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.

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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

A Happy Home (Free of the Abuser)

Life after the psychopath goes on.  Recovery happens.  I try to recovery gracefully.  Shortly after I left him, I declared a goal of Not Becoming Bitter.  I think I have achieved that.

A bomb went off in my life.  Perhaps, if you are reading this, a bomb has gone off in your life.  Or, perhaps you fear that if you leave the man who currently holds you hostage, you are afraid of the bomb that will go off.  The man who holds you hostage.  Too dramatic?  It isn't a dramatic description for my story.  I was afraid to leave him.  I was afraid of what he would do to me.  I was AFRAID.  I lived in fear.  FEAR. In my own home.  Constant, unabated fear.

The words "Walking On Eggshells" did not describe, in any way, my experience.  It was like, everything was fine.  Until it wasn't.  We'd be on a family outing and he would start a rage fit.  "Rage Fits" describe my experience.

And there.  There is the tightening in my chest.  Writing this, the anxiety just began.  I lived with that anxiety for years.  Why do we medicate women who are anxious?  Why don't we ask questions?  Why are you so anxious?  What is going on?  Tell me about it.

Wandering the hallways in my house, I would wish and pray to God that the NSP (Narcissist/Sociopath/Psychopath) I married would JUST HIT ME IN THE FACE SO THAT I WOULD KNOW FOR SURE THAT I WAS BEING ABUSED SO THAT I COULD LEAVE HIM.

WHAT?
WHAT?
WHAT?

Note to past self (and anyone reading this who has the same wish and prayer): If you are wishing and praying to be STRUCK IN THE FACE so that you are SURE YOU ARE BEING ABUSED....

YOU ARE BEING ABUSED.

Yes, I am yelling.

No one should have to live in fear.  LIVE IN FEAR.  Live in fear in your own home?  Live in fear, constantly, fearful of your husband?  Of the next rage fit?  Of the financial abuse?  Of the emotional abuse? Of the next rage fit?

No one should have to spend her alone time RECOVERING from time spent with her spouse.

Note to past self: Your home is your sanctuary.  If your relationship with your husband is so wearisome that you can not plan ahead to meet a friend, head out of town, do a project, or work, then, my darling darling darling sweet beautiful girl: You are being abused and you need to get out.  You deserve a peaceful, calm and lovely life.  You deserve to be treated with love and respect.  You deserve to save and spend your money in ways that honor your values.  Your life is so valuable.  Do not waste one more moment in that marriage with an abusive man.

Yes.  When I left the NSP a huge bomb went off in my life.  It was similar to other the other bombs he ignited during the marriage. After I left he had little use for the carrots of kindness he would show me when we were married. After I left, the mask of the Good Husband was nearly always off, and he always used the stick.

But after I left, he had almost zero physical access to me.  He lost control of me, permanently.  My home was, and is, mine.  All mine.  My space is mine.  He can not come here.  There are no more torturous family outings.  There are no more Sunday afternoons spent crying in my room after enduring hours of his screaming.  There are no more nights spent with a racing heart, wishing I could leave him, being grateful that at least I have a warm place to sleep, for that is all I can find to be grateful for in the hellish situation.

Now, my time alone is spent as I choose.  I feather my nest.  I decorate.  I sew pillow covers in the exact fabrics that I prefer.  Every finish in my house is exactly what I choose, I do not need to jump through a hoop to please anyone but myself.   I plan how I will spend my money to make my home exactly as I wish.

A bomb went off in my life, and I am still recovering.  I am still putting things in the right spots.  I am still figuring it out.  But I am completely in charge and in control of my environment and my finances.  He has no say and no sway.  I serve my own agenda, not his.  I am the mistress of all I survey, and the NSP has no power here.

By AKA Rose Lee Mitchell

Both lovely images 
by Kate Ware via Flickr.com
"Home"
"In The Garden With Buddha"
creative commons license