September 18, 2021
J.R.R.Tolkein in his trilogy “The Lord of the Rings” begins the series with the novel “The Hobbit”. In his fictional world, he describes young people who are in their late teens to early twenties as tweens. Here in this article I am using the term in the same manner, though it is usually used to describe kids just entering their teens from childhood.
In our recently published article “Pitfalls”, I describe being dead spiritually. I too describe a long history of abuse at home and school, and I allude to the time spent with my first wife of whom I call “cow”. It is this period that I want to talk about today. In other articles such as “PTSD”, and “Why Me?” I describe a relationship based solely in disrespect, callousness, and contempt. I also describe what the most likely reasons for those behaviors were, and why they took place, but we did not touch on what being there and trying to live those, behaviours were like.
The story of “cow” is a sad complex tale of a person of who has no identity, someone of who has no clue as to who she is or was supposed to be. The last time that I had any type of dealings with her was approximately ten years ago, where she informed me quite unnecessarily; speaking about herself and I quote, “I haven’t changed”. I did not care and really did not want to know and this, “information” was still her regular attempt to fuck with me and try to get in to my head. This was still her behavior after having had zero contact with me for over twenty years, I was not disappointed in her, this was what I expected from her, simply because she truly is a really shitty person. Here I could list the myriad things that I detest about her, and her whoring ways, but the things that make it clear that she has no identity are these. There are four completely different stories as to where she grew up and went to school; she allegedly scared an exchange student out of high school and back to Portugal. (I have no idea of who the kid was and neither did anyone else). Her mother gave her a “drink” made by a voodoo priest to make her vomit if she was ever poisoned, and finally, her out of control sexuality, bouncing around on the ends of no less than 200 different dicks in the last year of our marriage. Oh, and she is psychic too.
The above paints a really ugly picture of an individual who is really mixed up. But this article is not about her, it is about me and the damage done to me, and how I was made to believe that I did not deserve anything or one better. The effort to break me began when I was a toddler, there was regular physical violence, there was regular emotional neglect, there was regular spiritual abuse as well. In all of the above I fought back as best as I could, but being a child my efforts came to naught, and I was made to feel guilt and ashamed of trying to protect my boundaries. Over the course of sixteen years, this led to my having such poor self-esteem and lack of self-worth that it had become impossible for me to communicate my own needs or desires.
So enter cow, no! do not! If you do, first tie a six’x2”x 4” across your ass so you do not fall in to her bottomless pit. At 17 years old, you could literally take caving expeditions in her, in fact, there are still one or two individuals who went in who have not been heard from or seen since. Regardless of how mean the previous statement is, I was in a place where none of that mattered. She cared nothing for people and orchestrated the rape of a minor by an adult male; unfortunately, it would be many years before I found out about that travesty. The point being is that I was so battered that I had spent the previous ten years with her not really caring what she did, or who. By not caring, I was continuing to allow my needs to go unmet and with her, I had no expectation that they would be. During my entire time with her, I was only reinforcing the negative lessons that I had been taught growing up.
My aunt and uncle hated her and begged me to get rid of her, and as much as I knew they were right about her, I was stuck in the unenviable spot where I was just not finished hurting. At that time just a year after dad’s suicide, I could not have made a change like that anymore than I could make the sun stop shining. And there I stayed until March of 1991 when my or maybe quite possibly not daughter was born. Then my thinking was all about her in the form of a question. The question being, this beautiful little life form, this little person, how am I to raise it to be a healthy happy individual being as insanely fucked as I am? And too the other question was, how do I begin to protect her from her deranged mother? Then further complicating the situation, the Nanny reentered my life with all of the undealt with baggage from high school. I need her to tell this part of the story as much of it is difficult.
Regardless of how insane the situation continued to be, there was hope as the scabs and scars that I was covered in began to crack open and show signs of at least the potential to heal.