Part 3: May 2003 Amsterdam Journal- Love Addiction and Abuse

WARNING: IF YOU’RE OFFENDED BY SEXUAL SITUATIONS OR VIOLENCE- DON’T READ THIS.

Once upon a time- many years ago- I had a very dodgy and glamorous life, quite by accident.

It was the early 2000s and I was in an unhappy marriage, my sons were still young.

I traveled all over the globe for work and met a Dutch man who changed me, eventually for the better, even though at the time it was god awful abusive (on both sides) and painful.

It was unhealthily filled with self-loathing and sadness and pain- on both sides.

This is from my journals during this time that I just accidentally rediscovered online. I will be editing out names for privacy.

I am glad I am no longer this person. I was a fucking MESS.

A selfish, bratty mess.

This will be out of order, because I am just copying and pasting…

 

 

May 2003

Abuse is a funny thing. It is a disease that mutates and effects everyone it touches, often seeded in the tiniest child and hides like an opportunistic disease until it grows and blossoms into the monster it will become. A lethal, painful hurting monster.

I lived a lifetime in three months. Actually, I had been with this person much longer, though had we been together every day the monster probably would have roared its ugly head much sooner.

This is a story of sickness and what passes for love, about codependence and hatred and desperation. This is a story about the love of my life, the pain of my life, the last stupid thing I ever hope to entangle myself into. This is the story of me and peter.

Our lives, normally, would have never crossed without the advent of the internet. It is your basic boy meets girl story. Boy meets girl on Internet, boy sends money to anonymous female for readings, boy accuses female of being a man, a conartist, a charlatan. Boy becomes addicted to said female (and a myriad of others). Yeah, it was a pretty sick saga from the very first.

I never intended to meet him. I never intended to fall in love with him. I never intended to make my easy life the hell it has now become. But all of those things happened and there can be no turning back the clock. I think life is an ongoing lesson, though what lessons we are supposed to learn from these last few years, I have no idea.

The last time I arrived in Amsterdam, I discovered a cache of other women he had been sending $$ to and chatting up. I got over it. I must be a bloody saint. I am not, but the illness of the situation caused me to be blindsided as usual.

A week after, I discover I am pregnant. Oh joy! While I am preggers and back in the states, he dabbles (not knowing that I have been observing his wanking habits the entire time) in his internet illness again.

I lose my baby in a dramatically American mall hemorrhage, bleeding all over a public toilet in the middle of Ass-fuck, Indiana. He rushes to my side for a week, only to grow obsessed with the fact that I, famous whatever I am, shall go to the ball and, Cinderella he is, cannot. Obviously, his act of mercy about our lost child was not as important as debauched escapades.

I found something I wrote here back in February, I added to it and will include it below–then will finish my narrative.

don’t tell me things are always what they seem….the most obvious effect of chaos is usually a very subtle internal one. Things that will seemingly fulfill you may also destroy parts of your psyche you didn’t know were there.

Lang I stand and lang I gang, the weary heir o’ lin…lang he stands on the cauld causeway and none will let him in…*sigh*

Human beings were not meant to be fragmented so much, methinks. Happiness is an illusory trip we fashion from bits of twine and petrol fumes. This has been a major trial, this ‘holiday’ called life. Though I appear centered in a myopic, fuzzy sort of way, I wobble and teeter on stilts of emotions I cannot control, mostly they are not even my own emotions. My current company is often quite good, as long as I do not think too deeply. Unsettling is the key word here. I understand the subject so very intimately, it is like living in a perpetual flashback…and I cannot fathom how I survived this the first time ‘round. I am reminded of these things daily, in a Christmas Carol Dickens-type way. I threw away such pursuits long ago, didn’t enjoy them very much then, either. Why I subject Myself to this again is an enigma to Me. I think I must be trying to sort out the fucked up karma I generate in some way.

Pretty eyes filled with longing

Mouth so soft and sweet and warm

Feral scratching on the surface

Delicious desires inflicting harm

Constant erotic suppression

Decadent yearnings and whispered names

Drowning in leaking passions

Insanely cruel lover’s games

Yes, you know I do not want you

Want you still and so do I

Creatures of obsessive habits

I think I love you when you cry

Baby soft, the object of My affection is, I think; and cold as a tundra. He engenders my latent maternal feelings of love/lust and hate. I think also that the narcissistic elements are the most prevalent. He is like a warped versions of myself. A handful and more, to be sure. A bug under my microscope, My poor baby. Too bad, or too good that I am at this ‘certain age’ now. Too bad or too good that circumstances prevail and I am not afforded the luxury of immersing myself in the madness of these lusts in totality. It is sobering to write and that is why I do this. I like theses creatures a good deal… The first one is adept at lying and makes me forget things I hate to think about. I love that. A creature of fantasy is a rarity. In the past, I would chew on him like a bone, until the marrow is gone. Longevity is not an issue, it would come as a surprise if it actually exists. Loneliness prevails at all times, though I wish it didn’t. I hear the clock tick so loudly–sometimes with regret, other times with relief.

(sometimes, I hear the boy counting the hours til My departure, though I cannot blame him in the least)

Glorious flames that burn too brightly, too hotly, too quickly, and soon die

I hope not, but I am riding the waves to the shore…

Maybe those are the ones you remember before you march to your grave. I think that might be the truth, humans never appreciate the reliable or the constant–only the ones that ‘got away’.

It is nice to cry out of emotional turmoil, I am enjoying it. I have felt frozen so long, and it is so easy to slip back into it. Until my sojourn here is finished, I shall slip into him in totality and enjoy the sensation…

The above was written last February, edited this morning and now added to on a gray may afternoon. Now it is May and I am involved with another person.

Since experiencing the other, My feelings have somewhat changed towards him. I can feel his acute sense of panic, witness his desperate attempts to please Me. I know that he knows things have changed.

The other is softer, more gentle…the female animus I have stifled within for years and still am uncomfortable dealing with inside. She represents a fragile longevity, the flip side to the other. I have no problems with trust issues nor security in this case, which is odd. The feelings here are all too concrete, which alarms my basic misogynistic nature. I usually distrust females, to the point of hatred–though I try not to show it. My basic loathing of women stems, I am certain, from my loathing of myself and my mother. It is strange to feel normal again after so long in abnormality with him. It feels scary though. Everything is scary and new.

I edited too soon, I think. I am packing now, My jaw throbbing in pain and a bruise spreading over my right thigh. My knuckles are tinged with blood, whose I cannot say. It could be his or mine, it really matters not anymore. I find it ironic that I read these words this morning and now I find myself in the absolute eye of the storm.

Condoms, lovely Italian ones, I found while putting the toys away. I have already been through a pregnancy, a miscarriage since I originally wrote the above text. Today, I lost my temper–though I tried to leave the house before that. He was just canny enough to come home and squeeze the info from me…which resulted in his attack.

He started with his irrational screaming. He called me a ‘stupid whore’. That did it. I threw something at his head and missed, while standing near the computer. The next thing I knew, he was raging even more , calling me a whore again and strode towards me so suddenly, giving me an uppercut to the left side of my jaw. The most disgusting part of this was that he actually had the fucking balls to tell me he LOVED ME while he did it…as if THAT was the justification! It slowed down after this, as I felt myself crumple up like a sack of potatoes. I think he also kicked me while I was laying on the floor, I don’t remember…but I know I was on my left side and now I have a horrible pain spreading all over the front of my thigh.

When I was able to rise, I certainly attacked him. He left the house as I screamed for it to be so, I was so glad to lock the door behind him. He left with steef, though they attempted a return. Jac was gracious enough to come by to assist me in finding a ticket, to no avail. Before leaving me, she spoke with steef a few times and apparently I was supposed to call peter to beg his forgiveness! Even she agreed that he should kiss my goddamned ass and I should get the hell out of here ASAP. She gave me some smoke and a pill that ended in -pan…after that I passed out.

 

It is dangerous for me to be in this state, I know my regular responses, the old ones…and I don’t want that sadness, that desperate end that always steals over me. I remembered the feelings of utter helplessness I feel and felt, stuck in here like I had been stuck at mama’s, after she had done similar things to me…my sisters laughing at me that I deserved what she gave me for being her favorite. The favorite always gets the most stuff and the worse beatings. For him to say he loved me and hit me like she did scared me the most, I vomited a bit on the carpet. I hate thinking about her and I was THERE again and small and it was HER face, her fucking broken English screaming at me while I curled into a ball, it was HER all along. No wonder she absolutely adores him. I won’t go back home, I refuse to re-live my childhood. I have to get out.

I slept 4 hours. I was dreaming about Carl. I called him in my dream and he somehow knew I was there on the line, but he was talking–as if to someone else–about leaving his apartment, moving. I remember thinking it weird he was talking about an apartment, because he has a house. It was weirdly comforting anyway. Until just a few seconds ago I had forgotten that he was dead. Dreams of the dead are always so strange. Of all the people who have done me wrong, I’d say he topped the list. It was a sort of kindness that his awful memory came to steal into my dreams and remind me of this fact, to remind me of how he scarred me mentally…left me alone with Jay and offered nothing at all. It was like he was warning me of a repeat somehow.

It happens again, |I try to explain it to __ and words really fail me. The utter despair, the trapped animal feelings. The thoughts so dark and nasty even I can’t bear to look them in the eye. It is like that girl is trying to re-enter my space, the girl I thought |I kicked out of my psyche a long time ago. I find myself wanting my mother, though I know she will do nothing but tell me to chin up, perhaps make it seem my failing, and reinforce the stronger part of me. I cannot feel weak in her presence, because she reminds me WHY I am the me I am now in the first place. I don’t love mama, so she cannot hurt me the way peter did. But she reminds me of who I am and sometimes I desperately wish she really did love me still. There was never safety as a child and I am now not foolish enough to think there will ever be safety as an adult, unless I make it so.

I failed. I was fucking batterered. Only weak, pathetic females allow a man to batter them. Even mama did not allow that shit. I cannot allow it either.

Funny thing is, the only man besides her father who ever hit her was a Dutch one. He caught her working in a bar and slapped her face, as he told her he loved her. This was the love of her life…this Richard van whatever. A few months later, she was notified that he had hung himself from his jail cell in Indonesia. I don’t think she ever got over it. I do not want to relive her past, I relive enough already. This parallel was just plain spooky. I think peter reminded her of her lost love. My life, she always says, belongs to her. I am just an extension of herself, she thinks. I want my OWN Life. I can not continue being more than one person, living for everyone but myself.

 

I felt like a child again, scared and alone. I have tried speaking to him all afternoon, after he had the electricity turned off to frighten me or force me out. I took the pill Jac left and smoked and fell back into a fitful nightmare.

He wishes I would apologize. I cannot apologize to someone who calls me a stupid whore and beats me.

He hug the phone up, he lied and lies. Threatens it will be over, when indeed it already is.

It already is.

I have a bill to pay to leave this Hell. He calls and talks of fur coats I give a girl. I gave him my body, my soul, my dead baby. A fur coat hurts him, yet my dead child means nothing. He thinks me a stupid whore he can smack about. I am stronger than this. He will die alone, in his boxy apartment, surrounded by his few belongings. I will go back to people who cherish and love me, to a family who deserves my attention, to people I have long neglected. I will think of him at night, when my mind is still…and cry silently until my dying day. Carl died, I think, sometimes, so that I could fill his empty slot with peter. I stayed away from c and I can stay away from this one. I wish I could forget, forget, forget…but my brain and heart is sooo sensitive and never will. I could not save him, I have to save myself before he destroys us both.

Before we both destroy each other.

Goodnight, my love.

Ik hou van jou.

Forget me and pray I forget you.

I am still loving, though I shouldn’t…I am weak and pathetic and ashamed to feel so weak. I am every weak woman I loathe, the battered ones who are manipulated by their sick men. I thought myself above that and am not. I must become stronger.

It is night now, Tuesday. I allowed you to come from your hotel and just not say anything. We sat and were basically silent…both scratched, sore. You asserted you had no one but me, but I knew this already and I tend to wonder if there is a reason you are all alone. You know what guilty, soft strings to pull…you always do. That is a big problem. Off you went to get some food, since I have not eaten in nearly two days…except for defrosted Norwegian jam, which I had used as ice packs.

 

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