Famous last words

There is a form of torture in being held at the mercy of a sociopath beyond losing your power and “things” altogether. Forget the “Shared-ride private jet” membership to see my son. Forget the promised Audi A-6 and everything else.

Self-doubt. Self-doubt replaced once unbelievable shame. Shame as far gone as my modesty after childbirth.

When my captor had me trapped, I had convinced myself that I loved him because I saw no possible way out. That is referred to as a major symptom of Stockholm syndrom. He gave constant reminders as to why I need to be with him as well as how hard it would be for me, should I leave.

He had proved it too, ruthlessly. I also had to constantly prove my loyalty. Cutting ties with family and friends was just a start. My loyalty-proving process included me surviving without any income and without any subsidy from him. He had already thrown me out with nowhere to go. His lawyer had already pegged me as an extortionist. I had already been dragged out of small claims court in efforts to get back to my son.

I was expected to attain and maintain my own vehicle. I was expected to visit him at least once a week. I had been begging for money to just get by. I was dealing with the social services abuses, trying to work and falling apart daily. I was absolutely hopeless.

At this point in time I was selling prized possessions that I really didn’t want to sell. Some things weren’t even paid for yet. More than once I bought gas for my 2007 Dodge Ram 1500 with $4 or $5 quarters. Seriously. Valentines Day of 2020, my captor brought me flowers from Walmart which were wilted because he went to the liquor store after Walmart. He also brought a “gift”.

I had recognized the (gift) box from his closet before he threw me out. The box was for some kind of neck massager and it had clearly been opened and re-taped more than once. He claimed he just bought it at Walmart. The box was filled with random storage items. Eula quickly changed the conversation. The following morning I asked for $20 for gas. He told me sternly that he was not a bank and I would need to ask my grown children for gas money. This was the final straw for me. Two years later, he is still stalking me after ruining every possible part of me and my life. Too bad he underestimated my strength as a survivor. I will never regret my decision to leave.