Peace quiet and suicide

It’s been some time now that I’ve written.  I’ve been in pretty good shape, good spirits, busy. I dove into art projects and now I have many orders for my work.  So every day I come home from my day job and create colorful works of art.  I work for me. I clean houses. I’ve b been doing this for years. I just sort of fell into it and stayed with it because it gave me all the flexibility in the world. I get to sleep in and do what I want all day as long as I got to the house and cleaned it before the family got home. So I could get there at 8am or 1pm. I brought my kids when they were infants thru there toddler years and they sat and watched cartoons while I worked. It was perfect for me. I made every appointment I needed, I showed up at school then when ever I needed. And there is no stress. I don’t have to punch in so I don’t care if there’s snow or ice, I can take my time.  I always made good money cleaning. It is a real job with real responsibility and I am paid real money. Yet my ex husband used to always tell me, get a real job. He never thought what I did was real I guess because I didn’t punch in and be miserable like him all day. Get a real job.  Well eventually, about 27 years later I got that real job and filled for divorce then went right back to cleaning because personally, I don’t know how anyone survives corporate work.  It’s the most stressful and hostile work environment ever. But that’s just me, I don’t like mean back stabbing people who are always miserable.  There were deadlines and quotas so It put the pressure on everyone which made for the hostile nasty atmosphere.  Where did I work you wonder? At a bank processing payments for utilities and mortgages and other bills. It was a cool job but not for me.  So here I am working for me again. I’m a great boss too!! I don’t mind what time I show up for work, I take a break or work hard whenever I want!! Life is good. I always need more work tho because just like everyone else, just when you think you’re ahead of the game, something needs to be fixed or replaced and there goes that extra money. But that’s life I get that! And like I say, when I moved out of my narcs house back into my own, my daughter set up a spot for me to sit and create. She said I needed to get back to being me and get back into my art work.  Which I love.  And so I did and its been a saving grace.  And she played a huge roll in me getting better. Id have panic attacks and anxiety and I would call her and she’s calm me down. She’s only 21 but wise well beyond her years

As I sat at my desk creating id have music playing. Usually some Stevie Ray Vaughan or John Mellancamp or the grateful dead.  I was busy, my hands were busy my mind was busy my whole body was busy. Then I would climb into bed at the end of the night and as tired as I was I couldn’t seen to stop. Id read or be on Facebook or Pinterest. And I kept saying to myself, go to sleep you’re exhausted. Finally  I would just pass out for the night. This kept going on for the longest time and then I realized what was happening.  If I stopped, if I rested, I would think of the memories the good times the bad times the trauma of it all. It was a huge aha moment.  My narc was a workaholic. The radio was on 24/7 his mind was always going, always thinking always planning a project. One time during sex he says to me, remind me to leave a check for Deb later. It was Friday morning and Deb needed her child support! He never stopped his brain never rested.  I understood it, I really did. One night about 3am I got up to go to the bathroom and when returning to the bedroom the lights were on the radio was on her was reading a drugstore sale ad complaining about something. It was irrational so I finally grabbed him, I wanted to slap him back into reality but I just shook him and I said. Omg, I get it. If you stop, if you let your brain rest you will think about the boys and that is painful. (His two oldest boys who were only 23 and 14 at the time of their deaths committed suicide) He stopped, tears rolled down his face and I knew right there I needed to comfort him love him deeper and harder and be his support and strength when he felt weak. And I promised him that and I kept that promise right up until the day I left.  At the time I had no idea that he would take all that I had to give and exploit it in his narsasistic plan.  But at any rate, I understood that his brain couldn’t stop.  Now here I am almost two years later not only understanding it but now I feel it and live it every day. Only I think his trauma is much worse so he has got to feel a hundred times worse than me but then again he has no emotion .  do narsasists have emotion for themselves? Do they have sadness or even grief for things in their own lives.  I think he does, but then again I thought he loved me too!  At any rate, his excessive working thinking not resting, listening to music drove me insane. And now, it’s me whose feeling like this, working thinking listening to music. It’s making me fucking crazy. I want peace and quiet in my brain I want rest.  Sometimes I can hear it non stop even when I’m sleeping. I want rest I want quiet. I want to be that peaceful person I used to be. This is torture. It’s exhausting. Mentally and emotionally. I just want rest. I can understand why people commit suicide. They want rest they want peace and they want quiet. It’s plain and simple as that.

Still having a hard time.  I still miss him.  I’m still hurt that it was all a lie.  And I’m hurt, mad and angry that I’m feeling this way while he is busy living his life.  Seeing a new woman. She’s not the one tho I don’t think because he’s still at least on one dating site.  It’s an icon on my phone so I can check it , back when I was still with him.  So I still check it every once in a while. I know, I need to completely cut loose.  My heart is still attached.  I mean…. There had to be a little bit of truth somewhere, in something he said.  I just can’t believe that every single word out of his mouth really was a lie.  I mean, he had to think I was at least attractive. Right? And he had to of appreciated all my hard work, right? He had to of loved me a little, right.  OMG this really sucks.  It’s so hard to comprehend that a human can be so evil.  We hear of evil people all the time on the news but it doesn’t effect you in such a way. But then live with someone who gets inside your brain and gets inside your heart and gets inside your veins. Now it effects you to your very core.  It eats away at your brain like a disease because as a “normal” human being you just cannot comprehend being so evil.  I don’t ever want to go back to him, but I still miss him I still want to talk to him.  I want to know he’s sad that I’m gone.

I get up in the morning, it’s just me and the dogs.  We sit out on the deck in the sun, I make coffee, we all have breakfast.  I go to work, I run errands, I do whatever I want.  I go any where I want. I have coffee or lunch out with my friends.  I’m free.  I should be happy, but I’m still not.

the articles that saved me

Some very good articles that helped me see the light.  If I hadn’t found these articles, who knows where I’d be right now.  This man is 98%of everything I have read and everything that is listed.  They are the most cunning conniving, liers or there. They infiltrate your heart mind and soul from the inside out.  They wear you down and slowly kill you and everything that you are.  And I was only in this situation for 18 months.

in a nutshell

He is a full blown narsasistic sociopath with obsessive compulsive personality disorder, and a black and white thinker.  Being black and white is what got me going.  I am familiar with it, so I knew a little bit on how to handle it.  I adapted quite well and when the escalations in personality and temper would start to flare up, I knew not to press any issues or do anything that would piss him off.  I got quite good at this and learned to recognize it immediately when it would start up.  He would go weeks and even two whole months between periods.  We even seemed to manage to not even have any real temper tantrums because I was so good at keeping him calm.

But here it is in a nutshell.  He sucked me in until he had me hook line and sinker.  All the love and attention and acceptance a woman could ever want. All the promises.  Any thing for you baby.  Papa will take care of it.  In the beginning he would rush home.  And tell me he loves coming home to me.  He’d have the biggest smile and was the happiest man alive.  I’d stop and see him at work and be met by the biggest smile and kisses.  I’ve never had any one so happy to see me.  EVER.  But then it was expected to stop by work.  And bring dinner.  And be on time.  OK, the man works his butt off, he deserves dinner at a reasonable time. As time went on tho, he’d come home later and later. At this point, he WAS at work.  He loves to work. 7 days a week in the summer.  At any rate I was left home alone alienated from the world because we lived in the country. In the middle of no where with no friends or family around. We did live close to the rez where you can get cheap gas but was told…. It’s bad gas it screw’s up the engine, I’m the mechanic that works on your car and I don’t want you getting that gas.  At first I believed him, until he mentioned week after week how the pump at the rez never printed out a receipt for him and he always had to go inside.  Hmmm it’s good enough for his baby, his truck, but not me? OK I got it. But I bought rez gas anyways. It was supposed to Keep me from affording to go to the city to see family and friends.  Oh, and eating garlic. Every time I went to the city he said I came home smelling like garlic. Because I usually grabbed a piece of Pizza.  Any ways, I spent many many hours at home… Alone.  Too many hours. Way too many hours.  It started to eat at me like disease.  I became more and more depressed and maybe I wasn’t as much fun any more. I was always sad. It had to show.  I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t  concentrate and I couldn’t accomplish any thing in a timely manner. It would take all day to accomplish simple household tasks.  I was exhausted.  Crying all the time.

When his kids would come around, we would all be sitting at the kitchen table, but the one clung to him, hugged him,  touched him. Immediately it made me uncomfortable.  Omg… They are having sex.  I remember feeling this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  But then your COMMON SENSE kicks in and and says, oh you’re just imagining  things.

A year and a half later, I start really digging into some research and reading. Black and white thinking was my first Google attempt. Which put me on the path of narsasism, which led to sociopaths, and psychopaths, and personality disorders. Holy crap… It all makes sense now it all ads up. It explains him completely.

About a month before the shit hits the fan, I find out from one of his daughters that he touched another daughter.  Wtf. Now I really suspect what I thought all along about the other.  But this still can’t be. This man loves me, every one has issues, I will stand by him and we will get thru this together. His pain clearly goes way deeper than I thought. I will stick by him. Which now makes me feel like I’m even crazier for wanting to stick  by such a horrible human being. He molested at least two of his six daughters.  And now for the boys.  The two oldest commit suicide.  One hung himself and the other died of some sort of esphixiation at age 14.  We would be having sex and tho he never hurt me choked me or was I ever in fear that he would ever hit me, sometimes, during sex, he would say, let go, just pass out.  You are my best student he would always say. You are safe, papa’s got you just let go and pass out.  I always thought this was weird about being his best student. But seeing as he thought he was God’s gift to women and he always told me he loved sex with me the best out of his wivescand girlfriends, I let him talk whatever he wanted.  But the correlation between him wanting me to pass out, and how the boys died……I just can’t wrap my head around this. I realize …..wives and girlfriends..  I know, but, before I condemn, I always see the good in people.  It’s a curse.

It wasn’t until I left and was back in my own home that I learned about him and the second daughter.  The one I had suspected a year and a half ago.  I am a fairly intelligent woman.  I have my issues, we all do. But I never imagined I was so weak inside that I would make excuses and get sucked into such a disgusting situation.  I’m sick with myself. But if I dig deeper and thru counseling i amunderstanding why I was so vulnerable.

My father was my love.  I can’t remember too much about him other than he loved me.  I do remember him walking around town with me holding my hand. I remember him laying on the couch teaching me how to snap my fingers and I can remember being too small to sit on a bar stool so he sat me right on top of the bar!  This was all around the age of 2-3 I can remember.  My mother on the other hand, was a tyrant.  Screaming yelling swearing. I was afraid of her.  At about age 2, I can remember sitting at the kitchen table eating macaroni and butter.  Well, actually NOT eating my macaroni.  So she took the bowl, while screaming, thru it up against the backslash of the sink.  Macaroni dripping down the wall and she told me to eat it.  From there I don’t remember particular instances but I knew I was always afraid of her.  I knew she always screamed and yelled and swore.  It wasn’t until I was probably 7or 8 maybe that beatings would begin.  I remember one time, I forgot to put the napkins away after dinner.  Well when she started screaming and yelling, who could concentrate or focus. So I had no idea what to do with these napkins. I couldn’t remember where they went.  She took me into the living room and with all the yelling it put my head in a fog.  I remember the room literally looking like it was foggy.  And I got a beating.  Now that I’m saying this, I remember screaming. Screaming so loud that someone would hear me and come rescue me.  I don’t remember all the beatings but I remember always screaming as loud as I could.  I knew neighbors had to of heard me. But no one ever came.

My mother was a large woman. Tall and on the heavy side.  She would go into these rages and grab me by the hair and swing me around and throw me.  The skin on my scalp was pulled up off my scull and swollen.  Hunks of hair was missing. I mean how hard are you pulling and swinging that a whole hunk of hair would pull out of my head.  She would beat the snot out of me with this huge thick leather belt that had a huge brass buckle on it.  So of course , the larger the buckle, the larger the pin that went into the belt holes. That pin would dig into my skin like you wouldn’t believe.  The whole thing left huge bruises and welts. And then to have a beating happen again before you healed.  OMG the pain.  During one of these episodes, I was on the  kitchen floor trying to scramble away from her.  She kept crushing my head and face with her foot.  Maybe I was lucky she wore sneakers and not leather shoes.  A teacher asked me why my face was all bruised and I told her exactly what happened.  I remember her saying, oh honey I wish I could take you home with me.  I went to my guidance counselor and begged to be taken out of the house. He looked at me like I was crazy.

Speaking of crazy…. My mother was getting crazier.  She decided that her method of beating had to change, so one day she got out the broom and beat me with that.  It became a ritual for her. It would be summer vacation and in the morning when she got up, I would be doing chores, which I never did good enough. But I would hear from the family room, that’s 10, that’s 20, that’s 80, 90,100… And at 4:00 she would say go get the broom and I would have to hand her the broom, stand there, while she beat me over the back with all her anger and might.  What ever  I racked up for the day.  It was always at least 100. And if I said ow, or screamed, she would start over.  I would be beaten and bloody and sweaty. Exhausted.  I’d have to put away the broom and go to my room.  I remember how taking a shower was so painful. It felt like a million needless stabbing my broken skin.  But I got up every morning for school and always had a good day in school. No one ever knew. My friends had no idea.  I laughed and learned and it was my heaven to be in school. Especially art class. How I loved to be in art.

How did I get thru these beatings? The pain of a new beating on top of wounds not yet closed and healed.  I psyched myself out. I told my self that Jesus was a human and look at what he endured.  I told myself that the slaves were beaten even worse than me and they survived it. Aren’t we both the same? Human beings, with flesh and blood and feelings? If these slaves could get thru whippings, then I can surely get thru a beating with a broom stick.  And I did. I made it. I got thru it.

What did I do to deserve these beatings? Not a damn thing. My mother was miserable from when she was a kid. Always making everyone else miserable.  She was fat and all her friends were skinny.  She had no self esteem, no self confidence, no self love.  Then my step father would tell her she was fat, and she’d take a diet pill. In this days they were strong speeders. Then she’d get nervous and take a Valium.  And her self talk was so destructive , for herself and all of us.  She got pregnant with me so I ruined her life.  My father was a drinker and partier and a schmoozer.  Every one loved him. Hey… Sounds like this recent boyfriend.  She was miserable because his girlfriends would pick him up or drop him off while she was home with me. But it was the step father who drive her crazy. Your fat, don’t eat, here’s some candy, don’t eat it.  They fought and she wasn’t gonna lose a fight. Swearing like lunatics, he began beating her like he was in a barroom brawl with another man.  Which then she took out on me. Plus I was also his favorite.  She was jealous of that.  Again… My beatings… I’d scream bloody murder hoping someone would come save me.  OMG…I can remember the bf saying… when I first met you, you had a look on your face like save me.  Are you fucking kidding me. WHO gave this man all the inside info on me? He was getting into my head without me even realizing it.

One night, the boyfriend and I are snuggled up on the couch all comfy cozy, lovey, dovey.  Watching a murder mystery.  A scene comes on where the husband goes after his wife to beat her with a broom.  I freak out and start to cry. He assures me I’m safe, no one is going to hurt me.  Later, in the movie, the police go to see the coroner.  He explains that … This woman was severely abused.  She has scarring and this and that in her body.  OK. At this point, I am emotionally set back 40 years. It’s all still inside of me. All the beatings all the bruising, all the scares… It’s still all inside me. Well. I’m a complete basket case now.  This just puts me over the edge.

So now, my mental and emotional state are as fragile as ever. The bf is on dating web sites, I’m trying to fix it and make him fall in love with me again.  In a mess.  I called a friend over night and cried so hard I couldn’t even speak. I’m sure she thought I was going to say someone died.  I hadn’t died yet but I was well on my way.  A few weeks later, he said to me, don’t worry baby, everything’s OK, you’re in, when I don’t come home for a few days is when you know.  Well, good Friday, 6am, he kissed me good bye, said see ya. Not good bye, I love you…, see ya. And I never saw him again.  Until he showed up at my house with the police to claim his car back that I stole from him.  He gave me the $300 to buy it from a friend. Told me to put the title in his name so he can go register it and switch plates and insurance.  Trusting I would be with this man forever, I did. So, technically it was his car not mine. So here I sit, lost my car, lost the man I thought was going to love me forever, lost all my future hopes and dreams and projects. Lost.

Im mad, im angry ,im in mourning.  Im mourning the loss of not only the man I loved,  but everything that went with it.  The idea of where we were going.  Our future.  We held hands just a couple of weeks ago as we walked in the back and talked about projects for the summer. He showed me how to run the backhoe so I could do my own thing when I was home.  I just dug out the mink oil to clean up our boots for the new riding season.  I was going to suprize him and polish the chrome and clean the Harley so we would be all ready.  He was on craigslist looking for chickens for me.  I had such great plans for our future.  We were going to be grand parents together. I always told him that together we could conquer the world. ReStart up business together. But then I have to remind myself that none of it was real.  Or maybe it was, but on his terms.  Isolating me and controlling me.. it is so confusing to think about. Isolating, controlling, emotionally abusing, but he still loved me, held my hand held me tight in bed all night long, kissed me, took me shopping, mad me laugh.  Back and fourth back and fourth …you can just keep thinking back and forth.  Even that is exhausting.

i wish…

God, how I wish I could just shake you and slap you until you understood how much I want you to be better. How much I want you to understand how you’ve hurt me and your family.  How much I want you to have peace in your heart and soul.  How much I want you to love us with a pure love.

Every morning when I wake up he is the first thought in my head.  This morning im struggling with this….underneath the lies,deceit,minipulation, abuse, and every other evil, is there a real human being?  I mean, right now at this very moment in time as he is at work, he is an empty shell.   He knows his job and he does it very well.  he still shows his narsasistic traits towards the guys at work only they don’t quite get it other than thinking that he’s a pampas ass.  To live with him on a daily basis as a woman is a whole other story.  Everything he said was a lie. It was all based on his ego and what it needs to continue to grow and stay in the state of euphoria that keeps him going.  He emptied me of everything.  I have a clear glass vase that is just a 7 inch tall cylinder.   The image of this vase was constantly in the forefront of my brain and vision.  Because I knew….it represented me.  I was this clear empty vessel.  There was no color, no fun, no music, no dancing, no art supplies, no creativity, no life.  His main mission in life is to empty a woman of everything that she is so he can fill it with his own agendas.   Nothing mattered about me. Not my likes or dislikes or my hopes or dreams or my feelings or concerns. Not my fears…nothing.  I couldn’t be me.  Icoykdnt even eat the foods I liked.  If I smelled or tasted like garlic,  he would have a fit, because now he couldn’t enjoy kissing me because I smelled like garlic.  Well, I don’t want him to miss out on enjoying kissing me, and I didn’t want to miss s out either, so I didn’t eat garlic.  Im Italian, everything has garlic and olive oil in it!! But you see how he got his way? He made me feel bad that he wanted to kiss me and couldn’t because of something I did.  So naturally i stopped. This is how he infiltrated my very core.  Most of the time I knew it, I was aware,  but I gave in anyways because I wanted to please him and all he wanted to do was kiss me and love me right? But I still struggle.  It breaks my heart because there has to be a real, kind, loving human being under all this evil. What made him this way.  I cannot believe for a moment that he was born to be a mean deceitful person.  Does he live with torture every day of his life trying to bury the pain? I think to an extent he is conscious of his pains and what tortures him.  This is why he never stops. His mind never stops working.  I figured this one out right away.   When we would go to bed at night in the very beginning, he would toss and turn and thrash and holy crap one night I thought he was having a seizure.  The muscle spasms were terrible.  Id snuggle in closer and hold him keep him safe and let my love e and calming energies flow into his body.  I knew, I needed to love him more.   And so I did.  I made up my mind that I would be his strength when he felt weak and his calm when he felt restless.  One night I got up at 3am.  I came back to the bedroom to find the lights on, the music blaring and his reading the paper.  Now hhes  yelling at me because something was on sale but there was a limit of 3.  I grabbed him , gave him a shake to snap him out of it and said. STOP IT! Omg..I understand now.  Your brain never stops thinking because if it does, you will think of your boys.  He broke down in tears and I brought him back to bed , held him tight and we slept.  But to this day, the second he wakes up, the music goes on.  I prefer to ease into the day and fully wake up before I have ACDC yelling highway to hell in my face! There were several radios on it in the yard too.  On all night long. All day all night…music. I did get him to turn the radio in the bedroom off but he always held that against me.  A friend of mine said, quiet is meditation, meditation is thought and thoughts are feelings.  He has to bury all feelings so music and noise are a constant.   Can you even imagine not ever having peace. Let alone peace and quiet.  I can’t handle the fact that there has got to be a beautiful human being under all this torture. One morning while having sex, he says, remind me to leave a check for Deb. His brain just cannot stop.

Tuesday April 21 2015

Waking up this morning, I’m feeling like I’m in a state of dispair.   Yesterday was actually a really good day but these feelings come up from the depths of no where deep inside of me.  I have amazing people in my life and great counseling.  But I still feel so alone.  I still feel helpless because I have such guilt about leaving my son to be with the bf.   He’s a young  teenager who only know what’s in front of him at times and I would say…I’m making dinner for us then we can do this or that.  Before you know it, he would be showed and running out the door.  Hey!where you going??? I’m going over so in sos. House. Well I told you I was making dinner.  Oh I forgot or you never told me that was his response.   The bf would complain and say, I’m missing you and missing out on loving you and your son isn’t even there.  So more and more the son would take of and then so did I.  Until i pretty  much left him on his own.  The guilt has been eating me away big time ever since.  My daughter was in and out and then a friend of hers moved in.  Ugh. That’s a whole story in itself.

I am stressing a bit too this morning because I have to work in the ex bfs area.  I won’t see him and I don’t need to drive down his street where we lived. But I will be very close.  It just freaks me out to be in the area.  This crap is just crazy.