Another Guest Post

Be prepared to shed tears

 

TRUTH MUST SPEAK LOUDER THAN MONEY. LOVE MUST PREVAIL OVER HATRED

RACHEL ALINTOFF’S STRUGGLE FOR HER SON

 By Rachel Alintoff

 

Brooklyn, NY (April 15, 2015) — My great-grandmother’s name was Anna. I remember so many things about her, but mostly it was her joyous devotion to her five children, husband, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that has stayed with me all these years.

My brother and I grew up in Ditmas Park Brooklyn in an old Victorian home, but on Sunday mornings, we invariably traveled to Manhattan’s Lower East Side to be with Great Grandma Anna. As the morning progressed, my cousins and uncles and aunts would arrive, filling the small place with light and laughter. You could not imagine how a one-bedroom apartment could hold so many people. Looking back, it seems like magic, something out of a Hasidic tale about how a small home can stretch to accommodate love.

I knew I was lucky to taste this warm, wonderful Old World Jewish family life, yet, I never could have imagined that the deep ties that had been cultivated within my family would one day be used against me by a judge in New Jersey as part of the reason to take my small son away from me in a contentious divorce case.

“The mother is too enmeshed with her family,” stated Judge Linda Grasso Jones in Monmouth County Courthouse, New Jersey in the insane ruling that rendered me a mother unfit to have custody of her small child.

By some logic hatched in an upside-down world, my son Hayden was snatched away from me — and the loving extended family I yearned to share with him — by a corrupt judge, which is sadly synonymous with daily life within the Monmouth County Court.

In an instant, all the zeal and energy I stored up for my mothering buzzed around me, looking for an outlet. I felt like the victim of a dark riddle: what do you call a mother who cannot mother her own child?

If the Monmouth County court is right about anything is it that I am close to my family. As a child, I had the best parental role models you can hope for, strong women whose love for their children knew no bounds. My own mother is a well-educated stay-at-home mom who tirelessly prepared meals, kept us clean, took us on cultural outings, stayed up all night when we were sick, supported us emotionally and cheered the loudest for our accomplishments. My great-grandmother Anna would show immense joy at our weekly visits to having everyone “under one roof.”   On Friday nights when we would visit, I would watch my great-grandmother light Shabbos candles in the kitchen and afterwards, she would take my hand and say, “don’t tell great-grandpa if I give you a piece of dark chocolate” with a thick Yiddish accent.   I adored her. She was tiny, but commanded great respect and had a sense of humor that even at a young age I could discern as being exceptional for someone of her age.

After what I have been through over the past three years I realize how lucky I was to have had such a carefree happy childhood. I viewed family as comforting and I loved the connection I had to my Jewish heritage through my great-grandparents and Hebrew school in Brooklyn. Bagels and lox, herring and tuna casserole on Sunday afternoons on the Lower East Side and playing with my cousins in the hallway until one of the neighbors would complain about the noise. My father’s mother, grandma Leah, lived across from my great grandparents so I never viewed living close to home as anything other than normal.   I am and was close to my Grandma Leah (she’s now 96 years old and still very much a part of my life).   As a little girl, I observed how my great-grandmother’s love of all her children was so beautifully reciprocated and I hoped to one day emulate that connection in my own life with my own children.

When I was in my early 30’s, I met and began dating Bryan Alintoff. From the way he presented himself, I was thrilled to see that Bryan and I shared similar family values. I never imagined that everything he had presented to me was a lie and a farce – a brilliant act by a narcissist and con artist to win a nice girl over.   We were engaged only four months after meeting and married about eight months after that. Two years after we were married, our son Hayden Max Alintoff was born.   I cannot describe the bliss I felt when Hayden was first put into my arms or all the months that followed as I was able to stay at home with him, nursing him as a baby and watching him explore the world. I felt a euphoric gratitude for his presence in my life and proud of the mother that I had become molded by the generations of Jewish loving mothers before me.

My secure and beautiful life began to shatter slowly around me as my husband Bryan began to display controlling and angry behaviors towards me. We moved out to Long Branch, NJ partly because Bryan was insisting on distancing me from my family. Tragically, Bryan had not had a good childhood and his associations with family were far from positive. His mother was emotionally distant and often absent. His father, a wealthy Connecticut investment banker or something or that nature, had not been faithful and eventually left Bryan’s mother for another woman.   I never realized that Bryan’s shattered childhood and animosity towards both his mother and father would play out in our marriage, but it did and in the most horrific way it possibly could. Bryan began to resent me for being a good mother and for being loving towards our son. He began to verbally diminish me whenever he could, often telling me that I had never accomplished anything in my life and that being a mother in and of itself is not an accomplishment. He would constantly harass me to stop nursing Hayden. He would come home and demand to know hour-by-hour what I had done with my day and what activities I had gone on with Hayden. I began to fear Bryan and that fear would only worsen when he would drink. On the days and nights that Bryan would drink, he would black out and I would have to shield Hayden from being woken up or being bathed by his drunk father.   I found out that Bryan had been having an inappropriate relationship with the aunt of one of my friends – following in his father’s footsteps. Terrified, I left Bryan when Hayden was two years old and came back to Brooklyn to temporarily live with my parents until I could find my own apartment. In response, Bryan filed for divorce and immediately started a vicious custody battle for our son.

These past three years have been nightmarish and surreal.   My son, who has now been diagnosed as autistic, is the joy and love of my life. Descended from a long line of strong women, the support of my family keeps me fighting to regain custody of Hayden. Among the many obscene and unfair aspects of the custody battle is our dramatically different financial situations. Bryan has become wealthy from being a commodities trader on Wall Street and therefore has had an army of lawyers to fight me with while I was only armed with the truth, the facts, a quest for justice and the determination to tell my story.

Along the way in my fight for my son, I’ve uncovered a stunning reality: I am hardly alone as a parent seeking a just outcome in my custody quest in Monmouth County. More than 200 women have come forward to Governor Chris Christie over the past couple of years to complain about the collusion and fraud within the courthouse, galvanized and inspired by my example. The culture of corruption is deeply entrenched in Monmouth County. Money speaks louder than the truth and children are just the means to an end; their wellbeing is irrelevant to the judges presiding over the cases. I have witnessed too many instances of loving mothers deprived of their children and custody awarded to monstrous – and wealthy – husbands. In my situation, my son had the benefit of living with me in Brooklyn and attending a special needs school for the last three years of this court battle up until September 2014 when he was ripped from me by Judge Grasso Jones in a move that I believe was retaliation for my outspokenness as well as collusion with the well-heeled law firm my husband hired with his Wall Street money.

Though I am left with empty arms and a broken heart, I can still stand tall and fight for my son. My son needs me. My son loves me. He is a special needs kindergarten student for whom stability is vital. I believe that his development is being compromised by the instability in his young life.

The details of our custody battle are so horrible as to be ludicrous. Readers will have a hard time believing some of my testimony…unless they have been through something similar themselves. Yet, while my husband continues to play a game of “How much can I torture my ex?” my sole concern remains the best interest of my child, namely, the desire to give him the rich childhood that I enjoyed. With the strength of my Jewish heritage that taught me that nothing comes without hard work, I am determined to do whatever it takes to shine light on the massive corruption that festers and thrives within the walls of the Family Court System in New Jersey. Truth must speak louder than money; love must prevail over hatred. I am fighting for my five-year-old son and every mother who steps into that courthouse after me.

Narc-Dar (Radar for Spotting a Narc)

I live in a town the size of a thimble: tiny, no privacy, everyone knows everyone by either first name or the car that they drive. With that said…

There’s a guy, R, who lived here with his wife and 2 children, then didn’t live here, then returned here when his wife was finished with him. He believed that our community was thrilled and relieved to have him back in our midst. With his belief being so strong, I think that many of us also thought we were thrilled.

Since he left, years ago, there has been an influx of new people, like-minded people, people who believed when he said he was an important glue for our community.

And although those of us who had known him before – known him married – known his wife – thought we were excited for his return, there was an underlying, “Hmmmmm, I actually didn’t think he was all that, when he lived here before.”

But no one said it aloud.

4 1/2 years later and he has become an integral part of a spiritual and healing community of people – to the point of being compared to…

Jesus.

For real.

He has broken the hearts of two women – one, he utterly crippled. He has had random sex with a couple of others, telling them that he wanted to “connect” but his spiritual path is too important at the moment to lose himself in a relationship.

He has renewed and then lost several old friendships.

He has established himself as a “go-to” guy for all things deep and heartfelt.

He is still fighting bitterly with the mother of his children.

A couple of years ago he invited me and one of my sons on a spring break camping trip. He actually told me that he didn’t want my other son’s “energy” on the trip – although, he hadn’t spent 3 minutes with that child since the toddler days.

I refused.

He tried very hard to get into another friend’s pants – his way of approaching her, “You have so much to learn from me.”

He has come between his current girlfriend and her mom – ruining (hopefully not permanently) their bond.

He was recently fired from his job because he was above doing some of the required work there.

He is cruel in the guise of being “honest.”

Are we all getting the picture here?

Did someone say “NARC”?

And yet, there are so many people who don’t see it – people who think that he is all that he is telling them that he is.

I hate to say it, but my boyfriend is one of them; as are many of our friends, mostly men, who haven’t yet been on the receiving end of his narcissism or just haven’t had enough experience with narcs to run away.

I spewed one night to BF, no holds barred, “He makes my skin crawl. I don’t trust him AT ALL. He’s misogynistic, arrogant, disdaining. He reminds me of my exN.”

BF listened, told me he understands my perspective, but has only been treated well by this man. He then pointed out one of my best friends with whom he “struggles.” He has learned to love her (and tolerate her – barely) because I love her so much.

I get it – I love that my BF wants to see the best in people and won’t condemn without his own proof.

There are plenty of people in this community who also believe the best of this man.

Am I cynical? Am I judgmental? Or is my Narc-Dar spot on?

The friend whose heart he crushed said to me, “When people talk about him and the Second Coming, I want to scream that he’s not who they think he is, but that’s just petty and vindictive on my part. Just more proof that I am a nasty piece of shit.”

Hello Sunshine – that’s him making you feel that way.

So as I write this, my BF is at his house – there was a brunch there this morning and then ice skating or something like that.

I want to hurl. I am threatened – I feel like my sanity is at stake. I certainly think my safety is. I want to forbid my BF from seeing this man, but that wouldn’t go over all that well. Might even make me look a bit Narc-ish.

I called a friend – one of the ones from the old days – one of the ones who maybe wasn’t so excited to have the Prodigal Son return – the one whose husband discarded this particular Narc ofter being told that his marriage was shit and his wife needed to go. She and I said “eewwww,” together and she reminded me that my BF is actually very grounded and will eventually see the truth.

She said that we have to believe that others will too and that for the time being we can just trust our guts and protect ourselves from the toxins that ooze.

 

 

Whose success was it???????????

Someone in my Facebook group asked the following question the other day:

“Was your narc or sociopath ever sincerely happy for you if something good happened in your life? Did they minimize/ignore or become jealous? Did they fake being happy for you?”

Many of the responses read just like this one:

“The one simply took over my accomplishments as his own. It was really weird hearing him tell, ten years after the fact, stories about the fun stuff “he” had done when it was really me. Apparently didn’t even remember I was in the same place, much less the instigator.”

As I nodded my head in solidarity, a few specific instances came to mind.

One: The Banana Bread recipe:

I have this killer banana bread recipe that I learned in college. Secret ingredient: Coffee. It’s one of those “wooing” tools that I implement. You know, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach…No man has ever been able to resist my banana bread.

Of course, once we became “We” I shared the recipe. A few years later, while on a camping trip, several of our co-campers raved about the bread that I had brought and exN’s response (to a compliment aimed at me), “Yes, the secret is a cup of coffee in the batter. I told her about that…”

Can you see the confused and stupefied look on my face?

“But I shared that with you (yes, totally engaging in petty-wanting-the-credit egocentricity)”

“No. You didn’t. I gave that to you.”

Two: The Reading:

Outside of this blog, I am a writer. A few years ago, I was invited to read at the annual Earth Day Celebration at a nearby university. The other two speakers were heavy hitters in the environmental activism world. I was awed and honored that I was included in this circle. My reading, that night, one of the major highlights of my career.

Again, years later, I met a man who runs a wilderness advocate organization here in the West. These were his exact words to me, “Oh, X is your husband?! I will never forget that beautiful piece that he read at the University that night about his children and wilderness.I was so moved.”

And again, confused and stupefied.  This time a bit pissed off too.

That was MY night.

“Actually, I wrote that. I read that.”

That guy was actually THERE and somehow, along the way, exN had convinced him and the world that he was the one on the stage that night.

Three: The Avalanche

ExN and I were both guiding clients in the mountains one summer. Same range. Different areas. Different clients.

(In other words, he was nowhere in the vicinity when the following happened.)

While descending a peak one afternoon, I got caught in a huge avalanche. My clients watched, panicked, as I was swept down the mountainside.

Fortunately, employing everything that I had been taught about snow slides actually worked and I not only survived (obviously) but did so without being buried and without injury.

I was rattled for sure. But in the world of mountaineering, it became a great story to tell around the campfire.

Well, one night, around a camp fire, someone said, “I heard the craziest story about X…One summer, while he had clients up on Peak A, he got caught in a slide and rode it all the way down – thousands of feet.”

Then, the next person looked at me and said, “Whoa, is that true? Did that really happen to your husband?”

“Uh, no. It was me.”

FUCK.

I couldn’t believe that I almost died and he was getting the credit for surviving.

If I had actually died, he would have somehow claimed that as his glory too.

 

The story of the blog that got me in trouble

I had another blog – it was quite popular.

By quite popular, I mean that the small (less than 500) group of people who read it, loved it. My hopes of it “going viral” never happened, and it was mostly people I knew that read it, but it made me happy.

And it made my exN incredibly unhappy.

Which, in turn, made me even happier.

I wrote about everything: me, my vibrator, my children (good and bad), my running, painting my fingernails, my nervous breakdown, my exN and his bible thumping wife.

No holds barred.

And the people who loved it did so because of my honesty – even about things that made me look and feel ugly.

I also NEVER told secrets with which I had been entrusted, nor wrote negative things about innocent people.

So, he found out about it and came unhinged. This was his first email about it:

“I feel like we need to talk somehow about our life in the past and the fact that you continue to put stuff about me, NW and the kids on your blog.  I do not read it but I have heard of some of the things that you put up on there.”

Doesn’t read it, yet he wants to talk about it to tell me that what I say is bad.

Then…

“First, at least from my perspective, bloggers focus their writing on a subject, like politics or fishing or skiing or world travel, whatever. It sounds like you just write about yourself and your experiences – that is not blogging, it is a journal.”

He really is an expert on everything – now it’s writing and blogging.

I admit, with these two emails, I was fired up, I was determined to not give in. I was stubbornly going to be the next Erica Jong or Suzanne Finnamore.

Maybe I was not being the nicest person in the world and being insensitive to others, but I had gotten under his skin and my blog was popular – it made me heady.

And, in my defense, writing was cathartic for me – I felt as if I couldn’t breathe if I didn’t write. And making it public, which began conversations with readers, fed my soul; those words of wisdom and support from others boosted me up during times when not much else did.

Plus, I wrote just as much or more, about things other than him. I have had plenty of other topics upon which I focused – like my vibrator and fingernails and my parents aging, and starting a new life and being a football mom and the beauty of my very best friendships and most important, the overwhelming love that I feel for my children.

He only showed up when he did something particularly horrible.

Which, since he is a Narc, was quite often so I actually carefully chose a select few.

At one point he said (yelled) to me, “Quit writing about me on your blog.” To which I responded, “Quit giving me so much to write about.”

I struggled to take him seriously when he quoted me and in the same sentence reiterated that he doesn’t read it.

Then I started getting mildly harassed by an anonymous commenter, who, according to their email address, was in the same town as my exN. And the comments were on posts that were all about me – usually making fun of myself.

I received vicious attacks such as “Poser” and “You already talked about your legs.”

Ouch (sad with great sarcasm).

I knew they came from either the NW or one of her friends. I joked right back, “I am a total poser,” or “Yeah, since I have two legs, I figure I can talk about them twice.”

Failing to get the desired reaction, my attacker finally gave up.

The other topic which he found to be seriously problematic was sex. I was having an incredibly healthy relationship with a lovely man (we now live together) which included sex (surprise, right?)

I was overwhelmed with the joy of enjoying sex after so many years of feeling like I was being raped.

(Words which NEVER appeared in the blog.)

He was horrified. Since he had discovered God (because of his girlfriend-now-wife,) he was suddenly pious, ultra conservative, and working towards born-again virginity through abstinence.

Did I get lectured on my lack of morals? Holy Moly. Up one side and down the other.

Then, SHE had the audacity to write me 1000 words on the sacredness of sex and the need to stop my wanton ways because I was devaluing myself and demonstrating to the kids that a physical relationship with someone outside of marriage was not only okay, but also cheap and meaningless.

Both exN and NW told me that they had told the kids to wait until they were married and that the kids agreed.

One of the boys was already sexually active.

Then they attacked the character of my boyfriend to me and to the children. ExN even called BF (to the boys) a “redneck drunk who treats women like trash.”

(BF is high-class, east coast, blue blood who doesn’t drink and has more respect for me and women than I have ever encountered in my life.)

Children saw right through that one.

Move ahead a couple of years of abuse and I find out that he is:

a) reading the blog

b) complaining to the kids about the blog

c) twisting my words and then reporting them to the kids

d) obsessing enough that, according to child #2, the link is the very first in his bookmarks bar.

e) freaking out because I had 489 readers

Son #2 said, “Dad, in the grand scheme of things – that’s like, a handful.”

I went through and changed everything with any names, places or other identifying details.

Not good enough.

I made some of the better posts, private.

Like the one where I talked about the fact that he dyed his chest hair to meet the parents of his child bride.

Still not good enough.

He amped up the pressure, he amped up the abuse.

At some point I wrote him this:

“My blog is about my life and your cruelty has been a major, constant part of my life since I began the blog. I never wrote anything that wasn’t true. Plus everything negative that I have written has been in direct reaction or response to something that you have done to me. I am also not doing anything illegal.

(for example; did you tell me, immediately after sex, on our anniversary, that you no longer loved me? Yes. So why should I have to keep something so abominable to myself to protect you when it destroyed me?)

Which leads me to your comment that at least what you and NW have said and done has been “private”. We are learning, as a culture, that silence is a killer, that people who are being abused need to speak out about it – that being told to keep it a secret is part of the cycle. Not to suffer in silence. What you and NW have done and said has been abusive and incredibly cruel and harmful.

*If you don’t want other people to know about it then maybe you should be thinking about what it is that you are doing and why you don’t want others to know.*

Just because a man hits (or rapes or calls her a whore) a woman in the privacy of their own home doesn’t mean that he didn’t hit her. And she is feeding into it and allowing it to continue if she keeps silent.”

I now know that this was a waste of my breath and that it only fed his fire, but…

Another couple of years later, we enter into court ordered mediation.

First he met privately with the mediator (hag who believed every bit of crap that his mouth emitted), then, when it was my turn, she said, “He refuses to engage in mediation unless you agree to take down every post on your blog that he doesn’t like.”

I said I was willing to talk about it, my attorney said nothing, and exN came into the room and we began the blog-battle.

He wanted the right to tell me what I can and cannot write about. He wanted the power to censor me.

Protecting him from his own reality

You have got to be kidding.

So, rather than giving him that power, I said, “The blog is gone.”

It was devastating but better than needing his permission to express myself.

I immediately started another one (besides this one) which I haven’t told anyone that could possibly be connected to him about – I am being very careful in case we end up in court again (which we are).

I have 8 readers. Woot Woot!

The points to this long post are these:

He’s a full-blown Narc.

He hated the fact that anyone out there would see that he is less than god-like.

He wants to abuse me and not have anyone know about it.

He wants me to be the silent victim.

He hated the power that it gave me, especially around NW.

She doesn’t have panties big girl enough to laugh me off.

He hated knowing that I actually enjoyed sex.

And, he hated and couldn’t cope with my success.

Another One From The Vault

Sad to see that years after writing this, nothing’s changed.

Am I Crazy?

After much consideration and a fair amount of introspection, I have come to this conclusion:

If you’re asking, then the answer is “probably not”.

What a f-ing relief.

Especially if  you have been told that you are for over a hundred years and have been shown evidence to prove it.

You might have to own up to some mild, temporary insanity, but not institutional-grade loco.

Just yesterday I listened to a friend’s very sad story.  At the end, she asked that question.  From an outsider’s perspective, I realized what a ridiculous question it was – one of those, “What made you ask that?” inquiries.

But she really thought she might be, and, of course, she has been told repeatedly that she is. So she believed it.

From where I sit, she is so far from crazy, she’s just trying to plow her way through a really big shitstorm and gets a bit disoriented once in a while.

And hasn’t that happened to each and every one of us before?

But it is easy to begin believing when someone tries to convince you, maybe for years, that you are the nut job and they are the sane one.

I see it a lot, in many of my friends’ relationships.  And boys, I hate to say it, but I see a lot more women being told they are crazy than men.

I have done a fair amount of research, initially prompted by a book titled “When You Love A Man Who Loves Himself”.  I didn’t even have to open the book to begin feeling better.

There is this Narcissistic Personality Disorder thing that intrigued me.  I am no psychiatrist, not professional mental health expert and I am certainly not diagnosing or putting a label upon anyone here, but…

If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, then…

At least it’s probably in the duck family.

So, back to “Am I crazy?”

This is what ehow says:

Disconnect From Reality

• Narcissists tend to fantasize about their own achievements:  To that end, narcissists lie extremely readily, and have a knack for wrapping their lies in just enough truth to convince others of their veracity. Indeed, they often believe their own lies, which allows them to deliver their distortions with persuasive conviction.

When you live with someone who is constantly skewing reality to meet their own needs, especially if they truly believe their off-baseness, then you are quite likely to begin to believe it too and therefore question your own sanity.

Words like vicious, insidious and mind-fuck, pop into my head.

So I told my friend, for as long as you are Alzheimer’s-free, you will probably always question your sanity.  You will find it easier to believe that you are off your rocker than to believe that he is.

So find a touchstone, a Plymouth Rock, so to speak, to return to every time you begin to question your hit on reality.

I have three: The Anniversary, Who Left Whom and The Telling of the Secret.

All I have to do is repeat this list to myself when I am feeling a bit distorted and it grounds me, reaffirms that I am not batshit crazy.  I just say to myself, “This is the person who did that”, (and that and that), and I am released from the self-doubt, the questioning and the agony of perpetual self blame.

So, to my lovely friend, find your Plymouth Rock and hang on tightly.

Highlight from the Blog that got me into so much trouble

 

Who does that?

Posted on 12/10/2013

One of seven boys in my house talking about an influential man in their lives’ bad behavior. (They had no idea that I could hear them):

“Who takes their 21 year old girlfriend to (only restaurant in town) when he’s married?”

My child:

“My dad.”

And the Battle Begins

I did it. I took the citation to the sheriff’s office yesterday to have him served.

I was shaking so badly that I could hardly fill out the paperwork. The nice woman behind the desk said, “Honey, take a deep breath.”

Then she said, “If your children are going to be at his house before you receive your Certificate of Service, call us so we don’t serve him while they are there.”

Me, in my head, “Whoa, this is serious.”

I walked out of there, rattled, for sure, but also feeling good. It’s time.

I have fantasized about this day for years – years of him twisting the parenting plan to accommodate his needs, or just blowing it off completely.

I have filed twice before and then dropped it. First time, he complied before he was served. Second time, his wife was committed and in a moment of compassion for her, I withdrew.

Both times, I only really had him on one thing.

This time, the judge is looking at 5. FIVE. And they’re big ones too.

1. Refusing to communicate with me

2. Refusing to make joint medical decisions

3. Not exercising his parenting time

4. Failure to split medical costs

5. Communicating through the children

I have really good evidence against him too – he’s been stupid enough to tell me, in writing, that he wouldn’t do these things, or, in the case of communicating through the children, that that is what he is going to do.

And in one email, after telling me what an awful person I am and that he refused to communicate and that he wanted me to “just go away,” he actually said, “Take me to court if you want to.”

Yeah, he’s going to have a tough time getting around that one.

And, on the other hand, so many other things have worked out his way – times when I thought I held all of the power – so I am certainly not feeling like this is a sure thing.

Experience has taught me that they often “win” even when there is absolutely no viable reason that they should.

I am just hoping that the judge will find him revoltingly arrogant and not believe a word out of his mouth. Or not care because, whatever his reasons, he is violating a court order.

So now here’s the really bizarre piece to it all.

When I was reaching my limit about a month ago, I became so angry at my former attorney, for not being shark-enough.

I wrote him and told him that he failed me. I said, “My exN thinks you’re a ‘good guy’ – that’s just wrong.”

Attorney wrote back and tore into me – didn’t own a thing. Got mad at me for calling him out.”

(Does this sound familiar???????)

I then asked twice for copies of all of my invoices so I can ask for attorney’s fees. He refused the first request, ignored the second.

So yesterday, my empowered self wrote him one last time for the statements. He sent them right over and said something about my case still being active. I said, “Yeah, I filed a contempt of court motion.”

(Something you were too much of a puss to do for me)

His response…

“You go girl!”

????????????????

I mulled it over and this is what I came to:

As much of Narc as he is, he ‘s an amateur compared to my exN.

He totally believed my exN is out of control and in the wrong.

But, he was terrified to go head to head.

He got out Narc-ed.

One From the Vault

Nothing like reading a few old emails to remind yourself of what a PITA you used to be married to. If it seems like the abuse has been going on forever, read back a few years – it probably has been.  If you ever think that you are the “problem” I’ll be you can find a couple of emails that prove that you’re not.  If you ever think that you’re imagining things, dig up one or two spectacular quotes that you could print out and keep somewhere to return to as an affirmation of your own sanity.

For me, today, with him hanging court over my head, reading through and seeing just how many times he has threatened a judge’s remonstrations, is actually quite calming in that I realize he’s never followed through on any of his past threats, so most likely he won’t again.  As my attorney says, “Don’t hold your breath.  Get on with living your life.”

There are so many classic N emails that I sifted through today, but I thought that I would share this particular one because it shows just how deeply the new wife can be blinded by her brand new N husband.

She wrote this to me about my then (and still) boyfriend, 2.5 years ago, completely unsolicited.

Thank you, NW, for your concern…

(As with any correspondence from that household, please try to overlook grammar and spelling.)

“I am deeply troubled by the model you are presenting to the boys around adult relationships.  It seems as though you are modeling that one can engage in sexual behavior with another with no regard to feelings, the soul or any commitment whatsoever. 

I do not disagree that this is possible, but it is my opinion that this kind of relationship is damaging, empty and fruitless.  If you choose to be in such a relationship, that is your prerogative and you can drop your defenses around NNN’s thoughts on the quality of your sex life. The quality of your sex life is none of our business nor our concern. 

I might have said to him that the reason he was so bothered by my relationship was that I was actually finally enjoying sex.

Our concern is solely the message the boys are being sent around sexuality.  Like it or not, as parents, our sex lives aren’t just our own.  We have to realize that the behavior we model around sexuality has a profound impact on our children, particularly when they are in their formative teen years.  We (NNN and I) are simply concerned that the boys are observing your meaningless attitude and behavior and then
left to assume that they, too, can and should be sexual with others before or without considering the other elements of humanity that also bind relationships.

Our perspective is that sex is special and sacred.  It is something that has the potential to bind two people together more than anything else and should not be entered into haphazardly.  NNN and I modeled abstinence and we intend to teach the boys this as well.  We also want them to think about the fact that humans are multi-faceted beings and to try to establish connections in the areas of  intelligence, spirituality and emotion before turning to the physical element.  We want them to know that sexuality is the glue that binds all the other areas of relationship together and if any area is lacking then sex, ultimately, will also be lacking.  That only when they share commonalities in intelligence, spirituality and emotion will sex be the most fulfilling. 

Now, this is the message we intend to send them.  You, of course, are free to send them whatever message you choose.  We just wanted you to know our perspective and share our concerns.  We certainly cannot presume that we can be a successful parenting team if we do not take each other’s ideas and concerns into consideration.

Again, I ask you to please include me in any further communication regarding the boys.  I look forward to hearing from you.”

Labels

I have noticed that many people are adverse to labels, especially when it comes to emotional or psychological ones.

“Don’t worry so much about the label, let’s talk about the behavior.”

“It doesn’t matter if there is a diagnosis, your reaction is real so let’s work on that.”

“If it looks like a snake and acts like a snake then let’s just treat it like a snake.”

But for me, I need concrete; black and white; definitive; I need someone to verify that it’s a snake.

For years I have been floundering around repeating the question over and over, “Is he really a narcissist?”

Obviously yes, he has some of those traits, enough of them to confuse the shit out of me and make me wonder if I am the problem here.

That should be an answer right there but again, black and white.

I was talking to my wonderful therapist the other day about this and finally was able to say that having a few labels – for my ex and for me will help me be a tiny bit objective and a little bit more forgiving towards myself.

I know it’s very un-buddhist of me but at this point I could give two hoots about forgiving him.

“Oh!” my therapist said, “Is that what you need?  Well then let’s label away.”

Me: Soft bi-polar. Severe PTSD.

Him: Definitely NPD, perhaps true Sociopath.

Okay, now I can wrap my head around all of this.

Soft bi-polar – chemical imbalance – makes for some raging emotions. So sometimes when I feel totally wrecked, I can talk myself through some of it by saying, “This is the bi-polar, it’s really not as horrendous as it feels.”  I can also justify taking a xanax once in a while because I honestly do have an anxiety issue.

Whew! Let myself off the hook a little bit.

I also understand that people with this quality are ideal prey for the Narcissist.

When I come unhinged just because I see his name in my Inbox and I get scared shitless – it’s PTSD. I have ben traumatized and abused – I have every reason to panic. This isn’t an overreaction, this is a legitimate, learned response to years of garbage. Add to that my fear of what he is going to say is an indicator that yes, he actually IS mean, and I’m not just mis-reading him.

A little bit more off the hook.

Him – Narcissistic Personality Disorder (or more) – On the days when I believe that he is truly NPD, I can step back and say “This is what is going to happen – no matter what I do or say,” and “This isn’t truly about me, he’s got a problem.” It actually frees me to give up the fight.

When I think that I shouldn’t diagnose him, then I will keep trying, keep taking the bait, keep attempting to reason with the guy. So my therapist saying that yes, that label does apply, lets me walk away a little more frequently.

I’d be lying if I said I could walk away every time.

The Sociopath label – holy shit, that’s a scary sounding one.  But that too has freed things up for me a lot. That is SERIOUS mental illness and I can’t take anything personally with that label.

We figured out that part of the reason that I need something so concrete, so black and white, is because life with this man is so grey – so fuzzy and undefined and confusing and constantly in motion; the world, with him in it, just spins out of control. I so desperately need something solid to grasp onto. I need something that has edges and substance so I don’t feel like I am spiraling off into Hell.

I need a touchstone, my Plymouth Rock to keep me grounded. I need to be able to grasp onto a few things that are real and say, “Yes, this is the NPD” or “Honey, it’s the PTSD talking.  Your are not being a drama queen.” I can say to myself, “He’s really fucked up.” I need labels to sort through the mayhem.

The other thing my (paraplegic) therapist said…”I wouldn’t trade my wheelchair to sit in your seat for anything.”

How’s that for affirmation?

Even my sweet boyfriend doesn’t totally get it

How can we expect teachers, attorneys, judges, police, doctors or any other influential people to see and understand the behavior of the N-ex when those closest to us sometimes can’t?

Or, when even we, ourselves, can’t?

Early on in our divorce we were arguing in my driveway – he was in the truck, I was standing next to it, one hand on the side mirror. He got pissed and tried to tear out of there, almost running me over in the process. He then convinced me that he hadn’t done anything wrong, it was my fault for trying to “hang on” to the truck and “hold him back.”

He even claimed that it was physical abuse.

When he did it again 6 months later, again, I shouldn’t have been touching the car. What I knew that he didn’t was that I would have collapsed had I not been holding on to something.

This time I went to the Marshal. Being an old friend and good guy, he said, “You have reason to be afraid – from now on, on exchange days, I will send an extra patrol to your neighborhood.”

Then he suggested doing any face to face time in the grocery store because they have cameras everywhere.

Unfortunately, he left town. When the next Marshal came into office – I met with him to fill him in, just in case. His response, “Sounds like he said/she said to me. I’m not hearing anything of concern.”

In other words, “Crazy lady – take your drama and go.”

It’s happened to me a million times as I am sure that it has happened to each and every one of you.

My trauma, my confusion, my over-taxed emotions, my exhaustion all add up to behaving in ways that others don’t understand at best, or judge to be problematic at worst.

In other words, unless a person has lived it, they don’t get it and that leaves room for them to judge.

Even those closest and most important to us are capable of doubting us.

My boyfriend and I have been together for over 2 years. We started as just a sex thing, so he wasn’t someone who I leaned on for support with dealing with me ex. I very consciously tried to keep him out of the fray.

This man is everything that my ex isn’t, which is what attracted me to him in the first place.  He has vast amounts of integrity and sees the world in a very black and white way. For him, there is right and there is wrong and a person should always do what is right.

He also has little capacity for drama (and yes, my life is all about drama) but it has been so good for me in a way because it helps me to calm down before reacting to everything emotionally.  It creates balance.

And frustration.

We all know that if you are dealing with a Narcissist, you are submerged in drama. And even if you are trying to avoid it, it swirls around you, completely out of your control. And the Narcissist is someone who is completely incapable of moving through the world choosing to do what is right.

So now that  we are much more serious, I do share more with my boyfriend, but I am often embarrassed because I know he is listening to me and thinking, “You shouldn’t have said/done that – you made the problem worse – you are acting poorly – you aren’t doing what is right.”

Fortunately he is kind (smart) enough to not say it out loud.

I called him out on it the other night. We were talking and I said that I was afraid of losing him because this garbage infiltrates so many areas of our life together. He reassured me that I don’t have to worry but that, “Yes. it’s really hard.”

The judgment was right there – the elephant in the room – so I decided it was time for me to say something, “I know you try hard to hide it, but I know that sometimes when I talk to you that you totally disagree with what I have said or done or how I’ve reacted or choices that I’ve made?”

Yes, I presented it as a question hoping for an answer, “No, honey – I don’t ever question you – he’s just a monster.”

Didn’t get that. And that is good because it means that my guy is honest and willing to admit confusion and frustration and weakness.

As much as I wanted to hear that I am perfect, I couldn’t have loved this man more in that moment of openness and vulnerability.

He knows about this FB Group; I call it my secret life. I have not invited him to share, to read anything that I have written or read because I need this to be all mine. But he is always willing to hear if there is something that I want to tell.

And this is what I told:

There is absolutely no way that unless you have lived this that you can understand. You will never be able to completely grasp why I react the way that I do or feel the things that I do.  You won’t see why the seemingly smallest word from him is a huge deal on my part. Why certain things that he says or does bring me to my knees. Why some mornings I don’t want to get up. Why I say to you, “I am worn out,” and getting a good night’s sleep is NOT the cure.

You will never see why I want to break the law, violate my parenting plan to protect my children. You can’t comprehend what it means to live in a perpetual hailstorm without an umbrella.

You can’t, not because you don’t want to, but because it is incomprehensible.

And as much as you love me and as much as you support me, you won’t always agree with me. But what I need from you is to admit to that and say, “No matter, I haven’t lived it, but I am here with you right now, in this moment, and I support you, care about you, love you and I whether or not I understand, I will not judge.”