Watching images of people walking the road to the border with one suitcase was hard. War In Ukraine! Headlines read. The journalist reporting live from a road out of Ukraine to the border. It was hard to watch. People had driven hours trying to leave their Country in the midst of such destruction and finding they were running out of gas. Finding they had to turn around and walk back. Finding they had to sit in their cars for hours. It was triggering in many ways reminding me of my constant fleeing. The constant pain of being without a home. The constant fear and terror. The loss of everything I had!
I haven’t watched TV in years. I haven’t been able to stay in n Apartment long enough before I’m evicted or thrown out and the last time I tried to get cable the landlord I rented from stole the equipment among other things. It cost me $100 to pay the cable company plus they ran up a $600 National Grid bill when I wasn’t even there and stole just about all my belongings. He had worked w my ex-husband I found out later and his wife knew my 1/2 brother. I have been thrown out of numerous apartments by people that either know my mother or ex-husband. Finding out much of it is “gang related,” is at times silly n other times terrifying.
No, that wasn’t a typo. I did write Gang. I still have a hard-time coming to terms w the fact I married someone connected to a Criminal gang. In the same way learning he was Racist all along. Spouted WhiteSupremist beliefs w his friends n was in fact very extremist, but I never knew any of that until I was violently put on the street n deliberately made homeless. Not that u can get a straight answer from extremists anyway. He’s “Made,” I was told. “In the Mafia,” people on the Sacandaga Lake told me. He has friends in “The Mob,” they threatened! There’s a contract out on u I was also told. I had no idea. I can send someone to “take care of him,” I was also told, but I declined. No, I said still believing Law enforcement and the Court system would charge him w the crimes he was continually committing. I was horrified to learn how women fleeing from Domestic Violence were being treated.
My family was no help either. They had been involved w my ex n his cronies right from the beginning. I had never been that close to them. Their abuse of me had started young, but I had no idea the deep seated hatred that existed. Hatred that was continually lied about, covered up; secretly used against me to ruin jobs, friendships, n just about everything else in my life.
The connections they shared intertwined my life in every regard. It’s a “web” my mother would later say about the lies, attacks, n other fights that went on. I had no idea she also meant it was in fact criminal. She’s “building a web,” she said recently of my ex best-friend n her cousin. 1/2 family that was increasingly violent n had helped set up my 20yr marriage from the beginning to leave me w nothing. It had all been planned.
The memories and incidents come flooding back as I recall all the fights that never made sense. It was all on purpose to keep me isolated. To keep me from knowing. To keep me trying to “get along,” which I was told all the time that I didn’t. I sat listing all the businesses that have attacked me, threatened me, or outright banned me:
Stewart’s Ice-Cream shops—all locations
Dunkin’ Donuts
McDonalds
RiteAide
Fit Happens—Alpin Haus Gym
Vassi Realty
Century 21 Realty
JudithAnn Realty
Putman Insurance
Andolina Dentist
Zumbolo Financial consultant
National Grid
Super 8 Motel
KnightsInn Motel
Microtel Hotel
Bosco’s Restaurant
Russo’s Restaurant
Armory Grill Restaurant
Lanzi’s On The Lake—all locations
St Mary’s Hospital
Hillcrest Nursing Home
Leaving n abuser is never easy, especially one w deadly, coercive control, connected to other violent extremists. I was violently removed by Police, but even w that I was the one falsely accused; so the stalking continues from my ex husband, my mother n 1/2 family, plus all the others that want attention or r involved w the gang. I have been repeatedly attacked. Almost pushed out a window, beat-up, robbed numerous times, continually evicted; have had just about everything stolen, which was quite a bit after a 20yr marriage, a career, n being extremely frugal, but they r allowed to continue.
He along w my mother have the support of Law enforcement here—I never stood a chance! It’s been the most terrifying experience of my life n continues to make each day if I’m not careful a living hell. I remind myself that I have a right to live my life, but some days I still struggle terribly. I’m still being prevented from being housed. I’m still being robbed and still being violently arrested; even the the Cop that Sexually Assaulted me! It’s still a nightmare most days. I still struggle trying to understand how so little has changed from when I was growing up, but then I remember the constant verbal n emotional abuse from all my ex husbands women friends—all “Stay At Home Mothers” (SAHM)
The tears start when I remember how my career was picked apart repeatedly. They didn’t work n the ones that did were what women should be; only Teachers or Nurses. I weep for my “Younger Self,” remembering how I would come home to want to share the good news of a promotion w my ex or a Design project that went well or a raise n b meant w coldness. Often he would later say, he had been tired, busy, distracted, “u know I love u,” he would say n take me in his arms. I would of course forgive. That’s being a “good wife,” right? I told myself. My mother gave no support; I was losing friends, not knowing they had been aligned from the start w my 1/2 family or mother or my ex-husband. I felt constantly under siege to please, to prove I get along, to make something in my life work—so much wasn’t. So much was always falling apart.
My life consisted of things falling apart. I would b doing so well at work only to b told it just “wasn’t working out.” Friends would find some reason not to call again. Invitations would b ignored, n I found myself more n more alone as the years went by. “Why do u have so much trouble getting along w people?” he would say innocently concerned. I would often try harder; self effacing, people pleasing became constant as I struggled to understand what was happening. I read books, practiced interviewing, learned more computer skills on my lunch hours. I was continually trying to understand my bad luck. He didn’t hit me right? He didn’t yell n scream n beat me like my mother. Why did it always seem like so much was wrong n yet he would smile n give me one of his lectures about “fitting in w the group”—getting along!
I was told when we first married about the group. All of them friends since Grade school. All of them getting together. Large beautiful House parties; copious amounts of delicious food, alcohol, n friends coming n going. I was often overwhelmed; quiet, shy, wanting to fit in. I wanted to b a good wife. I wanted to get along w his large group of friends n family. I had no real family, but today I know he knew that—all his friends did. As the years went by, they stopped inviting us to parties; stopped even talking to me. Whispers of me being the problem “keeping his friends away,” I was often told, but jokingly in the beginning. I had to learn to entertain. I taught myself to cook; I learned to serve my in-laws, cook a Thanksgiving all by myself, but in the end it never mattered. They all never had any intention of being my friend.
“Your not in the group,” I was told in the beginning making it seem I was younger n they all went to school together. Today I know many were involved in either helping him sell Coke, buying it from him, or helping him w other Criminal activities; like Financially exploiting me. Today I weep knowing the years I spent trying to fit in. Today I know if I had known the truth, it would never have been a group I wanted to b involved w at all, which was why they all constantly lied to me. I had no desire to b a criminal, get into fights, rip people off or do Coke. I had no desire to get it over on someone, steal, or deceive people. I had no desire to keep people as slaves, degrade, or humiliate them. I dreamed of having a maid at times when I wanted the windows washed more frequently, but I never really hated housework. I loved having a home. I had spent my childhood in a violent, chaotic one n making a peaceful, quiet, comfortable one became a goal.
I look at my one suitcase full of dirty clothes n at times angry, sad, scared of what I allowed these people to do to me. “Even ur own Father doesn’t want u,” my ex would say at the end. I felt humiliated, going through Menopause, n feeling everything in my life had been destroyed. I was to horribly learn it all was. It all had been planned. They were a group after-all. A group that went way back to when I was a child n my Mother left my Father for her new boyfriend. His family n friends hated me from the start. My ex had been part of this group from the beginning. I never knew until recently putting all the pieces together. I had been “for Sale,” as soon as my Mother left my Father, probably even before, as she often talked how “all the girls liked to watch him play in his band!” All the girls loved him, she would say. Then she would launch into her hatred of him. I know today she was going to make sure that his career in music was ruined n she did. In the same way she ruined mine!
I became too self conscious to sing after my parents divorced. The violence started as soon as she left him towards me. The group they hung w shunned me, called me names was abusive. It was my fault. I was the outsider n needed to learn to get along. I see how her n my ex played the same games. It was the same group of people. I feel stupid in so many ways today; so duped! Feeling my face redden remembering all the humiliations at parties; Christmases, where I was asked repeatedly by his brother, family n friends, in front of everyone why it was that I couldn’t seem to keep a job. I always got good unemployment after making good money n handed it all away to my ex trying desperately to make up for the job loss. Feeling guilty n as the years went by he controlled the money to the point I had none. I was still making good money right to the end, but it was all tied up in our properties. Properties that were suppose to care for me in my old age. “Rental income,” his family promised all the time in exchange for their care.
Holidays were spent entertaining them instead of Traveling like my SIL. My ex’s mentallyill Aunt often having one of her “Spells,” or my MIL being hospitalized. My MIL had survived Cancer numerous times n her Doctors n Doctor appointments were continuous as were her other needs caring for her grandchildren. It was up to me n my husband to care for them both. His brother travelled for work as a salesman. They recently just build a 1/2 Million dollar home, while my BIL was selling my $50,000 2-family I worked on 20yrs at Christmas, listed on my Birthday, no less; a cruel inside joke. My Birthday always ignored even though ours were around the same time along w his daughters we gave gifts too along w him.
We had all gotten “inheritance,” from one of the Aunts, but my share was stolen among other assets, valuables, n heirlooms others got n were able to buy; like another Lakehouse on the Sacandaga Lake NY, land n various other monies. Many of these relatives were never around! It was me that waited on them continuously n one of the cousins on her death bed had put my name on her n her Mothers will. All of the sisters died around the same time, but I was to get nothing! One Judge even yelling at me that “if they wanted to give u something they would have!” I tried to explain they had, but he viciously dismissed my pleading after I tried to stay at our Lakehouse n was getting death threats for myself n my dog.
I was called to see this cousin on her death bed; surprised, I was never invited into their home, but took care of her Mothers other 2 sisters all the time. I believe she felt guilty, shocked she was dying young at 60yrs old; trying to make up for the exploitation she knew about. The others continued the deceit until the end, but of course my BIL was always involved w my ex husband to manage all the “Estates!” I was never given my share!
It’s just a rental,” my ex viciously told me—he “made his money from it!” I was stunned. They were forcing me to rough sleep. At the time, I was homeless again in Maine after my 1/2 family, along w my ex caused violence there too! I had tried to “start over!” after being threatened repeatedly. I came home to “Peacefully Protest,” the sale of my home—he didn’t want it! I pleaded to buy it back after they destroyed my credit n I couldn’t get a regular mortgage because of it n all the “Collections,” from Hospital bills I was being forced to pay after they kept forcing me to the “Psych ward for evaluations,” accusing me of being “crazy,” n making up being Sexually Assaulted n the victim of Domestic Violence, both of which were true. I was sleeping on n abandoned porch I was almost arrested from after the man that supposedly owned it showed up to violently tell me to leave. He threatened to assault me. I was told my ex n his brother refused to sell our home to me. I shouldn’t even had to buy it back, but I asked, desperate w no place to live again. I was devastated it was for sale n watched all the destruction n damage they did to it n is ongoing. I was told by neighbors it would b “condemned!”
I remember the wealth my in-laws (SIL n BIL) had, but everyone pretended to b so poor—all lies! The endless gifts we had to buy them, but the refusal to even call me “Aunt Rhonda,” by their daughters or even a Thank u note for the numerous expensive gifts over the years! I was the “Polish Maid,” I learned later. I received nothing from any of them, even my MIL, which hurt very deeply. My ex threw the photos of our Wedding back at me in the same envelope when he was threatening to put me on the street telling me nothing was mine. She had never even put them in n album. I had given her a framed one, but there was also a roll of pics, but he just threw them at me insinuating she never wanted any of them. In her room at the Nursing home at the end we’re photos of everyone but me! It was devastating by that time things were getting increasingly violent, but I still didn’t know the extent of the deception. The horror I was to find out.
I was in shock at the brutality—to b made homeless! n they all knew n had set it up from the start. All of them Polish, which was even more disturbing, but one cousin, married numerous times, had a real “psychotic break,” nervous breakdown, n had been hospitalized; writing letters to the Aunts that they called ridiculous because of her constant “boyfriends!” Barbara had been a cheerleader n let everyone know all the time about her exalted status. Today I know how dangerous her extremism is along w her White Supremacy, but back then I was told she was spoiled, rich, n arrogant. She was noted for her extreme type of behavior. She was often very haughty n condescending. “There were good n bad Polish girls,” she told me along w remarks about my intelligence, n various other slights n put-downs. I know today they thought of me as bad one for some reason even though I gave them 20yrs of my life, waited on them all the time—Barbara was “off Traveling n getting remarried!” I had no idea that some women r thought of as just “Polish Maids.” It still can make me physically ill if I’m not careful—20yr Rape. I would later b told by Barbara’s brother that her problem w me was my not having children, trying to cover up her contempt towards me.
She couldn’t have children even though the supposed adopted daughter her brother had she refused to visit. When I met her it broke my heart Barbara had nothing to do w her among the other abuses she suffered when she visited us towards the end of our marriage. By that time, the violence was getting worse n worse n this little girl was being subjected to it on purpose. I made a report at the Police station, but the same officer that called me “crazy,” never really took the report I believe or did anything about it. I think of her often n worry about these abusive people in her life!
I think of women n children fleeing Ukraine n it makes me more resolved to continue speaking out. To b trapped in a relationship u can’t leave for financial reasons doesn’t have to look like u don’t work or have a career. I had a career n made decent money my entire marriage even when I got unemployment, but it was coerced from me by the false promises I owned property n had rental income. I had been deceived into investing my money in fixing up our properties, buying all the furniture, groceries, clothes, etc, which left me nothing at the end of the month. Every dime accounted for as he banked his money, bought “Toys,” traveled to strip-clubs in Canada, n pretended it went into our properties too—it never did. He lived off me! He coerced me into paying for everything, while he bought me nothing. When I demanded to know what was going on it was too late. The 50/50 we had agreed on did not exist. “I’ll put it on my Credit card” he would say as I handed him money for TVs, furniture, even profit from our rentals went into his account. No one explained to me that this wasn’t what I should do—it was 50/50 we were married right?
It was just “Male ego” to want to b the one taking out the Credit card as we paid for things. I was called a “Man,” if I protested too much. Insinuations about not having children would follow. Money was another issue that if I protested too much made me seem “like a Man!” I was being groomed to feel shame over earning such “good money” moving ahead in my career, n paying cash for things. I remember the horrible fight when I bought my first new car. A cool Nissan Sentra I loved after driving junkers n hour away each day n having no help w car repairs. “Not all Men know about cars,” he would say chastising me for being a “Modern woman w a career,” I was the one stereotyping, he said.
The problem was by the end of the marriage I realized he had been doing nothing for me. On top of it, I was continually made to feel ashamed of my accomplishments, which having grown up w nothing were substantial. I look at my ripped, dirty, beautiful Ann Klein suitcase; remembering traveling for work to NYC conferences. It sits holding a few dirty clothes rather than the nice things from Marshall’s I had for work. I think of the beautiful Calvin Klein blue sequenced dress, I had gotten on sale, n had planned to wear out to celebrate the last promotion I had been given before all the violence started. I remember my first brief case way back when they were popular, along w shoulder pads n my first promotion w my new management job.
My career going so well, but the further along I got the more violent the abuse. The violence not physical, but the slow erosion of my autonomy, confidence—Self! Being homeless is brutal. I watch Poland n my heart breaks never knowing my Polish grandmother that immigrated from there after courts prevented me from seeing my Father n his family. The shame of having no family paved the way for me to b setup in a marriage that convinced me to b ashamed of working; being successful. I was after all “just Welfare,” not going to amount to anything. I could scream today, the anger of being so young, successful, but slowly my confidence eroded by a group of people that wanted to destroy it all n did. The fight gone believing that once I had accomplished a “Middle class lifestyle,” I would b accepted. There will never b acceptance. Feminist a dirty word!
To most here, I will always b a “Welfare Whore!” I was not to amount to anything, accomplish anything; n this group would make sure I ended up w nothing, but I gulp down the anger determined once again. The same when I was a girl, believing that being Welfare didn’t mean I couldn’t have a good life like others. I did have a good life n should have been able to divorce, get my assets, n move on, but the group continues. Today, I know the fighter in me does too! Fail, fail, n fail some more, Artists n Writers tell me! Yeah, they beat the fuck out of u, but get up, keep going, n fail some more.
I look at my one suitcase n think of “War” not only for women in other countries, but here at home. The War to live our lives free of violence n abuse for our choices. They still sneer I’m a man. Somehow being homeless is my fault, I’m “crazy,” they sneer. In the same way they did when I was young. Their sons calling me a whore as they keep arresting me just for living my life. The War still raging, ongoing, from when I was a girl. Now, after Menopause, the waning of my “Sexual self,” at first humiliating by these men taunts, now replaced by a stronger resolve, inner comfortableness w my body, my intelligence—Self. I read Feminist writers now n understand more deeply the violence that doesn’t have to b physical, but is just as deadly, just as terrorizing!
Get going, I hear my Grandmother say, don’t let them get to u! “You have class,” she would say. They can never take that away regardless of all they do take. Education she would say too. She loved to read as I do. She had everything taken from her too. The land she loved; women couldn’t own land; all her beautiful things when she came to the city to start over w nothing, but she had been successful. I think of the Polish Grandmother on my Fathers side that immigrated from Poland n what it must have been like for her. I think of first being married n being told I wasn’t good enough. I think of all the women starting over in Poland today n I feel a determination n resolve I didn’t have as a younger woman, even though I worked very hard, I didn’t realize that “the group,” will always have it in for u!
It’s not being “Paranoid,” like they accused me of at the Police station by the very officers involved in the Misogyny, after they would call me a whore! The fight goes on; it’s one of those days I feel grateful to b alive n continue on in my own small way. Rallying for the rights, n choices, others in my community enjoy without such violence. Even if I’m still just carrying my one small suitcase like I did when I first left for college or moving into my first new apartment. The same one suitcase; traveling in a career I’m proud of today, a 20yr marriage, in spite of it being a lie, was successful in many ways, n out of Menopause leaving me looking forward to carrying my one suitcase into another new life transition.
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