No Safe Place. Heartless man.

Bill got home earlier than normal last night, after his drive from Coatesville. It was so good to see him. Over the previous 24 hours, I had gone through this sort of emotional awakening that both hurt, and felt  good, reveling to me things I secretly hold inside. I don't care, yet, to share, but it was a profound experience and very emotional.

I wasn't really quite sure how I was going to handle seeing him when he walked through the door; just knew I wanted to look into his green eyes. That's all I wanted.

I felt good. I felt safe. We embraced and I felt something I haven't felt since I last  felt it with him. It was a closeness and a trust. Something I've never shared with anyone. It was confusing and exhilarating at the same time. Part of me felt alive, trustful and adventurous. I felt like I had when I had met him almost 11 years ago. There was someone here who I knew, who knew me, who I trusted.

At my suggestion, we decided to walk down to the Ivoryton Pub and have a couple of drink before dinner. It's been so long - so long - since we went out anywhere. Finances didn't allow it and time just seems to melt away but we were both excited to get outside the walls of this apartment and explore our new neighborhood.

We went to the pub. Previously, we had questioned whether or not we wanted to go there because they proudly have a rebel flag flapping over their door, next to the American flag so it made us wonder about the clientele. Still, we decided to give it a shot.

We went in and I played a game on the Megatouch. We met the bartender - Donna - and each ordered a Corona with lime. Donna was very pleasant and the atmosphere was friendly. Seemed a lot of people knew a lot of people. We met a guy named Marcus who talked to us briefly about his work at the Ivoryton Playhouse. He was nice.

We went out back for a cigarette -Donna asked one of the waitresses to show us the path leading out to the smoking area- and we had a cigarette. We came back in and put $5 in the jukebox. There was a pretty good selection. We were enjoying ourselves. We ordered two more Corona's as we took our seats at the bar. We accommodated a couple who had come in and needed another stool so we moved down so they could sit together. All-in-all, everything was going swimmingly.

Then, we decided to go have another cigarette.

As we walked down the path towards the smoking area, we passed the kitchen. We paused a moment and I saw George Lincoln. He was a casual friend of mine and Gary's. Nothing close, mind you. I mean I don't recall seeing him at any parties or having him on the boat but we met sometimes when we'd go to the Pattaconk and he was bartending. We felt bad for him when he lost his job there. George was slow, but he was nice. He always knew what Gary wanted to drink so really, he was among those who were Gary's friends, and I was just Gary's girlfriend.

So I said hello to him, told him it was good to see him. Asked him how he was doing. Joked around a little with the kitchen staff, asking what the best thing on the menu was. All told, the interaction was about three or four minutes and I told George, again, that it was good to see him.

We went out and had our cigarette. We came back in.

We sat down and we were going to order one more thing (our music was playing) and Donna suddenly came up to us and said she was told she's not to serve us anything more.

There was no explanation. We asked why. Asked what was wrong.

She said she  didn't know, just that the manager had said we weren't to be served anymore.

I knew immediately why.

George.

And Gary.

And his rumors and lies.

I felt so foolish. I had put on make up and dared to venture out, trying to meet new people in the neighborhood, maybe even develop friendships or acquaintances but instead, I was singled out because of vicious lies and rumors by a man who ....oh Don't get me started. I've been very, very kind when it comes to the things I could say and/or do to make his life hell.

But still, the damage he did to my life here - even as I've tried so hard to build something safe and secure for me and Trevor - is irreparable. And he could care less. He thinks it's some big joke. And those who listen, those who believe him, are fools.

He's a cruel, cruel man who did horrible things to me and to my son and like an idiot, I stayed. Some people witnessed it, many did not.

He's very clever.

Up to this point, my fear of going outside, of being seen, of going anywhere, was based on the rumors he told others. Up to this point, it was under my control because if I didn't want to be seen, I didn't have to be. I could lock everyone out, hide. Stay away.

But this one time. God dammit this one time, in my own neighborhood, where I've tried to move on and build a new life and truly heal....

This one time, he brought it into my home. He attacked me through his viciousness and vindictiveness vicariously through his "friends" who believe everything he says.

Well done, Gary. Just remember, I won't ever touch or harm you - I loved you - but karma will, even though you don't believe in it. You believe in nothing, except your own inflated ego and that, too, will destroy you. I needn't do a thing.

We had our two corona's and we left, me crying, sobbing, collapsing, in total disbelief.

Suddenly, this was no longer home.

There's never been home. I've never been home.

I thought I was building a home.

Now I want nothing more than to disappear.

Having my secrets - my past, my issues, my pain - broadcast to every town within 50 miles invades every sense of self I have, which is very little. The work I'm doing to help myself and all the pain I've gone through with every memory and all the things I'm working on for myself, seemed to just be for naught.

Because last night, Gary came back and made sure - vicariously - that I would never belong here. I would never have friends here. I will never belong here.

This will never be home.

Now, more than before, I don't want anyone to see me. I ripped off my necklace and felt so stupid, so stupid. How stupid for me to think I could fit in anywhere. And a rebel-flag-hanging PUB of all places!
 

It's All About Image

My name is Cristina D. Johnson

This is an angry blog. Just a forewarning.

Woke up this morning with text messages from "him" - bouncing back and forth between being nice and being an ass. I was immediately triggered.

I have never, ever in my entire life had a single human being trigger me as instantaneously as he does.

I know why that is, too.

For about eight weeks, we were still living together. We would bounce back and forth between deciding whether or not to work it out, or whether or not splitting was the best choice. He would say, "You're the one who said you were done," never realizing he made it impossible for me to stay.

Then...he would go out. Not only would he go out, but he would tell people my private business. I was horrified beyond belief. I couldn't believe he would betray my trust - my deepest trust - in such a way. But he was very clever about it. He "told just a few people" (which means anyone, really) knowing damned good and well that these towns talk - everyone talks. Never using any common sense or decency, always without regard for my own dignity.

Oh God how it hurt. I've been writing my entire life and I can't think of a single word (or set of words) that can adequately describe the pain I was going through. The lies he told me - how he misled me about the wedding and instead took my "friend" "L" (who, incidentally is apparently not much of a friend since she hasn't even once contacted me to see how I'm doing. Instead she hangs out on his boat or goes out with him). He made me feel like the lowest form of life by telling me lies, and then going behind my back. He blew things out of proportion, made himself look like a super hero and divulged everything from my issues to my financial situation to people whose business it was none of, nor was it his right to do so. Especially to an incest survivor. OH MY GOD the things I'd shared!! I was beyond terrified. And nobody checked on me. They just took his word for it - poor, poor him. The victim, the savior. Oh he made himself look like the real hero and me...well I was just nothing. As I always had been.

I attempted suicide. I was in crisis. It's not uncommon for people with my disorders. Neither is a lot of stuff - cutting, binging, drinking, drugs, etc. but the triggering...Dear God, every night he would trigger me, telling me he was going out, knowing it would trigger me and then carelessly walking away.

(Definition: Anything that brings about a symptom of PTSD. For example, a news story about the Iraq War may cause a veteran with PTSD to have thoughts and memories about the war. Triggers may include people, places, sounds, words, and/or smells. Source: http://ptsd.about.com/od/glossary/g/triggerdef.htm)

That about sums it up.

Being abandoned, being cheated on, being lied to, being talked about behind my back and then being told - when I asked - no, begged - him to please stop talking about me.

"You're just trying to control who I talk to and what I say," he would respond angrily. "It's my life."

"No, it's my information and my private business that I'm asking you not to share."

"It's none of your goddamn business who I talk to or what I say," he said one night.

He would say and do things, knowing they were going to trigger me and when the panic attacks came on, he would causally walk away, go out to his van, and go party - pretending his life was perfect as I sat alone in the house, mortified, horrified, embarrassed to be seen by anyone.

That was one of the most insidious aspects of his telling people (and of him telling me that people were talking about me): He never would tell me who he told what, and who said what so I was there, like a nothing. I had no importance, ever. I was nothing....just something to gossip about and he being him, would do all he could to protect his image. Because, after all, it's all about image.

He's not the person people think he is. He went out and made himself out to be a victim - which, in a way, he was; a secondary victim of my abuse and at times of my own verbal abuse.

When he would trigger me, I would become irrationally angry. Actually, it was profound pain that was misplaced (being triggered brings back feelings, memories, sensations, etc. from your past) and the only way I knew to react was by anger because that's what happens when you grow up on the streets: you fight.

I was also living in complete disbelief. How could someone who said they loved me, do this to me? How could he? I wasn't unreasonable - I was trying to get out as soon as I possibly could because it hurt to be there - but I asked him to please, please just wait until I'm gone before you start going out. Please.

Nope.

So it  got to the point where even hearing his footsteps or his early-morning coughing was sending shockwaves through my body. I was uncontrollably triggered and stuck.

"You can go out if you want," he would say, never considering how mortified I was that he told everyone my personal business. He even told people he fixed my car for me, never divulging the fact that it was OUR  car and it broke down because of OUR use and should have been fixed at least a year ago. It just so happened to be in my name. So he made sure he looked good.  Made sure everyone knew how much he loved me.

We can see that now, can't we? As he takes his new gf out on his fancy boat (which he cannot afford)? Yeah he loved me alright.

No....if love bit him twice in the ass he wouldn't know what it was.

Because, for him, when love gets complicated, it's too much.

So then he starts accusing me of being violent. Violent because I would grab the front of his shirt and cry and plead and beg, "Why are you leaving me? You said you wouldn't leave me! Why are you giving up on me!? You said you never would leave me!" ...this, is violence, for which he would call the cops on me if I ever did it again. (another huge trigger of mine, btw, being a child of the system - and a trigger he's well aware of).

In this morning's text messages, he flipped back and forth between being nice and being not-so-nice, even with a veiled threat about how if [my blog] begins to effect him, he'll handle it then.

Well, here I am - being real. Spread out wide open, everyone knows my secrets and my sins. Everyone knows my shame, now, because I chose to tell it - not because someone with no morals or sense of loyalty decided to spread it around. Because for me, it's no longer all about image.

It's about being real - and I'm being real.

Nothing in my blog is a lie, distortion or exaggeration.

I was so thrown off today just by his text messages this morning that the entire day was a trigger until I was exhausted.

I laid down and fell asleep, only to have a nightmare about him. Him and his brother.

They were being so cruel in my dream - heartless, cruel, vicious.

Control. Image.

It's all about that, isn't it?

Image?

What a fool I was to fall into that trap - to drown myself in this pool of high fa-looting, the-world-is-my-oyster, pretending to be someone and something I wasn't. And why? To live up to his expectations?

Well, who the hell is HE? A cheater, a liar, a fake? And *I* was trying to live up to HIS expectations?

But when the going got tough and I needed him more than anything in the world, he fled - to another woman (which he admitted to, but now denies) and is now seeing, (surely just coincidence).

Then...out of nowhere, came friends and supporters - people who aren't so obsessed with their image. People who've either been there or understand or want to help or want to be friends with me or want to help me.

I discovered in this process - this process of coming out and telling my truth and being real- who my friends truly are. Painfully, I also learned who, among those I've known for five years now, are not.

I could go on and talk about the REAL person I know - the reality of his life but he has to live with himself. He must be exhausted - just like I was - holding up such a fake facade, living up to others' expectations, trying to be something he isn't.

But unlike him - I have empathy. I pity him, despite the fact that he is the single most biggest trigger of any person ever in my life. I have never, ever been triggered by anyone as much as him - mostly because of the deliberate and intentional pain he put me through. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Wonderful. Oh but if people only knew the truth...

This is the end of my angry blog and I must say that in the past five years I've met two amazing people - R & R - father and daughter. Dad R is so authentic and lovely, wonderful and fantastic and daughter R is the same. To them I say: I miss you. I always authentically loved you both.

Possibilities

Right now, I hurt. Being here, in this place, on the birth of the U.S.A. alone in this God forsaken house while he goes out and hangs out with "friends" and has a grand ol' time and I am shunned, shamed...because he told so many people about my private business. I just cannot get over this.

It's absolutely horrible. I can't show my face anywhere. I even went out the back door yesterday to avoid seeing his son and wouldn't come home until they were gone. I'm that ashamed.

Yesterday I went to look at an apartment. It's absolutely lovely and I really, really hope I get it. The landlady was fantastic and the way she described the neighbor (it's a duplex), I would love her, too. It's in a small town where practically nobody lives (lol) and it's peaceful.

Peace.

I went to therapy yesterday. She told me I was..."different" - "Maybe it's the apartment," she said.

But this led to a discussion about me being dependent.

"I've been dependent my whole life," I confessed.

She nodded.

"I'm terrified. I don't know how to be independent."

"That will come."

I can look back at small points in my life where I was independent but they're all like straw houses. It felt good, but it was fake...wasn't really me.

I don't know what this means, really. I have visions in my mind...visions of just wanting to breathe. Just wanting to have the time to do whatever I have to do to get over this. She said it won't ever go away.

It won't ever go away.

I guess I'm afraid of myself, afraid of failing, afraid of everything. Afraid of people, especially now.

Moving out - the possibility - both excites me and saddens me. At least I will be alone, with my son, and won't have to worry about being hurt or mocked or stared at or talked about...well...I guess people will still talk, until the next tragedy comes along. I'll have my space...which I sorely need.

We came to the conclusion yesterday that Gary very likely is a narcissist - that's why he's done the things he's done without regard for the repercussions I would face. It hurts to know that I've known all along, but ignored it. I thought he would change. Still, I love him. Like a fool, I love him. But he's more concerned about his image than anything else.

I actually thought - truly believed - that by being vulnerable and open and letting him see my deepest wounds, he would gain some compassion and realize what empathy was. I believed it would change his perspective on the world and help him look at himself more honestly.

A lot of people around here are narcissists.

Not that I would ever claim  to be a saint - I have confessed all my sins and more, here on my blog and to my therapist. I've said "I"m Sorry" so many times, it's crazy. I've owned all my problems and outbursts - at least all the ones I can identify and I will continue to do so.

But I would never just go out and deliberately bash and trash someone to make myself look better. I'm a better person than that. I will never be that way. Not to anyone.

Thank God I have my integrity and I have my aspirations.

I told him (yesterday, I believe) that one day, when I am successful, he's going to look at me and go, "Wow, I used to date her." But by then, I will be a better, stronger person. And he will still be who he is today.

Compassion for Incest Survivors

Yesterday I went to my spot with the intention of getting some sun. It's by the water so you can sit on the dock, get a good breeze and get some sun. The back yard is like a jungle with no breeze - no way was I going out there.

I knew there was a possibility that Gary might go by on his boat, but I could handle it (at least that's what I told myself).

For weeks, we've had this argument about how my personal business is my business, and nobody else's unless I choose to tell them. He disagrees and has repeatedly said, "people are compassionate, they care...yada yada...." and has also said it's none of my goddamn business what he tells others.

So yesterday, I'm sitting at my spot, getting some sun and some of those "compassionate" people came and rafted up right in front of me. Three boats on which I used to party along with the rest of them (and usually cook something because that was my way of fitting in). Not one waved. Not one single person waved. Boaters wave at everyone. But not one of them waved to me, never mind said "Hi! How are you?"

I just sat there rocking and crying intermittently.

That's the damage that happens when people tell your private business - all the way down to "what is she going to do? [now that we're breaking up and I'm not working]" - which is nobody's business. It's my business to tell, not his, and the appropriate answer is "I don't want to talk about her."

Because he shouldn't. Not only because he shouldn't, but because he has no discretion at all and just tells everything.

People do not have compassion for survivors of incest. I talked with my therapist about this last Friday and she agreed - most people don't have the capacity to handle it. People in her professional field sometimes even have problems with it, although she did say most other incest survivors have compassion.

To me, it's common sense because I've experienced it my whole life - the looks, the awkward tension, the way they gradually back away as soon as they find out. And they definitely don't want to talk about it or hear about it. In this way, it is an us-vs.-them kind of world that he doesn't understand. Survivors of incest have certain things broken - often as very young children - that results in phobias and behaviors that others simply don't understand - can't understand.

Compassion would be finding out - asking questions and listening to the answers. It would be waving when you see one, instead of pretending they're not there and it would be getting their side of the story, instead of sitting in judgment and ridicule.

My problem is I tried living here - in this place, among these people. I believed I was making a better life for myself and for my son. I truly believed I was moving up in the world.

I was really just moving farther and farther away from my abuse. Hiding behind multiple masks doing, as my therapist said, whatever I could to be liked. Nobody here was really my friend, even though Gary has said for years that they were. It's quite obvious now, that they weren't and aren't.

All these years, I was trying to be something I'm not - faking it. Gary recently told me (in his defense of talking about me behind my back) "People see you no matter what mask you wear." and I wonder what he meant by that because during my last session I literally sobbed, wracking sobs, over my fear that people would see the ugly inside of me and she said, "Nobody knows but you."

That's not true anymore, though. Now it's true - my biggest, greatest fear, my greatest shame is now out there like a fucking newspaper for everyone to read, and he gets to be writer, editor and publisher.

So cruel, so heartless, so callous and careless.

I remember one time when he referred to a woman at the marina as a "Crack Whore" and I was astonished and I chewed him out for it. He admitted he was wrong to say such a thing but he did - he said it - which shows the level of compassion in this place where I was trying so hard to fit in.

It wasn't long ago that I ripped my necklace from my throat and threw it because I felt so stupid for "dressing up" - stupid, stupid, stupid, I kept telling myself. Who do you think you are, to try to fit in?? Everyone sees it! Everyone knows you're a fake! A FREAK! 

 I sat on the edge of the bed and cried, thinking all these horrible things about myself.


Gary got angry with me. No compassion, just anger.

That's how much compassion there is in this town...in this state...in this world.