Sprang out of my sleeping bag last night after what sounded like a fog horn to watch a Semi-truck aggressively pull into the space right in front of the park bench, hit the breaks, which jolted it forward in a lurch that seemed like it would jump the curb it dwarfed. My heart started racing as the man got out, slammed the door, and went inside RiverSide pizzeria, a local pizza place in downtown. He seemed really angry and left the rigs lights on and the engine idling. I knew I had better get up, get my stuff ready, and prepare for whatever was to come. It was about 8pm, I was tired, each night there had been more harassment. By the time the end of the week comes, I’m pretty sleep-deprived.
I had been in a deep sleep, warm and comfortable after doing some photography on the RiverLink Pedestrian bridge, and thinking it would quiet down—it had been a nice day for a change! I had a couple Twisted Teas, which helped me relax and thought I could catch up on some much needed rest.
A couple minutes later, he came back and sat for quite awhile, I took out my iPhone and started recording, thinking if he saw me, he would know I was there, and he was probably just getting some dinner! I was never one to think the worst of people, part of the reason I was deceived so long in my abusive marriage!
He got out and gunned the engine and whipped it around in a u-turn to turn it the other way. I could tell he was a good driver the way he moved it like a car; easy and swift, but why was he menacing me? I stood up, my heart still racing as he pointed the rig right at me as if to run me over, then turned again into the space going the other way. By this time I had moved to the other end of the sidewalk feeling a little safer, but only later realizing he could have swiftly backed up into me and left!
I thought he would strike me or worse, kill me from his demeanor, which conveyed hostility with the way he maneuvered the rig and slammed the door. He didn’t get food, which was suspicious, but sat again for what seemed a long time and then left! I was relieved, but shaken. Jolted repeatedly by the loud thunderous sounds of the Trains that seemed endless lately—noise once again bothering me. The horns rattling my ears as they went by for what seemed like all night now. It’s easy to get sensitized to it, my anxiety increasing once again. I never minded trains, but now they seemed like they would also lurch off the rails. I was so close and they seemed older, more noisy, in need of repair.
I spent the rest of the night not breathing well, feeling like I was suffocating—my breathing slow, erratic, and barely there. I gasped periodically, between crying, unable to calm down as I did with the car harassment. Being harassed by a Semi rig was far more intense. This had become my life, as these people continued the violence towards me!
I recorded most of it, losing my temper, swearing, yelling—I was scared! I hated when I got upset like that, it was always the time my ex-husband would get very calm and point out how hysterical I was, regardless of how awful he had just previously been. It was never what they had done to me, but my needing to take it in a way that never challenged what they were entitled to do to me and then pretend it was no big deal or not happening at all!
He always had the upper-hand. He used to say, he had “special powers,” everyone liked him, he would say when we first married. I seemed to have problems getting along, he would say. I struggled throughout the 20yr marriage trying to understand why every incident was somehow my fault, some error on my part, while everyone else understood what was going on and had no problem.
I know today, everyone did understand because they all played along, knew the marriage was setup to use me, and they could do whatever they wanted and back each other up. I was always the brunt of the jokes, odd man out, the one who never got the jokes! I was the one that didn’t understand, made a big deal out of everything, didn’t know how to “get along!” My not getting along usually had something to do with not having children, having a career, and not seeing my family.
My family loved these kinds of sadistic games. The torment was so fun in the beginning—still is! but today as I unravel the lies, deal with the truth, the torment eases. The hurt and pain from always feeling not good enough, the brunt of jokes, and feeling so powerless, is slowly going as I assert my truth, tell people to leave me alone, and set boundaries now—knowing it was all done on purpose. Sadistic games all around!
It’s hard to come to terms with it some days—the brunt of all their sneers, blame, and condescension. I was usually ignored and dismissed. It’s easy when your privy to an inside joke. The knowing looks, the silence, the snickering smiles that belied something much more deeper and sinister than the regular “ass-busting” most of these people enjoyed. I never liked gossiping or ass-busting, mostly because I was usually the brunt of these kinds of things and know how deeply painful they can be.
I grew up with the same kind of thing from my mother and my 1/2 brothers. They were the group, I was the outsider—everything I did somehow wrong! There was no space to be me, let alone assert myself. I usually kept quiet, talking too much, defending myself, or questioning the ass-busting would result in my mothers fists. I was accused of being “so smart,” “high and mighty,”—miss know it all! I was usually confused by this kind of name-calling because I spent my entire childhood deathly afraid of my mother, usually cowering so as not to further enrage her.
I did the same with my ex-husband, talking made things worse. His icy, one-liners usually made me cry. I was usually told I was making a big deal out of things everyone else already agreed with and had no problems with.
In the beginning, going on about how all his friends, family or various others agree with whatever he was doing and therefore my not agreeing proved how I was somehow inadequate, not right—something wrong with me. This was particularly egregious when it came to our finances, lawyers, and the way they all agreed things were to be setup.
We still don’t acknowledge “Economic Abuse,” and yet I’m being told and blamed that I should have known! I should have known that regardless of all the times lawyers in our estate, tax professionals, insurance agents, told me “everything is 50/50,” I should have questioned it? Where would I have done that after all these people told me over 20yrs it was as “Mr and Mrs, Fifty Fifty!” My ex would chase me down for 1/2 of a tip after we ate out for dinner!
The thing was even with all that I did still question our finances all the time, but there were too many people involved with far more power than me all along. Even before the brutal divorce started, I had already been violently put on the street, stripped of any furniture, most of which I bought; gardening tools, lawnmowers, snowblowers, a new generator! and many other large ticket items! I had been no match right from the beginning, while we still claim that stealing in 2021 is a “Women’s Issue!”
We need to march, protest, and raise awareness—euphemisms for basically doing nothing. If you steal wholesale over a 20yr marriage all a woman’s assets, set her up from the start—well, that’s just SOL! which is what they all sneered—shit out of luck, sweetheart! That’s what you get for thinking your so uppity and think your so smart to be successful when we decided a long time ago you were just a “Welfare whore” and we weren’t going to ever let you be anything else! Better luck next time, cupcake!
It was raining when I woke up, I was soaked again, I couldn’t even get a waterproof “blue tarp,” the “men” here were going to make sure I would continually pay each and every day now for being successful! and they had planned and schemed for over 20yrs to enjoy having me crawl around the city, eventually being forced to give $10 blow-jobs they were especially looking forward to. Having sex with a man for 30yrs that thought of me only as a Prostitute, still just wasn’t enough! The depths of their hatred knew no bounds and has gotten so ugly that I know today as I suspected my SIL was murdered! Slow sadistic, filthy, just the way they all like it—vile!
The Prostitutes I met give blowjobs, unreal in these times HIV/AIDS, COVID, and rampant STD! At least with regular sex they can use a condom. Blowjobs? yeah, I was told, preferably with no teeth. Feeling nauseous, I shook my head thinking god $20? which is what they said they got it didn’t leave much for Dental visits let alone Gynecology visits.
Then I heard from the well-off middle-class men that sit around in McDonalds and complain about $20—it was way too much! Not only was that too much, but I wasn’t even going to get that—$10 for me! I guess because I was old. At the jail, I was told no one wants “grandma,” but I learned that’s not true either. My mother and many of the others bragged about being MILFS even now! No, this was about other women that are not necessarily for sex, but violence. The more degrading, debasing, filthy and dirty the better—Dead! even better still.
As I learned about this new “profession,” I learned it’s not one at all, at least not for those of us that killing is preferable to sex, even though they talk about whores. The “street-walk” just being more of a way to get you into vulnerable situations so you can’t protect yourself. Having no home, car, money, and help, makes it that much easier to kill you!
Men raised by mothers that pride themselves as MILFS might be part of this. Men raised by mothers that pretend they are girlfriends instead of mothers also can be included. I’m no expert, but degrading, humiliating then killing smacks of “Mother issues,” which is what all these men have, at least the ones stealing, stalking, and wanting to kill me. Running me over with a Semi was one way in a long list I was dealing with lately. I quess happy there is no need to worry about living on $10 blowjobs, I won’t be here that much longer to worry.
My SIL had also been “uppity,” thinking her name should also be on her home! Cops and Guards here go on and on how rape, sexual assault, domestic violence, not here—no big deal, but my SIL’s death, which I believe was murder, because they are trying to Murder me, was not properly handled! She might still be here and I wouldn’t have been condemned to the street with nothing after they talked of also killing my dog after taking him! Female Cop that accused me of “harassing my brother,” had no clue what she was doing, either that or she knew exactly what she was doing, which is my contention.
My mother involved in her finances too, just like she had been in mine. Mother issues threaded throughout all these relationships. “He takes such good care of his mother,” they all told me! So did Norman Bates, in Psycho!
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