It started as joy while he repeatedly stated, "Thirty fxxxing years" of waiting for me. Sharing memories while laughing was a significant phase. Then, one day, the bliss became a nightmare. All those days of joy and happiness transformed like his face. He transformed into a monster staring straight at me with a look that made his face unrecognizable. He went from grooming me to showing a monster. Who could successfully maintain that level of facade for long without falter?

It was a shock to the system. I recall his first outbreak of rage. He switched as if a light had gone off. He was unrecognizable in that moment. Just as high as I once soared, now, I lived in fear and confusion. The stark contrast of day is night, and I had just witness my marriage go from love to hate, chaos, fear, and darkness. Screams become a part of the argument.  I once saw myself as happy and light, but now, I was surrounded by confusion and fear. I did not know how this happened or how I saw such hostility and anger. How did this happen? What happened? And how am I to be blamed? Somehow, I caused this, but what did I do? It didn't add up. His anger is way further in excess than the cause. This doesn't make sense. The confusion sets in. I would receive silent treatments and cold shoulders in the beginning. As time went on, he would become enraged. When in episodes of full rage, he would fiercely yell, "Get the fxxx out" or "I'm going to have XXXXXXX come here and beat your @$$." Following me from room to room telling me that he would help me pack. Then, I found myself begging for it all to stop. The fall began only six months into our marriage before I recognized that I had been groomed. By the end of the marriage, my entire savings was gone, and I had nowhere to go.

The peaceful times were fleeting. The times of distress became more frequent. My son and I walked on egg shells trying to accommodate his mercurial temperament. When picking my son up from work, he would ask, "Is he in a bad mood today"? Our life rotated around his. This was the stage where we were most malleable, because we were going to cater to his emotions. Before long, his rage would begin again. When he was in his fits of rage, I would try to go to the next room. He followed me from room to room. He would turn on lights if they were off. He would stand at the foot of the bed or over me screaming, spouting rhetorical questions, spewing lies, or manipulating the truth. One statement after the next, he would speak over me. Then, quickly he would interject another point off topic. It was endless. It was loud! It wouldn't stop! I wanted to escape, but the screams followed me. I would shut the door. Then, knives were used to break open the locks, and the screams were back in my face. His temperature was so high that I waited for the screams to become fists or hands that slapped. I anticipated that it would escalate in to more physical reactions from him. With the amount of rage that he had, he frightened me. He would follow me from room to room, tormenting me and spewing his hate. In the beginning, he knew I would keep quiet. I would shut down or disassociate in fight or flight. I would freeze. He used this response to his advantage. My suspicions that he was doing it on purpose were confirmed after hearing him tell a female he was pursuing romantically. I have it on recording with him stating, “She won’t say anything.” So, he knew this and aggressively berated me while I said nothing out of fear. It was the standard response for my body that I shut down in fear when in flight or fight. He would intentionally verbally attack me knowing that I would not fight back. Before I realized it, this had become my life. 

The next day comes, and you must forget the screams. You must forget the locks being picked. You must forget how the monster stood millimeters between you and him and sometimes pressed against you. You must forget the look on the monster's face as his face morphs into pure evil. And then, you see something on the face of the monster, and you realize that this monster is enjoying your fear. The monster delights in your suffering. 

It does not stop there. The schemes begin. My expensive property came up missing or damaged. I would ask if he had seen it, and he would feign ignorance and deny. I heard a story about how the term gaslighting began. It started with a man slowly turning down the gas on the light and denying it to his wife. As time passed, she began questioning her sanity, and he continued his scheme until she went mad. That sounds like evil to me. 

That was my life. Expensive veneers are gone, costly supplements are gone, little things are missing, and the wedding band is nowhere to be found. 

Then, the lies begin to overlap the gaslighting. The telling of complete and entire lies. For example, the "I told you." The scheme of making you believe that you are absent-minded, or the scheme that makes you paranoid by saying that you did something that you didn't, which only makes you question your sanity once more. The abuser speaks with certainty and delivers the remarks with such a matter of fact. This is a long process of mental and emotional abuse, and somehow, all these deceitful acts are of your own making, per him. Then, you find yourself sitting for hours trying to pick your brain apart and find clarity in the confusion. 

Once, after we both had been drinking, he began yelling at me in the truck. I told him that I was not leaving with him if he was going to continue to yell at me. He slammed on brakes, and the force of the abrupt halt sent my face into the dash. It took me over a year to correct my teeth and only after after leaving him. He left me there that night. He never came back to get me. He never apologized for his harm. When I brought it up, he changed the events leading up to the incident. In other words, he lied and made excuses for his actions by placing the blame for his actions on me.

There are several occasions he would push the limits, but only to a fine line, because to him, if he did not lay a hand on me, it was not abuse.  He knew he was breaking me down. I slept more. I became quiet.  I began to submit instead of contesting him. It was safer to submit. This is when he began his campaign to paint me as a bad person, but only to others without my knowing it. He began to paint a picture of himself as a hard-working husband who had to deal with a wife who wouldn't speak or slept all day. Anything I did would be flipped, making him the martyr and me ungrateful. That was a part of the design. To everyone else, he was a good man by appearance, but not one of them lived with him. No one knew his cruelty like I did. 

When he would go into fits of rage, he would go insane, and I could not escape him. He would storm into whatever space I crawled into to escape. The point, he knew the abuse I endured. He knew I had PTSD. He knew I would shut down, but he used my freeze responses as free range to say whatever he wanted. I have recordings of him saying it. I had family members listening as he did it.

I recall the evening while trying to escape his rage, I had locked myself in the office. The office had three doors: one that entered the kitchen, a second that entered the hallway near the bathroom, and a set of glass double doors that led to the backyard. While he raged outside the door to the kitchen, I heard him picking the lock. He had taken a knife to pop the lock and enter into the room where I had taken refuge. He came with all his rage. He had popped this same lock with a pair of scissors during this same night which illustrates to you the (round after round from room to room) prolonged extent and determination when his outbursts of rage erupted. Even though I had placed a large wooden bench in front of the door to barricade myself inside to escape him, his infuriated rampage, boiling determination, and anger-fueled fury allowed him to push past the defenses I had created. I pushed against the bench as he pushed against the door. My strength was no match for his brut force. In a panic, I watched his force push the bench out of the way as if it were weightless. Days later, as a preemptive approach, I placed several chain locks on the door to prevent him from ever entering my refuge. After taking a photo, I sent it to a family member to show that I was taking precautions for my safety. The response from my family member and cathartic realization of mine was, "That is not going to stop him," and I realized that the locks were no match for the rage he carried. That was the extent of his anger. That was the rage that I lived with. The unpredictable and uncontrollable circumstances of a man who had the world convinced that he was gentle and kind. When he entered his fits of rage, there was no stopping him. He became the epitome of evil. Everyone thought he was a gentle giant; he was not. It was a performance he put on to create an image of goodness. Knowing the level and degree to which he was able to convince me of his false-goodness, I am very aware that outsiders would learn of my story and look on in disbelief, and I understand. I was once that outsider being presented that same image of him. That was the expert skill level of his deception.

I tried. I remodeled. I kissed ass. I gave. I gave. And I gave until nothing was left of me to give. I was broken. I was tired. I was depressed. My face showed it. My body wore it. I was exhausted. He saw what he was doing, but it was my fault for letting it happen, because it was not his.

In hindsight, I did not notice how he would never allow me to converse alone. He always stayed close enough to listen to my conversations with our guests. When on a phone call, he often interjected himself into the discussions, which I thought was his need to feel included. He always stayed an ear's shot away from my conversations. He monitored and hovered over them. 

As time went on, I noticed how he would retell events that I had witnessed, and when he retold them, the stories became more elaborate with each telling. He told me other people's stories, as well. If he envied you but you did not buy into his facade, you were a foe. I learned quickly that his telling of a story would be some decorated version of the truth. I heard perfect examples of this after hearing his storytelling of me. After we had separated, it was interesting listening to how quickly he could create a lie. My favorite was his tall talk about his concern with wanting access to my money because "I am a taxpayer" as he stated that he was a concerned "taxpayer". I wish I were exaggerating, but I'm not. I have that tall-tell on the recording. That one made me roll my eyes and laugh. The conversation was after he had accused me of "stashing" my money and refusing to give him full access. 

I have a recording of him speaking to a woman that he used to work with. When confronted about the conversation, you can hear in real time as he tells her how to create a lie to tell her husband. He tells her to tell her husband that she was only talking to him for business purposes, and that his boss had recommended her business services. Without revealing too much too give away her identify and even though she was disrespectful to her own marriage, let alone my own (at that time), I choose not to reveal her. She had no idea that she was being groomed. She was not aware of his schemes. She was at that moment being groomed and blind sided by his tactics as I had once. I will state that her husband was informed. That documentation was kept, as well.

Another example of his lies mixed with manipulation, I recall a separate day that I received an alert on my phone from the security camera. I watched from my phone as he stepped out of his work truck, approached the front porch steps, and grabbed the sizeable red gas tank. He placed the gas tank on the back of his work truck, stepped back into the driver's seat, and drove off. Later, I noticed the red gas tank had been returned to the spot beside the steps. After he had got home, I asked jokingly, "Are you stealing gas from work?" He stumbled through his reply after being caught off guard, "I pay for it with the credit card." This man had no valid credit card. He had long before stopped paying his creditors. Keep that in the back of your mind for later. Days later, he voiced that the young neighbor behind and to the right of the house had, "Came over to get the gas tank to put gas in it. He told me he saw you in the kitchen window and waved, but you did not wave back." I racked my brain, recalling when or how I could have missed that tall young man from the window. I needed to let him know that I had not ignored his wave and had not seen him. My brain tried to figure out when or how I could have missed him. It was an incident that struck me as odd. I simply could not remember that event taking place. Fast forward and after leaving due to another grand argument, I decided that I would ask the young man about the event. The young man chuckled and stated that he had not gone to get the gas can and on one occasion, he had offered him money for gas, but the offer had been refused. All of that detail, from the wave to me ignoring the young man, had never happened. This was the plot . The entire story was fabricated and created because I had asked him if he was stealing gas. He had to develop an elaborate story to cover his tracks because I had questioned his ethical actions. He was covering his tracks. If that meant he would gaslight me by saying that I had forgotten the window view and the wave, then that would be how it would be. This is an example of the lie begat another. 

On a more disturbing note, as I have said before, he would stay up by himself drinking until he was highly intoxicated. I woke to the sound of shots fired. I jumped from the bed and ran to my son's room. He was safe. I then ran from his room through the house to the direction of the noise. Through the kitchen, I looked out the back door. He stood, staring off toward the house immediately next to ours. He held in his right hand a pistol. I yelled, "What happened?" His movements and words were slow, and he stated, "A guy was screaming at the girl over there." I looked in the direction he was facing. The streetlights illuminated an orange glow over the area of the street and the house next to it, but it was difficult to see any great details to the house of interest. I watched as the only action taking place was a neighbor from an uninvolved home, walking back inside quickly.
I stated to him that I did not think it was a good idea for him to have the gun as he had a DV charge before (1999-if I remember correctly), and he verbalized his agreement by saying, "Yeah." I walked back into the house with the pistol and placed it inside and out of his sight so that he could not find it. I went back towards him, but I remained inside the kitchen doorway, asking him to come inside. It was dark, and he had placed a very bright LED light in the outlet to give him light at the back porch door. I said it would be best if he turned out the light, and I switched off the light. The turning off of the light made him mad instantly. I explained that the light shining on him made him an obvious target in the dark. Keep in mind, he had just fired shots at the neighbors. As most of us know, he was not the only person in that town that had a gun. I was concerned and turned off the light. He yelled and ran towards the light, demanding it not be turned off. After several attempts to explain that I felt the light should be off, he was becoming angrier; I walked away.
The significance of this story was his retelling of it. As the story was retold, it became more elaborate. It went from a man yelling at a girl to a man yelling at a girl, saying he was going to kill her. Then, the subsequent telling of the story became more elaborate. He was yelling he was going to kill her as he began to choke her. Considering it was dark and a distance from where he was standing and where this event had taken place, I found it difficult to see anyone in the location. There were trees, a shed, and not a very well-lit area. His story changed with each telling. That is when I noted that what had occurred and his telling of the events had changed with each telling.  It became clear to me that there was a possibility that every story that he had told me before was possibly just as fabricated as this one. That would prove significant later as he tells his tale-tells of being the hero in his stories of being a Navy Seal, to speaking of rescuing the damsel in distress at the nearby gas station when he stated that he put his items on the counter and said to the other customer to step outside. That story had been told on more than one occasion, with multiple occasions of him rescuing her. I can not speak too much into those retold stories of him saving the cashier numerous times. I recall telling him, "Every time you go to the gas station, there seems to be trouble." I believe he was realizing I was catching on to his tall tales. This did not settle well with him. I was supposed to stroke his ego and applaud his heroic actions even if there was doubt about the truth. Are you seeing the patterns of lies and the general theme of delusional heroism?

The half-truths and manipulation began to unravel. One thing you do not do to a man who has built an entire world based on lies is show him the truth. Holding the truth to his face was his cause for all-out war. An example of this was when I requested his service records after telling him that I felt he needed help for his alcoholism and anger issues. When the paperwork returned, the stories of him completing BUDS (as a Navy Seal) came crashing down. He had only served from March 1999 to May 1999. From my experience, I knew that he had claimed a service of valor that he did not earn. When confronted, the lie only begat a new lie. It would never stop because his lies had been told so often that even he had begun to believe them. I have a recording of me asking him to tell me the truth. In the recording, you can hear that for a split second, he was contemplating telling the truth, but in that same second, he switched back to telling a new lie. The layers were getting larger. I knew then that no matter what evidence I held, he would refuse the truth. This was also the moment that I had become the enemy to his fictious world of make believe. I became the enemy. As I said before, the crosshairs were now fixed on me, figuratively.

He had told me of the time that he was told that he thought his first wife had been cheating. He stated that he was told that "Jody" had been there with his wife. He stated it had been told to him as a thing. What I mean by that is that he voiced there was a running and common joke that a "Jody" was a common term for any man that was in a hidden affair with a married woman as a joke. He suggested that this was a common term or phrase to illustrate a cheating spouse. I voiced that I had never heard of such term. I know now that this was a fabricated term or phrase. Back to his telling of those events, he said he had rushed through the bedroom door, and while she was asleep, he jumped on top of her and began to choke her. He claimed the divorce was because they were "better off friends." Strange. Regarding his second wife, he told me of his domestic violence charge after choking her. He stated she had claimed he had picked her up by the throat against the wall. On separate occasion, he went into detail about when he was bathing his son, and his son began to cry. He stated that "he wouldn't shut up. My mom walked in" while he was "choking" his son. Just to clarify, he never hit me. He would press his body against mine while aggressive. He would tell me that he was going to have a female come and "beat your ass," and I knew it was a matter of time. Under the right circumstances, my time was coming.

From the beginning, he had sworn to be loyal, never hurt me, and had been in love with me for "30 fxxxing years." I believed him because he had spoken with such sincerity. It all appeared to be the truth, but his actions behind closed doors proved otherwise with time.

 

The name-calling does seep through. Even though my rational thought told me that the insults hurled were to make me feel insignificant and worthless, I knew they were lies. Sometimes, the insults would break through. With time, I found myself depressed. My hair began falling out. My self-worth was plummeting.  I stayed in bed to avoid him. I stayed tense. I could not rest. I was exhausted.

While it was all ending, he began trolling for a new victim. I knew her. I mentioned her earlier. She had no idea that he was grooming her to be his next victim. She, just as I had, defended him, and she denied any inappropriate behavior. But she kept entertaining his statements towards her, as for example, "Put your shoes on and meet me at the river for a beer." The cycle continued. I tried to warn her, but she did not want to believe the truth, just like me. I felt sorry for her because I knew the pain she would face if she fell for it as I did. Parts of me were angry, as well. Her husband was confronted with the recordings and chose to remain with her. That part was between her and her husband. I do not know or care what happened after that. I do not even want to know. I care that this man had been able to use so many women and destroy their mental health.  I hope that no one else will see the pain and confusion of what I endured. 

Spiritually speaking, I believe there will come a day when all the pain will be met with the exponential opposite. Just as complex and frightening as it was, surpassing the pain I endured, joy did come back to me. It was embarrassing to be defenseless. To feel so powerless takes a little of your spirit. Now, I have dug myself out of depression. It wasn't easy, but I made it. I sought expert advice to unravel the mess of what had happened.
I knew there was something better. I still clung to hope for my future. I knew that the Good Lord would provide, and He did. 

 

If it had been a bad breakup, I could have walked away gracefully, but the degradation, intimidation, terrorizing, and fearmongering made me decide to fight. I lost almost all the possessions I had worked for all my life. None of which he earned, but because he used intimidation, I was unable to obtain my belongings. I could not risk the safety of my son or myself over material things.

So, even though I am hypervigilant about many monsters of the past, my goal is not to allow them to define my future. All of this can be used to help another. God can turn what was meant to destroy me into something good. I believe that my offender counted on me staying silent as I had done before. What he did not anticipate or foresee was the fire that would ignite me to tell my story. Whether we disagree as to me telling my story, I am sure we can agree that what was done was unethical, immoral, and wrong. No one should have to suffer in silence. 

 

On a much lighter note, I have to tell another story. While watching a documentary about the NFL, a familiar face popped up on the screen. I immediately said his name. As we all know the name of the college football player that came out of Auburn, AL to go pro. Immediately following me saying his name out loud, he says, " I almost beat that mf's ass in Best Buy". I could not help but internally laugh at this far fetched and obvious lie. I found it to be hilarious. May I add, I call dibs on Cam.