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Sticks and Stones

(Please read this blog post for context.)

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.


After my psychopathic ex lied to me about getting himself another girlfriend in order to coerce me into a threesome (which didn’t work, might I add), he convinced my best friend to defend him. My ‘best friend’ decided to distance himself from me completely, siding with the psychopath on some matter I know not. His last words were, “You know what you did.” My psychopath ex got my former best friend to defend a rapist from the rape victim.

I asked my ex BFF a week or two ago what I did because I never figured it out. I tried. He responded that he let it go and had no idea what it was. How am I supposed to learn how to be a better person if I don’t understand the ramifications of my actions? Moreover, what exactly was Psycho Ben angling for when he distanced all my friends from me and tried to convince me to kill my support animals? What was his goal?

I was in it to try again at love. It was not my first try, by any means whatsoever. I’d had many online relationships prior to trying to date a local. Several of my online relationships didn’t even get to the stage of meeting in the real, but they were real relationships nonetheless. I tried my very best to give my love and support, especially in text format.

Is it possible this man is mentally ill? I suppose that’s possible. I know I exposed him to my schizophrenia paranoia (I think that’s what it is) when he refused to answer basic questions. He kept telling me throughout the course of the relationship, “I’m scared.” He never could articulate what he was afraid of. Not once. The only thing he could articulate was how much he wanted to fuck everything that moved. Except me, of course. And he told me once he pulled down his little sister’s underwear. [Massive red flag and I even knew it… I just could not leave! #TraumaBond)

That really got to me over the 4.5 years I wasted in his vicinity. He’d never give me an ounce of praise. He’d never give me anything charitable. He was never kind to me. He wasn’t expressly unkind most of the time, either. I didn’t see it for what it was for so long, I don’t know how I missed it! Did he start off giving it? Did he revoke it, withdraw it? Why did he keep coming to my bed if he was done with me? I moved away, one baby step at a time, and he followed me the whole way, pretending he didn’t notice how I was less than thrilled every move closer to the fucking door, pretending he was a sensitive man by ‘offering’ to move back into his bedroom… in his own house. He left the master bedroom to crowd me in the guest bedroom after he broke up with me. And later? He blamed me for it, all of it. 100% my fault, the ‘whore’ I am. [It takes two. That’s all I’m saying here.]

I know, how does that work? Why weren’t we in the master bedroom? I’ll tell you: I got sick and tired of sleeping without my cats. For at least one year, I slept in that master bedroom, with the door perpetually shut, leaving my cats out in the great beyond. They’re my support animals, however. I need them to function. They are the one constant in my life for the past thirty years, even though they haven’t been part of my life for the whole length of it. They are my constant. My babies. And I missed them every night I spent without them, so I then moved into the spare bedroom.

And now? Now I might have to dispose of them because of his moldy fucking house. Because they are sick, just like me, and I can’t keep up. I’d rather die first, to be honest. I can’t even imagine life without them. I routinely wake up with one of them snuggled in the crook of my arm or draped over my shoulder and another one who takes up the ‘hammock’ created between my knees via the sheet or blanket. I used to wake up with the third one on my chest or back from time to time, but he can no longer get into bed with me, sadly. He won’t use the steps I bought to allow him to climb onto the bed with ease.

Ben exiled them to the furthest part of the basement and, eventually, I had trouble getting up and down the stairs to scoop the litter boxes. One of the cats started spraying the walls in the meanwhile, unbeknownst to me for the longest time. [I paid for carpet cleaning to remove all the mess before I left.] I couldn’t get down there because I was spending too much time lying down due to back pain and lethargy and other problems and eventually it became more painful than I could handle on the regular. Not to mention I had something of a psychological block after being exiled in the basement to do anything just because Psycho Boy Ben’s sister took over the whole house. I feel that was mostly my fault, but still. That woman is a piece of work, I’ll tell you that much.

As soon as she had her child with her, and either myself or Ben got home, she’d abandon the kid and go fuck around on Facebook from her phone in her room. She reminded me of my older sister, who read romance novels like they were going out of style, leaving her child to run amok in the house every fucking day when I was growing up. His sister did nothing to be proactive about anything and I remember I even did her laundry once because she got everyone seriously sick with something bacterial and I needed it to go away before it took me down a second time.

Now, to put this in perspective, she probably has mold toxicity from staying in Ben’s basement the first time she lived there, since the man had trees growing in his gutters and every serious rainstorm brought a waterfall outside the front room. (It’s probably still that way and I’ve not been back in over two years.)

I feel for her but I also understand I am not a fucking babysitter. If I wanted to watch a fucking child, I’d birth one myself. Fuck that shit. I have enough health problems, there’s no way I could raise a child. I just don’t have the energy and I haven’t in over a decade. I know because I love children and I spend time with other peoples’ children and by the time we’re two hours into a visit, I am utterly exhausted.

The only time I ever saw Ben genuinely happy was after he spent hours with babies. He told me he never wanted any of his own; he’d rather pursue anonymous/random pussy.

The only time I was genuinely happy with him is when he quit telling me how much he wanted to have sex with other women.

That asshole tried on three separate occasions to coerce me into getting off on the idea of him fucking other women. There was a woman at a friend’s party that I will call Sheila. I met Sheila one time prior to the first time Ben was exposed to her. She was a pretty lady with a kick ass body, that much is true. I originally found her attractive myself… until I realized three sentences into the second time I met her that everything she said was about being in a bar, being drunk, drunk driving, or her cats, as she poured Angry Orchard after Angry Orchard down her throat (or was it wine? Beer? I only remember her knocking back five drinks before she got behind the wheel.) She was professing she was an alcoholic all night, exactly as she had the first time I met her. I was not impressed with her; I like people having substance. Being an irresponsible drunk cat owner is not substance.

Later that evening, that dumb fucker turned to me after we both got undressed and told me how much he wanted to fuck Sheila. I cried and got dressed again, leaving after telling him that it was wrong to say such a thing. He hurt me again like that on one other occasion, waiting until we were in bed and we had already had sex. He told me how much he wanted to have sex with a random stranger again. And the third time, the final time, he said it mid-coitus. I cried every time, for the record, but the third time? I threw that fucker off of me and told him to go fuck himself. I kicked, screamed, and PUNCHED! I got dressed and I left him there, stunned because I dared to reject him. The fat whore he took to bed dared to reject him.

[That’s the only narrative I can imagine going through his head. I apologize if I am projecting my insecurities, but since he never actually apologized or even tried to explain himself until I was halfway moved out in December 2019 and these events happened in 2015 — after I was already trauma bond to him thanks to his you’re not enough bullshit.]

You know what he said?

‘I’m a true voyeur. My [brand new] friend Ernie [who is so fucking awesome, by the way, let me tell you how awesome for 20 minutes, whilst never telling you that I even really love you; let me waste your time at 1:00 am on a Sunday night because I know you have work first thing in the morning and disrupting your sleep schedule gets me what I want every time.] Ernie told me I am the only actual voyeur he’s ever met. I was fantasizing out loud, Christine!’

It’s okay he raped me, y’all. He was just fantasizing.

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