Tag Archives: abuse

Brace for impact…

Last night would serve as substantial evidence that I did not meet this goal. Not that it should really come as a surprise, if one looks at the facts. The fact that as much as my divorce has impacted me, as much as my choices in certain men have hurt and disillusioned me, my divorce and my choices have impacted my children.

My goal as a mother, from the point of conception was to provide my children with a life rich in love, health and memories. This goal has not changed. Choices made have have not afforded my children a childhood with that vision.

I thought that finding a significant other would complete our family. As I have said many times already, because I focussed so much on the happy ending, I ended up making poor choices. Choices have consequences.

As a single mother, when we choose the wrong man and invite them into our home and family, our children are immersed in the negative, the unhealthy and the hurt that the wrong person brings as much as we are.

I have learned my lessons. Unfortunately, it has taken me a few years to do so. In those years, childhood moments have been stolen and tainted. There’s no magic to undo that and I’m not sure I’ll find forgiveness for myself for making the choices. I may not find it from my children either.

Last night became a head on collision for me. I went through my day relatively peacefully. I had coffee with colleagues, laughed and was productive at work. I headed to dinner with a colleague and tried Persian food and enjoyed some laughter. I returned home going about my night. All of my children gathered in the kitchen, it was pleasant. I literally turned to do something and when I turned around the peace turned into catastrophe. Not unlike a car accident, everything changed in a millisecond.

If only the moment had come with a warning to brace for impact. I was hit with my son’s anger like a Mac truck taking out a Honda Fit.

My son and one of the twins had a sibling moment of name calling. I just stood in the kitchen the other day and lectured all three kids on how we will speak to each other in the Home. Last night, my son felt I should have called the twin on her name calling and started taking me to task on it. This was the moment of impact. I didn’t realize how hard the impact was until my son’s anger and judgement sprayed around the room like pieces of a vehicle in a full impact collision.

My son was feeling alone and unsupported and he did not like my answers. He had the perception that I only call him out on bad behaviour and not the girls. This is inaccurate but his perception. Something about my response ignites pent up anger. My son unleashed all that he thinks about my choices in men and the decision to include them in their daily lives. How his childhood has sucked because of it. Nothing I say brings calm. As he goes on, all I can think is he just wants to be angry. I express remorse, I own my choices, I acknowledge his feelings and remind him that I cannot change it. I remind that I experienced it all too. I apologize again. To him the apology has no weight. Disappointment and feeling robbed of happy times prevail.

I cannot argue with how many things have sucked in the last 13 years. I don’t disagree that there have been intense negative moments in the hands of male counterparts. More than should have ever occurred. On one hand, I get the anger and I do not blame my son for his anger. It should not shock me. It’s how it is unleashed that hits me. The debris and shattered glass tears through my soul and it is now embedded with already existing shards of failure, shame, regret and hurt.

What they don’t see from me on a daily basis, since the divorce is that I beat myself up, they don’t see the pain, they don’t see the shame and self-loathing that I battle already for having failed to provide them with the childhood I had dreamed of for them. Their disappointment is my tragedy. I soldier through these times, I hold my head up, I move forward, which may appear to other’s like I’ve forgotten or as if it all was of no consequence. The strength it takes to move forward and face them everyday, they will never know. I know I’ve failed, I know they have missed out and I know I will not likely find forgiveness from myself or from them as they make their way through adolescence. I hope it will come and I will stand in front of the firing squad when necessary.

I tell my son that only time and my actions going forward can prove to him that I have learned. I express to him that if I could go back and change it I truly would.

Last night he stormed out of the house in -40 degree weather. My girls crumbled. I was at a loss. In shock. He ranted the teenage rant of when I can I’m moving out and never looking back. My heart shattered, my reaction anger. As he tied his shoes, I told him “You are my son, I love you. No matter what you feel for me, I will not stop caring for you. I’m sorry you feel this way.” He left. I was mad and then I was scared. Two girls falling to pieces beside me.

I texted him once the world stopped spinning “Let me come get you and take you where you want to go. No talking.” A text comes back “can you just come pick me up.” I do.

I open my eyes this morning to a six foot two, shirtless young man. He stands silently at the side of my bed staring at me. I break the silence with a quiet “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry for last night.” He says wiping a tear from his face.

“Are you?” I respond. Not sure why that was my choice.

“Yes, I am” he says.

I pause and offer “Okay.”

He lingers a moment, wipes another tear “I have to go to work” and walks out. It’s -40, I let him walk.

I choose to move forward in most days positively. I do not forget my failures but I try to grow from them. I have to move forward and find laughter, any other choice would bring about my soul’s death and then what would be the point of it all?

Tomorrow is not promised. I will do my best to make each day count. I will do my part to make the rest of their lives an abundance of happy days.

Good grief


I spent last weekend immersed in movies and retail therapy.

Southpaw which was emotional and made me want to strap on my boxing gloves and pound the heck out of something. It has my son wanting to join a boxing club. Who’s inspired this, the movie and his mother!!!! Sorry, I’m being a “martyr Saint”.

Inside Out. Great movie! I laughed out loud a lot. I loved Disgust she cracked me up. My mom says “Hey it’s Abbie!” That went over well. Payton was Joy. I would Fear right now. Bottom line, true joy cannot exist in the absence of sadness. They both need to exist in balance. Good movie, will watch again. 🙂

Love Story with Ryan Oneill and Ali McGraw.  It’s sweet and tragic. My son comes in part way when Oliver and Jenny meet at the door as he returns from receiving the news. She asks Oliver what he sees and he says “I see you”. I’m like awww and then in chimes my son “Oh my God, what are they even talking about!?!? This movie is so stupid! It makes no sense” Then comes the scene where she is watching him skate, she is soaking him in, taking it all in knowing as the soul does what is coming. My son is like who does that? This is lame. I said some day you’ll be in love and stupid too. You’ll watch her eat her fries and think it is one of the great wonders of the world. He is like “No, I won’t. That’s so dumb”  Ah man did I laugh.

Off to The Peanuts Movie… What it’s a love story too with Charlie Brown working through insecurities… Oh my… Sigh.

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I have a conversation with a friend about another friend who is going through a tough time with their spouse being angry and abusive. It brings back feelings and memories of dark times and heartache here. It follows me like a little dark cloud. Alters my mood a bit as I go to spend time with someone and they can sense it. I shrug it off.

It’s never easy to leave someone and when they’ve broken your spirit you have to dig so deep to find that one ember of courage to ignite the decision to end it. To choose yourself and your journey. To choose happiness and peace.

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Sending the women in my life strength and courage…. xo

 

Life with a sociopath continued


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Is it because it’s Halloween? People soon masquerading as things they are not. Is it the moon? Is it the email that sat in my inbox at work yesterday? The email was nothing,  just blah blah blah about the trailer. Stalling… It’s seeing the name and the thick swallow that comes before opening the email.

I do know I set out to have some of this blog be about my life with a sociopath-narcissist. So this is a continuation of the blog post living with a sociopath…. Deep breath.

When you hear the word sociopath, you likely think of criminal behaviour…things the movies or crime shows tell us a sociopath might be. Scary, violent, serial killers…good people like myself would think based on Hollywood portrayals that a sociopath only exists in the movies and that encountering one would be rare. But this is not the case.

1 in 25 people is a sociopath and they are not typically serial killers as we know them from the silver screen. They are soul killers. They gleefully and without remorse tap in to your soul and set out to extinguish it’s light.

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When Maya and I spoke, she was convinced our sociopath was a pure narcissist but my instincts were sociopath. It turns out we are both right. He is both and he is evil. Ever looked a devil in the eye?

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So My relationship with the sociopath was on fast forward. He said and did, literally, the same things to me, Maya, Téanna. I’m sure if Téanna had have given him the engagement ring back, I would have been the third woman to sport it. Unlike the average person who might feel guilty doing such a thing, the sociopath would have gotten some sort of sick high out of it and in his psychosis wouldn’t have had a problem bringing me to mom and dad and having me show off a ring they’d already seen on the hands of the previous two women.

Meeting his family

That leads me to meeting his family. December 24, 2013. I was going to meet the family. It was Christmas, I was going to experience my first Christmas morning without my babies and I’m meeting this guy’s family for the first time. I’ve been waiting for it all day. He picks me up from work and starts telling me he doesn’t want to go, he fought with his mother and told her he wouldn’t be there. Chaos…drama…just the start of it. Who fights with their mom on Christmas Eve??? He told me he was close with his family and friends, especially his mother (Mirroring societal norms and mirroring what he knew I would want; a family oriented man). So how does someone close to their family, fight with their mom on Christmas Eve? They are a sociopath and they’ve lied to you. I made him get on the phone and call his mom, apologize and tell her we are going to be there. I adore Christmas and being with my family.

Red flag hello!?!? I did not like this. So we get ready to go and he is going in to work in the middle of the night. Yep knowing what I know now – he left me all alone to be with another woman on Christmas morning.

As we get ready, he says to me “We will not talk about me working overtime. We’re going to go for like an hour and then leave.” I am bewildered. Why are we lying about this? He claimed his uncle would get seriously annoying about it, calling him money bags and going on about the overtime. He didn’t want to deal with that. And so why do we tell them we’re leaving early? Then just before we leave he tells me his brother is crazy, that he tends to fly off the handle and say crazy things. He’s aggressive… Oh my God, at this point I was freaking out. What am I walking in to?

Hindsight:

  1. His dad was a big deal in the department of the City the sociopath worked for. His dad would have known there was no overtime or at least blown his lie up. Nothing to do with the uncle.
  2. The brother needed to be this crazy person to be feared because of the text. The text in which the sociopath pretended to be his brother. If the brother is crazy, then I am less likely to believe what he says. His brother is likely the only one in the family that does not enable his psychosis.

I was so stressed walking in to that place. We walk in and the room falls silent, the young people in the room (our age-ish) are looking at me like they’ve seen a ghost. Well, I’m the third woman within 3 years to come to Christmas. Vomit. Nobody says a word to us until we hit the kitchen. His aunt and uncle are welcoming. His parents too. His dad especially. I get introduced around the room and no one says anything. It is so messed up. The sociopath proceeds to put his head on his mom’s shoulder and starts sobbing. Wtf?

I, being compassionate and good, attribute it to the fact that the brother is bouncing his baby boy on his knee and the sociopath did not have his son. I convinced Téanna to bring the child on Boxing Day for an hour but she’d have none of Christmas Eve which makes sense now. In my mind he is crying for his son. Being me ,I step to the kitchen trying not to cry myself, to give his aunt the cheese ball I brought. Here I get a bottomless glass of wine for which I will take my first round of abuse on the way home.

Everyone was nice, they seemed normal. The only person that didn’t fit was the sociopath. People made some conversation with him but it was forced.

The uncle keeps pouring me wine. The sociopath tells me that’s the last glass we need to leave. We eat and the family is going to play euchre. I love euchre!! I wanted to play. The brother is friendly, offering me fudge. The sociopath says we are going home and I will not be playing euchre. No one gets why we have to leave. We can’t tell them about the overtime…. The sociopath is getting agitated, restless, he wants to leave. He has somewhere to be. I chug back my last bit of wine and we head out.

In the jeep, he unleashes on me. “I told you I wanted to leave by 11pm. You agreed. Instead, you keep drinking and then make me look like an asshole because we have to leave and you want to play euchre.”  How is this my fault? His uncle kept pouring the wine. No one understands why we are leaving. We can’t talk about the overtime. It’s my first time there. It’s Christmas for goodness sake!!! This tongue lashing goes on and on until we get home. 45 minutes of it!!! Even going to sleep. I went to sleep on Christmas Eve like that, no babies to wake up to and believing I was some insensitive woman given he had to get up in the wee hours and go to “work”.

I’ve had three deaths of family members at Christmas: my paternal grandfather, my aunt, and my mother-in-law. This Christmas was worse than those. At least in the loss there was love. This was abuse but he had me convinced I was insensitive. Me? What a farce, looking back.

The Red Flags

This would not be the last of it. It would exist in our daily lives. This chaos and abuse. It would come out of nowhere. It would lead to threats of abandonment. When questioned he would lie or deflect things making me the bad guy for questioning him. It would include character assassination.

He would take opportunities like talking about his first girlfriend to tear me down, hit my weak spots. I have stretch marks from babies. They started with my son because I gained too much weight too fast with him. They became worse having had 14+ pounds of baby in my belly with the twins. I am extremely self conscious about it. It impacts my self-esteem greatly. In talking about his exgirlfriend, he threw in she was super skinny, a runner and never wanted to have children because she didn’t want to ruin her body. He did things like this…under the radar, less overt than a lot of his abuse. Going for the Achilles…

I wish I could post his picture. This God’s gift looking down on everyone.

He’d pick me apart as a mother. Pick my kids apart. Go on about how he was sure they were better than this at their dad’s. This guy was a douchebag, they knew it and they were unhappy. I remember him going on about how he couldn’t live here, in this town home, the kids weren’t following his rules for the chocolate lab, I was not supporting his authoritarian dictatorship in the home. He ranted and ranted at me. I finally lost it, I came upstairs locked myself in the washroom and called Kim. I was breaking… It felt like a nervous breakdown… She had to talk me down – I had never made a call like that to her. Broken, hysterical and crying – we’ve known eachother 40 years. Even as angry as my ex husband was and as nasty as sleeping as the enemy could be, I never made a broken phone call like that. I’m the strong girl, who cries tears of compassion but typically keeps her shit together. Kim “You can’t go on like this. You’re an amazing mom. This has to be his last chance.” He was knocking on the bathroom door. I told him I was on the phone. This made him extra agitated. One he didn’t want to look bad because he is superficial and two if I start involving other people he loses control. His ability to completely extinguish my soul will be blocked. Damn right asshole!

This behaviour would be followed by fake apologies. The learning curve claim. I’m the most amazing person he’s met. He hadn’t known love until me. In speaking with Téanna, he made the same pleas to her…verbatim. I can’t explain that feeling. The abuse was bad enough. Knowing that he said the same things to her, to Maya…the loving things, the compliments, the good things you think only your soul owns. It wasn’t reserved for me and ultimately it was just a tactic. A calculated move.

June 2014. One of the worst moments for me, although they were all horrid, happened on his birthday. The Friday before, he worked “overtime”. The girls and I decorated the house, Abbie made a cake. I made a beer bottle cake I saw on Pinterest. The dining room table was taken up with gift bags. He was walking in to an undeniable celebration of him. We were excited. Saturday night we were going to go on a date and my son would watch the girls. He was acting a little strange. A lot of smoke breaks… Oh well. I got ready. I have a lot of hair so it took me over an hour. I put on a lace top, over which a jean jacket was going, black pants, and black boots with a low heel. I came downstairs and the girls were like “Oooh mommy, you look so pretty!”. Not the sociopath, he says “Can we talk upstairs?” . He proceeds to tell me he’s not going anywhere with me looking like this. I look like a slut and just want attention from other guys. A slut? I may have amped up the sexy a bit but a slut? No way. He says we’re not going out. All that effort for nothing. I wanted to look good for him! I wanted him to be proud. I wanted him to have a peacock moment like “That’s right boys, take a good look but I’m taking this cutie home.” It was insane. It went on and on. Pure insanity. I changed my top. Black Gap tshirt right up to the neck.

We got in the car at one point and then he decided he wasn’t hungry. We stopped in Sobeys parking lot where he proceeded to tell me he couldn’t be with someone who needed this kind of attention, who acted this way and matter of fact he’s not sure he even loves me! The devastation of those words. I don’t even know if I really love you!!! I’ve had two relationships previous and even in the worst of times it is not something that was ever said by either side.

I told him he could leave. I didn’t need this in my life. I spent my entire Friday night running around in storms, to get cake mixes, beer bottles and decorating my home for him. I’ve never had anyone speak to me like this. Complain that I look good and tell me they do not love me. Abuse. I’m not sure what he expected. I’m not sure if he had plans with someone else. I’m not sure if it was just sick fun. He backtracked of course because I was serious. Take the door and get out. He manipulated and managed to stay but things were just not going to sit right with me from this point on. I felt trapped we had signed on for the trailer and 4 wheelers and I was breaking, weak, tired and I let him stay. Ten more months. Ten more months of abuse, isolation from my friends, isolation from my parents.

He used my line of credit as Monopoly money for Kijiji deals. Felt entitled to my money. I should cover his debts and we would work as a team to pay it off.

Team work was his mantra. We’re a team babe.  Maya says this is her fault because in the end that’s how she convinced him to action stuff. Teamwork and joint bank accounts. He is a sociopath and he will develop his skills in order to succeed.

I read this crap I am writing and I can’t believe it. That is only a snapshot. A handful of examples. I’m a smart lady. I have two degrees. The other women are university educated as well. It’s something we ask ourselves “How could we be so stupid?”

Mirroring….

This:

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Then there were lots of tantrums, fake crying to manipulate. Statements like call my mom or call my dad when he was backed into a corner. Weird!!!  Téanna and I laughed over that one. Such an absurd statement. It was nice she and I could find laughter in this insanity. Both being broken, her more broken than me. She lives in a constant place of fear because they have a child. There is no closure for her ever.

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Tantrums of I’m leaving or going upstairs to mope. Texting me to come upstairs and then ranting at me over the fact there was no place on the couch for him or something stupid. The girls were likely snuggled in and getting my attention. He couldn’t lie his head on me for me to rub his head for the 50 millionth time or rub his lazy ass feet!

His ego…

He thought he was God’s gift. His mom told him he was. He has a weird thing with his mom. My mom says only I can pull of a pink shirt, my mom would say these pants are my style.

He loved the mirror. Every time he got off the couch he would check himself out and flex his non existent biceps with his lame tribal tattoo.  If we were out, he’d flex his bicep, looking at it when he’d put his elbows on the table. He would flex it when he got up to walk to the washroom. He was obsessed with himself, what’d he need me for??

I’m horrible at ego stroking. Im not the girl who’s gonna be like look at my big strong man carrying this or that. Unless it’s really noteworthy. Oh you cleared out the dishwasher. Great, thank you. Wait a minute don’t you live here too? Do I get an award when I wash your shit stained underwear?? Get over yourself. Unless we’ve done something monumental or pulled off a really chaotic day, you won’t get any achievement certificates from me from simply pulling your weight.  But he needed that desperately. “Bet no ones helped you like this before, right?” “You’ve never had anyone like this in your life right” Nope, never had anyone quite like you. The selfishness and empty promises, yep been there.

Then the question every woman loves “Am I the best lover you’ve had?” Yes, yes dear. Reality: Worst ever! Horrible lover. You can’t be selfish and be a good lover. Lazy… worst ever!!! Téanna and I had a chuckle over this too. Seriously, what were we thinking. He was ignorant, ill mannered and there was no mind blowing sex to cloud things. We had a good chuckle on that one.

He had constant questions/statements like this. Aren’t I the best because…

The day he came to get the rest of his stuff, Carly was here.  He had to go to the jeep to get a pen. We watched him as he checked himself out in the window before opening the door. I was like see! See how much he loves himself. Even in this moment he is checking himself out. Then he needs a hose and mount from downstairs. Out comes the bicep check and Carly is like Huh??? Sigh..  It is just sickening. Again, I wish I could post a picture so you can see…see the delusion!

Even in the ego existed insecurity and the shadiness. A weak handshake and no eye contact. All very bad signs. Everyone in my life hates the no eye contact. The initial first impressions were that he was a bad dude but I didn’t see it yet because I was being groomed…

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