On the 1st, I noted in my diary the one-year anniversary of the physical relationship with Shawn, since it started on Leap Day, 1992.
Crystal Pepsi came out around this time, and I tried it. I believe it was much like Pepsi–but I didn’t like Pepsi. I drank it just to find out if it truly tasted the same, despite being clear. It soon disappeared from the market.
During one of my counseling sessions, I said Shawn always tried to change me, but I wouldn’t change unless I felt it necessary. The counselor called that a healthy attitude.
I now read Hermann Hesse’s Narcissus and Goldmund, which I found in the Campus Shop. This book was a great help. I read it late at night, while Alternative Nation was on, the room was darkened, and my roommate slept without her hearing aid. Sometimes, the window was open.
This late-night setting and the book itself took me to a place where boy trouble and other problems didn’t matter. One character, Goldmund, made observations about life that I’d made myself, or agreed with. I kept seeing myself in Goldmund, a budding artist looking for himself. He wandered the German landscape, a metaphor for restlessness and wandering the landscape of life and self.
The book was set around the year of the Black Death, so Sting’s new video, “If I Ever Lose My Faith in You,” was timely. (This video was set in medieval times.) Funny how I didn’t much care for the song when I first heard it on the radio, but after I saw that video, the song became one of my all-time favorites.
Goldmund’s passion sounded like mine: He loved to draw things, such as people’s heads, and make up animals, just as I liked to draw heads and make up alien languages. Like me, he thought love was more important than anything else.
The swarming fish on page 186, poking their heads up to eat a piece of bread, reminded me of the fish at Indiana Beach.
(Those fish would eat anything you tossed at them–even spit. This is Indiana Beach, though in those days it was just a little amusement park with short lines and cheap rides, no resort, no water park, no campgrounds, no Adventure Point. Though I see they still have some of the same rides, such as the Seadragon and the Galaxi.)
On page 195, his tendency to forget everything about the world while engrossed by his drawing and endless walking, reminded me of myself when I was deep into reading, writing, or thinking.
After one of these late-night readings, I wrote this poem:
The music of the night
drifts through my window,
The gentle wind and soft, earthy smells,
the warmth and the insomniac birds’ songs.
Each note carries a hint of oneness
The song of the ages,
the melting together of all experience,
The one song all romantics hear.
We often found chalk drawings and messages on the sidewalks, advertising campus events or put there as pledge pranks.
Once, the Zetas made chalk outlines showing some pretty horrific things: heads removed, limbs removed, hands or feet removed. They were also pretty comical, since it was obviously a joke. One of these chalk drawings was of Paul and his dog Maizie.
The college now had a young social sciences teacher named Craig. One day, we found chalk protests written all over the sidewalks: “Save Craig!” The college had decided not to allow him back the next year.
I didn’t know Craig or the reasons for his dismissal, so I didn’t get involved. I heard rumors, but they weren’t confirmed for me until 2006:
Rachel knew a senior girl who got involved with Craig. He was single, she was about to graduate, and he was fresh out of graduate school (therefore, they were close in age), but the college refused to relent.
Darryl decided to leave the Zetas over problems he had with them. I don’t remember now what all they were, but he was upset that minors at parties would be given alcohol. There were probably other things as well.
It was a big surprise, and even my sorority friends were glad. A week or two before, he and Steve even came to Bible Study.
Shawn Rips Me Apart for NVLD Traits
On March 20, I wrote in a letter to a friend,
But it seems like, in the past couple weeks, [Shawn’s] mood has darkened and he’s even avoided me a few times and gotten upset at me for one thing or another. If we were going out, I’d say we were headed for a breakup. Instead, the friendship is threatened with breakup.
I do find it interesting that this happened after our physical relations had ceased.
On Tuesday (the 16th), when I was telling him the good news about me finding myself–through my time alone at night reading, writing and listening to music, and something he’d wanted me to do–he somehow turned the conversation to yet another list of my “faults.”
He seemed to have a gift for that, even though he didn’t seem to be such a good judge of character as he thought he was.
It was a long list, and I must say he later apologized for unloading all those things on me at once. He said these were the real reasons why he didn’t want to be my boyfriend, and that the reasons weren’t going to change to different things, like they had so often before.
The things were very much condemning of me as a person. It devastated me because I wanted to be a good person who cared for others, helped them, was considerate, was sweet and kind….
But he made me sound like an evil bitch who treats people like dirt. I felt like a terrible person, and thought I recognized those things in myself, but he gave me a hug of support as I tried to “change.”
He told me I should ask my friends for the specific examples he didn’t have time to give, and suggested things I should say. So you see I was in a receptive mood, willing to accept and change faults, wanting the truth and not people’s consoling words. He did this now, so he said, because I had an outlet in counseling.
So, after class when I went to see the counselor, I told her what he’d said. Her reaction made me begin to doubt him, but I still felt like a terrible person. I even tried to convince her that what he said was true.
She couldn’t see me being those things, but I still felt I had to see what my friends would say before I’d completely change my view. If I really was an evil witch, then I wanted to change it, not listen to people tell me I wasn’t really like that.
I talked to Pearl for three hours in the Phi-Delt room after my night class (Astronomy), and really began to doubt his impressions. She said maybe some things were based on misunderstandings.
He’d said other people had the same impressions but were afraid to depress me by telling me, even though they were still my friends; Pearl said maybe he misunderstood them, too.
I also spoke to Clarissa, who knew me better than anybody else on that campus, being my roommate for many months now–and even she disagreed, felt that he was being mean to me.
I asked, “Do you see anything wrong with the way I treat you?”
She said, shocked, “No!” I think she even cried a little. She couldn’t figure out why Shawn would say these things.
I tried talking to him on the phone the next day, to find out who I was supposed to talk to and what I did to make him think these things of me, but he accused me of badgering, and it turned into an argument.
So I stopped speaking to him. I just couldn’t stand speaking to him when I didn’t even know why he was friends with such an evil person as me, if he even was my friend in the first place.
He said he was, but the reason he gave wasn’t enough to reassure me: He just said, because I wanted him to be, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered trying to be one. So, I was such an evil witch that he wouldn’t have even been my friend in the first place if I didn’t want him to be?
And he couldn’t give me any concrete examples to make me understand what I did that was so evil, or give me any guidance on whom to talk to?
The one to speak to is the one I offended, not a whole bunch of people in a kind of Russian roulette to find them, that lets everybody on campus know what he said to me! How is it “badgering” to get some answers so I can understand what I’ve done and how I can change it?
Because I had no intention of behaving so evilly to anyone, and had no clue how I possibly could have come across that way, no guidance, no memory of evil intentions or behavior to work with. You can’t change if you don’t even know what you’ve done!
I needed the truth, I needed answers, I needed plain-speaking Rachel. I didn’t want to get mad at Shawn for simply telling the truth, if it was indeed the truth. If anyone would be blunt about my faults, she would be. Even when everyone else would sympathize me about something, she would say, “Well, it was pretty stupid for you to do that.”
So next, I went to her, not telling her who the person was. But she just widened her eyes at the list of faults and got upset, saying, “This person doesn’t really know you. They’re probably trying to hurt you for some reason.”
She and, later, Sharon did tell me what they personally thought were faults, but they were things done by normal people, not evil witch crap like what Shawn listed.
Sharon thought he was playing with my mind. Sharon said she could only answer for her own feelings, not for his; Pearl pointed out possible misunderstandings and how I could prevent them.
I figured these were the main people who would know, the ones I spent the most time with. They gave me enough things to work with already, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself by going to people I didn’t know as well and telling them what Shawn said.
Rachel said not to take the things to heart, that he just didn’t know me very well, but I still cried myself to sleep Wednesday night.
I loved him, both romantically and, most of all, as what I thought was my best friend. But this made me feel so upset and betrayed that I couldn’t talk to him. I didn’t want him to even come close enough to touch me.
My heart was broken again. I think I loved him far more than I ever had loved Peter.
He had also complained about me writing in my diary everything that happened between us. He thought special memories should be kept in the head and not written down.
It was an odd idea that I’d never encountered before, because even special memories begin to fade over time. In fact, if I hadn’t written these things down, these memoirs would be far less detailed, because I had forgotten so much!
His objection also came from his time in the mental hospital, though I won’t explain how; I had no such experience. He asked if I worried about anybody finding it; no, I did not. If they did, they’d realize I wasn’t as innocent as people thought, and I didn’t mind that.
After writing in my diary what happened between us Valentine’s Day and the following Monday, I wrote, as if I were addressing Shawn,
See, Shawn, I wrote both things down, finally. And if you’re going to be like this, I hope they’re the last ‘rendezvous’ I’ll ever have to write about concerning you.
Maybe math-brains just don’t understand the writer’s need to record even the most special memories–which we don’t want to fade….
Besides, these memories are all a part of me–so I’m not about to burn them or let them fade. I’d lose a part of myself that way….Let’s see what kind of a friend you really are, Shawn.
The things he accused me of, can also easily be explained with NVLD:
Perceptual cues serve in the same capacity as traffic signals; they govern the flow, give-and-take, and fluctuations in our conversations.
The child who cannot “read” these nonverbal cues is frequently determined to be ill-mannered, discourteous, curt, immature, lacking in respect for others, self-centered, and/or even defiant. This child is none of the above.
Like the color blind driver who cannot respond appropriately to traffic lights, this is a child who is utilizing all of the resources available to him in order to try and make sense of a world which is providing him with faulty cues and unreliable information. —Sue Thompson, Nonverbal Learning Disorders
One of his complaints over the past many months was having to wait a long time for me to answer a question. That would probably be the NVLD, Asperger’s, and/or introversion, all of which can cause this trait, which I had always had; I have to think of what I say before I say it.
There was the time he snapped at me and called me rude for not picking up his hints that it was time for me to go home–when I caught none of them, and only heard him continuously ask me, “So what else is up?”–making me feel obligated to come up with some answer, until I finally snapped back that I was going to bed now.
He was always criticizing my shyness and reserve, when to me this was all I had ever known, and it was just as impossible for me to change it, as it is for a horse to take on zebra stripes.
He was always criticizing my hair, when I wore it that way (plain and long) because I liked symmetry, hated the feel of bangs, hated short hair, loved long hair, and did not like perms or the other hairdos of the time. (Hair back then was still very much 80s-big hair.)
He criticized me for not wearing makeup, as if my own face were not pretty without it, when I did not like the time it took to put on makeup, and felt fake with it on. (This was coming out of the 80s, when makeup looked very artificial, unlike now when it’s more natural-looking.)
He criticized me for not dressing sexy, when I had always been so modest that even my mother told me I should show off my figure more. I was raised Nazarene; I did not like to show too much skin.
He criticized me for not wearing jeans, when I found jeans to be too rough against my skin, and could not stand that (an NVLD thing, with hypersensitivity to clothes). I also did not binding, constricting or tight clothes because of how they feel against my skin, so I could not dress “sexy” in the way he would like.
And because I was not just like all the other girls, did not look like the other girls, did not dress like the other girls, did not act like the other girls, I was somehow not attractive to him, this person who could not look beyond the surface and see my natural beauty and uniqueness–but would use my body whenever it suited him.
He could not appreciate me for me, a creative, sweet, smart, loving, caring, loyal person, with a different perspective on life, who would spend my summer drawing genies and reading books and writing about desert islands, rather than reading romance novels, hanging out at the beach, working on my tan, or partying.
He could not appreciate that I would not be the kind of girl to take all his money, or be jealous of his female friends, or spend all my time at the beauty parlor/spa, or yell and scream at him and blame it on PMS.
He could not appreciate that I could spend my summers happily translating German rather than running around on him, that I would be a cheap date happy with fast food and a movie rather than some expensive restaurant.
He could not appreciate that I had faith just as he did, that my mind was full of wonder and questions about that faith, that I would study theology for fun. Instead he said he couldn’t love me because I believed in ESP (even my pastor believed in ESP) and was too “tolerant.” He wanted me to be like all the other girls rather than like myself.
And now he was making me into a horrible, selfish, self-centered, spoiled brat as well. All I knew was that I tried to be good, tried to be nice, tried to think of other people, left the biggest piece of cake for the next person, just went on my merry way thinking I was harming no one, only to get accused of all these horrible things by Shawn.
I knew that I tried to let him take the lead in our relationship because of his ambivalence, out of respect for him, but then he would come over or ask me over and want me to get physical with him, so I would give in to all sorts of things he wanted me to do, to please him.
Then he would accuse me of starting things and get angry with me and tear me down, treating me like some kind of evil seductress.
It felt like what he thought was me, was actually some other person, not me at all, no matter how much I tried to protest his unfair opinions and analyses. And it was both baffling and heartbreaking.
So if his opinions of me were totally unfair and showed a lack of knowledge of who I really was, then the thing keeping him from dating me beyond a “friends with benefits” relationship, falls down flat.
I think Shawn, for all the times I thought we had talked about ourselves and connected, closed his mind to the kind of person I really was. He rejected me for things he said I did, but which I didn’t do at all. He was prejudiced against me for something I was not.
The biggest question is why he would do this: Was he afraid of falling for me and then having to leave me as he did his ex-girlfriend? Was it because of his brother’s illness?
Table of Contents
December 1991: Ride the Greyhound
January 1992: Dealing with a Breakup with Probable NVLD
March 1992: Shawn: Just Friends or Dating?
April 1992: Pledging, Prayer Group–and Peter’s Smear Campaign
October 1992–Shawn’s Exasperating Ambivalence:
Summer 1993: Music, Storm and Prophetic Dreams
- Classmate a stand-in for “Rudy”; Jigging at College Dance
- Library Tales
- Happiness Returns
- Living with Friends in Krueger
- Funny Library Stories
- Shawn Calls
- Psycho Roommates and Bug Wars
- Return of Rick
- Adjusting to New Dorm
- Spitball-Throwing Teacher
- Rat-Obsessed Teacher and Doctor Zhivago
- A Teacher Dated a Student; InterVarsity Fun
- Charlie Peacock Concert
- Random Stories
- Letter to Shawn
- Erotic Vampire Dream (Inspiration for Alexander Boa)
- I Ask Out James
- Peter Calls!
- The Fateful First Meeting of Phil
- The Birth of Dolphin Philosophy
- Our Group of Friends Splits Apart
- Spring Classes
- Big Red Flag: Phil’s Dysfunctional Family Life
- The Drunken Stork (Phil’s Controlling Nature Manifests)
- Idealizing Phase and Early Sign of Control
- Phil Tries to Control my Friendships, Unfair Accusations from his Dad and Brother
- Phil Gaslights Me with Fake Dreams, Ridicule and Psychological Abuse
- Another Pre-Engagement
June 1994–Bits of Abuse Here and There:
- The Abuse Worsens in the Summer of Hell
- Phil rapes me anally
- Phil tries to control me through refusing everything I want–even proper hygiene
- Phil’s cruel hoax on me: his “subconscious” coming out to be with me
- Phil’s “subconscious” explains why he’s coming out to talk to me
- The lies unravel as Phil admits to conning me; also, fright as my periods turn wacky
- How Phil’s behavior fit the signs of abuse
- Phil Mindscrews Me: changes history, blames me for things that were not my fault, treats me like an idiot during games
- Phil says if he abuses me, it takes two people to sign the divorce papers
- Pearl reveals that Phil is costing me social invitations
- Hints that Phil is checking out of the marriage
September 1994–Divorce: The Long, Dark, Painful Tunnel:
- Phil picks fights and avoids responsibilities to make me feel like a shrew
- My husband Phil, Dave and Pearl call me a party pooper for getting a Grade II concussion
- I’m ecstatic to be back with my friends (the ones Phil hates); I meet Charles
- Phil vanishes without a word of why
- Phil wants a divorce
- My friends tells me that Phil is controlling and possessive
- My first Pentecostal church service: They speak in tongues
- Phil refuses to accept responsibility for the divorce
- Phil cuts off contact
- Attack of Phil’s Flying Monkey and Sycophant: Dirk
- Phil the narcissist admits to manipulating people and using them as pawns in his game with me
- Phil comes crawling back to me–and we put our marriage on paper
- Phil demands my complete submission and forces me into oral sex–and my will is broken, for fear he’ll divorce me again
- Phil walks away from me again–because I dare to have my own mind, opinions and needs–and because he’s a sociopath
- Fierce anger against Phil and PTSD from the abuse
- My friends tell me Phil is psychotic
- “Soul Ties”
- I return Phil’s things and he skewers me; consolation from friends
- My letter to Phil
- Phil shows my letter to his friends; I’m triggered by reminder of forced oral sex
- I start dating Charles
- Friends tell me Phil is controlling
- I feel stalked by Phil
- Poem about being stalked by Phil
- Fury at Phil stalking me and rubbing my face in his new relationship
- A Date with the Vampire
- Celtic Class: Knotwork, Tin Whistles, SCA–and Drinking from a Skull
- The Teddy-O Incident; Birth of These Memoirs
- We Hook Up to the Internet–and Shawn Fixates on My Sex Life
- New Guy Begging at My Feet
- Life on TCB
- Meeting Cugan (Hubby)
- Learning my ex Peter was a love-fraud; New Men
- Before Tracy, There Was the Avenger (Sociopathic Female Bullies Pt 1)
- Torn between three men as Catherine pushes me toward Cugan
- The Love Rectangle
- Torn between FIVE men! Me?
- Persephone’s Own Outrageous Stories of Phil’s Abuse
- College-style living
- Online Shenanigans
- Phil Finds TCB; Meeting a Hit Man
- Gypsy’s Party: Healed friendship with Peter
- The Avenger Starts a Flame War (Sociopathic Female Bullies Pt 2)
- Meeting the elusive Speaker
- First Date with Future Hubby Cugan
- On Breaking Up with Kindness
- Loony Roommies and Flying Gargoyles
- The Goddess of Pleasure and Salt
- A Conversation with Oscar Wilde
- My First SCA Event
- Cugan: a vast improvement over Phil
- Easter with Cugan’s family and SCA
- Cugan breaks up with me
- After breakup: Phil’s return and trolls
- Cugan comes back
- SCA hippies; college senioritis: anxiety!
- Or should I move back in with my parents?