How the Emotional Abuse Continues in spite of Extreme Low Contact

During the marriage, the NSP was unrelenting in his tearing down of me.   Every contentious story was skewed to paint me in a bad light.  He was fully invested in me being a broken, helpless, sick and damaged person.

I was no more damaged and broken than any other average person on the planet.

During the divorce process, his attempts to paint me in the worst possible light continued.  I was surprised, but should not have been.  Now the carrot was gone, and it was only the stick.  He made outrageous claims about me, that I was a drunk (in spite of the fact that I almost never drank).  On and on, tear down after tear down.  Details don't matter.

Now, he has so little access to me.  I have him in a little box.  And I don't respond.

The only tool he has to hurt me, is our children.

It isn't new.  He started on them right away.  They would come home so distraught.  The stories he would tell them.  Lies.  Twisted truths.

Time passes.  And our children get older.  And his emotional abuse continues.

He abuses them emotionally in all sorts of ways.  But tearing down their mother seems to be his favorite.

Being abused is traumatic.  Emotional abuse is abuse.  Bullies ruin other people's lives and careers.  Children kill themselves to avoid the bullies wrath.  Women kill themselves to avoid the continued abuse from their husbands.

My abuser, my exhusband, reaches out to me and continues his abuse through my children.  He successfully plants the seeds of doubt about me into my children's hearts and minds.  Bless them.   I experience trauma again when I hear his stories from my children's lips.

My children have no context for the awful things he tells them.  They should never hear such things from a parent.  If I defend or explain, I further the damage he has done to them.

Despite the fact that I do not defend myself or explain the truth, they have lost trust.  In me.  In their father.

They should not trust their father.  And they do not.  It has nothing to do with me.  They do not trust him because they learn, over time, that he is not worthy of their trust.

Their father tears at the trust they have for me.  And breaks it down.  And my children grow distant.

Oh yes, it does break my heart.  And it does hurt me.  And it does cause me pain and worry.  Big points for the abuser.

The bigger victim here is our children.  Who float aimlessly, rudderless.

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So much time has passed that our children mostly can not remember that we were ever married.   The NSP father fills in their memories with lies.

My children know who I am.  They know their father.

When I look back, and when I talk to myself back then, I say: You should have left sooner.  You should have left right away.  There was nothing to stay for.  There was no hope.  

But I didn't know that then.  I didn't know what was happening to me.  I had hope.  I thought maybe we could fix 'it'.

But I was also terrified of him.  Instinctively knowing how vicious he was.  Knowing the terrible position I was in.

It took me a long time to leave.  Too long.

But I got out as soon as I could.

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If I had it to do all over again.   I would have left right away.

----

This latest attack of emotional abuse proves again how incredibly right I was about him.

We can not control the NSP.  We can not make him stop.

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Please, be well,

AKA Rose Lee Mitchell


Photograph 
by Thomas Hawk 
"I Will Never Break Your Heart"
Used under Creative Commons license

On the Other Side

A Ruined Life

It wasn't that long ago, that I feared I had ruined my life.

After I left my husband, I would wake up with such a profound sense of dread, that I felt like I was sinking into the ground to be swallowed whole.  Ruin.  Mistake.  No turning back.

His psychopathic, veiled and overt threats, emotional manipulations and lies, did not stop after I left.  They increased.

The carrots were fewer.  The stick was bigger.

One major improvement was that he was no longer in my personal space.  My home became my sanctuary.  He was not allowed.

He tried, of course, to get in.  He complained that I wouldn't let him come over, that my insistence to meet in a public place for custody exchanges was bad for our child(ren) and was evidence that I was mentally unstable.  He implied that I was a liar for being afraid of him.  He outright said that I was a liar, and that he was the victim.  He said anything that pleased him.

He mostly said it in emails, since I quickly learned to never ever speak to him in person or on the phone.  The fact that I had an email-only boundary became more evidence that I was mentally unwell.  He insisted that we should have meals together with our child(ren), as a family, even though we were separated.  For the sake of the child(ren).

He said worse things in court documents.  Accused me of things so far from the truth that I was terrified of what he was capable of doing or saying.  Clearly, he would do and say anything to destroy me.  And he tried.

The financial abuse was bad during the marriage.  The financial abuse continued after I left.

You know what unrelenting stress does to a living being?  The stress was unrelenting.  Years and years of stress.  Purposeful stress from a Psychopath to his target.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel

I felt that there was no light at the end of the tunnel.  No light at all.
I feared that I would remain in darkness forever.

It occurred to me that perhaps there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Perhaps this tunnel was so long, that I would have to act on faith,
act as if there was a light out there.

So, I pretended.

That country song:  If you're going through hell, keep on movin'.

After a long while, I could see that there was a dim light at the other end of the tunnel.

After another long while, I could see I was almost there.

Another long while, and I was outside the tunnel, in the light.   But the tunnel was right there next to me, a big open gaping mouth of darkness.

Now, finally, years and years later, I'm on the other side.  And I know that there is a tunnel.  But I'm not sure where it is.  It's over there.  Or back that way.

Let me be clear.  The Tunnel is not Depression.
The Tunnel is the Hellish Escape from the Psychopath.

The Problem With Marriage

If he had just been a boyfriend, and not a husband,
I could have walked away, and would have, many many times.
If I had just been married, with no child(ren),
I could have walked away, and I would have.
If he had not made my life so incredibly difficult,
undermining me in so many ways, I could have walked away.
If my child(ren) had been older.

Mercifully, Children grow older.  Less fragile.  Less dependent.
They have voices.  They can speak up.
They can wash their own hair.
They can wipe their own bottom.
They can report if someone touches them in a private place...

Mercifully, the bonds of marriage finally do break after so much wear and tear.
Hope dies away after so much disappointment.
No matter how hopeful we once were, we finally do read the writing on the wall:
Something is very much the matter with the marriage, and
No, it will not improve
and
Yes, I must leave.

Mercifully, life made impossible to live with a psychopath
becomes so unbearable
that it is suddenly "easy" to leave.
Fears of being penniless are so much better than the alternative of having to live with a monster.
Fears of being murdered by him outweigh the fear of leaving him.
So, fine, yes please, I will gladly be penniless and live in a tiny apartment if it means I am free.
The confines of the gilded cage are so miserable, why not go out into the wild?

Mercifully, the psychopath grows so power hungry and out of control
that we see his madness for what it is.
Madness. Cruelty.
His threats and abuse are so obviously inexcusable.
So obviously abuse.
Once upon a time we excused his misbehavior for reasons x, y, or z.
Now we have lived through so much of it, for so long, we know enough to say "No".

Mercifully, our newfound spirit of "No" drives him over the edge,
and his mask falls off so often and so profoundly
that we realize the Monster is the Man.

Connected By Our Child(ren)

If I didn't have child(ren) with him, I would have healed up long ago.
I would have left him in the dust.  He would be forgotten, mostly.
A bad episode, a bad era, a bad memory.

Because of our child(ren), he has exercised
his opportunities to continue to punish, threaten, manipulate, bully.
Because of our child(ren), I must stay nearby for shared custody.
I can not flee to another town or state or country.  I'm planted.
This gives him endless opportunities to reinsert himself into my life.
It's been a wound that wants to fester, instead of heal.
Re-exposed again and again to the trauma.

His ongoing neglect and abuse of our child(ren),
his continued threats and unwelcome (and illegal) appearances at my house,
his continued financial abuses, his manipulations :
Repeated exposure to his psychopathic behavior slowed my recovery from the abusive relationship.
Repeated exposure to his psychopathic behavior slowed my recovery from the abusive relationship.

Repeated exposure to his psychopathic behavior slowed my recovery from the abusive relationship.  

My child(ren)'s upset about Daddy's Lies, not wanting to be with him, missing Mommy :
Tore me apart.

But we all grow up.  I grow up.  My child(ren) grow up.
Daddy's Problems stay the same, and we all get wise to it.
Daddy's Problem gets worse as time passes.
We stop circling around and around Daddy's Disorder,
and we move on with our lives.

On the Other Side

On the other side, there is peace.  There is happiness.

On the other side, my home is a safe place.  Every day, I become more settled.  I have peace.

I have more financial security than I ever did in the marriage.

On the other side, my time is my own.

It took a long time, but I made it through the tunnel.  Life is good on the other side.


written by AKA Rose Lee Mitchell

Photograph by "Swift Photography Company " on flicker. 

Title "Light at the End of the Tunnel 2"
Used under the Creative Commons License