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My stalkers have backed way off

From checking my blog once or twice a week, now my stalkers are down to every three weeks.  They have not been to my church since August of 2012.  I have not seen them around town–except for their truck in a parking lot in May/June–since probably early 2013.

I’m not entirely sure where they live now, since their stats vary from Eau Claire to Fond du Lac to Madison to Minnesota (and that’s all the same IP address!).  If anybody knows how a Charter IP address can keep showing various locations without changing its numbers for more than a year, when other Charter IPs do not do this, please let me know.

But it appears that I am out of the darkness finally.  Now my concerns have moved on to other things, while I continue to tell my story for the sake of others who are being abused.

So be brave and tell your story without worrying about the haters.  Fear is their way of controlling you so they can abuse you without hindrance.  Telling your story takes that away from them.

 

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New Guy Begging at My Feet–January 1995, Part 5

I had something to do every day over Winterim Break: Friday night, birthday party (1/27); Saturday, Superbowl party at Jason’s apartment in Milwaukee; Sunday, trip to Madison to see Sharon’s high school and one of Pearl’s old friends from Kenosha, who went to UW-Madison; then the last day, a trip to Milwaukee for a phone cord and boots.

Saturday, January 28 was the one-year anniversary of the day Phil and I began going out.  My day planner messages dealt with a printout of a genealogical chart my dad had sent me, and a missing phone cord for the modem.  No mention of Phil anywhere.  But I did remember what day it was, and blotted out the number 28 with white Liquid Paper.  You see I didn’t think much of that anniversary: It was the anniversary of the day I began a relationship with someone I should have run far away from.

At the Superbowl party, we watched the commercials and used the actual game time as breaks for getting snacks or going to the bathroom.  I believe the people there were my roommies, maybe Mike, Charles, Jason, Jennifer, and a cute guy named Brad.

Jason and Jennifer–like Peter and me so long ago–were pre-engaged.  But unlike Peter and me, they actually carried it through, and are married to this day.

The scary thing was, Brad acted like Phil!–Phil at a party, that is: crazy, goofy.  Pearl and I both freaked at the resemblance.  I hoped that was the only resemblance.  He acted like he kept wanting to talk to me or ask me something, but never got the chance.

At one point, we tossed around a stuffed, toy football.  Charles hit it at the computer, and a drink spilled.  Brad picked up a disc, which was in a plastic sheath, and said, “At least it had protection!”

Brad hadn’t shaved that day, but I could still tell he was cute.  (In a picture he later sent me of himself, he was clean-shaven and even cuter.)  All through the party he acted interested.

When my friends decided it was time to leave, we all stood around for a bit talking.  Jason’s apartment was a studio apartment with only the bathroom and the bedroom in separate rooms.  There was also a step separating the kitchen area from the living area.  I stood with my coat on above the step, and at one point Brad sat below me, hanging onto my ankles, begging me for something (I forget what, probably that I wouldn’t go).  If anything told me he was interested, that was it.  It certainly boosted my self-esteem.  I thought about slipping him my number, but I guess I didn’t have the courage.

The Budweiser Frog commercial, the first of its kind, was a big hit with us, our favorite of all the Superbowl commercials that year.  We loved the three frogs saying, “Bud! Weis! Er!”  We especially loved the last frog’s enthusiastic “ERR!” at the end of the commercial.  After we finally left, Brad buzzed us at an intercom in the hallway.  When we answered, he said, “Bud!  Weis!  ERR!!”

I was to find out that Brad was twenty-four, the same age as the Vampire and Charles.

I kept wishing I’d slipped him my number.  Pearl wanted to set me up with a Madison guy named Alex.  She said we had a lot in common, and he was a Christian.  He sounded cool, and “Alexander” was my favorite guys’ name, yet there was this Brad.  I decided that a serious, exclusive relationship with anyone would be a bad idea for me at this time.

****

About the trip to Sharon’s on Sunday, January 29: There are hills on the way to Madison, big ones, almost mountainous.  It looks quite different from the little hills and flatland of southeastern Wisconsin.  (By the way, my Wisconsin friends who say how flat Indiana is, Northern Indiana has huge hills!)

When we pulled up to Sharon’s house and waited for her to come out, I saw her house for the first time.  It seemed I was the only person who hadn’t been there before; I don’t believe Charles was with us.  Its size–tiny, boxlike–struck me.  I couldn’t believe one person could live in that house, let alone Sharon’s whole family.  It looked no larger than one room.

But when I visited Sharon one day much later, I found it was actually like Dr. Who’s TARDIS: bigger on the inside than on the outside.  Sharon and her siblings also thought it looked too small when their mother first had them come see it, but then they walked inside and changed their minds.  This house had two stories, though it looked like only one from the street, and the basement and attic were made into bedrooms.

First stop: Shabazz, the alternative high school.  It may have been a whole building by now, or it may still have been as it was when Sharon went there: maybe two hallways out of a shared building.  Not many students went here, but enough to make it worthwhile.  The school was run quite differently from a regular school.  It was for smart kids; they had more freedoms, and classes and requirements were structured differently.

By this time, the halls were overrun with teenagers clad in flannel clothes similar to the ones Roanoke freshmen wore, only much trendier.  (In September of 1994, when the large freshman class came to Roanoke, I looked around the cafeteria and saw a sea of checked flannel shirts.)  I said to Pearl, “They all look like My So-Called Life!”

If you ever get a chance to see re-runs of that show, you’ll see what I meant by that.  The style was a mismatch of seventies fashions, thrift-store and probably army-surplus finds, striped flannel shirts hanging loosely over T-shirts, and probably some tight shirts on the girls.

The hair was in all sorts of weird fashions.  I can’t remember them now, but a glance at My So-Called Life will show you, like Ray-Ann with her crazy, tiny braids here and there in tousled hair.

For those of us Roanoke upperclassmen who had seen very few high-schoolers since the early nineties, this scene was so strange as to be almost unbelievable.  When we graduated, girls wore permed, big hair and clothes much like the late 80s.  Most of my college classmates still dressed that way in 1995.  Had things really changed that much since we were in high school?  It had only been three and a half years!

Back to Shabazz.  There was even a computer lab in which students sat all around the room at computers, all connected to AOL.  There was even a display on cards around the walls and above the chalkboard–like an alphabet–of the various emoticons, or smiley faces, frowns and other facial expressions used on the Internet:  :)  :(  :P  >:(  etc.

The streets of Madison were narrow and claustrophobic and had steep hills, but were pretty, and sometimes you could see the state’s capitol building or the university.

We parked on one of the hills and met some of Pearl’s youth group friends in a Victorian house they rented while at college.  They were students at UW-Madison.  One was a guy, the others girls.  It seemed odd to me to find students renting a house together instead of living on campus.  I remembered that Phil once talked with Peter and some other guys about doing this.  But the only traditional student I knew who’d actually done this was Latosha, who lived with her then-boyfriend.

I believe Pearl’s friends rented the downstairs story.  They had a bird or two, a cat or two, and maybe other pets; I was jealous.  I wasn’t jealous of the fixtures, which appeared to majorly need updating.  The lights were inadequate, and the house felt a little cold.  There were few furnishings.

But I did get to sit in a wicker chair, a big, round, nestlike thing, not the kind Morticia Addams would sit in.  This was the first time I’d ever seen such a chair.  (The second time would be in Cugan‘s apartment.)  I have just discovered that they’re called papasan chairs. (Wouldn’t you know it, somebody else in some Internet forum wanted to know what they’re called, and that’s how I found out.)

These students knew Alexander.  I whispered to Pearl in the car later, and she asked one of the friends about Alexander, but she didn’t know what was going on with him.  I couldn’t tell if she meant he was free or wanted to be dating or not.

We went to an ice cream place where Sharon used to work, Ella’s Deli and Ice Cream Parlor.  Though I don’t think it was like this when she worked there, it was now full of a kid’s wonderland: trains running along the tables, trains running around tracks inside the glass-topped tables, tables made up of gameboards, a jungle scene, clown dolls everywhere, and so much stuff I can hardly remember it all here.  For more information and lots of pictures, check out the website.

We sat in front of the jungle scene.  I ordered a sundae which the menu claimed was number one among UW-Madison students, and you would order it by asking for the “Number One.”  It was a grilled pound cake hot fudge sundae, “the number one sundae in Dane County” according to the current menu.

****

Charles took Pearl to a hospital in Milwaukee every week, Tuesdays or Wednesdays I believe, so her doctor could monitor her after her surgery.  One week, probably on Tuesday, January 31, I joined them, and waited with Charles in the lobby.  Charles read a Highlights magazine, even though it’s for kids, and I thought that was funny and cute.  The nurses thought Charles was Pearl’s boyfriend, so she had to set them straight.

One night, Mike asked me (I don’t remember why) to move his car from one parking lot to the lot next to the apartments, since I had a license.  I said he wouldn’t want me to do that, because I hadn’t driven in years.  But he still said I could do it, and in a way I wanted to, so I did.

I sat in the car and remembered all the things I needed to do–adjust mirrors, move seat, put on seatbelt, etc.–but I totally forgot to turn on the lights.  It was bright under the lights in the parking lot, so I didn’t think of it.

I drove onto the highway, since the apartment lot didn’t connect to the other drives and lots on the campus, and drove there for a minute or two–realizing I didn’t have my lights on, it was now dark, and I didn’t know where to find the light switch.  Somehow I could find my way: there was probably a street light or two.  I wondered if the car coming the other way could see me.  At least there was no one behind me on that country road, which got little traffic besides students.

I got to the apartment lot safely, went inside, and laughed as I told Mike what had happened.  What better way to get through your embarrassment than by laughing about it?

Now that the Vampire had introduced me to it, whenever I could I watched Forever Knight.  I kept wondering if Dr. Natalie Hunter was a grown-up Sarah Sutton, the actress who played Nyssa of Traken, but her name never came up in the credits.  It was actually Catherine Disher, but she had an uncanny resemblance.

For the Spring Semester, we rearranged the living room: The table and chairs went along the wall in the study nook.  The TV went over in front of the glass doors, far enough away that we could still use the doors.  The couch went opposite it, under the bookshelves.  The armchair went to the left of the couch, when facing the TV.  The stereo went along the side of the wall to the kitchen counter.  The computer was to the left of the TV, when seen from the couch.

I believe one of the table’s chairs became the computer chair.  Whenever one of us wanted to watch a roommate’s activities online (which was often), we pulled a chair over to watch.  We may have sat on a footrest, of which there may have been two: a cushioned milk crate and a blue one belonging to the armchair.  (Yes, that’s the same milk crate that offended Phil when my friends suggested he sit on it.  Yet it was good enough for us to sit on.)

We knew the new room arrangement looked a little funny, with the TV sitting all by itself over by the glass doors, but we loved it because it was more open.

We heard that people in Muehlmeier kept knocking out walls (which they could somehow put back up again later) to get more room and more roommates.  Charles told us about this, and he lived in Muehlmeier, so it was probably true, but I have no idea how it was accomplished.

This gave my roommies, already in the mood for rearranging, the idea of moving all our beds into Pearl and Tara’s room and all the desks into the room I shared with Sharon.  When they told me, I said,

“I don’t want to do that!”

Randy joked, “One day you’ll go away and come back to find it done, whether you like it or not.”

One roommie said, “Why don’t we do a two-week trial period?  After that, if you still don’t like it, we can move it back.”

Sharon or Pearl said, “This way, we can use one phone line for the modem and the other for talking.”

The second point tempted me more than I wanted anyone to know.  You see, the phone cord used for the modem was actually more than one cord hooked together.  We ran it from Pearl and Tara’s bedroom to the computer, which was in the living room.  When we switched the rooms around, we hooked up both the modem and one of the phones to this cord.  This new-style phone had no carriage, so you set it down to hang it up.  We put it on the floor by the computer.  You just had to be careful not to pick up the phone when someone was online, or you’d bump them offline.  Since Roanoke had call-waiting, every once in a while, even an incoming call bumped us offline.  The phone line in my bedroom was now used for talking.

This was a useful setup, and it was fun to see the surprise on people’s faces when they asked for my extension and I gave them two numbers.  So after a while I no longer wanted to put the rooms back the way they were.  I tried to ignore Randy when he joked that the rooms hadn’t been switched back around, so I must like the new arrangement.

As the weeks passed, I spent so much time online that I no longer cared which room I slept in or where all the desks were.  Ironically, now I could’ve talked to Shawn late at night if he wanted, because neither phone was in the bedroom, but he never called again until after I graduated.

Of course, bed-making was now shot to heck.  None of us made our beds very often, now that the bedroom was just a bed room and nothing else.  Friends were entertained in the living room.  Sharon and I still kept our clothes in what was now the study room, and changed there.

Index 
Cast of Characters (Work in Progress)

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It’s now even tougher to sue abuse bloggers for defamation: Court Decision

As my readers know, I was threatened with a lawsuit by my abusive ex-friends, Richard and Tracy, shortly after they found this blog in May 2012.  This was part of a larger scheme to threaten, stalk and intimidate me into silence.  But they have no possible means of bringing such a case, which would cost them thousands in lawyer bills, would require their lives as well as mine to be invaded and laid bare, and are difficult to win–especially when you have lost no money nor a job over it.

Not only has nothing ever come of this threat, but their chances of winning such a suit are now even more remote than they already were.  (I do not post their real names, nor do I post lies.  Even my conjectures, I researched and pondered for months before posting.  Even second-hand knowledge, I could verify with my own observations and first-hand knowledge.  I have seen absolutely nothing to prove that I have posted anything false: In fact, I have seen more proof that it is indeed correct.)

I’m not sure how I missed writing about this back in January.  But Alex Grenier posted on his blog on January 18 that his parents are now even less likely to succeed in suing him for defamation, despite some setbacks in the case.  This is because his blog subject matter is in the public interest: child abuse, spiritual abuse, and the integrity of Calvary Chapel.  Keep in mind that as the defendant, he has a lawyer to clarify these issues for him, and is not just reading stuff online.  ;)  He writes:

A huge victory for bloggers was handed down on Friday by the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals.

The Court ruled that “matters of public interest” rise to the same level as public figure status in defamation lawsuits, even if the individual subject is not a public figure….

The burden of proof is on the plaintiffs to prove “actual malice” and “negligence” which according to legal sources:

“In a legal sense, “actual malice” has nothing to do with ill will or disliking someone and wishing him harm. Rather, courts have defined “actual malice” in the defamation context as publishing a statement while either

    • knowing that it is false; or
  • acting with reckless disregard for the statement’s truth or falsity….

Instead, the plaintiff must produce clear and convincing evidence that the defendant actually knew the information was false or entertained serious doubts as to the truth of his publication….

It is generally not sufficient, however, for a plaintiff to merely show that the defendant didn’t like her, failed to contact her for comment, knew she had denied the information, relied on a single biased source, or failed to correct the statement after publication.

Abuse blogs are in the public interest–as evidenced by the huge jump in hits I got from writing about abuse and narcissism.  Their purpose is not just to “out” our abusers, whom bloggers often do not name, but to share our struggles to deal with the pain and move on, tell our stories, and help others and ourselves identify abusive behavior.  This is in everyone’s interest: Even if you are not being abused, somebody you know probably is.

 

 

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Phil comes crawling back to me–and we put our marriage on paper–College Memoirs: Life at Roanoke–The Long, Dark Painful Tunnel, Part 12

September 22.  Phil had once mentioned meeting Persephone, and sounded interested in her, which made me feel awful and jealous of her.  By this time she may have had a crush on James, which would have eased my fears a bit if I knew about it.  (Odd—he wasn’t especially handsome, yet without even knowing him, girls just seemed to keep falling for him–me included.)   One day, possibly anywhere between Monday and Thursday, I overheard Phil talking to Persephone at the table right behind mine at lunch.  I was all alone by then, and the cafeteria was almost empty.  He told her about the time he almost lost his legs during the summer, working at the Mishawaka factory.

When you’ve been married to and living with someone all summer, and he starts chasing another girl right in front of you, you feel like a part of you has been ripped out.

Next thing I knew, Phil came up to me, startling me, and started talking about Mike.  He asked if I talked to Mike about my crush yet, and I said no.  (I didn’t want to talk to Mike.)  Phil said if I didn’t, he would–which was a terrible intrusion he had no right to make.  But all the time he acted sweet and smiled.  I didn’t understand what was going on.  For me to be so surprised about it, it may very well have been Monday, when I still thought he hated me.

On the morning of September 22, I put out another fleece: that if Phil was meant for me, Mike would ask a question in class.  If not, the teacher would cancel class.  If no answer, both would happen, or neither.

I expected a no.  I went to class in the Chase basement, thinking it didn’t matter if I was late because we wouldn’t have class anyway.  To my surprise, there was still class that morning.  And Mike–well, he said one of those, “So you’re saying this is the case?” type of questions, more a clarification-question.  The teacher did let us out halfway through the class, so I thought maybe I got a “wait” answer, but then I thought, well, he didn’t exactly cancel class; he just let us go early.

So I sat in the chair in the little lounge under the steps there in the Chase building in the basement, and read the assignment for American Lit class.  I often went there that semester, when Intro to Christianity class let out early and I needed to kill time until Intro to Psych class the next period.  Sometimes I saw Phil pass by or heard his voice, because he had a class just above mine.  From October on, I tried to ignore him when he passed by, and pretend he didn’t bother me at all.  I liked my Lit books, and they, not he, would engross me.  Or so I wanted him to think.

Then I’d go upstairs to class, and sometimes I passed him on the way or got a drink at the water fountain when he was just down the hall.  Eventually, I ignored him and loathed the sight of him (you will soon see why).  I hated Phil in those days, sinning in my anger, and wanted nothing to do with him or his friends or his family (though I didn’t mind if his mom said hello and wanted to chat with me).  But it was impossible to keep a constant distance from him on that little campus.

On the 22nd, I went to lunch straight from a meeting with the counselor at 12:15.  Lunch closed at 1:30 each day that semester, since they expanded the hours on weekdays.  So I could get lunch, but I had to take whatever was left.  I sat in an almost empty cafeteria.  It was lonely, especially without my friends there, but I had to work not only with my schedule but with the counselor’s.

During the meeting, the counselor told me I was handling this much better than most people handle the breakup of an engagement.  I figured this owed to my past experience with Peter.  As painful as it was, the breakup with Peter taught me a lot.  When Peter broke up with me, I slept maybe two hours out of the first night–and that was part of my problem.  Fatigue makes depression much worse, much harder to deal with, and my inability to eat made me physically sick.

The counselor said my anger, as expressed in my diary the night before, was a good thing, a healthy thing, part of the healing process, and I should concentrate on that for a while.  I probably spent at least part of the meeting spewing out to her what I felt about Phil.

I still wondered, though, if I truly got an answer from God, or if I was misinterpreting it, or if it was just coincidence.  One more fleece that day, and that would be it.  I asked God to either open the door or to close it forever, whichever was in His good and perfect and wise will.

While I sat at lunch, probably thinking about the meeting and how enraged I was over how Phil had been treating me, the weirdest thing happened: Phil came over to me, probably from the Muskie, and sat down across from me!  I believe he had already finished his lunch.  I didn’t know what he was doing there.  I didn’t want to see him.  I also no longer wanted him, no longer wanted the fleece to really be a “yes.”

He started saying some things to me, some nice, conversational things, while I sat there ripping on him in reply with witty and caustic remarks.  He didn’t seem to get it.  Then he said something insulting about me (I forget what), so I stood up abruptly and took my tray to the tray window.  He looked stunned.  I liked that.  However, I had to come back and get my stuff–my bag and, I believe, trusty duck umbrella.

I may have put on my light jacket, and was about to leave with my stuff, but he said something more to me, which got me to sit down again.  I don’t remember what he said, but it seems to have calmed me down for the moment.  But I didn’t stay for long.  I had to get to work soon, and I just didn’t want to be around him any more.  I wrote to a friend, “And then last Thursday, when I was mad at him and had been wanting him to stay away, he kept coming to talk to me wherever I was.”

My Thursday shift started at 2:30 and went until 4:30.  Phil came in the library while I worked.  He came and went, but I don’t think he said a word to me.  I had a sort-of-fleece, but without actually mentioning it to God, because I didn’t want it to be an official fleece, because I wasn’t sure I should be putting out any more.  But it was that he would come back down from the second floor, or wherever he went, in fifteen minutes or less, and that would be a “yes.”

He did so.

Near the end of my shift, Phil came up to the desk and started talking and joking with me.  This annoyed my co-worker Megan, who said,

“Why don’t you just go to dinner with her and talk to her there?”

Phil said, “Why would I want to have dinner with her?  I just broke up with her.”

He soon left, finally taking the hint.  I said to Megan, “He is so annoying.”

I went to dinner right away, hoping my friends were already there.  While I sat eating with them, Phil came over and took the empty seat across from me!  Pearl and I were both surprised.  He talked and joked with me, while I kept putting him down in witty ways.  After the others left, he still talked with me, even though I wanted him to go away.  He asked me to go to his house and see a movie that night.  I was like, Okay, whatever.  I also thought, Is this the open door I was asking for?

That night, I went with him to his house to watch Omen.  On the way, he asked, “Have you thought about my offer?  To have sex without commitment?”

I said, “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve decided that it wouldn’t be right.  Before, we thought we were married.  Now, we don’t.  We don’t have an excuse.  And I’ll need a piece of paper saying we’re married before I sleep with you again.”

We sneaked into his room and started watching the movie.  He hid me in his room, since he didn’t want the family to know I was there (why not?).  I stayed on a little chair in a corner for some time, while he looked for the movie and his mother talked to him.  Then he came back in and we sat down together on his sofa bed, which was pulled out.  He started to put his arm around me, and I cuddled up against him–all unexpected.  Then he started kissing me.  Then he wanted to make love to me.

I said, “Not without a piece of paper!”

He seemed so dejected, and so affectionate.  He said, “Don’t tell anyone we’re back together.”

I said, “I have to.  I’m not going to keep such a thing secret.  Are we engaged again?”

“Yes, I suppose we are.”

“And the spiritual marriage is back on?”

“Yes.  Everything is.”

“Well, I won’t do anything this time without a piece of paper.”

He got out a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote words like this:

This is to show that Nyssa McCanmore and Phil O’Hara are married in the heart, the soul, and the body.  It is a real marriage, and this is binding for us, even if it isn’t a legal marriage.

So you see, I had a written contract expressing that we considered ourselves married.  We may have signed it; I have since forgotten.

I said, “Never do this to me again.”

“I’ve grown up a lot over the past couple of weeks, and I never want to lose you again,” he said.

I told him how I embarrassed myself with Peter and that I decided not to do that again.  I also told him about the fleeces, and some of the things people said about him, wanting to get those issues out in the open and out of the way.  I believe I also mentioned that they called him unstable.

I later wrote my high school friend Becky about all this.  He wanted me to keep the marriage secret from her over the summer, but now all our college friends knew about the spiritual marriage, and I told Becky about it as well, in an October letter.  So for the next week, we were openly married.  In some places, this would have made us legally married.  Laws aside, it was now a public covenant that we were married, which is more important in marriage than legal issues.

When Phil took me back to school the next morning, we walked arm in arm from the parking lot by the suites to my apartment.  We passed Kelly, InterVarsity’s chief nemesis during the play fiasco.  I figured Kelly must have known about the breakup by now, and this must have been such a sight for him!  I enjoyed it immensely.  Look at us now!  Back together and happy again!  I imagined Kelly telling the tale to others, seeing their shocked faces.

I went to my room to shower and change for my 9:15 class.  I saw on the message board: “It’s 8:30–Do you know where your roommies are?”  Referring to my “disappearance,” of course.  They were already gone, so I wrote a reply.

Blissful, I went to lunch.  My roommies sat behind the south Bossard partition (which was up), and I sat with Phil, Dirk and Sandy.  I saw Pearl come in the cafeteria; I smiled at her and said, “It’s on again!”  She rushed over and told the others.

Dirk said he and Sandy were happy for us, and, “We were rooting for you because you make such a great couple.”  (Heh, Dirk had such a way of showing this….)

I took the stuffed rabbit Benny down from the closet, and put Phil’s pictures and keepsakes back on my shelves and bookcases.

Phil soon told his family about us, but he didn’t think I should go over there again right away, because he wasn’t sure his parents would like it.  He said it was because we had broken up.  But he soon talked to his mother, and she said she didn’t mind.  He just wasn’t sure if his dad would mind.

Index 
Cast of Characters (Work in Progress)

 

Featured post

Taking Back My Power At Last

I just read this:

CHANGE your perspective: Yes, he gets away with much because he has no conscience and he’s a very sick person, and he’s going to do what he’s going to do, but I have a LIFE I WANT TO LIVE NOW AND I AM IN CHARGE OF WHAT I CAN BE IN CHARGE OF: And THAT is your perspective.

How much of how he affects you now is that you allow him too? He recreates the bond over and over by doing something slimy and sneaky, triangulating others in your life, including the children. What perspective can you take on that means he has less power and that you have MORE, no matter what slimy, sneaky thing HE is doing?

Trying to fight with, convince, share, tell, order, complain, whine, REACT to a psychopath, means he still has the power. Every grievance that you share with him, even in anger, gives him power, TELLS him, LITERALLY what to keep doing that bothers you, and therefore he does it, subsequently triggering you, keeping you a victim and never moving forward with your life.–To Get “Unstuck,” not sure who the author is

I wanted the freedom to tell the world everything that was going on, whether Richard/Tracy watched or not, as a big F**K YOU to them (I WILL continue exposing their deeds like this, no matter how they threaten me, because their real names/identifiers are not used and I speak the truth) and a help for anyone in a similar situation.

I had also hoped that sharing my heart on my blog would demonstrate to Richard just what he had done, reach him, show him that he needed to get things right with me or he would never be right with God….

But his lack of response, while continuing to read, has only confirmed my suspicions that he is a narcissist, possibly even a sociopath (he does have a history of violence and illegal activity).

My hope continued–until I posted that I wanted to be left alone for Lent, wanted to move on by no longer seeing him in my stats, and blocked him.

(I couldn’t block him before, as much as I tried for months, because Toolator was not upgrading accounts to allow blocking dynamic IPs.  Other blockers I tried, did not work.  But now, he’d switched to a static IP, so I tried Toolator again.)

Then, once he got around the block and saw my posts about blocking him, not only did he find ways to get around the block (going all over town using various wi-fis for the same cell phone and, apparently, figuring out how to defeat the blockers), but he began checking my blog constantly.

He and she, since Tracy checked my blog from her college campus once, so I’m quite certain they’re in on this together, are both narcs/sociopaths deliberately trying to keep me “stuck.”  Last year they ridiculed me for being angry at what they did to me, but they’re obviously trying to keep me in that dark place.  This fits the above description of how a narc will find out what bugs you from your complaints, then keep doing it–on purpose to keep you “stuck,” to keep you his victim, to keep you from moving on with your life.

Moving my blog to WordPress.org (especially with a redirect plug-in to transfer my traffic), then using far more effective blockers to keep them out, was the best thing I could have done.  I have blocked several of the IPs I found him using, including dynamic ones; even if he does find another internet source to hook into, his home network and a few other sources are blocked, so he can’t just come here any time he likes.

Now I’m taking my power back at last.  I see him still checking every day or two, but he’s stuck at the old blog, unable to come to the new one.

I’m beginning to feel free.  I’m beginning to move on.  I’m beginning to heal.

His character is so glaringly clear to me now, that I KNOW he was just using me from the beginning, that he lied to me about himself, reflected my own self back to me making me think he was very different, possibly even lied about his faith.

I mean, come on, these “Orthodox Christians” are not even respecting Lent, and never made an attempt, after we broke things off with them, to sort things out with us, to apologize for their own part in things, to do anything that was not selfish and self-centered!  They took, took and took again from us, but did not give back.

Featured post

My Struggles with Infertility

I’ve been off birth control since early 2007, shortly after I started going to an Orthodox church.  Everything I read/heard said that Orthodoxy is against birth control, so that’s why, but my priest told me, “The Orthodox Church is not against birth control.”

It was very confusing, but I wanted another child, anyway–and my hormonal imbalance, I discovered, had finally corrected itself after years on the Pill.  No more wacky periods that were sometimes normal, sometimes a month or so late, sometimes lasting far longer than five days, a problem I’d had occasionally since 1994, causing me to suspect alternating pregnancy (when they were very late) and miscarriages (when I had a ten-day period the summer of 1994).  (This is probably why my period was 10 days late in 1993, making me think I was pregnant.)

Then it finally came to a head right before my wedding in 1997, when my period lasted for 16 days, and got diagnosed and treated with the Pill.  I had not intended to use birth control after my wedding, but now I had to, so having children was already pushed off.  Then I began having gynecological problems, kept having to get stuff removed to make sure I wouldn’t get cervical cancer.

When it was finally all gone in 2002 (for the moment–it came back later), I went off birth control again, but it wasn’t until spring 2003 that I finally got pregnant.  I was 29, having been married at 23.  So my first child was already late.  But I had to go in for a LEEP to remove more stuff after this, in 2006, after my son was born.  Nothing more has happened since, but I worry every time I get an exam, that it’ll come back “abnormal” again and further testing will find more stuff to get removed.

My periods were normal in 2007, and have been since, making me think I must now be able to have the other two children I wanted.  But nothing has happened!  Once I thought I was pregnant, which Richard will remember, because he was staying here when I got struck with a sudden attack of vertigo, nausea and vomiting.  (His joke: “How will it look, Richard comes here and Nyssa gets pregnant!”  NO, we did NOTHING, it was just a joke.  :)  )  But my period started soon after.

I resigned myself to the distinct possibility that we are now infertile and I will never have more children.  It made me very sad, and finally, last summer, I went through all our baby things, stored and waiting for another baby, and gave them all away.  It freed up lots of space–but was sad, a defeat.  I figured if we waited much longer, all our stuff would be so out of date that nobody would want it, yet it’s barely been used.  The bottles already had to be recycled, though barely used (I mostly breastfed), because we got them before BP or whatever-it-is was removed from baby bottles.

Now we may know what the problem is….Though whether this will lead to me getting pregnant at 40, remains to be seen.  Even if the problem is fixed, I may be too old.

Another option: taking in foster kids for Social Services, since I have such a burning in my heart about child abuse.

[Update 10/23/14: My husband's surgery did not change a thing.  But now I've discovered this may be on my end, and solvable.  See here.]

 

Long talk over husband’s temper….

I hope things will calm down now….I gave him some insights into the NVLD side of me which may help him.  Hopefully…..

Apparently he was baffled by some of my quirks, did not understand things.  And admitted that no, what I did was not wrong and his reaction was out of proportion.

He does admit that the yelling and screaming is a bad thing. But the trouble is getting him to understand that yelling and screaming is actually considered abuse, not just a bad habit, and it’s not just me being oversensitive.  That I’m not “reading too much,” but that I felt this way before the Internet came along.  That many, probably most, other women in my position feel the same way about it.  That no, I cannot take the responsibility for somebody else doing this, and it does not mean I think I’m “perfect.”  (Stuff like this said during his anger makes me dread these sessions, because even if I’ve done nothing, I guess I’m supposed to think I did.)  And that my fear is not of some “ogre” made up in my head, or based on one thing he did years ago, but based on the pattern which he has followed for decades.  It is very frustrating trying to get him to see that it’s not coming from what other people have done to me, but from what he has done.  No, he’s not as bad as others.  Not as bad as Tracy.  Not as bad as Phil.  But his yelling has always scared me.

The good thing is it only took an hour to get to a calmer point of understanding.  Not three.  I recall from reading Tracy’s argument with Todd (which Todd posted online), it went on for many, many hours but she never stopped ranting and raging at him, and she also engaged in a smear campaign.  Tracy (from what I’ve been told by reliable sources) has the signs of borderline personality disorder.

Now, Hubby has still been arguing with people quite a bit on Facebook, so I do still wonder what’s going on there, if something clicks (amygdala?) and makes him take things too personally.  But he is not to the extreme of Tracy’s behavior.

Yes, if you’re just tuning in, there were other posts, but I removed them and will not put them back up, and do not wish to summarize them.  This is just an update for the four people who read them.

 

I have to go in for surgery

Fun, fun, looks like I’ll be out of commission for a few days at the end of the month: My doctor found a uterine polyp, and has to take it out.  I’ve had other gynecological surgeries because of this, but this sounds a bit more complicated than I’m used to, with anesthesia and being unable to do much for two or three days.  Past surgeries involved only local anesthesia and getting back to normal quickly.

But this probably explains why I’ve had no more children–so more children after this are possible.  Even though I’m getting older–but I am in good health.  :)  Joining a gym has made me stronger and taken an inch off my waist; blood pressure, thyroid and other tests keep coming back normal; no sign of the diabetes my family keeps getting.  If I have a chance for one more child at least, I’m going for it.

 

 

 

We Hook Up to the Internet–and Shawn Fixates on My Sex Life–January 1995, Part 4

Mike started eating one banana per day, usually at lunch.  I think it was a health thing.  It seemed to make him bouncier than usual.

****

My dad sent us an old modem to hook up to Pearl’s computer.  It was 2400 baud, already ancient by then, when 14.4K was top of the line.  He also sent his old, outdated copy of Procomm, without all the fun perks of the later versions.  It was fine for Pearl’s 8088 computer, which didn’t have Windows.  We just needed a phone cord and someone to help us hook the thing up.  It wasn’t a simple box like our first modems were, but confusing and intimidating: you actually put it in the computer.

Mike’s friend Brent came over one night to install the modem, after January 27 and before February 7.  I had a lot of fun chatting with Brent about AOL and modems and such as he set everything up.  I think there were no problems putting the modem in, but when Brent tried to use his introductory AOL disc, it refused to work.  Mike tried calling the tech support number, but was put on hold for an excruciatingly long time.  When he finally got to talk to someone, it didn’t help.  Somehow, Brent finally figured out the problem and got the disc to work.

We were now in business.  Dad gave me two S– BBS numbers from one of his computer magazines.  One may have been for Spatula City, a once-popular BBS run by Jennifer’s boyfriend Jason.  The other was for TCB.

Spatula City was more an old-style BBS, but this TCB amazed us.  It amazed Pearl and Sharon because they’d never been on BBS’s before, but it amazed me because I’d never seen such a fun BBS before.  Even PanOptic Net (Dr. Who-based BBS in South Bend) had never been like this.  It also charged a fee, unlike any other BBS I’d ever used more than once.  The old-style, free BBS’s like Spatula City and PanOptic Net were now on the decline, because BBS’s were starting to include expensive Internet access and multiple lines.

TCB hadn’t yet gotten up to twenty-some lines, but it was already close.  Every other BBS I ever used, could only allow one user on at one time.

The commands were easy to use, much easier than on PanOptic Net.  You could go into Teleconference and find colorful letters, fun action words, and tons of people.

Sharon and Pearl sat there “oohing” and “aahing” as I set up a demo account and explored the BBS.  (In those days, TCB let you do almost everything in the short-term demo account, before you decided whether or not to set up a paying account.  Later on, the demo class allowed for very little, and wasn’t fun at all.)

Jason also helped us out, telling us about other BBS’s and giving us his Spatula City handle, Antilles.  Spatula City wasn’t working right for a few days, so we didn’t get to see why it was so popular.  Jason also told us my ex Peter ran a board named Dementia.  He warned us that if we found a Red Dwarf on TCB, it was him.  (This is a fake handle.  I think Peter got his actual handle from Babylon 5.)

He said all this with an ominous tone, as if he thought Peter was scary.  I don’t know if he knew about my history with Peter, but he might have, because he was now dating my old pledge sister Jennifer and used to date Cindy and Catherine.

****

Pearl, Sharon and I got home one night fall semester, possibly from an InterVarsity activity, and Tara said, “Pearl, some guy named Shawn called.”

We were all like, Shawn?  Shawn???  There’s a blast from the past!

We sure weren’t expecting to hear from HIM!

He probably called Pearl again, and must have gotten my number from her.  He called me later, and we had a long conversation about how our lives had gone since he left.  He said he was on Prozac now.  He sounded a slightly deranged sort of happy.

He said, “I haven’t had a girlfriend in about two years, and no one seems interested in dating me.”

When I told Pearl about this later, we both said, “Girlfriend?”  The only girlfriend he could have had two years ago was me!  I thought he always told me I wasn’t his girlfriend?

Pearl said, “That’s fishy.  Maybe it shows there was something going on there.  Maybe now he thinks of you as an ex-girlfriend?”

I said, “If he didn’t think of me as a girlfriend before, then why did he call me one, now?”

“I always knew there was something there he wasn’t admitting to.”

A few years later, I read an article in Mademoiselle or Glamour magazine about this very phenomenon. The author had been in several situations where the guy would never say, while they were dating, that they were actually dating or seeing each other or hanging out or anything, or introduce her to friends as anything but a friend.  But years later he’d refer to her as an ex-girlfriend!  So it happens.

But back to the phone call.  While I sat at the desk in my room, I told him about the spiritual marriage.  It came up because, when he mentioned things we’d done, I said it could have been much worse but it wasn’t.  I told Shawn we were common-law married, so he wouldn’t think less of me for “giving it up without a wedding ring.” (I heard that phrase on The Cosby Show once, the fantasy episode in which the men started getting pregnant and not the women.  See here, starting at 7:18.  Hey!  The men in the opening news segment got pregnant in Oconomowoc, WI, close to where I live now!  :)  )

Shawn said, “So now there are only a few virgins left at Roanoke!” Meaning a few of my friends–and not me anymore.

Shawn was one person I could talk to about these things.  We had stirred up the fire between ourselves; now I had gone on to another guy with that fire still burning.  Shawn didn’t try to get back with me now that I was single again, but that was just as well, because I had moved on–and would soon meet the love of my life.

Shawn called me again the week of January 22, at one in the morning.  Sharon was asleep at the time, and not too happy about having to jump down off her bed to answer the phone.  I took the phone into the hall, and whispered,

“You shouldn’t call so late, Shawn!”

He said, “You always stayed up late before.”

“But I’m not rooming with Clarissa anymore.  I have roommates now who can hear me talk on the phone!”  (Reminder: Clarissa was mostly deaf and took out her hearing aid at night.)

I talked low on the phone, so my roommates wouldn’t get woken up.

At some point he started asking me, “What is sex like?”

When I told him, I could hear in his voice that it was turning him on.  It creeped me out, like I was his 1-900-phone-sex operator.

He kept asking me questions about it, so I said, “Why do you keep asking me these questions?”

Finally, the conversation finished.  Of course, that was nothing compared to those conversations we used to have till 3, 4, or 5 am!

He had called us in the first place because I sent him a Christmas card; I believe he called the switchboard to get our new phone numbers.  He called again the next night because I couldn’t talk to him at one in the morning.

I asked, “Why are you calling me all of a sudden?  I thought you said you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

He said, “After my brother died, I decided I’d better try to keep the friends I have.”

****

The Vampire never wrote me, though he said he’d try to write every week.  And I couldn’t write him unless he wrote me, because I didn’t have his address.  He shouldn’t have lost mine, since he wrote it in a notebook with all his BBS numbers, and he probably guarded that notebook well.  Oh, well, 20 years later I finally found him on Facebook.  :)

****

We finally had another party in the apartment, possibly on January 21.  It was a big one, and fun.  We played games in two rooms, and had pizza and chips and pop.  (No, we never had wild, drunken revels.  Who needs those to have fun?)  Someone even brought Jenga.  We wanted the party to be big and take up several rooms, each with a different activity, just as Tanya’s Halloween party did.

I decided to sit out during Taboo.  Charles did the same because he didn’t like Taboo.  But I did because we played it every time we had a party at Roanoke, so I knew practically all the answers now.

I’d called one long-lost friend over Christmas Break.  Her mom answered and sounded shocked that an old friend from high school was calling.  I left a message; however, my friend never called back.  I don’t know why.  I wrote to her, my middle school friend Josh and another old high school friend; no letters came in reply.  When I found Josh online over Spring Break, he said he sent letters and cards to high school classmates, too, but none of them answered.  He said about my other friend, “I’m sure he’ll write ya,” but he didn’t–and neither did anybody else.  I wrote other letters to my male friend, but he didn’t answer those, either.

But funny how times change: I later found all of them on Facebook.  No longer do we have to depend on the old method of exchanging letters or phone calls to reconnect with old friends we haven’t seen in years, friends who may forget who you are or forget to call/write back, or never get your note.  It’s even better than the old Internet standby of e-mail, which can also be easily forgotten.  Facebook is much better because you can interact with your old friends with immediacy, even if you have not seen them in 20 years and live far apart.

****

Astrid began sending me letters because I mentioned that I wanted some.  I didn’t mean letters of the alphabet, but she began sending me one alphabet letter at a time through the on-campus mail, until all together they made up a quote from her new poster.  I’d have to find all the letters to tell you what the quote was.

Pearl and Sharon decided to stay another year and take on another major, because they didn’t want to leave Roanoke yet.  I, on the other hand, was sick of Roanoke, and didn’t want to do this.  And it would have meant more money to pay back in student loans.

****

On the 27th, I wrote to my friend Becky,

Sometimes these days I feel like several of my friends, who know about the common-law thing, are judging me.  The things they say–It’s as if they mean, “You’ve done a terrible thing–premarital you-know-what–and we thought you were more moral than us!  You’ve fallen, fallen!”

It makes me want to grab them and say, “Hey!  According to my research, it was a common-law marriage!  I didn’t sleep with him until we were c-l married, so it wasn’t premarital or anything!  Stop talking to me like I’m a fallen woman!”

–Since, after all, we began calling ourselves married, which is all you have to do. I’ve told them that, but they still talk this way.  I don’t believe I’ve broken God’s commandments because we were c-l married, but when they judge me, I feel like I have.  It really frustrates me.

I won’t write what Becky replied, because it’s private.  But she and Catherine were both far more understanding.

 

Index 
Cast of Characters (Work in Progress)

 

Quotes and blogs by people stalked by narcissists/abusers (“Now I’m Being Stalked” Part 7, 2012)

This post includes an e-mail Richard and Tracy sent me in May 2012, which proves my belief that they are sociopaths.  In it you will see every sociopathic trait–including empty threats and false accusations–and maybe recognize e-mails you have received from your own sociopath.  You will see how they began their stalking campaign. 

This post was originally posted in May 2012.  I wrote it while a baby blogger, and added to it over a period of months, so it badly needed editing.  However, I struggled for a long time to look through this blog post again because of the presence of that e-mail and its tendency to trigger all sorts of emotional reactions: fear, pain, hurt, anguish, rage, etc.

But now I am finally able to do some proper editing, and re-post it.  I want to sticky it so new readers can see it, as I have been doing for months with my old posts. 

It is, however, extremely long, which would take me all night to edit and an hour for you to read, so I will re-post it in chunks.  I have divided the original post into several sections, which I will follow in the re-post.  If you want to see the entire original post, click here.  Now for Part 7.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Though, we can sometimes see the dark humour in the narcissist’s astonishingly deluded mind, it doesn’t do much to relieve the intense frustration in dealing with them. I left the story of Ed open-ended in order to illustrate the fact that there is no reconciling with a narcissist, only resignation. We resign ourselves to the cold, hard reality that we will never obtain the freedom that comes with forgiveness because a narcissist will never repent – their ego won’t allow them to admit defeat. And, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, they live their lives convinced they are beyond reproach.

We are never able to forgive the narcissist because the narcissist won’t allow it. Those are the rules of engagement: I am shameless so you must be spineless. Put up and shut up.  So, narcissistic abuse is a crime in progress that we never find relief from because the hypocrisy is never ending. If you have any kind of a relationship with a narcissist then you are being abused – period.  Simply put: they get to act like assholes and we get to tolerate them.

Moreover, the shameless narcissist characterizes your deep need to forgive as “being stuck in the past” and makes you the guilty party by responding to your grievance with the accusations that you are guilty of “not moving on” and are committing the offense of not forgetting. You are also guilty of having a backbone and daring to defy God Almighty’s omnipotence.  I swear; the hypocrisy of it all is the most traumatic aspect of narcissistic abuse. It’s so infuriating; it’s enough to make you want to pull your hair out and run screaming into the night.–Lisette, Shameless Narcissist Parent(s)

I heard so many things against speaking about the past.  Questions which are actually statements and judgements more than they are actual questions such as “why do you want to talk about your problems in public” or “why do you want to air your dirty laundry in front of the whole world?” These judgements always concluded with some version of “you are only making yourself look like a fool.”

Statements like that carried with them the all too familiar indication that the speakers (the judges) were concerned for ME; that they truly cared about what was “best for me”. When I faced the cold hard truth, I began to comprehend the actuality reality; I realized that their concern was never for me. I didn’t need to make myself look like a fool, they did that for me all of my life. I think of the times they delighted in finding ways to embarrass me or humiliate me in front of others.

In fact I think that some of their motives were based on discrediting me in case I ever revealed the truth.  They were not concerned about MY dirty laundry. They were only concerned about what I was exposing about THEM. They didn’t want me to expose THEIR dirty laundry.  And I think this would be a good time to add that if they didn’t KNOW what they were doing was wrong, if they didn’t “know any better” then WHY did they know that they needed to keep me quiet about it?

But an even bigger eye opener was when I realized the lengths that so many people went to, to make sure I kept quiet.  Like I said, if they did not know their behaviour was wrong, they would not have spent so much energy making sure it didn’t come out in the open.

I wish I had found a website or like this when I was searching for answers all those years. Nobody was talking about holding family accountable for abuse or about exposing abusers… everyone seemed to be talking about forgiveness or letting go of the past. “Live for today” and “acceptance is the answer” but nobody wanted to talk about WHAT we were supposed to accept! Were they really telling me to accept that people messed with my head, discounted and devalued me, took advantage of me, taught me that something was “wrong with me”, abused, mistreated and objectified me, and telling me that I should just “get over it”?

In that dysfunctional recovery system, everyone endorsed “keeping the silence” and no one wanted to talk about spending some time actually validating the dysfunction first. I was never able to put the past behind me until I actually validated the damage that was done. There are even therapists out there that will refuse to work with you if you want to talk about the past!…

I spent only 2 years facing and validate it and all the results that I ever could have hoped for were achieved. So what is so wrong with my way? At least I am living proof that it worked!

I speak and I write EFB because it is my story and MINE to tell. I celebrate the permission I give myself to tell my story after years of being silenced.  It is validating for me and for others to hear the benefits of living in truth. Finding, facing and embracing the truth is what set me free from oppression, depression and the low self esteem that hindered me all of my life before I faced the lies so I could embrace this truth.  –Darlene Ouimet, Being Told to Leave the Past in the Past

This post is about discussing the issues of forgiveness within the context of abuse. There is no need to define the type of abuse because all forms of abuse cause the same issues and damage. It also discusses forgiveness within the contexts of no confession; no repentance; no admission of fault; betrayal; defiance; lies; denials and injustice….

As a victim of crime and a survivor of the most appalling sexual, physical, emotional, psychological, spiritual and religious abuse I find myself grappling with issues to do with deliberate cruelty, betrayal, lies, denial, play-acting, justice, injustice, defiance and forgiveness.

Forgiveness is hard at the best of times, but is certainly easier if the person admits their fault, confesses and repents, maybe even apologises.

Forgiveness becomes virtually impossible when the guilty are faced with the truth, faced with the legal consequences, but do not respond with humility but with defiance, denials, play-acting and lies. By doing so they evaded justice. By doing so they evaded exposure of their crimes. By doing so they stuck 2-fingers in front of my face and in front of the face of God. By doing so they showed no comprehension of the way their actions, lies and denials when confronted with the truth tore my life apart.

I’m left wondering how on earth can I forgive when my abusers deny any wrongdoing, carry on their lives hard faced, glorying in their win, going about as if cruelty is normal and as if it is normal to have nothing to do with your daughter?

I’m left wondering how God who hates injustice can allow such injustice to happen on top of all the injustices of all the other abuses. I’m left feeling that my life is just injustice piled on injustice until there is nothing left but injustice and devastation….

Speaking the truth of what they did helps to put the blame and guilt where it lies and that is on the shoulders of the person who did the wrong not on the person who is struggling to forgive and honestly grappling with the hurt and lack of closure. …

It’s very hard when people are deliberately and defiantly non repentant and hard faced – turning up in church as if nothing is wrong and nothing has happened. Having to cope with your abusers turning up in church whilst deliberately sticking 2 fingers up at God is beyond the capacity of describe.

Having to cope with your abusers continuing to use the church as their cover story is beyond awful and beyond hypocrisy. Having them do all of that on that back of having lied and denied to prevent justice and to prevent exposure is disgusting and distasteful at the very least. It is utterly appalling for me as a victim, for those who gave evidence against them to the police and for the church leadership who now know the truth about them. It’s totally ghastly and repulsive to be brutally honest.  It is as if they have no conscience at all.

Sometimes when people have lied and denied for long enough they actually believe their lies and denials to be absolute truth regardless of evidence to the contrary. Thus they worm their way out of it and can be incredibly and frighteningly convincing in their true lies….

Without confession, repentance, admission of guilt or other things which lead to closure surely it will always be there at the back of your mind.  Having to watch your abusers behaving as if nothing untoward happened and all is normal fuels the fire. When people have been so deliberately cruel to you and are so defiant when faced with the truth where can you go? How can such defiance be coped with, processed and gotten out of your mind. It is in reality and in all truth extremely difficult. It’s almost impossible to forgive cruel people who lie, pretend all is normal and do all they can legally to silence you and keep their evil deeds secret.  –Princess Fi, BETRAYAL, DEFIANCE, LIES, DENIAL, INJUSTICE, FORGIVENESS ISSUES

 

Why is it that so many Christians don’t get that you can be a Christian and be in such a mess. Why is that?

Instead of coming alongside me, giving me space to tell my story and helping, it was oh just forgive, forget, move on, it happened so long ago, stop harping on about it, stop dragging it up from the past. WHY IS THAT?

How can I ever forget 20 years of abuse and torture? It may have happened a long time ago, but I live with it every minute I’m awake and then in my nightmares when I do sleep. For me it’s not in the past but very much in the present.

How can I forgive when my abusers deny anything ever happened? How can I forgive when my abusers say anything bad that ‘might’ have happened was because I such a bad person, they did nothing wrong?

Why are churches and so many Christians so closed minded about the realities of living with past sexual abuse? Why are churches and so many Christians so closed minded about the realities of the deep damage of childhood abuse and the complexities of the healing processes?

Why do so many churches have systems in place to prevent abuse happening, but provide little or no support to REALLY help victims heal? Why is it that so many Christians tell you that as you are a Christian, you are a new person so your past is gone, so all the stuff from your past abuse should be gone too?

Why is it that so many Christians tell you that you are doing something wrong if you aren’t healing from the damage of the abuse or if you don’t have joy etc? Why do so many Christians tell you that if you read your bible enough and pray enough you should be fine? Thereby implying that you cannot be reading your bible or praying enough because you are a screwed up mess!

Why is it that so many Christians think you don’t need counselling or anything; you just need to get over it, forgive your abusers and forget it? WHY IS THAT? –Princess Fi, Spiritual + Religious Abuse

 

As for your partner’s assertion, yes – you may have sent angry emails or yelled or slammed doors or called names. So your abuser claims YOU were abusing him/her.

But it’s more likely you were REACTING to being abused by your partner. What can make it even more difficult for you to see and understand at this point is that some of their abuse may be subtle and covert rather than obvious and overt. This causes further difficulty for you in identifying the abuse – and makes it easier for your abuser to convince you that it’s all your fault, or the problem is really with YOU – that you’re “crazy”, or “imagining things”.

They’ll abuse you, and when you react to that abuse, they accuse YOU of abusing THEM and they play the victim role. They don’t call it “crazymaking” for nothing!

This is the stage at which an abused partner often describes as being in the “fog” of abuse. Their abusive partner has guilted them in to accepting ALL blame for the issues in the relationship, and caused them to doubt their own perceptions of the mistreatment they’re receiving.  –Let’s Talk About Reactive Abuse

The narcissist’s sense of self, which has not progressed past that of a very young child, they cannot deal with the reality of a mirror being held up before them. Unlike the alcoholic who may in due course “see the light”, a narcissist simply does not have the emotional skills to step outside of themselves and glimpse the truth in the mirror. The essence of NPD is that the sufferer lives in a bubble that can only accommodate themselves. Self-reflection is definitely not in the narcissist’s bag of skills and expecting them to be capable of doing so can court disaster.

Be prepared for rage and aggression to be aimed at you. Be prepared to not be heard.. Be prepared to have everything that you claim about them, to be reassigned to you.  When and if you are strong enough to cope with this treatment, then you may decide to go ahead. If you are hoping for recognition and a change for the better, more pain is in store. –Beth McHugh, Should You Confront a Narcissist About Their Narcissism?

 

Have you ever marveled at how your abusive wife, girlfriend or ex is able to do and say the most hurtful, underhanded and contemptible things and then portray herself as the innocent victim? Have you ever wondered how she is able to convincingly accuse others, usually her victims, of the abusive behaviors and attitudes of which she is actually guilty? Wonder no more, the answer may be DARVO. –Dr. Tara J. Palmatier, Presto, Change-o, DARVO: Deny, Attack, and Reverse Victim and Offender

Many individuals with BPD and related personality disorders are masterful at portraying themselves as victims, when, in fact, they are the aggressors. There is a psychological phenomenon described by Dr. Jennifer Freyd, PhD of the University of Oregon who specializes in trauma called DARVO.

DARVO stands for Deny Attack and Reverse Victim and Offender.  Many abusers engage in DARVO when confronted with exposure of their disgusting behavior and/or when they experience unwanted consequences for their abusive behavior.

…Many of my clients and participants on Shrink4Men comment on the overlap of narcissistic and borderline behaviors in their wives, girlfriends, exes, parents, and siblings, etc. This is because narcissism is very frequently present in individuals with BPD. In fact, the greater the degree of narcissistic traits, the more treatment resistant they are (and sociopathic), in my opinion. –Dr. Tara J. Palmatier, http://www.shrink4men.com/2012/06/11/the-new-face-of-borderline-personality-disorder-mary-richardson-kennedy-abused-her-husband-and-children-and-committed-suicide-as-a-final-act-of-revenge-for-perceived-abandonment/

 

DARVO refers to a reaction that perpetrators of wrong doing, particularly sexual offenders, may display in response to being held accountable for their behavior. The perpetrator or offender may Deny the behavior, Attack the individual doing the confronting, and Reverse the roles of Victim and Offender such that the perpetrator assumes the victim role and turns the true victim into an alleged offender.

This occurs, for instance, when an actually guilty perpetrator assumes the role of “falsely accused” and attacks the accuser’s credibility or even blames the accuser of being the perpetrator of a false accusation. –Jennifer J. Freyd, What is DARVO?

But here, more than anywhere else, find my advocate:

Of course, not everyone who denies wrong doing is engaging in DARVO.  Many partners and exes of abusive women are accused of things they didn’t do or of things that never happened. Naturally, when this happens, you deny the accusation and perhaps feel a little (or a lot) bewildered. How do you know if an individual’s denial is the truth or an instance of DARVO? Freyd (1997, pp. 23-24) proposes:

“It is important to distinguish types of denial, for an innocent person will probably deny a false accusation. Thus denial is not evidence of guilt. However, I propose that a certain kind of indignant self-righteousness, and overly stated denial, may in fact relate to guilt.

I hypothesize that if an accusation is true, and the accused person is abusive, the denial is more indignant, self-righteous and manipulative, as compared with denial in other cases.

Similarly, I have observed that actual abusers threaten, bully and make a nightmare for anyone who holds them accountable or asks them to change their abusive behavior. This attack, intended to chill and terrify, typically includes threats of lawsuits, overt and covert attacks, on the whistle-blower’s credibility and so on.

The attack will often take the form of focusing on ridiculing the person who attempts to hold the offender accountable. The attack will also likely focus on ad hominem instead of intellectual/evidential issues.

Finally, I propose that the offender rapidly creates the impression that the abuser is the wronged one, while the victim or concerned observer is the offender. Figure and ground are completely reversed. The more the offender is held accountable, the more wronged the offender claims to be.”  –Dr. Tara J. Palmatier, http://www.shrink4men.com/2011/01/19/presto-change-o-darvo-deny-attack-and-reverse-victim-and-offender/

 

The thing that you personally have long ago forgotten, or can easily forget, is happening to me now, and will happen to me again to-morrow.  Remember this, and you will be able to understand a little of why I am writing to you, and in this manner writing.  –Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

Here is a blog post by “Lisette,” who was in similar circumstances for a time.  As she writes, she went no contact with her narcissistic family for 17 years, without knowing what a narcissist was, but only that her family was toxic.  After a brief run-in with them, she discovered blogs and information about narcissism on the Internet, including the same blogs I have discovered, such as Narcissists Suck and One Angry Daughter.  She began making anonymous comments on the blogs–only to begin getting stalked by her mother and sister, who would follow her around the Net:

Months went by and I continued with my Blog obsession but a creepy feeling persisted. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt her presence.  It turns out both malignant narcissist sister and MN mother cyberstalked and gaslighted me online for a YEAR. I caught them because they are predators.

As I became more personal in my comments, I made the grave mistake of revealing that I was both physically and psychologically vulnerable because I was being gaslighted by a malignant narcissist couple in my building and recovering from a traumatizing accident that resulted in surgery. It was precisely at that point that malignant narcissist sister and mother came out of the shadows and ferociously attacked and flamed me. They also made bizarre comments that were absurd exaggerations of abuse that I suffered at their hands.

The comments before that point that I later pinpointed as theirs, were incredibly subtle by comparison. It was a terrifying ordeal.  I avoided NBlogs for over two years, BUT not before I left some very obvious comments on the blogs directed at MN mother and sister and their sick little game.

At the time of the online attack, I was too fragile to defend myself with any force.  I was also confused and disoriented because I had been gaslighted for over a year and was under extreme duress. Malignant narcissist sister and mother simply saw their prey as irresistibly mouth-watering and their fangs came-out. They proved themselves to be exactly what I was writing about: that they are outrageously cruel and malicious PREDATORS.

Her story goes on as her family and another narcissistic couple begin harassing her, causing her “psychological injury” and “emotionally traumatizing” her.  As she writes:

In the narcissist’s twisted mind, when the victim of their abuse claim their voice and speak out, the victim has a problem. By writing on a Blog about narcissism we have “HIT ROCK BOTTOM!” There is something wrong with us. We are being uncooperative. We are being unreasonable. We are being unstable. We are challenging the narcissist’s omnipotence so we must be destroyed. We must be silenced by any means possible.

And when we collapse under the strain of their unrelenting sadism, to the point of hospitalization, we have “HIT ROCK BOTTOM!”  I wonder if my 20 year recurring trauma nightmare where my jaw is locked shut and I can’t shout for help is symbolic?

I’m only quoting a small fraction of Lisette’s blog post.  There is all sorts of good stuff in there and in the comments that applies here, along with her story of being stalked by her family.  It’s a good read for people dealing with this.  For example:

So when it comes to Blogs on narcissism, and the victims of narcissistic abuse, the narcissist has no connection whatsoever. They deny reality at every turn. They deny the facts. They deny the truth. They disbelieve the evidence. Narcissists use distortions and illusions to maintain their delusions of perfection. The malignant narcissist truly believes “You have NO right to live,” let alone a right to self-preservation.

The only base “emotions” the Blogs incite in the malignant narcissist are anger, rage, fear and vengeance because they can’t stand to give-up an inch of control. Their compulsive need to control everyone and everything you say, do, think and believe leads to quickly neutralizing anyone who doesn’t follow their script as an omnipotent being.

What does the regular old narcissist think about the Blogs? My guess is, not much. They might be secretly amused. But they’re more likely to dismiss them. Viewing them as “lies” and “gossip” written by those they call “mentally ill” – the label they apply to their inferior victim, the scapegoat.

With their malignant sense of entitlement, MN sister and MN mother believed they were entitled to take the blogs away from me – my support line.  They believed they were entitled to take away my voice. They believed they were entitled to take away my RIGHT to freedom of expression. With their irrational grandiosity and arrogance they believed that they would succeed at their high-wire cyber machinations. They thought they were that clever, that cunning and that entitled. They thought wrong.

Later on in the comments, Lisette writes to a statement that her sister and mother could find her blog as well,

They found me online because I called mn mother a malignant narcissist.  They stalked me in order to silence me. Malignant narcissists go into full attack mode if you defy them or speak out about them – even if you do so anonymously.

The internet incident happened over 2 years ago. I have no emotional attachment to the experience, or any others with mn and mother and sister. To me, they are memories and experiences I can use to illustrate the danger of malignant narcissists. My father is an indifferent narcissist and he is safer. There is a huge difference between a narcissist and a malignant one.

My contact with Nfather is limited. He and my mother divorced when I was 17. I don’t give out any information as – like I said – MN sister is a predator who prys him for information on me. Malignant narcissists need to watch, study and keep up to date on their prey. They see me as little more than their victim who escaped and has loads of dirt on them. They are no different than criminals who want to kill the witness to their crimes.

She says that if they do find her blog,

so what. EXACTLY! I’m not intimidated by pathetic, impotent internet trolls. Yawn. As far as I’m concerned they just offer themselves as lab rats to study. Predictable lab rats.

This is encouraging, the thought that someone who, like me, was cyberstalked by narcissists for a time, and was traumatized by them, can still get to the point of not caring if they cyberstalk her.

My Trip to Oz and Back is much like my own blogs, an account of two years spent by the writer with her girlfriend, which was actually a 50-page letter sent by the author to her ex-girlfriend.  That was in the late 90s, when the author had never heard of borderline personality disorder, so there had been no official diagnosis for her to point to.  But the more she learned about BPD, the more she knew her ex-girlfriend had it, so she posted this letter to help others who are dealing with someone with BPD.  It has been on the Web since 2003, and by November 2006 had received 53,000 hits.  As the author wrote on the main page,

Writing this was cathartic. It doubled as a form of therapy. I actually did send the letter; however, I doubt that it had much effect.  The more I learned about BPD, the more I realized that the likelihood of this person ever really understanding, was probably close to zero….

Why would I want to put such a personal document online?  There are several reasons. First, I wanted to give an accurate portrayal of what it is like to be in a relationship with a person with BPD.  There are many books and websites on BPD, but relatively few from a significant other’s point of view.  Second, I am hoping that someone out there might read a bit and identify with it.  When one is in a difficult situation, sometimes just hearing about another person’s similar experience can be affirming–as in, “I’m not the only one.”   Finally, I consider myself a success story–see the final chapter, the epilogue.  My wish is to give hope to others.

Like me, the author changed names and identifying details.  This is to protect the guilty as well as the innocent.  It’s the most baffling part of Richard and Tracy threatening a lawsuit, because I never used and never intend to use their real names in these blogs–and anything I would tell my priest about this, would be the truth, and not in any way actionable.

Joyful Alive Woman also wrote about her abusive, narcissist, former female friend.

 

My Abusers’ Threats are Empty and Extortion (“Now I’m Being Stalked” Part 6, October 28, 2012)

This post includes an e-mail Richard and Tracy sent me in May 2012, which proves my belief that they are sociopaths.  In it you will see every sociopathic trait–including empty threats and false accusations–and maybe recognize e-mails you have received from your own sociopath.  You will see how they began their stalking campaign. 

This post was originally posted in May 2012.  I wrote it while a baby blogger, and added to it over a period of months, so it badly needed editing.  However, I struggled for a long time to look through this blog post again because of the presence of that e-mail and its tendency to trigger all sorts of emotional reactions: fear, pain, hurt, anguish, rage, etc.

But now I am finally able to do some proper editing, and re-post it.  I want to sticky it so new readers can see it, as I have been doing for months with my old posts. 

It is, however, extremely long, which would take me all night to edit and an hour for you to read, so I will re-post it in chunks.  I have divided the original post into several sections, which I will follow in the re-post.  If you want to see the entire original post, click here.  Now for Part 6.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

I have proof, and did what I said I would, but nothing happened (late summer/fall 2012)

I have done everything I said I was going to do: I’ve told my priest what happened and gotten his counsel (and will continue to do so if they keep showing up, but they’ve only appeared a few times).  I’ve kept the blog up.  I’ve posted here and told my family and friends what Richard and Tracy have been doing to harass and cyberstalk me.

Yet Richard and Tracy have not done what they threatened to do if I did so.  They don’t have a leg to stand on legally: This is the truth, there are absolutely no lies, no intentional falsehoods, it has done absolutely nothing to harm their reputation in the community, it has not hurt their jobs if they have any, does not even show up if somebody Googles their names, because the names are changed.  Without intentional falsehoods and real names, there can be no libel.  They are all fang but no bite.

I have:

  1. In my possession an e-mail and record of a phone conversation which prove I’m telling the truth.  (I held onto them just in case Richard would need an ally in court.)
  2. My husband and Todd as witnesses/character witnesses.
  3. The printouts of Tracy on a game forum doing the same things to Todd that she did to me.
  4. Several of her abusive e-mails to me.
  5. The abusive posts she made to Todd on that game forum.
  6. Printouts of IRC conversations in which Richard claimed to have hypnotized me and been a thug for the Mafia.
  7. Posts by Todd confirming the Mafia story.
  8. E-mails from Todd describing the things he himself witnessed.
  9. A public blog post by Richard from 2007, which expressed uncertainty about his marriage.

–All confirming my story as true and not the ravings of someone who is “not all there,” as Tracy called me.

I have copies of e-mails I sent to friends and family describing the situation from 2007-2010, and would swear in a court of law that I have posted the truth.

Results of a Social Services investigation (from my report and the choking incident) may also support my claims, depending on how thorough and truthful everyone was.

I have a file, started in mid-2010, in which I described everything I had witnessed while I could still remember it well, just in case I would be needed as a character witness for Richard.

I am witness of and privy to some things which I did not post online because of their sensitive nature, but which I would use as evidence for the court.

I would also gladly take my blogs, website, e-mails, and own private written accounts, print them, sign them in front of a taker of oaths, and use them as an affidavit, sworn to on penalty of perjury, as described by Wikipedia:

 An affidavit is a type of verified statement or showing, or in other words, it contains a verification, meaning it is under oath or penalty of perjury, and this serves as evidence to its veracity and is required for court proceedings.

  • To obtain a declaration on a legal document, such as an application for voter registration, that the information provided by the applicant is truthful to the best
    of the applicant’s knowledge. If, after signing such a declaration, the information is found to be deliberately untrue with the intent to deceive, the applicant may face perjury charges.

Some piece of Richard and Tracy must recognize in my story that they were indeed abusive, that what they did was indeed wrong.  If they truly did not recognize this at all, then why not just say, “Well, anybody can see how ridiculous she’s being, so we’ll just ignore it and let the whole world see it and laugh at her.”

But no, instead they’re trying to intimidate me into silence, taking offense at the story, threatening to sue me for telling my story, trying to gaslight me into thinking that it did not happen the way I said it happened.  They’ve traumatized me severely, so severely I had to take to blogging to deal with it, and are now re-traumatizing me, on purpose!

Their threat is extortion (written 10/28/12)

Just think: Not only did they demonstrate the same utter lack of regard for the feelings and points of view of Hubby and me that they had shown during the “Incident” and that Tracy showed for me the entire time I knew her

…Not only did they demonstrate a feeling of entitlement to call all the shots and smack us down when we got uppity and asserted our rights to decent treatment

…Not only did they say they “owe” me nothing

But a lawsuit would be an attempt to get money out of us.

Didn’t we give them quite enough money over the years?  Considering the extreme lengths we took over the years to help them out, far beyond what most people would do, and the fact that we’re not even remotely related to them, I think we are at least owed kindness, consideration, a restraint from verbal abuse and bullying, and apologies for outbursts.

But to not even get that from them, and have them come out and say in this e-mail that they
owed us nothing, demonstrates a sense of entitlement on their part–and gives me, Hubby, and our parents a distinct impression that Hubby and I were played for suckers.

Post by Prozac Blogger:

Major Breakthrough: Exposing the Truth

I will NOT be silent.

To be continued.

 

Reblog: Invisible Victims: Men in Abusive Relationships

Harris O’Malley’s post gives all sorts of useful information, without the usual feminist/women-hating tripe you find in many places these days:

http://thoughtcatalog.com/harris-omalley/2014/09/invisible-victims-men-in-abusive-relationships/

His advice is simple: Get Out.  If you can’t leave or you’re staying to protect innocent potential victims (such as kids or pets), call the police.  Retaliation means going to jail.

 

How my emotional trauma proves the abuse–and I realize Richard conned me (“Now I’m Being Stalked” Part 5, July 14, 2012)

This post includes an e-mail Richard and Tracy sent me in May 2012, which proves my belief that they are sociopaths.  In it you will see every sociopathic trait–including empty threats and false accusations–and maybe recognize e-mails you have received from your own sociopath.  You will see how they began their stalking campaign. 

This post was originally posted in May 2012.  I wrote it while a baby blogger, and added to it over a period of months, so it badly needed editing.  However, I struggled for a long time to look through this blog post again because of the presence of that e-mail and its tendency to trigger all sorts of emotional reactions: fear, pain, hurt, anguish, rage, etc.

But now I am finally able to do some proper editing, and re-post it.  I want to sticky it so new readers can see it, as I have been doing for months with my old posts. 

It is, however, extremely long, which would take me all night to edit and an hour for you to read, so I will re-post it in chunks.  I have divided the original post into several sections, which I will follow in the re-post.  If you want to see the entire original post, click here.  Now for Part 5.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

I recognize Tracy’s malicious style in that e-mail, from her past messages to Todd and me both, and from posts she’s written to people on forums as well.  But it must have been at least approved by Richard as well.

There is a certain loathing that comes from being betrayed not once, but twice by what you thought was your best friend.  To think of all the times he was so kind and caring to you before, so you thought he was your friend.  But now you discover that it was all an act meant to con
you.

Why he would do such an elaborate con, I don’t know.  But I do now see very clearly, from the above e-mail, that he never meant anything he said about “loving” me.  Maybe the act was meant to get various things out of me: concern, a place to stay, food, money, whatever.  Maybe it was meant to get the narcissistic supply he so craves.  But it was all a lie, an act.

How do I know?  After all of Tracy’s unkind words, her snarks, her lies, her power plays, all the behaviors, all Richard’s going along with whatever she did or said about me, without allowing me to defend myself or say I did not deserve this–

Instead of apologizing for his part in things, or getting her to apologize, all I got from them was this b**chy e-mail which twisted my words into all sorts of crazy things which they never did say, denied my right to stand up for myself and go no contact with them, denied that what I actually did say was true, said they did nothing wrong and would not apologize, and said they laughed at my pain.  Obviously they think they’re allowed to throw all sorts of crap at me, but I’m not allowed to stand up for myself.

If he had ever actually cared about me at all, then he would have realized just what he had done.  He would have realized that his passivity allowed a Christian sister, and one whom he had once claimed to love like a sister (what a lie), to be bullied, hurt, torn apart, and screwed over without remorse.  But no, it was just more minimizing, justifying and defending Tracy’s verbal abuse and constant overt/covert bullying of me.

It is appalling to see behind the mask and discover that you put your love and trust into a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  It is horrifying to realize just how badly you were deceived, just how easily.  A real friend would never stab you in the back and then, when they discover how much it hurt you, twist the knife even further, and then stomp on it until you die.

Beware such friends, and do not grieve when you lose them.  They are not worth it.  Such toxic “friendships” should be grieved just as much as the snake you shot when it tried to bite you, or the mosquito you slapped.

If I’m telling “false facts,” if I’m accusing an “innocent” person, then why have I been suffering for the past two years from the aftereffects of Tracy’s abuse, both witnessing it and being the victim of it, even going through a period where I must have had Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder because of the constant rumination, fear, hypervigilance, and memories playing back constantly?

Why did I cry so many tears both during and after the “friendship”?  Why did somebody on a forum say I sounded spiritually traumatized?  Why did I feel for at least a year like I couldn’t get close to anyone I didn’t already know, for fear they would turn out to be abusers just like Tracy?

Why have I had so many triggers that–just when I think I’ve put an issue to rest–bring it all up again so my mind would have to go through and process it, figure it out, all over again?  (This happened continuously for at least a year.)

And why on earth would I break off a friendship just like that with someone who was sweet and wonderful and innocent of any wrongdoing, especially since I’m so introverted and shy that I can’t just go out and make another friend to replace ones I lose?

You may ask why I didn’t go to therapy.  There were two reasons: 1) My husband’s job sucked so bad that I had no resources for therapy, no health insurance, no money, and 2) I was even afraid of trusting therapists!   Since my friends could only handle so much, blogging (since I had to get my message out somehow) and writing down the whole story, was my only outlet.

To be continued.