Disbelief

He’s gone.

He’s in prison.

They carted him off in cuffs right in front of me and sent me PDF copies of the documents he signed acknowledging he is required to submit DNA samples, register on the sex offender list and abide by a whole host of other rules even once he is out of prison.

How long he actually stays in there will remain a trick of the system, but he was given the maximum possible sentence across the board for the charge he was convicted of and the summary election.

I can’t believe it.

Less than 7 per cent of reported cases end in…this. From bravely speaking to a police officer, to charges, to a trial, to conviction – less than 7 per cent of Canadian victims get…this.

If you were part of the other 93 per cent and you want a win, I’ll share mine with you. However happy or proud you may feel at reading he is now in prison, I would be equally happy and proud for you for any peace you find and the bravery you stepped into (however waveringly) to step forward.

I’m still in disbelief that we got this. I genuinely am.

I shouldn’t be, but I am.

I hope the amazement at this occurrence wanes not just because there are fewer victims but also because I hope the courts handle it better.

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I’ve already submitted the form to get the publication ban lifted. I’m safe enough to do that. If it makes sense in your situation, and I know it is highly variable and personal, consider lifting the bans. When we tell our stories and share their names, it protects the next woman. It creates a resounding din of “not again” that makes would-be assailants think twice.

Nobody wants to be labeled a rapist.

If we can, we should take back our greatest weapon: our voice.

Good (wo)men lift each other up

Sometimes, you don’t realize how far you’ve come in your healing journey until you are called to help the next survivor (of your abuser or somebody else).

My best friend ever recently escaped a toxic situation she had been hiding and downplaying from everybody. I was sort of shocked and sort of not. I’m honoured she lets me help her, and I’m surprised I even can help now.

I remember being that weepy mess whose reality was a little shakey. It’s been a while but sometimes it still feels like it was just last week.

I swear the circumstances are different but the playbook these awful people use is always the same. I was able to warn her that after the love-bombing attempts to get back together, this new escapee would be subjected to the most vile words her abuser could conjure. I warned her, whatever her buttons were, her abuser knows and is going to stomp all over them.

I wish I was wrong but I’m glad I warned her.

She said the warning helped when it happened – it helped her realize it for what it was in the moment so it was a less traumatic experience – even if it still hurt.

If you’re deep in the emotional trenches of getting out, find somebody who has been there and who helps you feel “not crazy” and reminds you that you aren’t a “monster”. (I literally hear those phrases from every survivor who reaches out.)

Know that if you are out of that situation, your world isn’t falling apart. It only feels like it and feelings can lie. Everything you were trying to build was already crumbling while you were desperately trying to keep your personal demon from falling apart at the seams and keep them content.

Niw you’re just clearing away the debris so good things can come in again. You’re creating a situation for good things to fall back into place.

You can do this. You already did the hardest parts.

Clare’s Law

I wish I had known about this before today. I haven’t verified it, but watch the video.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMYvWFRTg/

Essentially you can, according to the woman in the video, contact your local police on their non-emergency line and ask about “Clare’s Law”. She said if you provide their information, police can look them up in a database and let you know about any assault or intimate partner style charges even if they are still before the courts.

In Ontario, you can also create a logon to the province’s judicial site and search it yourself. I know another blogger who has successfully done this and will link a post of hers describing the process.

Maybe on Monday I will test this tik-tokers advice and report back on the experience.

Why Victims “Stop Listening”

“You’re not listening,” he would cry as though physically pierced and bleeding. Or maybe he’d phrase it “you don’t hear me” as though you were at fault for not being moved by his pitious pleas.

For all Ladybug, myself and his newest victim, he eventually tries a version of “don’t hide, avoid and ignore. This is fixable if we can just talk”. Given the repetitive nature of all his previous attempts to swoon women into marriage, he probably tried it on his ex-wife too.

I’ve seen other abusive men with narcissistic tendencies try it on other women I know and love too. They claim to be misunderstood or that you aren’t listening and beg to talk in an attempt to suck you back into their love bombing haze.

The initial request to hear each other out sounds reasonable, perhaps, without any further context. If you love somebody and want to build a life with them, you’ll talk things out, right?

Right?

But a conversation is supposed to go two ways, right?

These abusers accuse you of not listening to put you on the defensive. You’ll try to prove yourself by listening as they invariably repeat the lies that caused you to stop listening in the first place. They might even cry.

To them, you’re not listening. In reality, you heard them just fine. The only change was in how you reacted because you stopped believing their bullshit and no longer have the will to argue.

To these rotten people, your refusal to respond with adoration and sympathy must mean you aren’t listening. Questioning the validity of their statements means you misheard and asking for proof means they are misunderstood. Telling them “No” is just an unthinkable outcome in response to their words. You must be abusing them, clearly. (Insert eye roll.)

Truthfully, it means they’ve played their last hand and are lying as much to themselves as to you about which cards they actually hold.

My advice if you want it (though God knows you probably have enough voices warring in your mind right now), is to get some fresh air and continue not listening to somebody whose only argument to your clear and concise questions and communication is to claim you aren’t listening just because they don’t like your response.

My son tried the same argument tactic when he was three years old.

“No, I heard you, Buddy. The answer is still ‘no’.”

There’s a good shot your abuser will throw a toddler style tantrum (albeit with fancier words) when you tell him/her “no” as well. Please consider this as confirmation of your suspicions.

Repeat offender

My particular offender has many victims. Only three of us (thus far) have pressed charges.

I know there are more though because they find me. They write out their entire stories of how he has hurt them and impacted their lives in messages typed hastily at odd times. We message back and forth a bit and then they seem to move on as a sinner who leaves their guilt in the confessional. I hope they’ve received some peace.

I’m left with the weight of our shared realities though. The stories are all eerily similar.

Perhaps creativity isn’t Asshole’s strong suit.

His victims aren’t all female. They weren’t all romantic partners (though those do exist in both genders from the stories I have received). They all wanted to help him at one point.

Whether we’ve met the same Asshole or not, it’s unlikely you are the first victim of your abuser and I’d bet very good money you won’t be the last as long as they still live.

Whether you choose to press charges or not is highly individual and I can make a good case for not going there – but if you do and you need a (literal or metaphorical) hand to hold, I’m here. There are lots of us here.

You don’t have to tell your story to anybody you don’t want to, and many won’t understand, but there are those of us who do and who will praise you for being strong enough to save yourself.

Come find us. We’re here. You’re not alone.

I can be the villain…

…but you need to wave that red flag a little higher if you’re gonna make me a victim/survivor too.

The best heroes have a limited number of enemies and as the number of villains your would-be hero accumulates in his (or her) life story, please pause and know they used to be his (or her) side kicks. Please know, even Hollywood hasn’t created a character who was actually a good soul who had multitudes of enemies expending their precious time and energy to hurt them. Even Jesus, despite his doubters and detractors, had a limited number of people actively trying to discredit him daily until his crucifixion. (And he was actually trying to make big societal changes – not just have a relationship or do normal daily things.)

If you put down your knee-jerk sympathy for the supposedly falsely accused and attacked for a moment, it becomes apparent how utterly ridiculous it is.

So, if you start hearing these stories, remember three things:

1) That’s a HUGE red flag,

2) They did something to accumulate those enemies, or

3) Those enemies don’t actually exist and this person is actually barely on their radar. This would indicate a plethora of other possible personality disorders or serious mental health issues which could harm you.

Those of us with jobs and responsibilities value our time and energy and mental peace. We don’t squander it. Be wary of those who do and assume others do as well. It’s just not realistic.

I learned these lessons the worst way. I paid dearly for them; I’ll share them with you now but I will not give them up.

When it’s hard to leave

You should be able to check into rehab when you need to break a trauma bond. 

When you’re leaving an abusive relationship, after somebody has love bombed you to insanity and then started to nitpick and whittle away at your self-image piece by piece until even just a smile or hug feels amazing, you’re basically addicted to their presence.

Leaving them feels like going into withdrawals.

It’s acknowledged by science that the hits of dopamine created by the unhealthy connections and then the lack of them mimic actual physical addictions and withdrawals but I would suggest maybe they are an actual addiction.

The parallels between giving up a toxic substance and giving up a toxic person are innumerable and the outside judgement is the same.

“Why didn’t they just leave/stop doing that?”

Because it hurt. 

It hurt in a way that is hard to describe and was all encompassing and seemed easy to end. That’s why.

So – from this woman to you – you can do this. I’ve been out for over a year and the first week was the hardest. Then, one small success or triumph after another, I started to smile again and life got better and better and better. Now it is better than it was before I even met him.

If you’re trying to leave somebody toxic, keep going. When reality seems a little fuzzy around the edges and you get headaches, keep going. When all you want to do is sleep but you have such vivid dreams you don’t want to do that either, keep going. When you start to rationalize that maybe it wasn’t so bad and remember those good moments, centre yourself in your own literal physical pain in that moment which is being caused by dopamine withdrawal and keep – fucking – going.

One day it all just goes away. It does. I promise.

One day, you sleep without night terrors and your muscles unclench. One day you smile again at something small and see hope in the future. One day you do something difficult (even if it’s small) and feel proud of yourself.

One day, you get the you that you know back. 

Take yourself back now, by force, and you’ll get to fall in love again – with yourself.

In the meantime? Give yourself grace and give yourself patience. Forgive yourself for what you did not know and trust you did the best you could.

Just keep doing that. Keep doing your best with this new insight you’ve gained. Your best will get even better with time.

This is hard. You should be able to check yourself into rehab. You can do it though. You can break this addiction. 

Maybe someday you can help another person.

“How are the apps?”

“How are the apps?” I asked my ex husband over video chat. The call started so I could say goodnight to our son while he was over there but we often still chat as friends at this time.

He knew what I meant. He made a face by way of reply. He looked like a disgusted Elvis with his one lip pulled half way up to his eye.

I chuckled and he said they’re basically the same, if not worse, as the last time I was really on them (which he knew was before Asshole).

“I guess it depends what you’re looking for,” he sighed resolutely. The implications were clear.

“That would be great, but not without a bit more behind it,” I answered. With about a week until Valentine’s Day, I wasn’t looking for a fling.

He smiled then said they probably wouldn’t give me what I was looking for. I wondered briefly if all exes talk like this, but realized it didn’t matter. We do and it works for us. We’re still “best friends”.

I whined that the few people I had met more recently just going through life all seemed to start with such high hopes. I explained how things seem great and they seem super interested and then just…poof!

They’re gone.

Except not. I told him I can see them stalking my professional socials – the hits are easy to track.

He made a derogatory movement involving his hand, his hips and one very happy face.

I chuckled.

“Well I was standing right in front of them so that was dumb on their part.”

Then my ex heaved a big sigh and gave me one of the sweetest compliments ever. And yes, it was made especially sweet because it came from him.

“You’re smart, Varity. Not just like kinda smart. You’re really smart and you’ve got a lot going on.”

“So?” I asked, making sure to prove him wrong for a moment.

He grinned at me awkwardly for a moment before getting serious and almost angry on my behalf for me.

“And you speak up. You challenge men. Guys don’t want a dumb girl but they don’t want you to be smarter than them. They don’t want you to have more accomplishments than them.”

I sat in shocked silence. It was what I suspected in my bitter moments but I try to give people more credit than that. These self-professed liberal and evolved men still couldn’t get past my brain and accomplishments?

Precisely what level of accomplishment is sufficient to appease your cocktail party socialites but not so much as to make people a bit uncomfortable.

“They think I’m too good?!”

No really, where is that happy medium? Just so I know for reference.

“Basically.”

“Well then I fucking am. This isn’t a fucking contest!” I was getting angry and Pumpkin was in the other room getting ready for bed still. I didn’t want my bitter suspicions to be right. “It’s, ideally, supposed to be a mutually beneficial partnership. They can grow up and put their big boy pants on if me having a brain is such an issue.”

My ex chuckled at my momentary temper flare after making a semi-shocked face which I suspect was mostly just for show. He knows me well enough to know my reaction.

“Yup,” he said suddenly grinning.

I’m looking for reasons he would lie about that. It can’t be that simple and bitterly true. There must be men out there who can handle a woman who can handle herself and treat her with respect.

Honestly?

From a survivor’s viewpoint?

This is one of the ways they get in. This is how good women end up with bad men. We get lonely too. We want to be seen and recognized and cherished too. We know we aren’t bottom barrel but everybody else flees.

So love bombing feels like “FINALLY! Hallelujah!”.

Somebody who nitpicks some of our own foibles (because we’re actually not perfect, despite the conversation above) seems confident and on our level.

From there it goes downhill.

I’ve got stronger boundaries now but I have a lot of the same feelings I had when I first met Asshole. If I didn’t know better now, I could easily slip into that again. Easily.

I won’t blame the other men for doing their…I’m going to call it the “chicken dance”…but they don’t then also get to turn around and complain about wonderful women they know who date toxic losers. We each get to own our own decisions.

Well? Did you step to it? Did ya try? Or did you find some cockamamie reason not to even try while shielding your ego?

That’s what I thought.

Shut up.

My ex-husband is 100% my EX husband. We’ve mutually agreed we are not going back there again, but as dim as he can be and admits he is, he figured out early on never to let my intelligence and accomplishments be anything but something he was proud of me for. He would brag about me.

See, guys?

That smart woman could be a feather in your cap with the right attitude.

And ladies? Don’t settle for assholes.

Teeth: by Ladybird

When we first started chatting online, I had already been chatting with a couple of guys. I continued chatting with them, while slowly getting to know Asshole.

At one point, I decided to meet one of them for a coffee date. I had been away for the weekend and managed to squeeze it in after getting home Sunday before my kids came home for supper. He was nice, but I remember thinking that his profile picture was a couple of years old, and the missing teeth weren’t visible in the pictures I had seen. 

Later that night, while texting back and forth with two different guys at the same time, one being Asshole, I mentioned the date to both guys, and commented on how I am supposed to know if you have all your teeth from your profile picture. Now, Asshole’s pictures did not show his teeth in any photos. The other guy had full smile pictures. Immediately that guy sent me a current big picture of his teeth. There may have been a crooked one, but they were all there. Asshole on the other hand ignored my comment about teeth. 

I remember making a mental note of that. 

Fast forward a couple of weeks, and the guy who was quick to send me the full mouth smile picture was busy the weekend that I wanted to go out with him. His church was having a big anniversary and the higher ups from the Salvation Army were making an appearance. Seeing as I am a single mom and have limited weekends free, I decided to go out with Asshole, as I wanted to do something that weekend. The plans for the day kept changing right up until it was time for me to drive to Stratford, which was rerouted to me picking up Asshole in St. Mary’s and driving to Stratford together. There was some story about staying with his parents and something about his car having issues of some kind. 

Silly me believed that story, because I am naïve and want to believe that everyone is telling the truth. He got in my van and away I went. What the fuck was I thinking. 

Driving with a stranger, on my way to someplace I don’t know. Elyse Meyers has a similar story about going to Taco Bell… She can explain the thought process better if you find her on TikTok. 

Anyway, very quickly into the adventure, I realize that Asshole does not have a full set of teeth. Worse than the coffee date guy, they were half rotten off. At least coffee date guy looked like they had been properly removed. For the first bit of the drive I was fairly speechless, I kept looking at him thinking what the fuck? What the fuck?

Asshole thought that I was checking him out but, really, I was in shock over his teeth. Missing teeth are one thing, but half rotten broken off teeth… Ugh… Over the course of the date though, I reminded myself about the long conversations and all the things that I liked about Asshole, even if his teeth weren’t what I thought, and the date ended up being pretty decent…All things considered…

I decided not to let the teeth bother me, although that was always a red flag for me as time went on. He constantly bragged about his income, his benefits, how if we got married, then my kids could be on his benefits plan, and it was so good that even braces were covered. All the while, the voice in the back of my head kept screaming “if that was true, he would fix his own teeth.”

I made a vow

This is getting hard.

Maintaining this blog is no longer therapeutic or an act of reclaiming.

Now it’s like peeling open scabbed over wounds and slicing back into long scarred-over injuries.

It’s hard precisely because I’m not actively bleeding anymore.

I don’t even want to testify anymore really, except if I don’t, conviction will be much harder and some other woman may become a victim.

I vowed to myself to keep it active until he wasn’t a threat anymore so there could be some trace, some remnant for the next would-be victim.

And I will.

But, hot damn, the second he’s behind bars again this thing will likely go dormant. If you still like my writing and want to engage with me, check out peskymuses.wordpress.com

That’s where life is moving on.

Yes, I know this is a shitty post and unless Asshole gives me some SUPER interesting inspiration, it will likely remain so at this point.

I have a few more posts stored which I haven’t been brave enough to publish yet…but that might not change.

This is essentially me throwing my hands in the air and saying “I’m trying”.