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When Life is a Lie, The Untold Stories, My Memoir | My Life. One Story at a Time.
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When Life is a Lie, The Untold Stories, My Memoir


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The Devil and Mrs. Jones

As I sat down to read a book for review – one that I had postponed for reasons I couldn’t fathom – I found a love story about how one woman, with the grace of God, left behind an abusive marriage and became whole again. With so much pain from my divorce still lingering years later, I was unsure if I wanted to risk opening that door in my own life again, or if I could even risk going back to that dark time in my life. What made me finally sit down to read, was the thought that perhaps there would be an answer in the book that I had been searching for, that could help ease my pain.The author of this particular book spoke of the evil that she had encountered in her life, and although it was not in the same way that I have experienced evil, it was still bone-chilling to read. I have had two encounters in my life with evil; both of them as an adult. The first time was after I separated from my now ex-husband and the second time after I had remarried.

The author of this particular book spoke of the evil that she had encountered in her life, and although it was not in the same way that I have experienced evil, it was still bone-chilling to read. I have had two encounters in my life with evil; both of them as an adult. The first time was after I separated from my now ex-husband and the second time after I had remarried.

The first time I experienced this evil was soon after the separation when I was living alone. I was deeply depressed at this time because my children were not speaking to me, and any attempt on my part to communicate with them was twisted by my ex-husband, making the situation worse. My faith and trust in God, that had once been the cornerstone of my life, was at an all-time low.

As I sunk into a deeper depression, and as my mind warred with my sanity, I was left desperately seeking approval to put an end to what had become an infinite journey. My deepening depression opened the door to the dark place where evil resides, lurking, waiting for its moment to strike. And it did, that night. As I lay down to yet another night of fitful sleep, the nightmares that darkness would bring, paved the way to that deep dark fissure where evil lay in wait. Seizing its opportunity, it paid a visit to its unsuspecting victim, me.

I remember having a nightmare in which my children were being taken away from me. I was screaming, “No! No!” I felt as though an unseen force was restraining me, and I awoke at that moment to see a black aura at the foot of my bed. It was transparent, almost like a black smoke billowing in the breeze. I don’t remember a face, only that the aura seemed to be beckoning me to it. I must have woken myself with my screams, and for a moment felt as if I were in a trance-like state, as though being hypnotized. A ripple of chills shimmered across my body, apprehension causing everything in me to be stilled, as if the predator couldn’t see me if I didn’t move; a black aura waiting to pounce, like a panther on the prowl. As the fog in my head began to dissipate, I sat breathless, too frightened to move. There were tears streaming down my cheeks, and I remember trying to focus because these two great forces were waiting for me to make a decision; a choice between the evil waiting for its chance to triumph over me, or God. As my mind gradually cleared, having made its unconscious decision, the black aura dispersed, as if knowing its opportunity had not yet come, and the room became eerily quiet.

I have memories of falling back to sleep, exhausted, and praying to God not to have another nightmare. I slept peacefully after the episode, as though angels were watching over me to keep me safe. I slept a protected sleep until the sun began to rise. I am here today because I chose God.

In the early morning hours as daylight crept in, I wondered how I had come to such a crossroad in my life. The two most precious beings in my life had been ripped away, evil pulling at my heart as a band-aid pulls at tender skin, the blood running the same bright red.

How did I come to be at this point? It hadn’t come overnight. It took years of lies, betrayal, and emotional abuse. By the time I was strong enough, or perhaps just beaten down enough to utter the words, “I want a divorce,” I was merely a shell of a human body. Had someone taken a scalpel and cut me open at that point, they would have found nothing but an empty vessel, a hollowed out log that had been slowly dying and rotting away for years, the splinters of my life flaking off into the nether land, a feeling that still holds me captive at times.

The memories of this experience are never far away, as they remind me of a place I never want to be trapped in again. The saying goes “three times the charm.” I cannot give Satan the break he is looking for. (I find myself looking around uneasily as I write this, a little afraid that just thinking about it will somehow conjure the evil back for a visit.)

 

A Gift from God

I remember that I loved being pregnant. Most women would say (at that time) they hated it and couldn’t wait for their baby to be born, but I loved every second of it. I actually dreaded giving birth. Not for the “normal” reasons – the pain, the discomfort, etc. – but because I loved having that little baby in my belly where I could protect it.

At the time my first daughter was born, ultrasounds were not normally done, so I found out when she was born that I had a beautiful little baby girl. I was so happy! I wanted to shout from the rooftop (or the delivery room) that I had a little baby girl! My heart felt like it was going to burst. I couldn’t wait to hold her and love her and kiss her. My excitement was short lived.

Fathers were not yet allowed in the delivery room so my ex-husband didn’t know that he was the father of a little girl. The first “official” dad was allowed a few months later. Because we knew several doctors, one of which who came to visit me in the delivery room shortly after the delivery, my ex-husband was allowed in after my daughter was born. The doctor had not told him the sex of the baby so he came in all excited and smiling. He had his camera ready to take pictures of the baby.

When I told him we had a little girl, the look on his face changed; his complete demeanor changed so drastically that a doctor friend asked him what was wrong.

I felt that my heart, which was near to bursting with love for my newborn daughter, had been hit with a hammer. He didn’t have to say a word, and he didn’t. I knew what was wrong. He had convinced himself the baby was a boy and he was disappointed. He had made it clear he did not want a girl – which was kind of funny, as though we had a choice in the matter. There I was, legs in the air, spread wide for the world to see, just like my heart; and in that one moment life changed, glass shattered.

I remember lying on the delivery table, holding my daughter, and feeling deserted; alone in a room full of people. Rampant thoughts were running through my head and I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to scream, “How can you be disappointed? We have a beautiful, healthy baby!” I wanted to cry, to sob my heart out, such was my broken-heartedness, but I didn’t want to make him look bad so I held it in. I would love this little girl enough for both of us. Little did I realize that this would be my new norm.

I thought I had experienced deep, unending hurt in my life, but nothing could have prepared me for the hurt I felt at that moment in time, a time so precious to me; a time you do not get a second chance to re-live; a moment that he forever tainted with his unhappiness and selfishness.

Random Memories

Birthdays have always been important to me. I saw them as a day that a person could celebrate being who they were, the only day out of the year that was all for you. My oldest daughter celebrated her fortieth birthday this year (April 2019). I reached out to her as I sometimes do. It takes all the courage I can muster up because each time I reach out, I know rejection will follow. Today (3/13) is my youngest daughter’s birthday. I sent her a message that she may not even read. I wish I could stop, but I can’t.

Birthday, holidays, vacations; these are times when I am angry inside. I guess it’s good that I am an emotionally strong person and able to hold my them in check. There have been times in the past when I was so angry that I didn’t recognize myself. I wanted to punch and kick someone. I wanted to claw their eyes out. I hurt so much that at times, I’ve been inconsolable. When I say that my heart physically hurts, it does. The trigeminal nerve pain pales in comparison to the pain in my heart.

When a daughter responds that she never felt loved as a child, how do you respond when she isn’t open to your love? When you’ve loved that child with all your heart and soul, it hurts. She told me that she forgives me but doesn’t want me in her life, but she’s forgiven her father and grandmother and has decided to allow them in her life. It’s a double-edged sword. I have questions I need answers to. How could they think that I don’t love them?

For so many years, it was just the three of us. Their father couldn’t be bothered. I took them on vacations. I made memories with them. I took them on field trips. I was their scout leader. I coached their sports teams. I took them to music lessons. One of our favorite excursions was our weekly trip to the mall to the bookstore. After spending hours in the bookstore, we would purchase Icees and huge pretzels before heading home. We planned birthday parties every year. We did so much together. And then nothing.

I remember making hair bows of every conceivable color. It’s amazing how you are able to remember every color of ribbon, that when you see a new color you know immediately they do not have a bow that color. My youngest daughter collected Berenstein Bear Books. She probably had fifty of them and I could remember every title.

I sewed smocked dresses for my daughters when they were young. My youngest daughter even began offering advice on the colors I should use. She had a dress for every day of the month. The teachers at the little nursery school she attended told me that when I hosted a play date at our house, the little girls said they needed to wear a dress because she always wore one. These children were three and four at the time. It’s amazing what they notice.

I was a room mother for my oldest daughter. I remember the day when I joined in with the other moms and the kids made ice cream sundaes. One of their favorite things was stopping for snowballs on the way home from school. They were my everything until they weren’t there anymore.

I sometimes blame myself that they aren’t here. Their father would not come on vacations with us and I convinced him to take them on a vacation when we separated. I did not have any contact with them during that time and upon their return, they wouldn’t speak to me. They wouldn’t answer the phone. They wouldn’t return phone calls. Nothing. I often wonder what they were told during that time that made them so angry.

I moved out and I moved some of their things. I had decided to wait until they returned so they could pick what they wanted to move. I had moved more of my younger daughter’s things than my older daughter, simply because she was very headstrong and I didn’t want a fight. I wanted her to make her own decisions. That, like so many things, was manipulated to seem like I didn’t want her with me.

My ex is a master at manipulation. He used every situation he could to manipulate them. He told them I abandoned them, which I didn’t. He loved to call and tell me the girls wanted to see me and then if I called, they had things to do. He would tell them that I was out partying while they were home crying and hurting. They had no clue that I was struggling without them and sinking deeper and deeper into depression. He was constantly making up things and manipulating the three of us, never giving us the chance to get our bearings. That is what manipulators do, they keep you on the edge so you can’t think. There was one thing I learned early on, you can’t best a manipulator. A counselor once told me that part of the problem was I hid all the abuse from the girls. They went from thinking things were good to a divorce.

When I wake up most mornings, the first thought that enters my mind is they aren’t in my life. A sunny day can quickly turn cloudy. There is so much I do not understand.

My marriage to their father was emotionally abusive. Physical bruises heal, but emotional bruises stay with you forever. Not only was he abusive to me, but he was also abusive to my daughters. They were why I finally left. The sad thing is he managed to manipulate them into staying. I made him take the girls on a vacation with his parents so he would have to spend some time with him. I did not have any contact with them while they were gone and when they returned, they refused to speak to me. It was months before they would have a conversation with me. I would call and call. I left messages but my calls were never returned.

If their father answered the phone, he wouldn’t let me speak to them unless I spoke to him. I couldn’t handle listening to his ugliness and he wouldn’t let me speak to my daughters. I remember several times when I was able to reach them when he wasn’t home only to have him arrive while we were on the phone and hearing him in the background telling them in an ugly voice that their mother had called and they needed to get off of the phone and call me.

He was very good at manipulating. He would call me all day long while I was at work. It took me a while but I finally realized that if he was at work, he pretended I was arguing with him and he would get ugly and hang up. If the girls were around, he would pretend to cry and beg me to come over. If he was alone, he was verbally abusive. I came close to filing for a restraining order, but I knew if I did, he would use it against me with our daughters.

He was constantly setting me up to look bad. There was one particular incident where my youngest daughter was returning from a band outing and he called and said he couldn’t get off work to pick her up so I needed to go. I worked an hour away but took the afternoon off and drove to pick her up from school. He also had my oldest daughter go to pick her up, knowing the anger she had towards me. She yelled at me in the middle of the band room full of parents and students. To diffuse the situation, I left. I called him at work and asked why he did this and he laughed about it.

He would call me during the week and tell me the girls wanted to see me and he would pay for me to take them to a movie or out to eat knowing full well they had plans and the plans did not include me. He used to laugh about it.

I left him to save my daughters from further abuse. He told my oldest daughter she was stupid almost every day of her life. I never understood how a parent could do this. Something as simple as helping her with homework ended in her crying. He would make fun of her and tell her she was stupid because she didn’t understand the math and math was the simplest thing in the world. It was the one subject I couldn’t help her with and he bullied her to tears before yelling at her to sit down so he could help her.

His family was mean. One of his brothers constantly told my oldest daughter that I loved her sister more than her. You can not say you love someone and then drill that into them. When she was little, two of his brothers would pick on her until she cried. Her father actually had the audacity to tell her that was how they showed their love. When she told me that, it broke my heart.

My oldest daughter was a lot like me. She was very sensitive and her heart was huge. I remember we were driving to school one morning and as we passed the crossing guard, she told me that the other kids would make fun of her because of her large size, but that she was really nice and always had peppermint candy for her in the afternoon. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

My daughter experienced a lot of hurt as a child. Both of my daughters loved to go camping with their grandparents. I rarely picked them up on the Sunday afternoon that she wasn’t heartbroken due to some action by her grandmother. She would tell me that she overheard her grandmother telling her camping friends that she brought her so she could watch the kids so they could visit. My daughter came home after one trip especially hurt that she had overheard her grandmother telling her friend that she was so spastic. She had been playing ball with the other kids and was so hurt. I was always so torn between allowing them to continue to go on camping trips knowing the outcome or keeping them home.

My youngest daughter began music lessons at five years old. He was against it and after many arguments, I enrolled her. She was a natural and excelled far beyond her years. She played in the school bands as well as taking piano lessons. She competed throughout the years and eventually graduated from college with a masters degree in music. With all the accomplishments, you would think her father would have been proud. Instead, all he ever told me was music was a waste of time and she should be outside playing sports like his friend’s kids. He would always compare us to his friend’s family and we never measured up.

Not only did my youngest excel in music, but she also excelled in sports as well. When she was young, I coached her ball teams. I loved being involved and we made a lot of memories each summer. The joy was difficult to hold on to as her father constantly criticized me for coaching, saying I didn’t know anything about coaching and therefore should not be coaching. He was always too busy to coach or attend games. I do not remember him attending any games. There aren’t many rules with T-Ball or coach pitch so we did just fine. When she got older and “real” rules came into play and fathers began to get involved, I stepped back and became a spectator.

It’s hard to combat the lies when the kids are convinced it is the truth. I remember a conversation with my youngest when she was in high school. You accused me of leaving her father and them for another man, who by that time was my husband. I told her the timeframe of when I met my husband and she told me she didn’t believe me. I asked her why and she told me because her father told her I had left them for him. I do not know if they could handle the depth of the manipulation that he has inflicted on them. Maybe that is why they do not acknowledge it.

He told me many times that the girls didn’t understand how I could abandon them, which told me that was what he was telling them. They have told me that he doesn’t say anything bad about me. What they do not understand is how manipulation works. A simple sentence – “Your mother didn’t mean to abandon you” is heard as “Your mother abandoned you”.

I could go back to the house we lived in and stand in the exact spot where I was standing when he told me the girls and I were an embarrassment to him. The girls and I would ride our bikes and enjoy our time together. When their father joined us, it was all about a race. He called us names because we didn’t want a race, we enjoyed our rides. We soon quit. When we played basketball, he would call us names because he thought we weren’t good enough. Everything was about putting us down. He called it “constructive criticism”.

I was the recipient of a lot of “constructive criticism”. He would tell me I needed to change this or that about myself. His reason – he just wanted people to like me. So, I would change what he said I should change. Next thing I knew, there was something else I needed to change because he just wanted people to like me. One of the first things he used to manipulate my mind was the simple sentence, “You don’t have to feel bad because you didn’t finish college.” I never thought anything about not finishing college. Like so many people, I quit after a couple of years and went to work. But, he kept on and on with that little sentence until I began to feel inadequate around his friends because I hadn’t finished my college education and they had.

In retrospect, I see how he manipulated me. At one point in our marriage, we were part of a supper club. In the beginning, things were great. Then, gradually, it felt like people were avoiding me; then, we stopped going. He told me people were uncomfortable around me because of different reasons which I will not go into. Things didn’t add up, but any time we fell out of touch with friends, it was always “because of me”.

At one point, I was terrified to go out in public. He would tell me that someone had seen me in the grocery store and I walked right past them and didn’t say hello. Or, someone had waved to me and I ignored them. This went on and on and it made me doubt myself. Every time I went to a store or I was driving on the highway, I would look around to see if there was anyone I knew so I could make sure I said hello, or on the highway so I could wave.

I do not remember exactly when I began to question things, but I remember walking up to the counter in the store where he was employed and the clerk’s faces would change. He would tell me that I had insulted them. Later, I would think back over the visit to the store, wondering at what point I had insulted them. All I could remember was saying hello. Then, after a confrontation with a store manager where he accused me of not letting me husband play golf because he had to babysit, I really began seeing a pattern. I couldn’t convince this man that I never knew he was invited to play golf and I certainly had no problem.  When I confronted my then-husband, he laughed and said he didn’t want to go and he just used me as an excuse.

There were other instances when he did this and I began to question him. He would tell his younger brothers he couldn’t take them fishing because I said he had to mow grass or do something. He laughed and told me he didn’t want to take them fishing and he didn’t want them to be mad at him so he made them mad at me. The two boys grew up with a strong dislike for me because of many stories like this.

Another incident happened shortly after he switched jobs. I had figured out that he had been telling lies about me to the employees at his old job just as he had been telling lies to our friends. He began a new job and I thought that maybe with the new job, it was a new beginning. I would make sure that when I was in the store, I would smile and be polite to the employees and everything would change. Not very long after he began the new job I remember walking up to the counter and the look on the clerk’s face changed. My heart almost stopped. So much for new beginnings. The only thing new was new people, old lies.

There was one day when he and another employee went fishing and we were over at their house that evening for a fish fri. I had been visiting with the wife and somehow the topic came up that her husband had told her that my husband had said I was a bitch and all I did was yell and scream. I was floored. I asked her if that was still what she thought of me after the two hours that we had been visiting and she said yes. I asked her why. She told me that she believed what he said and it must be true. The power of manipulation. I can only imagine the lies she was told that even my presence could not undo.

At some point, I began making friends with people that were not friends with him. I kept that part of my life secret. I played tennis and didn’t talk about it. I joined women’s clubs and didn’t talk about the women in them. I gained a little bit of confidence in myself. I was still full of self-doubt and was constantly surprised at the people who enjoyed my company.

Everyone that I know that is divorced has told me the same story. Kids will become curious. They will want to know the other side. They will want to live with the other parent and see what it’s like. That never happened. Their father has a hold on them that is frightening. I recently became aware of other abuse and questionable behaviors that I find disturbing.

It is difficult for me to understand how my daughters have no interest in knowing what I went through or why I will not have anything to do with their father. They appear to have no curiosity at all, no questions. It is like the past doesn’t exist. They have this undying loyalty that I do not understand. I have to think it is because he is that good of a manipulator. I can’t live that way. I am tired of being silent and walking on eggshells. I have decided to begin writing the memories I have and I will continue to write as I think of things that happened.

The breaking point for me came after a Christmas party that we had attended with his fellow employees. For years, after any gathering, he would tell me I could have been nicer and talked to people. He said that people wanted to know what was wrong with me and so on. It played tricks on my mind because I couldn’t figure out why they would say things like that. Then, the last party I attended, I made sure I spoke to everyone and that I smiled and contributed to the conversation so no one would think that I wasn’t having a good time. On the way home, he started with why wasn’t I friendly, that people were asking why I wasn’t having a good time and why I didn’t talk. I remember being so freaked out. I kept playing the night over and over in my head and my story wasn’t the same as his and somewhere a light went off like an explosion and it all became clear.

There is one thing that no one has a right to do and that is to manipulate another person. No one has the right to mess with another person’s mind. It is evil. I suffer from PTSD as a result of nearly twenty years of abuse. There are trigger words that set off a reaction I can’t control. When the pieces came together, it was overwhelming. It was difficult to hold myself together, go to work each day, and take care of my daughters. It was then I knew I had to get out of the marriage. I was an empty shell. The only way to describe it is to tell you if you cut me open, you would have found nothing. I remember operating on fear and that wasn’t good. It still allowed him control and while he had it, he used it.

After I left, he would call my office all day long, playing his little sick games. He kept me off balance with his bizarre behavior. I was barely holding myself together, and being separated from my daughters pushed me precariously to the edge.

Parental Alienation

I often speak of Parental Alienation. It is very real, but also difficult to prove which is why so many parents have a hard time proving it in court.