I never in my life thought that I would be one of those women sitting in a “safe place” filing an order of protection against someone I once thought I loved in some way. And yet, there I was, sitting in an overstuffed swivel chair this morning with the remains of my smashed window still laying in the passenger side of my car. I had been going back and forth with James for months. One minute he loved me and the next he hated me. It was the worst case of bipolar I had ever witnessed up close. I’m sure it has a lot to do with the alcohol and more to do with the fact that he is likely the definition of a sociopath. I’ve been quietly enduring his bullshit and slowly trying to pull away knowing that he is innately a violent person. Self preservation was my only goal. Although he said he would never hurt me, his words always told a different story. Over the last week or so, we had exchanged fiery text messages. I eventually had to block his number. And seven others that he called me from calling me all kinds of bitches and whores and stupids and fats all in between breaths of telling me we need to get along and he would never put his hands on me. Which, to me, was more like a slick way of saying he’d just put a bullet in my head. I’ve never really feared for my life…..well, maybe a time or two for other reasons, but never because I knew someone with the potential and wherewithal to do harm to another human being without a shred of remorse, because they had numerous times before. I actually think he’s the first adult sociopath I’ve ever let in to my life. I’ve met lots, but I can usually spot the crazy and just stay away from the beginning but he was a master at manipulation. Even as I sat there waiting for the police officer to come in so I could file the report, I felt bad. Even though my kid was scared shitless this morning knowing he had to go to school and leave me alone all day, I still felt guilty for filing a report that could take away his freedom, even though I know first hand that the world would be a better place without him in it. Maybe it’s not guilt so much as fear of retaliation. I know he probably didn’t break out my window himself because that’s a move that is reserved mostly for women…broken windows and slashed tires, but I know he had someone do it. One of his little peons. Then again, my dogs never made a peep so maybe he did do it himself because they know what he sounds like and never bark at him. Either way, I know after this, he or his people will likely be coming at me full force, but I can’t muster up enough fear to give a shit, because at least now if something does happen to me, everyone will know who it is. And I’ve also written down the names and everything I know about all his “people that have his back” and the roles they play and given it to a friend…. so there’s that if I wake up dead. Ugh. So much drama for a Monday, but this is a lot of the reason that I haven’t been writing. Because work and this situation have intersected and it’s not been a good thing for me mentally. I’ve been exhausted day in and day out trying to balance staying sane with a crazy person harassing me and having to work with said crazy person because he’s friends with the boss and has managed to manipulate him in to actually believing they are really friends, which is so funny it’s not.
I could go on and on, but basically, what I’m saying is …trust your gut!! If something feels off in a person, no matter how much sugar they coat shit with, your gut is always right and will not lead you astray. I knew from day one he was not right but I ignored it and I shouldn’t have. Maybe he will get over it or maybe he will actually follow the order of protection and not come near me. Maybe out of sight will mean out of mind. However it goes, I am being safe. I am well protected and I know the universe and/or God won’t let anything happen to me, but I just figured it was a story worth sharing because as it turns out, lots of women are actually living in situations much worse than this and not just passing through a rough patch like I am. And today when I teeter tottered on whether to legally do something or let it slide, I knew how women who are living with their abusers are not so likely to run to the police when retaliation is sleeping in their bed. At least I’m on my own, he has to make an effort to run in to me or my property, like he did last night. I know I won’t see him when I go home to my one spot that is supposed to be safe. Other women aren’t so lucky. And that’s really fucking sad.