He Was A Busy Bee

It’s been 9 months and I’m still baffled by the crap I find out. I stopped looking long ago but every once in awhile a nugget of “holy shit” information falls into my lap. While I was sleeping (instead of drinking and acting like a damn fool) my darling husband was calling people and pouring his awful, sad, pitiful, lonely, abandoned story out to whoever would listen. Or rather yet, to whoever would give him money.

So the story goes that I kicked him and my stepson out of the house and they were on the street with nowhere to go. He desperately needed money to get them a hotel room to stay in for awhile. He was in such despair and felt so hopeless that he saw no other way than to commit suicide if he didn’t get money for them. <<<< are you fucking kidding me?? Yet another example of the twisted shit they come up with and how they will use their own children for their personal gain.

This was around the time he rented an SUV and left for a month. He wouldn’t tell me where he was, but he told his son he went on a business trip to Texas. However, if stalking me was the same as going to Texas, than I guess that’s what he did. There were 5 people sending him a decent amount of money every week or whatever. Until they caught on one at a time and cut him off.

Ironically, I had enough of his shit and screwed up games and had finally seen an open doorway. I told him not to come back, that he left. Period. When the money well ran dry guess what? He miraculously loved us so much and desperately wanted to work on his marriage. I knew he only came back because he ran out of money, I just didn’t have the source or anything to back it up.

When he came back and I had no choice about it, I became severely depressed. Again. I still worked and took care of kids. He curled up on the damn couch, stayed in the next room with headphones on, or followed me around begging me to “fix my marriage”. For almost another full month, every day was a psychological torture session. He’d even wake me up to ask me why i didn’t love him anymore.

The Smallest Victims

Children don’t escape without battle wounds too. My daughter is two, I remember after I worked all weekend her behavior would be so bizarre on Mondays. She’d get upset and immediately go run to her bed. I also remember seeing her crying and pointing to her potty training seat and she just kept repeating “I crying, I crying” I think he made her stay in her room. I also know for a fact he would make all the kids sit, even when they were simply too young to be able to sit still a long time. She’d be playing with her dolls and saying “just be still, relax, hush, just sit still”…..and I could hear his voice all over her words. I watched him pick her up once and she stopped moving and just stared at the ceiling. It was such a strange scene for a one year old child. She would wake up every night screaming and I was always sure she wasn’t truly awake. She still has nightmares and wakes up crying. He would get so pissed if he wanted to bitch at me and she was being distracting. I recall him yelling at me once telling me to control the child, but yet I couldn’t go anywhere or take my focus off of him. She’d stand at the gate crying for me and he’d move so I couldn’t see her, he’d start yelling and she’d run to her room.

My six year old suffers the most. He had not started school and so he was home more than the other boys. He was also expected to sit still, be still, be quiet. My life eventually became one big fear that one of the kids would set him off. My six year old still wets the bed at night, and his stepdad would make a huge deal out of it and I can only imagine how shamed and embarrassed my poor child felt. I should have smacked that man in the head with a bat! I can see the difference in his pictures from 3-4 years ago to now. The light in his eyes has dimmed. He is mad all the time, he rages, and screams and tells me he hates me, or tell us all how we all hate him. I watch him from afar and he has zero self confidence, he’s always thinking he’ll get in trouble. He’s afraid of most men. My heart breaks for him. I let that happen. I’d plead with my husband to take it easy, he was only 4/5/6. He was such a shit to them. Ironically, NOW I have people tell me the shit he said about all of us. Never a kind word, never.

I like the picture posted here, it was attached to an article that disputed the theory children are resilient. That the younger they are, the less they remember or are affected. But if you look at the tree, you notice instead that the younger they are the more rooted the traumatic event is in their subconscious. Something to think about.


Round and Round

I don’t really give a shit what you want to call it anymore. PTSD, C-PTSD, narcisstic abuse syndrome; it’s all the same hell. You’re on a hamster wheel and you can’t get off. You go through all the stages of grief and think you’re ok or at least headed in that direction, but FUCK NO! Surprise, you get to do it again and again and again and again. Groundhog Day. Only it isn’t really funny.