Of Mice and Monsters X

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Several years after I was out of the relationship with my ex, my mother received a phone call from a detective in Boston wanting to know if I was alive.

My mom told him that I was alive.  He asked when the last time we had spoken.  She had told him it was about a week prior.  He explained that he needed confirmation from me that I was indeed alive and to contact him at the phone number he provided.  He explained that my ex had tried to developed a photograph at a local pharmacy which depicted a naked woman hanging from a tree, bound, blind-folded, gagged, and severely beaten.   He claimed that the woman in the photo was me.

My mother was of course shocked but told me to call the detective.  I did not believe it was the cops, I thought it may have been him posing as a police officer.  Instead I called the police department’s main number myself and asked for said detective.  The story checked out.   I was asked to come down to the police station to verify I was, and that I was alive.

I took the ride and met the detective.  He showed me the photo and I verified my identity.  He asked me if what happened in the photo was consensual.  I said that it was.   The detective seemed taken aback.    I did tell him at that time I wanted the photo destroyed and that was confused to me as to why my ex had been developing it in the first place since it had been years since we had split up.

The officer assured me that he would make sure he had put the fear of God in my ex about distributing a photo like this and the implications it would have for him if he didn’t destroy it.

As to why my ex had kept it all those years?  Like many Sociopaths, particularly those who are sexual sadists, most acquire trophies from their victims.  This photo of me may be a trophy of his handiwork.  He can re-live that day over and over again by looking at it.

That was the last I heard of him until two months ago when I received a Facebook friends request, which I promptly deleted.

I often read other blogs here on WordPress of both victims of Narcissism as well as a few Narcissists themselves.  I have been watching Sam Vatkin’s videos on YouTube for years. I also have been watching Richard Grannon on YouTube for near as long as well.

It would seem that I am doing a good job of staying no contact, despite the two hoovers he sent my way.   One came 1.5 years after he discarded me, the other five years later.   I am left with a morbid curiosity as to why he ever hoovered me so far out after discarding me.   I may well never know.

What I do know is that there is life after a Narcissistic Sociopath.   I eventually did go on to meet a new guy.   It’s only when one door closes they say that another can open.

Just drink the Kool-aid

Today’s session with the shrink was rough.  Nothing fun about sitting and  have them stare at you while you try to cough up your feelings that are too painful and shameful to utter aloud.  So instead you put on a good personae and artfully try to dodge the elephant sitting on your heart that you wish you had the balls to say, but your too much of a pussy to.  For if you do, you can risk looking like an asshole or worse getting hurt.

It took me awhile to get the courage up to spit out what I was hemming and hawing about saying for 40 minutes.  Nearly the entire session.

It has taken me weeks to get to the point of even mustering that up.  The emotions carry that much shame for me to say.

The thing I said well, it makes me feel weak, embarrassed, vulnerable, powerless.   All feelings I HATE.  All feelings I don’t have skills to tolerate very well.

But I did finally spit it out, because I want to get well and I think that puking up what’s hard to do, will get me there.

*****

I guess I’m blindsided by her response.

She was like, “no, you don’t really feel that way do you?” and she kinda laughed.

Then I felt humiliated on top of the existing shame…..  Mother fucker.   I wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and die.

She has no fucking idea.   And that’s largely my fault.  For the better of thirty fucking years I have learned to “present well,” so that no one knows what’s really going on.

I do it so well, I can mostly turn it off and on like a light switch…..mostly.

*****

Sitting there in that chair in her office feeling ashamed, it flooded my brain with similar events that I tried to bury a long time ago.

Especially the young, impish, fractured, splintered off part of myself I thought I could seal behind a wall and bury alive.

But that girl’s muffled voice broke through from behind the bricks today choking back her pitiful fucking tears.

*****

There she is again, from behind the woman veneer.

Stirring somewhere from latent consciousness.

Crystallized….and I’m still paralyzed.

I seem to walk through life, reflexively, a continuous loop of internal thought patterns,“I am bad.  unliked,  unwanted,  unaccepted….. I am un-lovable.”

*****

When I told my shrink how I felt about her, she replied that I must be wrong……  It stung.   Walls went up.

Usually, I reject me before anyone else can hurt me.    Well, I fucked up.

******

I am ashamed….of me.

I am realizing that shame is a bigger part of my emotional make-up than I ever knew. It’s inescapable presence envelops me like a blanket.

If I don’t deal with “it”, I will continue to live in misery.

Before today’s session I might have passed for an average girl, walking with a seeming look of purpose, unfettered by any stress. And in some ways, I guess that would have been true.

I left however, restricting my gaze downward to the cobblestone street, tears staining my cheeks, reflecting the ugliness I still hold inside.

Ugliness from which I haven’t been yet able to wriggle free.

*****

BDSM and bondage isn’t always about rope and submission.

The riskiest scenes take place on the inside, with the chains that bind our very soul.