I really hate the proverbial punches that are below-the-belt, catch you looking away, and knock all the wind / fire/ breath/ life out of you. Yuck.
When you were married to your stalker for 20 years as I was, you have plenty of opportunity for sneak attacks. Oh, no, we can’t have any normal separation from one another. No, it has to be an emotional bloodbath. And I’m praying not a literal one.
You constantly find those old emails talking about, “I’m so sorry I hurt you / screamed at you / scared you / and on one occasion choked you.” You run across things, little things, that make you shake your head and wonder what kind of mind-control you were exactly under at that time. At one point you will find something hurled at your face and the next moment you are eating out of their palm. What is this??! WHY DO WE DO THIS?
Oh, their dang charisma. They feed on the thrill of controlling your mind, which is simple after they slowly erode your self-confidence, isolate you from your friends, and then BAM- in for the kill. I didn’t intend a pun there. Actually, it’s not a pun, is it? Its a real possibility…
The sucker punch of the day was accidentally happening on a reference to wanting to KILL me… ummm, lets just say no to that, and then…. now what. Call the police? Usually they don’t respond as if this is a real threat. As if they think it’s a reference to ‘being very mad’. I thought of calling my pastor. My family. My husband. My guy friend (a very big tall strong one). But alas, what am I doing? Writing.
This has become my life. I was slightly rattled for an hour and now I have just accepted a death threat as part of my normal routine. I will probably watch my car a little closer, parking lots, bushes. For about two days. Then the feeling of fear will just melt into the normal psyche of me.
And that’s how I do it. I have learned to thrive and bloom in the soil I’m planted in, which just happens to be some pretty messed-up soil.