I have been MIA for a few weeks, in the trenches, battling the sociopath. One of the downsides to being an idealist is the way I think. I do not think in mean ways, nor do I think about harming people—even people who have hurt me greatly. So, when I find out that others have such violent, vindictive, hateful thoughts, and perhaps even plans, it throws me for a huge loop almost every dang time. I’ve been forced to face a scary reality in the past few weeks; The sociopath and his girlfriend would like me dead. This has pulled me right out of my happy little dream world and into a world, and day to day mode, that I am finding less than enjoyable. I am terrified most of the time now, and that is just “so not me!” After all, I HAVE been to prison, and I have lived through many, many hell-on-Earth experiences, and I have gone through these experiences almost blithely without fear. But now I am scared, quite a lot.
I have had to come to terms with the fact that the sociopath is a lot sicker than I thought, and that his behavior is escalating. His girlfriend appears to be completely obsessed, and is doing most of the dirty work for him, with his father lending a huge hand, as well. What I have discovered, and uncovered, and continue to find over the last couple of weeks what amounts to four Facebook pages, blogs, newspaper articles, and extensive Tweets regarding me, and the Guardian ad Litem in our divorce, and they are working to destroy us both. The sociopath depersonalizes me by referring to me as “Mom,” in quotes. Something new pops up every day. Yesterday is was listing on Craigslist sites around the country. What will it be today? While they cry “censorship” and “free speech,” I refuse to feed the trolls and stoop to their level with personal responses, but I will not tolerate hate speech, libel, or defamation of character. All of the newspaper editors that I have had to contact have agreed and have shut them down. I have learned that I can speak the truth, honestly, factually, and without emotion, and people will respond with the right and proper actions.
I have Facebook posts, Tweets, Blog posts, everything, all saved to my computer, and all has been sent to my attorney, including the website the sociopath has on a place call GoFundMe where he “pimps” out our son to get people to donate money to him under false pretenses. My attorney is afraid of “starting World War 3,” because everyone is scared of this family. He tells me that the sociopath doesn’t have the balls to do anything for real. I bet someone has said that to every woman, protecting her children, who has been murdered by her abuser. I have made it clear I want a protection order, and yet nothing happens. Any my son has to be around these poison people for some period of time, three out of four weekend each month.
The truth is that when we lived with him we never had heat in the winter. I’d awaken with a baby to a house that was 38 degrees, and if I was lucky, with the cook stove, I might get the loft up to 54 degrees by mid-afternoon. The washer broke and he wouldn’t fix it, so I washed all of our clothing, including dirty cloth diapers, in our kitchen sink for over 2 years. A huge hole developed in front of the toilet, with a view straight down to the dug, dirt, basement. No one would use the toilet but me. My son had to use a potty chair until we fled when he was 4.5 years old. We had no working oven, and three month prior to my leaving, the water pump broke and we had no running water. We had farm animals, sheep, goats, a mama llama and her cria, and an alpaca. Over the winter before I left, he left half of them starve to death. I estimate we lost 25 animals. He killed 25 animals. He’d told me they were all fine, out in the back pasture, as I could not get to them because of snowed in fences and gates. One day I went out to investigate a barking dog, and pushed beyond where I would normally go to find heaps of animal corpses. Of course, there is more to tell, all sick and twisted and scary as hell, but I wasn’t scared then. I was too numbed by the effort needed to survive.
The truth is also that, since we fled nearly 3 years ago, my son has never been cold. He has always had running water, a full functional bathroom, and he can take a hot bath anytime he likes. The house is not filled with a million flies, nor are there soda bottles filled with urine everywhere. All of his issues that emerged after we left, some pretty severe, have been discovered, assessed, and dealt with to the point where he is a normal, happy, functioning child. But, he remembers…he remembers it all, and at 7 years old, he’s begun to ask questions about what he saw and experienced. I have no answers. Daddy’s sick… And now, Mommy’s scared, but I’ll be damned if my son has to feel that even for one moment.