To My Readers:

To My Readers:

My story covers many years and so it is a long story. These are secrets I have kept for various reasons, mostly for my children's sake. It is the time for me to reveal and release the secrets I kept about my abusers including substance abuse, parental alienation, gas lighting, stalking and assault (both sexual and physical). 

I will post one to two new topics a week.  That leaves time for other pursuits which could be of interest to all of us. 

Thank you for stopping by.

Wonder Rocks

Wonder Rocks

Once upon a time there was a little boy who had a mean daddy. This daddy was a big monster and was hurtful to his family. He yelled and screamed and hit and kicked and drank and threatened. His mommy cried because his daddy hurt her. The little boy was afraid of his daddy. His daddy’s anger scared him a lot. The little boy decided that he did not want to be like his daddy. He never wanted to grow up and hurt people. But later the little boy found out that growing up was challenging. School was difficult and chores were difficult and his daddy was still an unrelenting monster. One day he was shown some Wonder Rocks. These were all different kinds and you could eat them or swallow them or smell them or drink them. He was interested in these rocks. So he tried some. He developed a passion for them. They were just what everybody said about them, they made you feel so wonderful. Wonder rocks were the perfect antidote for his fear and sadness. When he took them he didn’t feel scared anymore, sometimes he even felt powerful. Mostly he just didn’t feel at all. They even calmed his nerves and gave him a carefree life. He became attached to his Wonder Rocks and couldn’t go anywhere without them. They were so powerful. They made him very strong indeed. What a magical transformation he found.

In a few years he grew into a young man and he still held onto his Wonder Rocks. He had developed a compulsion to his panacea. It was his constant companion. He was driven to relying on his favorite thing while excluding everything else, He learned that he had to work very hard to get these Wonder Rocks because he now needed then and they weren’t free. He needed more and more of them as he grew into manhood. He had become a slave to his Wonder Rocks. He was in bondage to them; he had to do what they wanted him to do. They owned him.

These Wonder Rocks that relieved so much pain and fear and anxiety were now causing him to suffer every day. They had placed a constant burden on his mind and body to keep him satisfied: Work harder and longer for less and less. Sometimes his body gave out from lack of sleep. Sometimes his had to lie and steal from the people he loved just to get by. He hurt friends and family but he didn’t care because they couldn’t do for him what Wonder Rocks could. They were the only thing that helped him. He couldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of his method of feeling better. But the little boy wasn’t better; he was sick. He only thought he was better. He convinced himself that he was more alive when he took them. He didn’t realize that these Wonder Rocks were poison and he was very, very sick. He had fallen into addiction. Now he couldn’t live without his Wonder Rocks. So, when his wife left him, he abandoned his children and ran away with a woman who was hooked on Wonder Rocks too. They would be vagabond lovers with nothing but Wonder Rocks as their compass. This was a great answer, he thought to himself, she would never nag him for enjoying his Wonder Rocks like other women because she liked them too. She thought that he was also her answer to a prayer. She would have transportation and money from his job and a supply of Wonder Rocks for as long as she wanted. What they called love was not even close to that. It was simply a selfish way to meet their needs and feed their demons. Even their families could not endure their moral decay and loss of integrity and had to let them go.

Together they suffered the indignities that befell them as they lived their lives for one thing… Wonder Rocks. They lost jobs, traveled from place to place, lived in the street and in their car, and endured hardships, collectors and nerve racking debt because Wonder Rocks had betrayed them. It wasn’t the fix-all it had pretended to be. It was a killer and they couldn’t escape its horror. It stalked them and tormented them daily. There was no relief.

It was an odd thing about Wonder Rocks; it obscured the link between cause and effect for them. They could not figure out what was causing all their misery. They kept failing to connect the dots. Instead of looking within themselves at the root cause (Wonder Rocks) they looked to blame others and their past experiences. After all, they were victims, weren’t they? Their common sense was so like the woman who dropped her sewing needle inside her house and couldn’t find it so she went outside to look for it where the light was brighter. Their solutions to their problems were short term and not based in reality; As long as they used Wonder Rocks they would never be able to make sense of their predicaments.

As times grew harder and life expected more of their tired selves the little boy, now a grown man, hit his partner in a fit of drunken rage. She said she was afraid of him because he gave her a black eye. He had not only harmed himself but he harmed her too. He was facing a jail sentence, if not this time, then in the near future. This aggressive behavior never stops once it starts. It only gets worse with each incident. Their sickness caused misery and rage. Misery and rage, in turn, caused more sickness, and on and on it goes.

When he looked in the mirror of his life, after years of dependence on Wonder Rocks, he could only see the face of his mean daddy who had died twenty years ago. He had adopted a false persona of his deceased father and had become the man he said he would never be. He had lost himself. This is the legacy and tragedy of addiction.

The lesson of the Wonder Rocks:

• The little boy did not find a cure for life’s pain and suffering.  He only found a poison that was confusing his mind and killing him slowly.
• Two toxic people cannot a positive marriage make.
•  It is time for both of them to leave each other behind and find wellness.
• Never try Wonder Rocks if you want a good life.

The Honeymoon

                            

The Honeymoon

Four years before the little boy was born his mom and dad were married in a lovely church ceremony followed by a reception. The bouquet was thrown and they left on their honeymoon dreaming of a happily ever after. The bride had no idea what was in store for her. She was totally unaware of his scornful nature and would be rudely awakened from her dream in just a few hours.

The honeymoon included a side trip to see his parents who had not been able to attend our wedding. His mother was a single mom and still had 4 children at home and could not afford the trip and his father had kept his location secret to avoid the constant harassment of his ex-wife. That’s what he led me to believe anyway. ( I am not so sure that they just didn’t want to be anywhere near him anymore and were glad he had left them behind.)

We arrived in his hometown and went to his mother’s house. We were told that we would find his mother working in a saloon down town. We drove to see her right sway. When we entered the bar, I sat at a table while he went over to the bar where his mother was sitting with her boyfriend. I thought I would give them a few minutes of privacy. In an instant, a fight ensued. From what I could gather it was over her choice of a boyfriend. My new husband was hitting his mother with his closed fists and yelling obscenities at her. She was fighting back and landing some blows herself. It was an awful brawl and shocking to me. I had never experienced anything like this. Witnessing such disrespect and vulgarity left me shaking in distress, I was scared. Who did I marry? I blinked.

I was ready to leave, but then I remembered I was 900 miles away from home, I didn’t have a car of my own, we had pooled our money (which he carried), and the nearest airport was some 50 miles away an another town and I didn’t know anyone who would give me a ride. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know anyone there at all. I looked around for someone to help me but all I saw were the vacant eyes of drunks who couldn’t even help themselves let alone help me. There wasn’t even Taxi service in this one horse town and the only bus was a Trailways service that pulled through town once a day or once a weekend and I certainly couldn’t wait for that... I was stuck. I was really stuck in some kind of karmic train wreck with a terrible man. Alone and scared I was facing an unknown destination and a clouded future that turned my blood cold with a panic.

The bar room went silent and the music stopped while people gawked at the sight of a mother-son battle until he came to my table and said “Let’s go.” Without a word I stood up and left with him. It was a long ride to Yellowstone Park with few words between us. I didn’t dare ask any questions and he didn’t offer any answers. All I knew is that I lost respect and trust in a split second and those qualities would never return to our marriage. I could never put complete faith in him from that day forward and was constantly wary of any untoward behavior. I believed that he could harm me and this was an unspoken threat that I lived under for years. In a week and half we would be home and I kept my composure through miles and miles of anxiety and fright. What was he capable of? What was he going to do with me? Leave me stranded by the side of the road? Beat me up in the car? I had to make it back to home base to neutralize and equalize the playing field. Until then, I was a sitting duck in a car with a man full of cloaked rage covered in nervous sweat. Those 900 miles seemed to go on forever.

The next 6 months at home brought nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps this episode with his mother was a fluke. I relaxed a little. I went back to work and was the sole support of the family then. He was trying to start a business with a friend of his, but to be honest it was mostly drinking and partying and fishing and hunting with all the responsibilities left to me. Sometimes I became frustrated with his selfish irresponsibility and half –truths and scrapes with the law. Otherwise it was day in and day out stuff until he hit me. Out of the blue he it me. I stood there in shock and confusion, I was so bewildered. How could he hit me, he said he loved me? My trust was broken even further. No man had ever hit me. It crushed my heart.

Looking back I should have left right then but it seemed so soon, so cowardly to walk out now. We hadn’t even tried yet. Everybody told me that marriage takes work but what took work after this act, was the love.

About that time we had received word from his family that his mother’s mobile home had been burned to the ground and later that her boyfriend had been killed in alley somewhere back there. My mind started racing. Had he gone back there on one of his hunting trips and done that? I didn’t put it past him. I was always so leery of what he was up to. I was keenly aware that hidden within him was the potential to do something like that, but I thought it was just a felt sense. Of course I didn’t accuse him, that would have been suicide, but I sure wondered about it.

                     Next post Acts of Madness

Acts of Madness

Acts of Madness

                   

Well into our first year of marriage a very significant incident took place that was to portend a pattern that would have shed light on the hidden aspects of his behavior. One Friday evening, I arrived home from work to find him sitting in a chair brooding and sulking. At that time the reason behind it was unclear. We hadn't had a fight, he wasn't drunk, I wasn't late nor had I stopped for groceries without calling. He was simply in a dark mood and was not communicating. His demeanor was unnerving. He didn't even say hello when I walked through the door. The atmosphere was so heavy I almost chocked from the dense air. Later on, I would learn to see these brooding sessions as a "tell" of previous bad behavior. A bad omen, if you will.

I presume we had dinner and then I changed out of my work clothes into my robe. I sat on the couch to watch some TV and he was on top of me in second. He was forcing himself on me, he wanted sex. This was not usual, although he was not what you would call a good lover, this was an odd experience. He seemed driven and unconscious-like, almost in the controlled silence of rage. He was glazed over and crazed. I kept telling him to stop it and to get off of me and he kept holding me down as if he didn't hear me. Finally I grabbed his hair and pulled back on his head enough to get free while he yelled out in pain. I jumped up but he was behind me in full blown anger and threw me outside in the rain and locked the door. Later he threw the car keys outside at me and told me not to call my friends to rescue me. So I drove away in the middle of the night with no clothes on except for a robe.

  I decided to drive to a gas station where there was a pay phone and call my neighbor who came and got me and I left my car at the gas station until the next day. When he left the next morning we drove to get my car and I went back home. I was still numb. I had no understanding of that episode. I couldn't make any sense of it. Every day was becoming more and more bizarre with odd behaviors that I couldn't rationalize. Always I was in unfamiliar territory with only self- discipline and loyalty to a fault to support me. I would find out later after putting several episodes together that he was most likely a rapist but this would not become apparent to me until years had gone by.

After dealing with impounded cars, having to pay fines for disorderly conduct, having people drive him home after he had been picked up and putting up with the belligerence of a drunken husband, I sought help from an Al Anon meeting. After several meetings I had the uncomfortable realization that this did not apply. This did not fit his symptoms and I didn't know why. Yes, he drank and got drunk but it just did not fit. My dad was alcoholic and this was not anything like the alcoholism I knew of. It was something else but I had no idea what that something else was.

I continued to work at a career I loved and started going to lunch with a new receptionist the Dr. had recently hired. We would chat during break times and at lunch about girl things. One day I brought up the subject of one of my husband's friends and her face grew pale. She said she didn't want to talk about it here but for me to come over to her house after work because she had something very important to tell me.

When we had finished clinic for the day I drove to see her. She told me to be very careful; that this guy and possibly my husband were very bad guys. That they had terrorized some women she knew and that I should never trust them. She said I was in danger. OMG I drove home in a fog. How could I not know this? I had been so alert. I thought I knew where he was. I thought I was going crazy, that's what I thought.

Later that year I was suffering from fatigue. I could hardly get up in the morning. I had fallen into exhaustion and the more worn out I became the more my husband criticized me. I never did enough, I was never good enough. He refused to buy me a washer and dryer and insisted that I go to the laundromat at night after work. The laundromat was miles away and in a very dark parking lot. Not very many people were there in the evening. I had to tell myself I wasn't scared.

Several of the other couples we knew had purchased dishwashers but he absolutely refused to even consider it for me. He decided that it was lazy wives that had dishwashers. He invited his dad to live with us and informed me that I would also take his dad to work before I went to work and pick him up at night. The derision, denigration and withholding had gotten to me. I made an appointment with the Internal Medicine Clinic next door to my work. The Dr. there did a full battery of tests and could find nothing wrong with me. As a last resort to find some reason for my fatigue He asked me if I made more money than my husband. I denied that assumption out of pride. I didn't want anyone to know that I was basically the sole support of the household and all of my money went for bills and his misdeeds and tavern bills. I didn't go back to the Dr. again. There was obviously nothing they could do for me. There was no way to treat a non-illness. I wasn't the one who was sick, he was.

I began to believe that I was weak and could not keep up with the demands placed on me out of some flaw of character on my part. I should be stronger and more capable. I would have to pull myself together in spite of my exhaustion. How could an educated woman like myself become so desperate. I didn't grasp that I was being starved emotionally, And that living this cold existence was draining me. What I didn't see then was that I was beginning to falter. My self-worth had been damaged considerably because all he told me was how I was a college educated idiot who didn't know how to cook and clean and that my talents were useless as far as he was concerned. He was my judge and jury every day and no one was there to tell me otherwise. I became my own worst critic and he was giving me all the ammunition I needed to convince myself that there was something wrong with me. I did everything I could to please him so he would see me in another light. I was an only child with no sister or brothers to run to, my mom and dad had their own issues and were not supportive of me in that way. As a matter of fact, my dad told me not to run home to mamma at the first sign of trouble. I certainly hadn't done that! My mom tried but it wasn't enough as we lived 180 miles away. All phone calls were long distance and we could not afford that. I did call her once and ask her what she would think if I left him and she said she didn't think I had given it a long enough chance. She had no idea about the horrors I was going through and I couldn't bring myself to tell her. She was dealing with her own pain from living with an alcoholic. Was this it? Were we both stuck by the vows that someone else had never taken seriously? Were we enslaved by some archaic law that made wives indentured servants with no possibility of freedom until death? There was no love and cherish here. It was some type of wedding ring bondage for the purpose of insuring the family unit, but at whose expense?

Anger can be a particularly powerful emotion characterized by feelings of hostility, agitation, frustration, and antagonism towards others. This seemed to be the only emotion he had. He was devoid of all others. This made life with him a cruel experience from which scars would form. He never had a kind word, a comforting gesture, an encouraging idea, or an appreciation for life, any life. He was mean and demanding and intimidating and he thought this would guarantee him the obedience and love he thought he deserved. He was the only one who counted.

He did not know that he could not control my thoughts. Or at least he failed to consider such a thing. Equally so, as he didn't know my thoughts only my reactions, I did not know his thoughts. I only knew the manifestations of his madness. We don't really ever know what another person is holding inside, hiding from view, unless they tell us. My only understanding was that actions speak louder than words. Unfortunately for me his actions spoke volumes about his mind.

  He could wear me down alright, he could make me cry, he could physically hurt me, he could scare me, he could punish me, he could rattle me with tactics but he could not know what was in my head. He did not know what I was made of. That he didn't bargain for. Even my dad told me after I had filed for divorce that my ex just didn't think I would do it. Bet he didn't know that I had been planning it for years and that utter contempt for him had been brewing for a long, long time. With each insult, with each slap or kick or punch with each rape with each defilement, he lost more of me. It pushed me closer and closer to the exit. I didn't react; I regrouped and stayed true to my goal of getting out of there in one piece.

The Camping and Hunting Game

The Camping and Hunting Game

It was Fall now and hunting season had opened up. He and his buddy planned a hunting trip and offered to take us, their wives, with them. So we all agreed and left for a fun weekend. When we arrived in the hunting area they pulled into this lonely place deep in the woods that was not a camp ground or a hunting resort. Then they announced that they were going into the hunting town to see if other hunters were getting anything, they left us there in the dark setting up camp in the wilderness by ourselves. It was a dark cold night and I was as uneasy as one would get. They didn't come back and they didn't come back until around 11 at night. This threw me back into the terror of the honeymoon and being trapped where no one knew where I was and with no way out. Anything could have happened; especially if some crazy stranger stumbled upon two women alone in the dark with nothing or no one to protect them. Or maybe the two husbands were going to kill us themselves and make it look like we got lost in the woods. (I had to laugh to myself about my great imagination after all it was probably an exaggeration of fact.) I wasn't dumb enough now to trust them with my life, not after everything I had experienced with him. By this time I had learned my lesson. I was never going anywhere with him again, especially not without resources. I threw a giant fit and the next morning we wives took one of the cars and drove home leaving them to their little game, My girlfriend seemed unmoved by their disregard for our safety,  but I didn't know how anyone could possibly overlook the danger in that neglect. When the guys returned home after 4 days of freedom and frolic my husband was very put out by my performance. He told me that his friends did not like me. I told him that I didn't care because I didn't like them either. I think I was supposed to fall apart and try to do "better" next time but I truly didn't wish to have a next time. He was irritated that this latest threat from his play book didn't work. I think he was under the impression that if he made me look bad and feel like everyone disliked me that I would try harder to please him in the future. He would gain the advantage of complete control over me. He didn't know what I knew about him and about his friend, so now who was in the dark?

It was very peculiar to me, that after four days my husband didn't bring home anything to eat. No prize for his efforts or was there. I took note that such an important t trip brought nothing.

I knew he was not a hunter. He was a farm boy without a farm. This fascination with hunting was a substitute or a ruse. When we first met and up until the Honeymoon he told me that his family had a farm and that he someday wanted to go back and live on the farm. He described it with such brilliant detail that I believed that the farm was still in existence. Not so. When we went to see his mother, she was a bar maid and the father was working on a farm outside of the town. There was no such farm. It had disappeared in their divorce, never to return. Fooled again!

I started to question him about what he and his friend did over there if they hadn't brought home any game. He was outraged that I should dare ask him any questions about that. His friendships and his activities were his business and not mine. He was pushing me and putting his finger in my face. I had had it. He was spending my hard earned cash to fund his little foray and now it was none of my business. Not this time.

I was so sick and tired if the chaos and his menacing that I packed some things before I left for work on Monday. I left no traces of having taken my things; I just needed to be away from him. He didn't see me when I packed because he was already gone to work.

That evening when I left the office and went to my car, there he was, standing at the back of the building, lurking in the shadows waiting for me. If he really wanted to meet me after work he could have come in the front door and asked for me. But no, he had to act like the stalker he was. What could have possibly tipped him off? Nobody knew I was leaving. I hadn't told a soul. I cringed at the sight of him. He put on his poor me and said I should come home. My stomach was churning…. That was way too calculating for me. Was he spying on me or did he just have a keen sense of having pushed it a little too far last t me, far enough to get me to leave him? I didn't want to have a scene outside of my work where everyone could see so I went home. There was an odd foreboding within me that I would never be able to leave without serious consequences. He would always find me, he knew too much about me. I took back what I said about him not being a hunter, because he could certainly hunt me down.

I was angry inside.  If this was to convince me of his love for me or an act of loving concern it failed miserably. It was like being the target of a villain. It was too close, too threatening and way too obsessive. It was as if he was living inside my head. It really gave me the creeps.

Next: Hope against Hope

HOPE AGAINST HOPE

HOPE AGAINST HOPE

Even though there were red flags everywhere I couldn't be convinced to abandon the dream because I didn't know what those red flags meant. I didn't understand the deeper problem. There was very little out there about psychopaths or miswired individuals. Resources were few and far between. There were criminals and hoodlums and crazies but I didn't know about normal clean cut guys that were "off" while being charming: Guys who put on false fronts to cover their cruelty and relational aggression. I didn't know that when he invalidated me and showed such shallowness of concern that it meant something more than a bad mood and a temperamental disposition. So I forged on. I stayed true to my moral values and beliefs and I honored my commitment even when he gave me every reason not to

It was time to move things forward and to take the initiative to make our lives better. I had been working very hard to stabilize our union and I wanted a chance to make sure the future would bring rewards; I decided to see if I could negotiate with our landlord to buy the little house we were living in. It needed a lot of work but I was sure we could turn this to our advantage. I approached her with the idea to let us buy the house from her and she could carry the contract. I also wanted to know if she would agree to let us apply a portion of our rent money to the down payment on the house. As luck would have it she agreed. I took a risk and it paid off, now I had to offer it to my husband. I caught a break, he didn't balk. I was nervous but so excited. So what if it was a cracker box from the 1930's it was ours, a symbol of growth and ownership. I knew we could do it. The landlord came over and we signed the contract and it was done. What a relief.

I became inflated with a sense of progress. I took another risk and applied for a credit card; Just one, a store card for emergencies. We would not use it for frivolous wants. It felt like security. I had also been saving money, a little each month out of my paycheck for a washer and dryer. I squirreled it away in a mason jar and hid it an old furnace that didn't work until I had enough.

When I looked at the back porch on that old house I knew it needed a rebuild before I could get the washer and dryer. We needed a utility room with some storage. I called my dad to see if he would be willing to help on that since he was a master craftsman and would know what to do for permits and lumber and so on. He said sure he would and work was in progress. I would have a laundry room instead of a musty back porch.

While my dad was building my new laundry room he got an electrical burn from switching wires outside the building. They called me at work to tell me my dad needed help. I rushed home and was glad to see he was still alive but his hand was badly burned. I called my boss and he agreed to see my dad when I brought him in. We hurried back to my office and the Dr. started treating the burn, with my assistance. We worked on him for at least an hour and gave him some medication for pain so he could come back home with me. I could tell my dad was very proud of what I had become. My years of schooling had shown him how dedicated I was. He thanked me. And because of that he did me another favor. Two actually, he restored my belief in my worth and he gave me an opportunity to get a new car. I pushed my past aside, the one where was emotionally crumbled and reached to the prize. I went to the bank and talked with the manager about getting a car loan solely on my salary and references. I was getting dealers price on the car so it was solid if I should default. Loan granted!  I paid every dime of that loan off with my salary until I paid it in full. Who drove it? He did.

On a Saturday he took the new car and went with his buddy somewhere and didn't come home until 3 am the next day. I had no idea what he was doing but he came home without the new car! They had been detained in another town and the car was impounded. This was the same town that a coworker of mine told me that they had terrorized some women. Of course I was never given all the facts surrounding the impound but I did find out that they had friends in the sheriff's department there and so were always given lenient penalties. The next day he absolutely insisted that I go with him to pay the fine and get the car.


I had hardly taken a breath between episodes when another mess rose up to bite me. Their little company bankrupted. I could have predicted that because he was so swept up in playing the business owner that they spent all of the proceeds on parties and liquor and supporting fishing trips for whomever would go. There was an endless supply of good times as long as their wives worked to pay the bills and worried until their hair fell out. They, however never felt a problem in the world. That is the great thing about being an addict or a psychopath or both; you don't have to feel any consequences. It is always better if the people around you pay the price for your misdeeds. It is more comfy that way. Frankly, my dear, he didn't give a damn.

Upside Down

Upside Down

After the bankruptcy he found another job and I was so thrilled that he wouldn't be around his buddy so much. Maybe now we could settle down and he would take some responsibility. Maybe now he wouldn't drink until all hours and maybe just maybe I could get a washer and dryer and some things for the house. It seemed to have taken forever; these 3 years seemed like an eternity of walking on hot coals.

Regular paychecks seemed like a real blessing although he hadn't changed much and his buddy was still coming around and planning things they could do together. . I wasn't rid of my nemesis by a long shot. 

My husband was still ruthless and terrorizing. He still raged a lot. The one good thing about having his father live with us from time to time was that he seemed to limit the outbursts his son had toward me. Even though he meant more work for me as far as laundry and taxi service to and from work and another meal to provide there was an upside to having him. Pops had a girlfriend that he would go and see so there were those times of opportunity that left me wide open to abuse.

A new decade arrived and his father left. He received a call from his ex to tell him that one of their sons had gotten in some trouble and he was needed back there to straighten things out. Before he left I made one last attempt to solve the questions surrounding my husband and his friend. I asked Pops if he knew anything about the two of them terrorizing women in a neighboring town. He acted shamed and then said he didn't know anything about that but he would say that his son's friend was a really bad guy. I still didn't have the proof I needed but there was little room for doubt about the two of them. They were together all the time and there was trouble most every time they were together.

So Pops left and I found hell in a hurry. There were no limits anymore. The boundary maker had vanished and so had what little bit of safety I had managed to get. The rages became more frequent and whenever I stood up for myself I was summarily knocked down, sometimes literally. He would sneak up on me and scare me; he would pretend to leave and slam the door and then laugh when I realized he hadn't left at all. The guy was a freak.

The new job brought new friends but unfortunately they were the same kinds of friends as before. Was it some form of misogyny or was it that he was telling his friends that I was a horrible wife? One evening he came home to tell me that he had invited a co-worker and his wife over since they had asked to borrow something of his. When they arrived it wasn't too long before the guy took it upon himself to insult me over the terrible coffee I made for my husband's work thermos. I was stunned. Here he was a guest in my house and he was rather angrily humiliating me about my coffee. It was very weird to which I replied that I didn't know that I had married him. He went quiet after that but I was left with the distinct feeling that my husband had deliberately sought to bring me down to anyone who would listen.

After this and into the years that followed there were many lessons, some very harsh lessons about trust and denial and proof. Lessons that taught self-control, do not engage him, do not trust him, do not give second chances, listen to your inner voice, never confront through the front door always use an alternative route, keep accurate mental records of offences, study behaviors and strategies, understand the limitations of the present justice system especially when dealing with someone as capable of crafting convincing lies as he is, rely on your own integrity, know you will experience losses, understand your legal rights, like statute of limitations, power of attorney etc., do not become subject to petty arguments meant to distract you, Use your WITS. Work behind the scenes. 

Lately we had been getting an upfront view of the Manson Family and the women who crawled on their hands and knees to worship Charlie. They even murdered for him. We see the psychopath on TV and read about him in the papers. His face was everywhere and we know he is weird appearing. He looks like the devil or at least crazy yet he speaks like a guru as if to know deep thoughts. He speaks in lies and fables that have no meaning except to show off his self-importance. His look was obvious to us as a demon. We abhor the sight of him. We want him punished.  He used his charm to get others to do his dirty work.


Creeping around my house was another kind of demon: A soft spoken poor me good looking demon. He could hurt you just as well but you wouldn't be able to pick him out in a crowd as deranged in any way. Oh, but he was very cunningly deranged and I was living with him.

        Next post A new Tomorrow: A Baby

A New Tomorrow A Baby

A New Tomorrow A Baby

Then an unexpected turn of events happened, I discovered that I was pregnant. The Dr. had changed my prescription at my last check-up and the new prescription failed. I was extremely worried. I knew I would love the baby with all my heart but I just wasn't sure about having a child with my husband. I wasn't prepared for this at all.

The first few months went by as fairly smoothly. I was still working and so was he. He didn't seem too bad until I said I didn't want to go with him to an oyster and beer bash with his bad boy friends. He was so mad he kicked me hard with his cowboy boots and my entire buttocks and upper thigh turned black and blue. Not only was I hurt but my spirit was wounded. How could he do that to me, I was in my first trimester. Of course, he forced me to attend the party. It was horrible to have to smile and be social after such a wounding punishment. This would affect me in ways hidden from view, just like his well-placed blows, and by my 6th month I was showing signs of preeclampsia. I was dizzy and my blood pressure was high. The Dr. restricted my salt intake and told me to put my feet up when I could. By the end of the 7th month I was swelling, retaining fluids and was getting uncomfortable in my own skin. His continued drinking and partying and his excessive demands on me were making me sick. He told me not to think that my pregnancy would give me a right to be lazy. Lazy??? If what I had been doing was lazy I would hate to see hard work.

By December I had to quit my beloved job, I was too swollen and my blood pressure wouldn't come down. Besides, I couldn't get my shoes on anymore. My feet were sore and swollen beyond recognition. They looked like rubber gloves filled with water with the little appendages coming out of them. The Dr. placed me on bed rest and I had to call my mom to see if she could come over. She couldn't make it and so I managed, as always.

The new wrinkle was that now I needed my husband to support me. I was dependent on the man who abused and tormented me. His new job was a relief but we weren't wealthy and winter was coming when work was slow. His new company bought us a crib and mattress as a baby gift and tucked in some extra money. It was very helpful. I managed to put together a baby's room and my neighbor told me what to get as far as diapers and clothes. She loaned me her bassinet and her expertise. She was so helpful and a wonderful friend.

This was now a high risk situation for both the baby and me". It could be fatal. This medical finding "indicates that high psycho-social stress and CH can act in combination to increase the risk of preeclampsia up to 20-fold. "PMC My husband was killing me. The hidden and invisible harm of rape battering and emotional abuse showed up in another way.

"Intimate partner violence particularly sexual and emotional violence are the base of incidence risk of preeclampsia" University of Medical Sciences

The baby wasn't due until February but the decision was made to deliver him early, he would be a preemie, which could lead to slow growth and low birth weight. Labor was induced early and when that didn't work, I was scheduled for a C- Section around 3 weeks earlier than the delivery date. I was also told that recovery would take longer for me. I struggled through the first year of my baby's life. I was weak and had spent 2 weeks in the hospital. At home my child was slow to latch onto the bottle and nursing left him hungry. He screamed and cried all the time. I rocked and walked and rubbed and bathed him while saddled with the chores my husband dictated to me until I nearly lost sanity. There was no help nor was there sleep. Our pediatrician finally changed his formula because my baby soon developed diarrhea and I was afraid he was dehydrating. They told me it would take a year for his crying to subside. I had to accept that we were in it for the long haul. I was his mother and I would protect and nourish him to health no matter how long it took or how much I had to give. I had bonded with this new life. My baby and I would make it together.

My husband remained the same with outbursts of anger, disappearing whenever he could and giving me what amounted to little help with my new motherhood, He refused to understand the pain and depletion I had been through. To him this was a normal part of womanhood and I should buck up. This was the lack of empathy that is so often talked about regarding a psychopath. They cannot put themselves in your shoes and don't want to either. Even though they are physically present you have been abandoned emotionally. You are wounded but you must treat your own wounds the best way you can, alone. I was not to question him about anything nor about his friends and what they were doing. It was none of my business. This put more emphasis on the emotional and physical drain of such a relationship.


I was doing everything concerning the baby and the house with no help at all. I tried harder and harder to get everything done. All the medical appointments and pharmacy prescriptions, shopping and cleaning and cooking were up to me, even the bill paying was my responsibility. I was crumbling under the load. When he did come home he would white glove things, like the top of the refrigerator. He would check every room for a mess or an out of order corner. He constantly compared me to his mother who baked bread and cooked for ranch hands and kept a spotless house, all while raising children. Then he would shove me around to remind me what an incompetent I was. My continued effort never produced the demanded result. I remembered the law of diminishing returns and wondered if I was trying too hard to please him. The more I put into this marriage the less I got out of it. I began to see that there was a pattern emerging here. If I can convince you that you are bad or not up to standard then I can have complete control of you. You will only think my thoughts and behave according to my thinking. You will no longer have your mind; I will have it because I destroyed yours. I would cry when I was alone and I would ask God if this was my destiny or could I find an alternative to this continuing pattern of assault? What was making him so intolerable?

The Return Trip

The Return Trip

After an angry outburst over some silverware that had not been put away, he picked up a handful of knives and forks and beat me over the head with them shouting reprimands about my lazy housekeeping. My neighbors and other friends had told me that they could eat off of my floors they were so clean. So I called him on it by asking a friend to drive me to the airport. I had decided to go visit his mother and check her housekeeping for myself.  I didn't tell him anything, I just left after he went to work. I needed some answers.

I travelled two states away with a baby in tow to see if she really was so perfect. Well, not so perfect after all. The woman I had seen sitting on a barstool in a seedy part of town four years ago was his "perfect mother". What an eye opener. She got drunk every day after work and then flew into rages when she got home, yelling at whoever was available, mostly her children. Immediately following her rage outburst she broke down into tears hanging onto to her children and sobbing uncontrollably before she passed out. Lord knows what it was all about but I had a pretty clear picture of someone who was an alcoholic and who was prone to rages. It was a pitiful sight and I didn't have to look far to see who my husband took after? The more I saw, the worse it got and the more alike they appeared. I remember wondering if there was some genetic component to this bizarre rampaging craziness.

While I was there, I watched her swindle he drunk patrons out of their money, she could lie her way out of any situation and she had built a life around immoral values. This was a type of situational morality where she behaved one way at the bar another at home and another with regular society. She ran the bar, she ran a prostitution parlor upstairs at the bar and she took food stamps in trade for beer. It was nothing I wanted any part of. Other than that, she was very nice to me and told me to stay as long as I wanted to. That was a thanks but no thanks however, my better judgement told me to turn and go home. Her lifestyle was a stark representation of a faulty moral compass. Why? I don't know. Was it something she had learned to do that worked for her? If other people stole or took advantage of unsuspecting victims why shouldn't she do the same to feed her family and improve her living conditions? She couldn't possibly raise 4 children on her paltry wage as a barmaid with no child support, could she? "Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall". I hung onto my belief in erring on the virtuous side as the better choice regardless of perhaps having less. The question is how much of "less" would it take before I too considered going to the dark side? I picked up my baby and left. Did I get the answers I came for?

The conclusions I came away with were confusing and worrisome. I really didn't know how to handle the frightening tortures of life deep into the dark side. I truly thought that I had visited hell. I couldn't get far enough away from there fast enough. I had seen the hapless souls of an earthly Inferno. They were lying in the streets, slobbering on themselves, sleeping in the laundromat dryers and throwing up in public bathrooms eventually selling their souls for another drink until they just died. I will never forget them, all of them: Those who were cursed into shame and those who took advantage of them. It will forever haunt me. If that was my husband's haunting reality then why behave similarly with me? Like I said it was confusing. I had decided to go home, get some rest for myself and the baby and then figure out how to leave my husband without  evoking too much hostility. This marriage was simply not working for me.
We boarded the plane for home and after my little boy fell asleep in my arms I reviewed what I had just witnessed. What happened to his mother that she fell into drunkenness? There was a moment between she and I that I will remember to this day. She looked me straight in the eye and told me not to march to his demands, to let him wait it out. I saw in her deep pain and concern. She knew what I was going through didn't she.  I discovered that I had compassion for her and the people in those streets and bars who had fallen into complete despair. I wondered too about what has caused her to seek that lifestyle. What made her wander into such a complete shallowness of life? Maybe she was a good mother once, maybe she did do all the good things my husband said about her as a wife and mother but what had preceded her brokenness's? Pops had told me that their four year old daughter was killed in a farm accident. She must have been devastated beyond belief. Two months later she would become pregnant. There would be 4 more pregnancies after that. Was she ready to have and love another child when she gave birth to a son, my husband? It was only eleven months after her little baby girl had been killed that he arrived and required her motherly instincts to bond with another life. How deep was her agony? Nobody said. Had anybody noticed? Eventually her marriage to his dad ended in divorce and a complete destruction of life as she knew it. She crawled into the bottle and she raged and she manipulated and she stole and she prostituted. She raised her kids on a barroom floor and devalued herself and them. She had married at age 16 and she had no work experience to speak of. She fell into the only life she knew .Who could blame her? Oh, but we must. Do we have compassion for her experiences? Yes we do. Do we tell her that she has a right to live as an alcoholic, a thief and a neglectful mother because of the tragedies she has endured? No we do not. This would be a crippling compassion, one that gives her permission to kill herself slowly. Feeling sorry for someone and doing nothing about it is a useless higher self. Allowing another to wallow in their misery by feeling sorry for them without requiring them to look beyond their devastation is not compassion rather it is abuse of a different kind.  I felt a sadness about it all. There was nothing I could have done to prevent her continued downhill slide. She was addicted to the bottle and the lifestyle and nobody could change that no matter how much they tried. But for one moment I wanted to pick her up and take her away from this plight. She would later die of alcoholism because that's where addiction ends. She lost herself to it.

Home Again

Home Again

I returned home to another kind of hell. He was angry with me for leaving. The house was in disarray and he had torn up credit cards of mine and other papers that could make a difference. My personal belongings were tampered with including my birth control pills. He looked very sullen with a threatening demeanor. As soon as I got the baby settled and took a hot bath myself, he cornered me. He was definitely enraged at the idea of my going to his hometown. He detested my independence His intensity grew until he grabbed me and forced himself on me. He threw me on the bed and held me down, he raped me. My tears were silent. There was no sobbing, just tears that fell away without pain or anger. I felt the loss of some deep sense of self within me. It silently left my body creating an empty space where it once lived. It drifted out of me and disappeared into the atmosphere without a sound: A vanishing. It wasn't my heart; it was still beating. It wasn't my soul; I was still alive, It wasn't my brain; I could still think. It was that invisible energy of life. He had just robbed me of a person's greatest gift: spirit self.

That ended it. I was definitely filing for divorce. I had this feeling of emptiness. I was overwhelmed with hatred but I kept it in. This was not worthy of any angry words.In retrospect did he think that because I didn't fight him I was actually willing to be harmed or did he rather think that he was not harming me. I will never know for sure except that he did seem to gain pleasure from my pain or heartbreak. I learned early on not to reveal my pain or terror over what he did. The reason for this was simple; he used any retaliation or attempt at discussing his transgressions as criticisms which further aggravated him. I could not let on that he had degraded me, I refused to beg plead or scream to authenticate his success a hurting me. Protesting the assaults was not a wise solution. He wanted to get the better of me to feed his ego mania and I was not going to cooperate. After every assault verbal or physical it was never mentioned again by him or me. He acted as if nothing had ever happened. I acted that way too, but inside my wounds festered.

In a short while I would suspect the obvious because my period was overdue. And there were some increasing signs of possible pregnancy, I kept thinking that I had been upset and under great stress with the trip and my return to his rage that maybe I was just late. But No I was pregnant. I was also very worried. I had been advised not to get pregnant for 3 years due to the preeclampsia and the C-section. I knew I was going to be sick again. I also knew that I couldn't leave him like I had hoped. I had drawn the trapped card from the destiny pile in the game of marriage.

I was humbled to my core, I would have to stay with him and I didn't want to. I loathed him secretly. I needed his insurance and I needed the familiar pattern of home life to get through the next nine months. I could not afford the high level of stress of being alone and under threat. I would need to know my environment. In some ways I felt like an impostor and in other like a protector. I was carrying another life that was just as important as my own, maybe more important than my own at this time. My body was responsible for her life. She needed me to live. I had to stay safe and well for her. This was to be a major challenge physically and emotionally.

      Next Post: The Spin of Obsession

THE SPINS OF OBSESSION

THE SPINS OF OBSESSION

I was living in some type of forced unconditional love arrangement coupled with dubious suspicions doubts and questions but devoid of limitations or rules where he was concerned. With that there was a door to my soul that was left open for the unscrupulous to enter. I was not aware that he would even consider degrading me to that extent. Oh, but so often, for them, there is a temptation to take advantage of compassion and understanding and a willingness to love and forgive. The power that comes from taking something that has been given so freely from which suffering and pain evolve must bring an immeasurable satisfaction. Why? Because they repeat it again and again and again.

I had to make a wise choice or the wisest one I could make at the time. I could fall into despair and become an emotional cripple or I could decide to nurture and love and welcome this new child with all the love that was within me. I chose love.

April turned into summer with monthly prenatal visits to the Dr. as a norm. It was after one of my Dr. Visits that I decided to take a little excursion to the bakery. My son was at the babysitters for the afternoon and so I went home changed my clothes, hooked up the dishwasher (we had one of those portable ones with faucet hookups) and took a quick trip to get a donut: A very pregnant thing to do. I ate it at the store parking lot and then returned home. When I drove down the road to our house I saw that my husband had come home early. "It's a good thing I stopped to plug in the dishwasher before he got here, I thought." well, that was a false hope. When I walked in the kitchen and dining room floors were covered with sheets and towels. The floors were flooded and according to him it was my fault. He accused me of leaving the drain plug in so the wash water couldn't' drain out of the sink. It had overflowed from the volume of water that had drained out during the cycles. 

I couldn't believe my eyes. I knew that I hadn't had time to run the dishes before my appointment so I hurried home to get them going before there was trouble. He found any excuse to bully me in instances like this and I was desperate to avoid them. I was sure I hadn't failed to remove the stopper like he said but I did want that donut. Still, I remember checking everything twice before I walked out the door, knowing that a person shouldn't leave things unattended. I believe that he sabotaged me by causing this to occur because I was not home when he got there. The mess was huge and lot of work to clean up and, of course, he left it all to me because I was the one responsible for it. This small taste of freedom felt so good and the donut was an incredibly sweet comfort even if the consequences were harsh. I would savor it for many days afterward because life was getting harder by the minute. Joy was only a fond memory now and for a long time to come.

My life was diapers, spaghetti-O's, blueberry buckle and a growing tummy coupled with criticism and subjugation and demands upon demands. There was a sense of an emotionless existence, a flatness to life where my hopes dreams feelings and wishes were discounted and even labeled as crazy. The need for closeness was not negotiable. It was not even considered.

Odd changes began to happen. Things of mine, insignificant thing really, began to disappear. A Magazine, a note to myself, a recipe, even some flowers were chopped to bits after I planted them. He had moved on to gas lighting. The missing recipe was my first clue that he was the reason my things were disappearing. I had made a chocolate cake from a recipe I found in a little book from the local market. I got many compliments on it; I had put the book in a kitchen drawer and hadn't paid any attention to it until I thought to make the cake again. Wow, it was gone. I had a sneaking hunch it was him, my child was too little to reach the drawer and nobody else was around. So I kept my mouth shut and patiently watched for other evidence of this type and nature. Sure enough he didn't disappoint. I had been keeping g calendar of his nights that he didn't come home, just checking on my own perceptions of what he was doing or not doing. I had buried it under some towels. Next thing I know he is yelling at me about keeping track of him and how he wasn't having any of that and he ripped it up right in front of me. I knew for sure then that he was a snoop and a gaslighter. I knew that all the other misplaced or destroyed items were his doing too. He had given himself away in a fit of rage. Things had definitely taken another direction. Violence no longer worked because I was seeing the Dr. so often and any marks or bruises would be intensely questioned. Instead he resorted to slave and master games and gaslighting manipulations. When I didn't ask him about the articles that were missing or moved it frustrated him to the point that he lashed out deliberately trying to get me to engage with him over this. I wasn't about to do that. I had learned years earlier that engaging was never a good move.


Not only were his tactics changing but most of all I was changing. The pregnancy was progressing and I was beginning to get more tired and miserable with each passing day. I was taking on fluid a little earlier this time. I felt distorted and unhappy. He was either working or playing but not very interested in me or the children. He only knew I was around when he needed to be cruel.

The Rape the Radio, The Shock

The Rape the Radio, The Shock

I had just bathed and fed my son and tucked him in for the night when my husband arrived home, late as usual. He came in and stood in front of the wall heater. I looked at him and my throat closed and I felt queasy. What had he done? His face was covered in scratch marks and his eyes were glassy. He had a smirky grin on his face that gave me the creeps. He had that look of a high state of arousal. When you see it you can't un-see it. It is unmistakable. How dare he come home looking like that with no attempt to cover it up? Was this some sort of defiant bragging or was he really that out of it. The only words I could muster were  "what is that on your face?"  I followed him as he went in to wash up and his chest and back shoulders were also marked up. Was I really seeing this? It was a bad dream a horror movie standing right in front of me! Could this be happening to me? Maybe if I blinked it would disappear. I knew what it looked like but my mind wouldn't accept it. There had to be some mistake. I wasn't able to put together the other 3 warning signs of rape before this one in order to form a pattern. My head was spinning with possible reasons or scenarios that were more palatable than this but unfortunately my instincts would not let me deny this. He tried to lie his way out of it by saying he was involved in a bar fight and some GUY with long fingernails had scratched him. I knew it was a lie. I wasn't street smart, as they say, but I could figure out that this looked more like rough sex or rape than guys fighting. All the air had been sucked out of the room. I had been gut punched and the wind was knocked out of me. I was staggering through life for a few days. It was never mentioned again. He acted as if nothing had happened.

Behind his back, I asked around if anyone knew of a fight at the bar on that night. I only asked people he didn't know who had friends that drank there. Nobody could remember any bar fights or altercations on that evening. My guts told me that this was bad, very bad. Still, I had no proof.

In a few weeks he was sulking and withdrawn, like he did now and then. I was learning that these episodes were a 'tell' that he had broken the rules or gone too far with risky behavior. I hadn't yet decided that he was a serial rapist but I was learning to read him more effectively. Sure enough, he went out and bought a little fishing boat and a car rack for it and went fishing. I didn't think much about it until he displayed the fish on a board like trophies and then sat by them, in a distant and brooding state. Then, to top that off, he asked me to take pictures of him posed by his fish display. I was sure he was nuts! These compulsions give him a sense of short-term relief to his anxiety or fear. This ritual of withdrawing and the repetitive pattern of becoming over involved with some other more conventional "hobby" after the crime were his remedy to replace the bad deeds with good deeds. This is not to be mistaken for guilt or remorse. He had none of that; he just wanted relief for himself. It was disgusting to see and I was getting sicker and sicker as my pre-eclampsia was back in full swing. I couldn't remember anything I had done to warrant this mess. Me?, living with a rapist and murderer? I had to accept that I just didn't have any options for change right now. No available options spell danger and I was deep in it.

Doctor visits were important right now since my water retention was increasing. I had to see him every couple of weeks. We were into September now and the Dr. was getting more worried about me with every appointment. He decided that I should have a fetal age x-ray done. I saw my baby for the first time on a large 14x17 film. I was so happy and I was so glad that I had made it this far with everything else that was going on. She was all there in beautiful form with all of her fingers and toes. It was love. The Dr. wanted me to get on bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy because he wanted me to carry her as long as I could. I would go home and call my mother to see when and if she could come over and help me.


On the way home I decided to turn on the car radio. In a short second there was an announcement of a rape and murder in my area. This had happened recently and in a location that my husband frequented. He used to say he was training the dogs to hunt there and sometimes he even took his shotgun. A few times he would ask me to go with him and those excursions left me bored and nervous. I stayed way behind the gun but nothing would have prevented him from turning around and shooting me. There was nothing up there but a clearing on top of a hill. I always thought it was a strange place to spend time practicing hunting without a target. I didn't like the vibes. Now, I was frustrated because I had missed most of the information about the actual assault. I tried for days to get more news on it without raising his suspicions and nothing came up. I could never find any more about it. I needed to know. It seemed that he was always one step ahead of me. I trusted that if he was guilty of this that the police would catch up to him. This was too close for comfort especially if I did decide to call the police. If they investigated him and he hadn't done anything that might bring a penalty I was not prepared to meet. He might kill me for calling.  If what had happened a few weeks ago with my husband was incomprehensible, this was certainly guaranteed to scramble rational thought. Every day I was thinking the unthinkable. What would we do if he had killed someone? Did I marry a murderer? Am I bearing his children? These questions would never be answered. The police never came to question him; there were no inquiries of any kind. There were plenty of clues but nothing tangible. Those scratch marks are indelible in my mind and would be there forever. There certainly was some reason for them. I knew I wasn't crazy but I could be wrongly accusing him. Or could I?

The Christmas Party

The Christmas Party

My mom did come over to be with me and take care of my little guy while I was on bed rest with my feet up. During her stay, some relatives on her side of the family called and invited us to their Christmas party. We accepted and I was excited to go. There hadn't been much social life for me after marrying my husband. He didn't like anybody that wasn't a drinker at the taverns and such so when we went somewhere he usually sat in the corner and said nothing more than hello.

It is amazing that we don't realize how sick we are or how we look until an outsider stares at us or looks away in horror. When I walked into the party, people gasped at my appearance. I was so swollen that they were offering me seats and pillows and could they get me anything. Nobody at home had acted so shocked and concerned about my pain and discomfort. I figured out that I was pretty sick by the looks on their faces.

In about 10 days it would be time to go to the hospital but first one last check -up. The Dr. was insistent that I go that night, there were signs of distress. So I went home to pack up and be at the hospital by 7pm. No word from my husband. He knew how close I was but he didn't care. He stopped off at the tavern and never called me or anything. I had no choice but to drive myself to the hospital. I checked in and they started prepping me for the next day C-Section.
About 10:30 or 11:00 that night he showed up acting all surprised and asking me why I didn't try to call hm. I told him to go home and not to bother coming back. He hung around but I would not answer him, other than to tell him where the car was parked. I just turned over and watched him through the window as he left. It was nothing new to me to face things alone, even though, it felt lonely sometimes. I could do it by myself, I knew that. "Be Strong" was my middle name.
The next morning I was wheeled into the surgical wing of the hospital. No one was there to hold my hand or tell me they loved me and would be there when I came out. I just went on alone.
During the C-Section I started to feel like the anesthetic was traveling up my body and I was concerned about not knowing when to breathe. The anesthetist had given me too much medication for my size as he had only considered my actual weight which was water weight. I did stop breathing and had to be resuscitated. I pulled through and the baby was born and I was stitched up and sent to recovery for the night. I had to be watched 24 hours. While in recovery the pediatrician stopped to see and had some bad news to give me. My baby's bilirubin was high and she did look jaundiced. The worst message was the she had a heart defect and I would need to have her followed by a heart surgeon at the Children's Center. Thank goodness they had me on pain medication because that news could have thrown me over the edge of my endurance if not. I just laid there thinking about what the future might have in store of all of us.

My husband showed up after that and I was in no mood to see him. I was in pain and my heart was hurt too. I told him to go away. I wouldn't take no for answer. The nurse finally told him that my blood pressure was rising and he should probably let me rest. I would be in the hospital for 2 more weeks. I was only too happy to be there at least I got some rest and no harassment for two whole weeks. What a blessing!


I did learn later that my Dr. did tell my husband that there was absolutely no way I could have any more children or I would most likely die and so would the baby. He was advised to get a vasectomy to make sure that there were no future pregnancies. Would he do it?

The Invisible Multifaceted Spy Glass

Part One

Once upon a time a greedy selfish king had a lovely baby daughter. He was so envious of the affection between the mother and her daughter that he wanted to destroy the mother so He could have the little girl all to himself. He did not want to raise her or be responsible for her but what he did want was to ruin her mother and use his daughter to do it. 

This man was not really a king at all. He just wore a fake gold crown and strutted around waving his sword and slamming his fists to intimidate the little girl into believing he was the most powerful man in the land. She grew up believing that he was so powerful that she knew never to cross him. The rule was that she should always please him first before anyone else. She perceived the seriousness of his threat and witnessed what he did to people who got on the wrong side of him; especially her mother and brother. He wanted her to fear his rejection which she sought to avoid that at all costs. His fear mongering had worked and now he had her undivided attention. Soon he would give her his prized possession: a glittering wand! It was the Invisible Multifaceted Spyglass. She was too young yet to understand how great this heirloom was but he told her that in time and when she was old enough he would teach her how to use it. The little girl knew he had given her something so magnificent that she couldn't resist its charms. It had dials and buttons and you could look through it to get more power, all you had to do was twist it. What was even more fascinating was that nobody else could see it. It was invisible and held only in the mind. She felt privileged indeed. She would be special. Once in a while he would take out the spyglass and show it to her, reminding her of its secret advantages. He would have to acquaint her with it slowly since it was such an intricate piece. Only he knew that it was a tool of vengeance and discord. Only he knew that she was just a means to an end. He did not care what he did to her as long as his agenda was filled: His wife would be left out in the cold. Why should she get all the love? He should have the most because he, after all, was the lord and master. This was calculated to trick the little girl into entering into a toxic alliance with him. He gave her the blindfold of power and influence, coupled with the threat of rejection and loss, obscuring his coveted dream of retaliation. If he couldn't keep his wife on his own he would use his kids to destroy her.

 As his little girl grew year by year he showed her all the uses for the spyglass. He would explain all the buttons and show her how to apply them. There was the button for sabotage, invalidation, shallowness, cruelty, pleasure from pain of others; another button for how to be the center of attention, use of others resources, and how to build them up to let them down. And yet another button for creating problems like smear campaigns, rumor spreading and making conflict by pitting people against each other. There were dials to twist and turn for back biting and gossiping and using a kernel of truth and turning it into a lie to deflect unwanted attention away from herself. Its possibilities were endless.

How did he achieve such a feat of transformation right under the little girl's mother's sphere of influence? Her mother had never suspected that his tactics involved such duplicity. A loving mother would never think of using her own child as a weapon. Harming her child's tender psyche for any reason was unconscionable.

 But for him, it is much like the story of the cow and the grass. If you want a cow to follow you simply hold out green fresh grass in front of her but keep it just out of reach. As she moves toward the grass keep moving it in the direction you want her to go. She will forget about everything else (in this case her mother) because the immediate challenge is how to get the delectable grass.


The conditioning was in place. She was practicing it on the playground in the neighborhood and on her brother. Harmless enough at the time because of her childhood innocence but it would soon have a mind of its own and grow into something bigger than even she had anticipated. The story of the Invisible Spyglass will be continued in a later chapter about divorce.