A Nutshell of My Hell, Pt. 1

So, here goes. I’m going to go into some background of my experiences with abuse.

I’m going to go over the nutshell basics of it as best as I can. But even with trying to nutshell it, there’s going to be A LOT. And, I’m not gonna lie, this is not going to be nice. By that, I mean that I’m not going to be nice. These are memories that still make me angry and I’m not going to flinch from showing that.

I’m not going to go into the specifics yet of what marked my exes as a sociopath (ex-husband) or a narcissist (ex-boyfriend). That will be something I go into specifics in future blog posts when I start getting into the meat of what constitutes a sociopath or a narcissist.

And this will definitely not be done in one blog post. I’m having to nutshell a decade of my life and that is no easy task 15 years after the start of that portion. So, have patience, bear with me, and reserve your judgments. And if you’re someone who is triggered by this topic, read with caution. Believe me, I get it. It’s triggering for me, too.

I’m 35 years old and my mental health issues were not officially diagnosed until I was 32. I already knew that I dealt with depression thanks to my mom setting me down to talk about it when I was 19.  I didn’t figure out about my ADHD until my late-20’s and I didn’t figure out about my anxiety until I was 30. I didn’t know until I was officially diagnosed that when one has ADHD or ADD, anxiety tends to be a given. This being due to the fact that the brain of someone with ADHD or ADD tends to not have that filter that helps us to be able to compartmentalize and focus, we get overwhelmed easily. Of course, one can deal with anxiety without ADHD or ADD, but if you have either of those two? Chances are you also deal with anxiety.

I’ve had 2 relationships in my adult life and they were both abusive. So, it’d be more accurate to call them “relationSHITS”.  Both lasted 5 years. So, I spent the entirety of my 20’s dealing with everything but having the hell beaten out of me.

My ex-husband was a sociopath (henceforth referred to as my ex-sociopath) and my ex-boyfriend was a narcissist (guess what I’ll be referring to him as?)

My ex-sociopath was the sperm-donor of my 3 children, but he’s been out of our lives for almost 10 years now, and good riddance. He brought that on himself, though he, of course, would never think of recognizing that fact, much less admitting to it. But I’ll get into that in another post.

As sociopaths tend to be, he was very easy to like at first. For the most part, anyway.  I’d had an off feeling about him when a former friend first introduced us that, unfortunately, I didn’t end up listening to. He won me over when he made me laugh my arse off while defending a friend of mine in some super ridiculous internet drama. At that point, I wondered if maybe I hadn’t judged him too harshly and decided to give him a chance. Ugh.

Of course, he didn’t start off awful. No abuser ever does. That’s how they reel you in. And I, being very naive and sheltered, was an easy target. I didn’t know shit about sociopaths back then, nor would I until after I FINALLY got away from him. The only sociopath I’d heard of previously was Scott Peterson in the wake of his killing his pregnant wife, Laci. But I didn’t know anything about sociopaths beyond that.

My ex-sociopath was, as previously mentioned, very funny. Gods, he could make me laugh to the point of tears. We’d give each other shit in good-natured burn wars. By the time I met him, I already knew that I dealt with clinical depression due to the above-mentioned conversation with my mom. And he told me about how he dealt with manic depression.

So, the first time that he mocked me when I confided to him that I was dealing with a depression spiral, it was beyond wounding. That was something that just didn’t compute to me any more than he was capable of computing the concept of compassion or empathy. He told me to stop whining, told me to do the shit that he’d resort to when dealing with depression, mocked me for “whining”, and essentially told me to shut up.

I can’t remember if that was before or after I became pregnant with my eldest. And yes, I said, “MY”. Yes, he contributed DNA, but fuck you, I did all the work from pregnancy on up till I finally left the prick. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I wasn’t able to find out that I was pregnant until I was in my 4^th month. Previous pregnancy test attempts had all showed Negative. And in those first few months since some of the symptoms had begun presenting themselves — the cravings, nausea, the mood swings — I remember feeling just so damn cold toward him. Like, I straight up wanted to leave his ass. And, my other 2 children aside, I wish I had. My children are the only good things he ever gave me (aside from the kitten he gave me for my first Mother’s Day gift who, unfortunately, was killed by a car the following year; but that’s another story for another time).

I forced myself over that hump of wanting to leave him a few weeks or so before I finally popped a Positive pregnancy test.

With my ex-sociopath, it was the cliched “when it was good, it was great; but when it was bad, it was beyond horrid” type of story.

My feelings didn’t matter to him, but then he’d bitch and rail at me to “talk to him” and “communicate with him” and no matter how many times I tried to fucking spell it out for him that “communication is a 2-way street; it involves you LISTENING to me instead of blowing me off or crapping all over what I’m trying to tell you”, it never made a shit-lick’s worth of difference. Oh, occasionally he’d actually listen and not make me sorry for opening my mouth. But more often than not, that was not the case.

I’m more comfortable with writing than speaking — something I’ve since learned is a trait to do with my being an introvert — and I’d take to writing entries in the LiveJournal account I had at the time to get everything off my chest and then show it to him to communicate that way. It worked at first. But it didn’t take long before that was simply more ammo for him to degrade me with.

When I’d try to revert to that method of communication to make myself heard rather than verbally talking to him about what was bothering me as he’d demand, he’d call me a “social retard”.

Also, my boundaries didn’t matter to him, either. I didn’t know much about having boundaries much less sticking to them, but one thing I remember starkly on that topic, while I was pregnant I think, was his disrespect for my belongings.

I heard a joke once where someone claimed that married women have the motto, “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine.” Well, that was how my ex-husband acted.

I was and still am very anal about the handling of anything on a disc — my CDs, DVDs, game discs, etc. I didn’t and still don’t like or tolerate my discs being mishandled — not put in its proper case or, even worse, put down somewhere outside of its case. This was something I’d made clear more than once after he moved in with me. But, one day when I saw that he’d left one of my discs out, info side up, on the top of my desk, I got aggravated and told him, yet again, to not do that with my discs.

He got flamingly pissed and yelled at me for it, acting like I was the one being an unreasonable bitch for expecting him to not disrespect my shit. That was one of the first times I recalled getting the “I haven’t done anything wrong, you’re making a big deal out of nothing, and if you have a problem with my bullshit, then it’s clearly a problem that you need to get the fuck over” kind of treatment.

After my son was born, I became a stay-at-home-mom and he finally got a job (long story for another time but, nutshell, he’d lost his wallet and in trying to get some of the docs to replace his photo ID, he made a damn good show of trying to find work otherwise while I later found out, he turned down opportunities presented by a family member to help him with that), the one-sided bullshit didn’t stop there.

Because I was a SAHM, he felt that it was perfectly reasonable that I pretty much do everything by myself. Oh, he’d take some of his turns to change diapers and give baths. But gods forbid he ever comprehend the toll that it took on me enough to take an extra turn with anything. And ask him to help with anything required during the night? Pfffft! I’d get told, “I have to work in the morning and you stay at home, so you do it.”

When my son went through his colicky phase, I still didn’t get any help. Oh, ex-sociopath talked a damn big game while I was pregnant, but by gods, I better not dare expect him to actually deliver. I’d strap my bawling son in the chest carrier, button my trench coat over us and our respective layers, and trudge out into the cold to walk him to sleep while my ex never made a move to help or to take a goddamn turn to do it himself.

I had to fight for just about every bit of time for myself.

During my pregnancy, I pored over magazines for expectant and new mommies and there had been numerous articles about the importance of self-care and getting time away.

And despite showing him those articles, I still had to fight for myself and for my sanity.

I’d ask him to watch my son so I could get a few hours away and go to the library. I’d ask him even days ahead of time. If I got 2 Saturday afternoons a month for myself, it was a goddamn miracle. I’d try to emphasize how I needed a break for my sanity and I’d get met with him going, “Well, all I get are the weekends off and I need a break!” Oh, and he’d use the fact that the house wasn’t always clean against me, stating that clearly, I’d already had enough of a break. Because gods forbid he recognize that I was burnt out and tired as fuck of cleaning up after his slobby arse.

Now, I’m not saying that I was a neat freak. I’ve never been. I’ve always been a clutterbug with low energy and motivation for cleaning. But trying to clean up after him as well? He’d toss things in the general direction of the trashcan, diapers included, but if they didn’t actually make it in? He’d just leave it there and go about his business.

He pulled that same shit years later when he briefly lived with my best friend after he and I separated and he moved to my home state.

He was the typical, entitled-as-fuck dudebro.

During my pregnancy with my daughter, I found myself contemplating the possibility of leaving him and even tried to think of ways that I could make it happen, but it was hopeless. By being a SAHM, which really was the only way we could really afford, my codependency on him was in full swing and I had no resources of my own to try to get away.

When we moved from Fort Worth to Oklahoma City (so he could be closer to friends and family that he hardly ever went to see aside from his best friend), my depression got so much worse. So much so that I found myself contemplating suicide for the first time ever in my life. Like, SERIOUSLY contemplating suicide. And as strong a pull as I felt to the bottle of pills I was staring at, the only thing that stopped me was that I was pregnant with my daughter and I didn’t want to abandon my son.

I tried talking to my ex about how I was feeling because I was so shaken about it. Big surprise, all that got me was more mockery and degradation. He worked for a Walmart at the time and Walmart has a 1-800 number that their employees and their families could call if they needed help with mental health, so I tried that. I couldn’t even tell you what they said, but I remember that I didn’t feel helped. I still felt trapped and alone in that shitty house that he’d rented for us (which he did so alone while I and my son had stayed in Fort Worth; and seriously, even calling that house a shit-hole is too kind. The property management company was a pack of slum lords and despite the fact that we had one small child with an infant on the way, they didn’t care to tell us until a few weeks after we’d moved in that the house had previously been a crack house. Not even kidding).

2 months after my daughter was born began the most hellish time of my life. She was termed Failure to Thrive at her 2-month WellBaby checkup and the doctors at the hospital suspected she had Infant Reflux but they couldn’t officially diagnose her until it could be caught in the act.

Despite that, the Oklahoma DHS took my daughter and son away from us, charging us with neglect. It took almost 2 years of hell to get them back. During that time, my ex and I had to attend “parenting” classes. And it was while attending those that I came across pamphlets giving facts about abuse and the different kinds. The info on verbal, mental, and emotional abuse especially rang bells as I read them.

As time went on when my ex would pull his shit, I’d call him the fuck out for his abusive behavior.

Know what that got me?

He’d either give justifications as to why I “deserved” his treatment or he’d accuse me of “playing the victim card”.

Guess what, motherfucker? A victim is someone who stays silent. Someone who speaks the fuck up and calls your ass out is someone who is SICK of BEING the victim.  BIG. FUCKING. DIFFERENCE. You sack of shit.

But that’s not something I knew how to verbalize back then.

I became pregnant with my youngest son during the OKDHS nightmare. During my pregnancy, there were times I had suspicions that my ex was cheating on me. But he was damn good at bullshitting.

He had a co-worker whom he went and spent 6 hours at her house, supposedly helping her to “fix things around her house” or some shit like that. I can’t remember specifically what it was, only that it was supposed to involve fixing something.

Now, mind you, jealousy has never been my thing. I didn’t care if either of my exes had friends who were female. But it still struck me as odd when this co-worker would call him and want to talk for HOURS. Especially during the day when he was sleeping to rest up for his overnight shifts.

I saw her once at that Walmart after my youngest son was born and even then, she was friendly with my ex in a way that had my alarm bells going off. Oh, but no, he’d keep swearing that he’d never cheated on me.

When I was about 7 months pregnant with my youngest, I found condoms in my ex’s wallet. 2, to be precise. And I wasn’t going through his wallet trying to find anything on him. What’s actually still so ridiculous to me even all these years later is that he hid them there in the first place. He was usually a lot more careful about covering his tracks so as to more easily smoothe over what times I expressed my doubts as to his fidelity.

See, I’d get into his wallet frequently to grab a couple bucks to go get myself something to drink from the gas station down the way by the Walmart he worked at. And it was in the cash slot that I found the condoms.

He was asleep when I found them, so I had several hours alone to agonize and try to rationalize what I’d found. And when he woke up, I confronted him. No, not all bitchy-like, but still. And oh, the story that came pouring out of his mouth. Just believable enough for me to buy it despite the niggling doubts still left in the back of my mind that I didn’t want to listen to because, stupidly enough, I still loved the sonofabitch.

“Oh, those were left in a box of condoms that some customer opened up and then hid and I was going to put them in the Claims basket but I forgot to.”

Believable enough because, having previously worked for Walmart myself and having had worked overnight shifts for them for a summer, I knew that kind of shit could happen. Hell, I’d found boxes of opened and pilfered condoms before.

But the doubt that I refused to listen to at that time? “If you were going to put them in Claims, why did you go to the trouble of taking your wallet out of your butt pocket and putting them in there? Wouldn’t it have been easier to pocket them?”

After we had separated and he was living with my best friend, there was a space of time that she and I weren’t speaking. No, it wasn’t anything like “OMG he left me for her”. She was dating his best friend at the time. Though, my ex definitely wanted her. Anyway, during that time that she and I were on the outs, he bragged to her about having cheated on me numerous times and laughed about how I’d been stupid enough to believe him. She told me about this after she and I made up and began speaking again. So many suspicions I’d had were finally confirmed.

Ok, that’s all I have the spoons to write about right now. I’ll go into more in my next post, which should be ready and uploaded by next Saturday. This has been difficult to write about like this and I am worn the fuck out.

In my next post, there will be some more about my ex-sociopath but I will also be getting into the shit about my ex-narcissist. As bad as things were with my ex-sociopath, it’s my ex-narcissist that I hate the most.

But if you made it through this post, I thank you for taking the time to do so. I’ll see you guys next Saturday and in my gaming streams, and until then?