.  I have also completed about 1/3 of a book I'm calling Define Winning, about how to assess opportunity cost and your real end game when trying to escape the continued abuses by a sociopathic/narcissistic ex-partner.

The Emotional Abuse Survivors Network was a major force for good, when all I expected was to tell my story and maybe a few people would find it helpful.  Now, Aubrey Cole aims to be a force for change.  One voice really can change the world...even if it's the world of only a few people.  But, this is me...and I will be relentless in my pursuit of helping others and changing minds.

"And Aubrey was her name...a not so very ordinary girl or name..."

Stay tuned,
AC