“From beginning to end, all this phony relationship can offer you is a toxic combination of fake love and real abuse. He constructs the psychopathic bond through deception and manipulation. You maintain it through self-sacrifice and denial.”
On November 26, 2013, my husband of almost five years and my partner for almost seven brutally attacked me in our home in front of our two year old daughter. The attack was unprovoked and yet in the weeks that have now passed, I suppose I always knew what he was capable of and in some regards I was playing with fire.
Yet a “normal” mind can never fully understand nor predict the behaviors of a “psychopathic” one. Regrettable, what haunts me the most is not the loss of someone I loved, as nothing about the time we shared was real on any level. I know now I had always simply been a possession he enjoyed and needed to dominant right up till the moment he didn’t.
That while it is a devastating card to be dealt, it is one that truth has left me no other option than to accept it. For far worse than the mental, physical and emotional abuse I suffered due to the damaged inflicted time and time again by the “abnormal” human being I laid next to each night as I slept; is what my daughter was tragically forced to witness.
It is what my two older children have for the past seven years have endured not because he was harmful to them (directly) but the emotional state of toil I lived in, quietly behind closed doors, that seeped into their world. Three hearts now broken because of the man I loved and the man I placed my faith and trust in. Hearts broken by the man who promised to love and protect them, a promise not only did he fail to keep but one I now know he was never even capable of.
A “man” I have not had contact with for almost a year. For after he beat me and destroyed my telephone ensuring that I could not call for help, he fled from our home and closed a door I will spend my life preventing from EVER BEING OPENED AGAIN!
For a psychopath has no concept or value for “normal” human emotions or morals. They are useless concepts and foreign ideals and ones he cannot place importance in nor ever have any regard for.
The day after the attack when I awoke dazed and confused, I found my computer and called my father and then the State Police. A trooper was dispatched to our home and I made a formal statement and was made aware that formal charges would be filed against him.
I then went to the District Court and filed and was awarded a Personal Protection Order. The following day was Thanksgiving as well as my 35th birthday. A day spent in shock and alone with my youngest daughter, scared, shaken, and confused.
However, I became even more determined and confident that it was my duty and my life’s responsibility above any other goal, dream or conviction to make certain he never ever ever could or would come back into our lives.
Therefore on day four I retained a divorce attorney and filed immediately. I was divorced from evil November 12, 2014.
The stories of our marriage can really only be categorized as abuse. Abuse on many different levels and of vary degrees, so much so that when I reflect upon them I wonder how?
How did I live in such disgust and pain? How did I know what I know about life, and the beauty in the world and yet tell myself I loved him? How and why did I believe that he deserved unconditional love and if I just tried harder he would become the person I once thought in my heart lived in his? How could I have a true passion for people, for humanity and the world around me and yet this was the love I not only accepted but was a willing participant in?
Evil has his hands on me.
Some of those answers I have discovered and some will take time to fully grasp the lessons of all this fake love was and was not.
Time I trust will be the greatest healer of all the wounds that in some moments now feel so heavy upon my soul.
The idea for this blog came to me at 3:45am as I tossed and turned in my queen size bed with two of my three children along side of me as I cannot sleep at all unless there are with me. I am tortured by the thought of him coming back to the house and climbing up the balcony and taking our daughter from the window in her room. Or coming back under the cover of night and entering the house armed with one of his many guns and firing into each of our bedroom meticulously one by one.
Lost in those horrible thoughts and reeling in the memories of others. I started to think back to my behaviors. The things I did that that seemed to trigger the darkness within him. In doing so I remembered how he hated, that I kept a journal, of which I now have seven volumes since we have been together. Journals that have no lock and key which sat beside our bed yet he never read despite my repeated assurances that he had my full permission to do so. Though I now see it is so much bigger than not caring about my feelings, for he lacked even the ability to recognize them. My hopes, dreams, hurts or pain. He took no joy in reading and remembering the things I once considered to be special between us and he certainly never wanted to bring up or have to again try and explain or talk his way out of any of the despair he caused.
He hated that I wrote down the horrible things he said to me in the hopes of trying to understand the man I thought I loved. He hated that I kept everyone of his long winded insincere letters (never truly written with remorse, shame or sorrow for anything he had done wrong) rather all they really were, were just more empty words used to seduce me and pull me back into our tangled web of lies that we for far too long called a marriage.
He hated that I told my friends the details of our fights, not to gossip but to try and comprehend the man I thought I knew and who loved me yet so easily hurt me. At times seemingly for sport. The man who made me question my own reality therefore in telling others he could not simply tell me “I was just as crazy as the rest of my fucking family” and dismiss my tears as if nothing ever happened. He loathed the fact that I consistently showed them the text messages he would send me from whether from downstairs or around the world when he was on a trip for work.
He hated that just as he had been called to the dark, my destiny had always been to be a Watchman of Light. I just didn’t know it yet.
I would beg them to listen to the nasty voicemails he would leave me and then search for insight in their responses as what I should do, because he made me doubt all I once knew. He hated the extra “work” my honesty and openness created for him. For it was one thing to have to make me to “forget” or “overlook” his behavior; it was another to take the time and energy to convince my family and friends of his remorse. An apology for which he never truly felt was deserved or required in the first place.
So, as I sat here waiting anxiously for the sun to come up, I decided that although I have my journals, and my friends who saw and heard a great deal of the misery he inflicted; still I thought if he did come back to the house, if he did wipe out my computer and destroy my journals, if he did the unthinkable and the very plausible reality of him killing me did transpire, then…well, at least I will have recorded it in a place where he will not be able to just get rid of. In a place it is now impossible for him to hid from, or mask the truth of all he has done and is capable of doing and may still attempt.
This is a blog that will in time weave together the fragments of the past to what has now become my life’s journey. Stories written to document a relationship in which most people cannot even begin to understand, in the hopes that in it’s reflection I will begin to see myself again.
This is a public record of how I “lived” with, escaped from and all of what I will move on from and put far behind not only myself but my children.
This is how I survived my own Love for and my Marriage to a Psychopath…..to evil and in the end WON my SOUL back!