Photography collage — Rhonda J Flanagan
Waking up to a mouse rummaging through my small bag of garbage, probably a field mouse I think; little, gray, looking for a snack. I empty him from the bag, sighing how cold it is, but how can I complain? It’s been pretty warm considering it’s the dead of Winter. Wind-chill -14 one night, but I remembered the Hunter’s using these little charcoal hand-warmers, so I stopped in Walmart n bought some. They seem pretty popular; big box of them lined the isle. $6.97 for a bag of them.
I put them on my feet n stick another in my gloves later that night—heaven! I’m not crying anymore. It was becoming my nightly ritual. The heat moves up my body n I can feel my hands thaw after walking into the woods to rough sleep. I didn’t want to spend the little money I have, but knew my mummy sleeping bag was struggling to keep up w this kind of cold. It’s a 10 degree one and I have it nestled in a 30 degree so I’m comfortable to about 4 or 5 degrees then it gets painful. I don’t sleep, toss n turn, n mostly cry. It’s hard accepting what was done to me n because it happened so swiftly, so brutally, along w an assault, I never had time to catch up. I’m constantly scrambling for a place to live.
Today is the Super Bowl; I start weeping thinking of my warm home, comfortable new queen size bed I had just bought n my dog. The jug of water I have to keep in the sleeping bag so it doesn’t freeze reminds me of him curled up close between my legs n the small of my back; his favorite place. It’s triggering when it feels like him n I wake up having to tell myself it’s not him. I’m not there, but why? The sobbing starts n it’s hard to stop. My body doesn’t know why we aren’t home.
I always wanted a home n was always grateful for being able to afford one along w the vacation property we bought, which we purchased as soon as we married agreeing to retire early; all the money went into the properties. I went into shock when Judges glared at me n told me they were all his—he got everything! along w destroying my credit, stealing my belongings, n new car, all the furniture, n so much more; my sweet dog one of the worst. It’s why the water jug jolts me awake at times—memories flooding back of all the fights people picked to isolate me. “MasterPlayer,” he told me he was at the end.
The shock lasted for almost 4yrs as I pieced it all together—all of it had been a game. A sick, horrible game to leave me w nothing. To use me, constantly having me pour all my money into the properties then accuse me of being abusive “crazy,” n getting everything, which he did. His friends all played along including my mother n 1/2 family. Each destructive part played out like the plays of the Super bowl. The winning team destroying me, their lead so far ahead I never knew until the end it was all a game—a joke. A horribly, cruel one, but it never mattered. Whores don’t matter, I was to learn.
I’ve had a hard time lately. I was doing better finally putting it all together; sleeping on n abandoned porch in Summer is a lot easier than a mummy bag in the dead of Winter. Most mornings my urine cannot b held from the day before n I find it wets my underwear. It’s just too cold to get out of the bag. I hold it as long as I can n it goes away, but then comes rushing back at times when my body finally says, “No more,” then it’s often too late. The shame I’ve learned to let go of to stay warm. It’s the same w my hair. Mostly in knots from wearing my hat all the time n it’s too cold to brush it. My nails dirty n broken; my clothes haven’t been washed in months. I wear the same thing every day now. I don’t shave now n find there is no body odor under my arms now that there is hair there; a saving grace. I don’t have to constantly worry about putting on deodorant. I like not having to shave now. I do legs at the gym, but everything else is natural. I remember when I first divorced n was jokingly told I had to shave down there now. It seems so silly now out here in the woods along w so much else.
I think of that first Super bowl party from so long ago. I feel stupid now because I didn’t even know what day the Super bowl was on, so the joke was they were all Super bowl parties or “warm up” parties—jokes all around. I went skiing as a girl, ice-skated, n loved the gym, but organized sports I had no idea about. I had no idea Prostitution or Trafficking went on or that my ignorance about these parties would result in the destruction of everything I had, but my new husband did. I was lured home by a family that never wanted me then fixed me up w a man that always wanted to open a “Gentleman’s club,” he told me at the end of our 20yr marriage along w so much else he sneered about; so confident he bragged he would have me locked-up. That I was crazy, which was one of his constant accusations whenever I questioned him. Gaslighting started shortly after we married; the plays relentless.
Things always went missing, didn’t work out, fell apart—never worked. My mind goes through all the games that never made sense thinking I had bad luck, but today know were deliberate. Things like buying him car-starters for all his vehicles, but whenever he drove me somewhere the heat didn’t work. Heat was often a thing that didn’t work. I was heat sensitive from growing up so poor n always made it a point to forgo other things to have heat, but it never mattered, there were always problems w the furnace n our brand new “Rinnai heater” at our vacation place. Him n a friend that was our plumber always working on it n finding it never worked right.
They would laugh n go drink their beers leaving me to stay warm by doing more chores. “Chores have to b done,” he would say, “anyone can buy properties, it’s maintaining them!” What did I know? I was a new homeowner n trusted him. It was only after he threw me out n I stayed at our Lakehouse a couple months before he had me violently removed by cops that I knew it was deliberate. The heater worked fine; toasty in a few minutes the whole place warm n I only needed it on medium setting. I was shocked, but this was going on w so much.
Repairs that he said could never b done had been magically done. Things broken now fixed; things missing now found. I wasn’t suppose to stay there after he locked me out, but I had no place to go. Cops arrested me out of our 20yr home, while everyone told me I had to go to a homeless shelter. I went to the Lakehouse in desperation—traumatized. All my things gone; years of books, artwork, photos all removed never to b seen again! All part of the game; all setup I was to learn n everyone I knew played along either as players w him or the audience that claps after each horrible thing was done to me. Score one for him; 2, 3, 4 n so it went. Each time dragged into court for some nonsense arrest for trying to just talk to people I considered friends or even just my family.
Like players huddled in the circle going over the plays, everyone knew the game was to call me crazy; have me arrested, which they did. All citing I was harassing them. Cops all part of the game, sons of many of the men at these parties. In the beginning, get togethers we’re frequent, but the severe isolation started pretty early in the marriage. I just didn’t get along w people he would tell me. “You kept his friends away,” I was repeatedly told. I spent each holiday imploring people to visit, but I was told the same repeatedly as if I had done some awful thing that kept them all away; only thing was they never talked to me about what it was. The problems always were inferred, hinted at, sneered about. Like walking into a room w toilet paper hanging out of ur underwear n everyone knows it but u. This feeling was my entire marriage.
I was never popular in school. It’s a small town n the game started as soon as my parents divorced. My mother’s new boyfriend had been friends w all these people n his children by his first wife were childhood friends w my ex-husband n his family. I never knew how close they all were or how they had all sided w my mother that demonized me n my father. The game was into effect as soon as she left my father after a year of marriage accusing him of abuse. He never abused me, she did, but it didn’t stop Judges from preventing me from seeing my family.
I became a target of all these people. The abuse permeated every part of my existence; neighbors, 1/2 family, any friends I thought I had made. I had to re-examine every relationship I had—they were all involved. From my childhood best-friends to colleagues at work that knew these people in my community. Many were connected, wealthy, n prescribed to a groupthink w everything.
I went to all the grade schools, we moved often; everyone had their cliques. I was often a target, n by the time High School came groups were already staked out. I had no group n drifted between a couple trying to fit in, never knowing my future husband had been friends w many of the popular guys I went to school w; lawyers, judges, doctors. Wealthy, all connected—friends. A whore like me should have known. Humiliation had always been a part of my high school experience, but I had no idea they all enjoyed the game n had planned the play of my 20yr marriage from start to finish.
I think of the movie, “Carrie,” or “Pretty in Pink.” There’s always those movies of the unpopular girl made fun of, but the popular guy loves her. When we dated it was “Pretty Woman!” There was no happy ending for me. My ex-husband repeatedly played the role of the popular guy that loved the unpopular girl, but played being the operative word. It had all been a “play.” His friends laughed repeatedly in the beginning, in the end I realized how malicious it all was. I was told I had just been a Prostitute to him; Judges agreeing. I have to revisit so much. I blamed myself as the unpopular girl trying to fit in w the popular kids; never knowing they had no intention of ever accepting me. They knew all the plays, all the ways to make me feel worthless; so slowly, so precisely overtime, until I was told I would have “no way out!”
Being resourceful, I always came up w work arounds; from costumes at school plays when I had no money to buy pretty ones, to the DIY of making everything I could in my marriage, but not this time. They all worked together to make sure I would end up w nothing. I’m still tying to manage the shock, which for the most part is gone, but I feel most days I just want to go home, but I don’t have one. I have yet to really catch up w myself.
The planned Sexual Assault was another game to put me in shock n trauma then ram all the destructive other things through before I could figure out it had been all planned from the start. I have not only lost 20yrs to man that never loved me, but even the last 6yrs after violently removed from my home; like a ghost limb. My life is still here n as I sit writing feel like I just need to go home, but home is the freezing woods; it’s hard to accept this. Time has not gone forward as it did before. It’s like amnesia in some ways. The shock protected me, but it can’t give u back the time stolen. It’s like reality jumping or the Matrix movie, as u walk into another life or between two of them wondering why u can’t completely go back. Death is like that when we lose loved ones so quickly we need time to catch up. It’s a death not only of the marriage, by the fact it never existed. Judges I went to school w actually put that on the divorce papers, the marriage was “Null and Void!”
How does a 20yr marriage not exist? I’m still trying to figure that out. I was never really a game player, certainly not a master player like my ex husband says he is. I liked Chess, Monopoly, but not really Football. It seemed so violent. I know today the men/women I knew involved r very violent, but I had no idea. It was just a game to them. I was just n object; part of their game. I’m slowly piecing it back together into what’s real. Replacing each play w the truth; I was married, I made love to my husband, I loved people I thought I could trust that told me they cared n loved me. It was their game to pretend, not mine! My life was real; a life I lived, like a Velveteen rabbit; broken, used, but real—love not a game.
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