Homeless~rough sleeping, Amsterdam NY, Fulton County NY, Sandford Farms
It was a beautiful morning, the kind of Spring day u cherish after such a brutal Winter. By most accounts, the Winter wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t really snowy, icy, or long stretches of bitter cold, but I was still sleeping outside—homeless! I have yet to fully accept this is what was done to me deliberately by people I spent a lifetime taking care of, caring for n loving, but this is what it continues to b.
I also spent my 20yr marriage trying to b good enough for a group of people that were never satisfied w me regardless of what I did. Humiliations were constant, got worse as the years went by, cumulating in the horrible realization they had all agreed to do this; had planned it over a period of time, n were continuing to cover it up, resulting in continuous death threats n being unable because of the ongoing violence to live my life.
The constant accusations of being “crazy,” n the threats to have me “locked up,” were also part of the ongoing abuse n stalking. I have no more savings left n with all the times they had gotten me evicted—over 20 moves/illegal evictions now, I know giving someone another $1500 to rent n apartment probably would result in the same, plus w no job I wouldn’t b able to make it work. I had always worked, since I was 12yrs old babysitting. To have my career destroyed n my business plus denied any entry-level jobs here is all on purpose. My ex n his friends have continuously sabotaged jobs. Coercive Control is a deadly form of abuse, especially w cops involved, his drug dealer cronies, n more people he gets to do his dirty work. I have no real income now, done deliberately. Housing should b a Human Right n the first priority of Judges divorcing u, as should the ability to earn a living. If it’s not, then the Judge is also a Trafficker in my opinion.
I believe the Judges were unethical, unscrupulous, n by putting my life in this kind of danger—committing crimes! They all knew what the end result would b—A marriage is not Prostitution! It can never b for reasons I will write about another time. There was no honor in what all these Judges did. It was also morally reprehensible. The father of the man that assaulted me quipped, almost laughing said, “well didn’t u get a settlement, use that!” He knew dam well what was setup was to keep me destitute, homeless, n unable to defend myself. In other words, after awhile, even dead, which is what some of them even joked about. Divorce should not b a means to destroy ur life—Femicide is not a joke, but was to these Good Ole’ Boys, knowing full well what they were doing.
I get very little alimony—why I even have “Alimony,” is another fraud. “Our Portfolio,” should have been divided 50/50 like the law states, n I worked from the start to do that, but of course the “Settlement,” was just another scam I never agreed to, designed to leave me homeless n destitute, which I was told numerous times was on purpose.
I’m also now not willing again to “rent a room.” I had already been assaulted numerous times when I did, n in Maine, barely escaped from a violent slumlord that scammed me as soon as I got there after renting a room from n app called “Roomster,” but was basically a front for Craigslist “rooms”—rich, old perverted men looking for sex slaves. I also had 1/2 family there that continued to stalk me n I knew part of the violence was coming from them. I had been threatened numerous times. I now understand why women do not want to stay in shelters!
I headed over to Target, one of my favorite stores, after I had a nice bagel n Tea at Panera Bread. I was sad n concerned this woman from High School was now also stalking me at Planet Fitness, almost getting me to fall off the treadmill. This had been n ongoing game for years at the other local gym here—FitHappens, but I was determined to enjoy the Spring day. Target was having a Spring Sale n the colors were lovely n pretty. I needed the boost, I had pretty much worn the same black outfit all Winter. I was grateful to workout, shower, n have some warmth at Planet Fitness, but now the games were starting there too, by the same group that setup the job at the School District, she works there, then I was bullied out of it. I should have been moved someplace else, like others I’ve seen, but the hate by these women I went to High school w continued!
Target had been a God send w all the forced moves; no matter where I was they got my things to me. So often, I wasn’t close to a Supermarket, had no transportation after Judge Lorman from City Court stole my new car w cops, refusing to return it; claiming she “had no idea about my car,” n knew nothing about it, which was a lie. I continued to constantly try to get it back, but constant games were played by lawyers n her! The cute little dog logo always made me happy after they took my dog n tormented me over him too—little dog logo softened the pain. The little icon telling me goodies were on the way. There was so little kindness in my life. Target never failed me even when the Fulton County Post office gave me n awful time when I was living at our Lakehouse, trying to stay there.
We didn’t have a formal mailbox, we didn’t live there I was told. They were giving me n awful time, the Lakehouse was a short distance from the road, but they refused to deliver a couple small packages, but often came in for my abusive neighbors—involved from the start. Teachers n Nurse that schemed to steal my property from me. I was violently removed at 8pm one night, sheriff’s surrounding the place. So many, one quipped he didn’t know how they would get back out of the road—so many cars were lined up! Some clothes of mine just thrown on the deck. I was soaking wet, forced to change on the deck. My dog “Bentley” n I had just been in the water to wash up after staying there the Winter. Spring was arriving, but so were the Florida neighbors n their constant abuse along w their friend a Sheriff that was constantly waiting to arrest me for nonsense. They were calling me a “Crazy Prostitute,” repeatedly destroying my garden, stealing things, continuing to clear-cut trees n shrubs resulting in erosion, cracks in the foundation, n damage to the Lakehouse. It had always been so dry, but now moss everywhere; the entire landscape changed. One neighbor had already been cited by the Black River Association for The Adirondacks, but it didn’t deter any of them. The other neighbor, a “Housing Inspector,” retired on “Disability,” familiar w Disability fraud n property scams it seems—he never seemed disabled.
The beautiful Pines I loved that divided us from these neighbors gone. He replaced them w cheap, small ones, that were causing too much water to accumulate now. We bought the place shortly after we married, agreeing to retire early there after years of work, fixing it up—remodeling everything, but the neighbors had been a problem all along, growing worse overtime.
I pleaded w Judges, Lawyers, Sheriffs in Fulton County NY, but they continuously protected these people along w my Mother that had already had me arrested for “Trespassing” at her house after just recently talking to me. I hadn’t seen her in 20yrs, but in shock went there after Sexually Assaulted; finally finding out where she lived, only a few miles away in the village, needing to know if she knew anything. She assaulted me numerous times after repeatedly telling me “she knew sheriffs!” I had no idea at the time what she meant. She bragged about “partying w my neighbors,” I continued to struggle w the shock of it all.
I found some cool things at Target, all on Sale, I was finally enjoying myself after spending so many days curled up in a mummy bag trying to stay warm, scared to death about freezing, not being able to go to the bathroom; being arrested for God knows how many times now just for trying to get a place to live—move forward w my life! I was feeling happy I had survived the bitter Winter rough sleeping outside. It’s so much colder sleeping outside. Everything is so much harder when things r cold, damp, or frozen. Waking up in the morning after the temperatures dipped n realizing my water had frozen. Nights spent crying myself to sleep out of terror, shame, n grief of trying to understand how I could have worked so hard to achieve my modest dreams after growing up w nothing n learning these people had all plotted to have it all taken away.
I paid for my things putting my pretty scarf, blouse, n new hat in my duffel bag. I was thinking about heading to the gym only to have her forcefully move into my space. Her dominating hostility—familiar. She had been in my Wedding, so long ago, n had made things very difficult, but I was continually blamed. I stopped, surprised as usual she was so close, but turned the cart just in time to move it in w the others. She ended up darting in front of the cart rather than shoving me into them. The force of her intention almost made me fall into the carts. I was stunned, but knew it was her—she had done this repeatedly over the years. She had done this when I first met her.
Another friends Wedding from this group of friends my ex-husband had since grade school. She shoved me down so hard, my knees were bleeding; my panty hose ripped, my hands scrapped. Eyes raised at how I looked when we got to the Brides MIL’s house later for after Reception drinks, she had often not had pleasant things to say to me after that. I let it go, believing she would b told the truth, but it never matter; other Weddings were the same. We had been dancing at the Wedding, it was n accident. She was so sorry, she hadn’t realized, the dance floor was crowded; it was dark. Of course it was n accident, what else could it b? These were my new husbands “Best Friends!” How could it not b any one of those excuses. How could I know it was all deliberate?
As the years went by, the excuses piled up, the anger from my ex-husband about how I had such “problems w people!” grew worse over time. That I had such a “hard-time getting along w them n others,”which would eventually lead to being accused of “keeping them all away!” I would often b humiliated at their get-togethers; trying so hard to “fit-in,” w a group today that I know had no intention of ever allowing me to belong. Had no intention of caring about me, being friends, or even towards the end being civil or having compassion for putting me on the street w no place to go. I was merchandise. I was disposable. I was a whore to b used, like the Coke business they were all involved in from years before I met them all.
My heart racing, I hadn’t seen her since I stopped by her house, pleading w her after put on the street, desperate for answers. “Your crazy,” she yelled getting out of the Escalade she rode in as I was knocking on her door. Her sister, slamming the driver side door, threatening to call the cops. I was in shock, but left quickly after already getting a threat from one of his other friends. “Cops don’t show up unless YOU did something,” she had said hostility n lectured me. It was the mother of the man that Sexually Assaulted me. My ex-husband had been good friends w them since kids—I had known them my entire marriage, attending “Football parties,” hosted by them, but the idea was I wasn’t to b around their kids. Insinuations that because I didn’t have kids, they were concerned. Another insinuation that started out benign enough, but got worse overtime. “Concerned protective Mothers,” became women making hateful false allegation's. It was hard to see them all grown up now, only seeing them briefly here n there until one of them assaulted me—now a cop.
I had tried to talk to her also after attending the Wedding of this other women’s daughter, seeing both of them at the Wedding before all the violence started; then a few of them coming to my MIL’s funeral. We had all talked of “getting together again,” they had been looking at property on the Lake I was told. They ended up buying a place pretty much next door. We would all have parties together “like the Old days,” they all said at this other woman’s daughters Wedding. My ex-husband was having extensive surgeries, we worried about him being blind—I was exhausted, hesitant, but was trying to save my marriage; his abuse getting worse. At that time, I didn’t know the marriage never really existed. It had all been a con, a scam; these people played out over 20yrs. This woman working at City Hall, making threats eventually w the then Mayor Thane, n admitted alcoholic that was unfit to serve n should have resigned, about my home, finances—money! This was a divorce I thought then; private, but it turned into a violent circus by these people. By that time, other women in this group of friends/cronies had been divorced, some a couple times, but none treated as I would b—unconscionable hatred.
The man that Sexually Assaulted me, his father, had followed me around this other friends daughters Wedding repeatedly talking about old memories of water-skiing at our Lakehouse. We had so much fun—please come visit. He seemed sincere. I was weighted down by years of believing I had kept them all away. I invited everyone repeatedly, always making extra food for Holidays, hoping they would stop by for a little while even, but they never did. He told me often they had wanted to see us, but “You never invite us,” he would joke, then say they had been so busy when we saw them at other get-togethers. Kids keep u so busy, he’d say. He came over again at the table we were seated at, kneeling even, going on again about us coming to the party they were having at their new Lakehouse. I thought going Fishing would b good for my ex-husband, still just wanting him to visit. Sitting next to my ex-husband was the Brides Uncle, a Principal n their entire family sat around the table. How could I say No? I felt uncomfortable; he asked again, his son was now a Police Officer—what could go wrong? it would b n “Old Friends Reunion.”
I remember they came to our Wedding Reception, not the Wedding they were also invited to; 1/2 way through, out of breath saying they had to leave. They talked w my ex-husband 15min or so n left. I had just walked over to them, but my ex-husband turned to say they had something “going on w their children.” It seemed worrisome, but I let it go; hurt they never offered congratulations. This would become the pattern, save for their “Football” Super Bowl parties that were a joke about “Trafficking whores.” Vile games, hidden behind big homes, airs of wealth—power!
My ex-husband told me when we meant this good friend had a brother that did some writing in Vietnam. I didn’t think much of it at the time; Vietnam always seemed so remote to me—I was not a “Child of the 60’s.” I remembered Googling them when all this started n was shocked this brother wasn’t some obscure writer in Vietnam, but worked at ABC News n was friends w Bill O’Reilly. I almost fell off my chair! I was working at a local newspaper when we first met, questions flooded my mind. Why did they lie? Why didn’t we ever watch FOX News? I would have loved to hear about him n his writing at the time. He had been tragically killed in a helicopter crash. None of it made sense. When I did confront him about his brother, I was stunned when he viciously sneered, “Why would I talk to YOU about my brother.” I felt humiliated, degraded; finally in some small way understanding the contempt all these years—feeling so stupid. So many years lost, so many years—deceived.
She gave me n awful look, challenging—threatening. Her usual look when doing this. My God, after everything you have done? I thought, n followed on her heels. I had found my voice, my boundaries, n was not going to put up w her violence anymore. I was carrying a backpack, gym bag, n heavy coat, but I felt empowered, grounded; strong for the first time in years—finally knowing the truth! She walked ahead, stopping between other cars, briefly to hide from getting in her car, but then turned n did. I crossed over to her small SUV calling her name. She had just closed the door as I approached the window. “Do you have any idea the absolute hell u have put me through? I told her, emotion draining out of me—years of hurt, humiliation n confusion falling away; firmly demanding she stop this! The “Assertiveness training” at the Psych-ward was not a total loss. I had tried to make the best of that horrible experience n continuing to “ignore” her escalating violence was not working. “What your doing is unconscionable!” as I spoke, the window started going up n I could hear the keys turn as she started the engine, slouching down she started to lecture me like always “oh Rhonda,” she snidely said, as usual to tell me I didn’t know what I was talking about.
My God, “Your a Scumbag,” I said, sensing the SUV move, as she pressed the gas; I could hear the noisy, cheap sound of the ugly SUV, but was determined to tell her to stop this. Wasn’t all she had done to me enough? I didn’t stop to think of my bulky jacket caught in the window, or my feet so close to the door as she gunned the engine n took off!—tearing across the parking lot. I stood stunned, realizing she could have dragged me or run over my feet. I had no health insurance or money if I was hurt. It along w everything else taken when I wasn’t even in court—gone!
I was shaken, stunned, but the truth was finally empowering me! I was no longer going to take her abuse, her violence—her deceitful games. All of which resulted in the almost complete destruction of my life. She’s like a man, I thought. Remembering all the lectures about being a “Good wife,” from these women that have displayed such violence n dominating abuse—THEY seemed like a MAN! they insinuated about me being all these years. If it wasn’t put downs about my career, most of them were stay at home mothers SAHM’s or they had “Traditional Female jobs,”—the only ones acceptable; it was snide remarks about not being a mother.
I yelled another scumbag at her to release the anger, grateful my coat released from the window. A lifetime of abuse. The scumbag name-calling for almost dragging me w her cheap SUV! I was determined to b assertive not enraged. I was centered, strong—empowered n finally had confronted her w the truth!
NO! really is a complete sentence!
I had put up w so much from her. Her cheap SUV another slight. Her comments about me “commuting to Albany NY,” had been constant over the years. Parties spent trying to “explain,” my hour commute. She didn’t drive until she was in her early 30’s, the quips about me being masculine for “driving all that way,” were constant. Things were always said out loud at parties. “Your not working at so n so place?” What happened w that job? Didn’t u just start there? were common. How can u drive all that way? Don’t u want to work locally? I would stammer, blush, often cry in the bathroom. They were all wealthy; big, beautiful homes, already married 10yrs or longer—seemingly successful, older. I was “starting over,” again after being convinced to move back to Amsterdam NY after living in Albany NY after college.
My good job had ended. I had a small Apt, had been thrown out by my mother again; my clothes stolen, a fiancé that had cheated, n had left the few friends I had. I was driving a junker n vulnerable to today what I know was intense gaslighting by these people, all deliberate, n they had all known me since I was a little girl. I would drive junkers for years, then earning enough to buy my own new cars—all by myself. Walking into a Nissan dealership by myself, being grilled by men, more friends of my ex, that were angry I knew how to buy a new car! I know today part of stealing it back. The hostility apparent from the start when the hood was smashed in n the fuel-lines were cut on the recent Nissan Sentra I had bought n paid for outright!
Memories flooded over me as I walked to the Panera Bread parking lot shaken, but not crying. I was surprised I wasn’t crying. I had cried all Winter. I went to sleep usually crying; cold, terrified, but here I was feeling assertive. Finally understanding my ability to say “NO!” No, you can no longer abuse me! No, you can no longer have what’s mine! No, you can no longer ruin my good time; denigrate me, my sexuality, my feelings—my life! I was shaken, but determined! I wasn’t pleading, explaining, or appeasing.
I thought of the recent Will Smith incident where he stepped on stage to slap one of the presenters for jokes about his wife. I thought of my learning about;
The Karpman Drama Triangle—Victim, Rescuer, Persecutor
“…is a social model of human interaction proposed by Stephen B. Karpman. The triangle maps a type of destructive interaction that can occur among people in conflict. The drama triangle model is a tool used in psychotherapy, specifically transactional analysis.” Wikipedia
I learned about this as a young woman. I struggled w it, but saw it so clearly now. The various times I played the victim, or the enabler to my alcoholic ex-husband’s cruelty, n his friends/family. The times I acted it out on myself; denying myself pleasure, fun, or my Sexual self. I was so busy dealing w all the slut-shaming, because “women that don’t have children aren’t natural,” according to this group that I could never really feel sexy, flirt, or in any way enjoy my sexuality. Women in the kitchen, men in another room whenever we were together—u might fuck their husbands, which today I accept how vile n abusive this was, but I was told this was “how u stayed married.” There were all sorts of unspoken “rules,” for being a good wife. Going out to bars w women friends was another. I stopped seeing Colleagues from work. It made sense then in ways, but today I know I had been always been just a whore, merchandise to them—object; in spite of any unscrupulous behavior on my part. The extremism abusive—vile!
I sat for awhile, triggered, but a light had been turned on n I knew all the hard work was paying off even if I had no where to go. “Go have a cup of tea,” I heard that still small voice say. Yes, I thought, Panera Bread says u can come in anytime for a cup of tea. I belong to the “Unlimited Sip Club”—I belong. A reminder from the universe, I belong in my life. I was constantly told as a child I wasn’t. I was constantly being kicked out. I felt calm again. Tea? yes, how lovely. My life was worth protecting, defending; even if they had stolen all the material things—I have ME! in spite of all the loss, my sweet dogs, n the ongoing pain of being homeless—I was me, only better. My homes they stole, but home was also within myself.
They never liked or loved me n never would; finally today that’s okay. What’s not ok is their acting out their own pain onto me. I’m no longer the dumping ground, the scapegoat, the target, of their own unresolved issues. Life was still about living. I thought of the diarist’s writing from Ukraine, Poland, n Russia. I thought of the women classmates involved in this hate, dying so young. Six of them r now gone. I don’t want to Google any more people. Each time I do, they have passed. We used to meet outside on lunch break in school. All involved w my much older ex-husband—I never knew. It always seemed they had some kind of understanding; a kind of pact. I think of long-married couples that die together or one shortly after the other. This was a group. It’s sad, but yet they were involved in this ritualized violence—connected.
Someone remarked loudly the other day, “Marriage doesn’t matter!” I would disagree. It’s vows, sacraments—sacrifices. I believe the Divine accounts for that. We meet certain people, have lessons, experiences, for a reason. When this energy is unnaturally blocked, controlled, violated; there r problems. Unnatural strongholds, unnatural energetic connections—hatred destroys. The violence of groups. Scott Peck, Bestselling Spiritual author, describes it as the mirror cracking backwards. “Vengeance is mine,” saith the Lord. Boundaries exist for a reason. The cords they drained me w slowly heal after severed. I thought of my new Trauma release Yoga poses.
The energy moving more freely instead of blocked, damed-up—siphoned off. I feel lighter. My energy—mine! My sexuality—mine! My life—mine! I like the word No! I rarely used it. I spent so long trying to b a good wife that once I had achieved that; I had lost my—SELF! She’s back. I remember the strong little girl n young woman I used to b. She said No; she stood up to the bullies. She overcame n awful, abusive, impoverished childhood. I lost that in my marriage. All of these bullies; relentless—tyrants, but contributed to the mastery of being a warrior—Survivor! Gurdjieff, another Spiritual writer, talks of getting yourself some tyrants if u don’t have any. I never had to worry about that; I had plenty. Keeping people out makes u weaker—threatened. They come n go for reasons. We become as Neo learned in the Matrix movie, not to have to “dodge bullets,” but to transcend them—they fall away. Old demons vanquished. Old hurts removed—trauma released. Spring arrives in all its new beginnings.
Namaste~dear readers, may this writing find u well w peace; making it through these dark times.
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