She choked a 3-year-old
She choked a 3-year-old
I've been trying to keep this journal to a minimum because I want what's public on the internet to be only things that are descriptions of their behaviors, our interactions and the perceivable results so that if someone is desperately searching around for ideas about how to deal with what's going on in their own life they might stumble across this and see that, yes, sometimes it's a pattern and it repeats over and over and here's why.
The sociopath was out of town on business again, this time for a week. He got home Friday night. As per usual my sister brought her kids over to gramma and grandpas house so that Tracy can have her one day of relaxation and time to herself, because gosh isn't it so great that she has mom and dad to help out with watching the kids. I've gone over it in my head so many times since Friday afternoon that I feel like I can confidently write it down and say for sure that yes, I'm getting the events and the context 100% correct. I had an appointment on Friday at 3 PM and I needed to do some laundry, shave and shower before I went, so I decided to set my alarm for noon on Friday so I'd have 2 hours to do those things before I left. At 12 o'clock my alarm went off and I was groggy so I hit the snooze button and 9 minutes later the alarm went off again and I got out of bed. The first thing I did was to go downstairs and into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. When I walked in The Crazy Lady was sitting on the chair in the living room right next to the kitchen and she didn't hear me come in at first. Her hearing is slowly but surely worsening and it's easy to sneak into the room now. She had Sarah on her lap, my sister's daughter born last November and Bryce was standing in front of her with a toy truck or something in his hands looking it over. Standing still and silent. It was very very quiet when I walked in and it was very tense. Bryce saw me in the kitchen and immediately put his hands up toward me from across the house opening and closing them like he was grasping for me, and he began yelling that he wanted to go home, "where's mommy, I want mommy, I want to go home", and he started crying. The anger began immediately because I knew what the problem was, at least in general. I don't know what happened while I was asleep, but something happened. I stayed stoic as the crazy lady stood up with Sarah in her arms and I calmly poured some coffee. And then came the "psycho voice". There's no other way to describe it, the voice that she uses when she's trying desperately to calm a child. "yesssss, it's ok, mommy's going to be here in 15 minuuuuutes, yesssss, it's okaaaay. see? look at the clock, 15 minuuuuuutes". But the psycho voice didn't help and Bryce kept crying. I looked over at him and nodded when she wasn't looking and he looked up at her and back at me a couple times while her back was turned and I nodded at him again and leaned against the counter and tried to smile a little. He kept yelling and it agitated her and she decided that it was time to read the cheerios book to Bryce in psycho voice. They went over to the couch and she opened it up and started with that voice, some kind of story about a cheerio that has an adventure or something. I stood around the corner from them listening and Bryce calmed down and I went to use the bathroom. While I was in the bathroom the story about the cheerio in crazy lady voice stopped and she and Bryce got up and moved into the hallway where the bathroom is, and Bryce started yelling for mommy again. And then she choked him. I didn't see it because I was in the bathroom, but he was yelling for mommy and to go home and then he made a choking sound, and then it was quiet, and by the time I'd come back out of the bathroom they were back on the couch and there was no more yelling for mommy. She was whispering to him, I couldn't hear what. I pretended as though I were going back upstairs and I went to the front entryway to stand behind the wall so that I could listen until my sister got there. She pulled up and I went to my room until I could hear her and my mother talking downstairs. I went back down and outside to smoke and when I came back in Bryce ran to the front entryway smiling happily, running around playing. He was OK after that and a few minutes later my sister left with her kids.
I can't prove it, there are no marks on the kids and I didn't even see it happening. I just heard it. It's the same thing they did to me, and there's nothing I can do about it. If I tell anyone, if I call the police or social services or the neighbors or my sister the outcome is the same. The storyline is, just as it has always been, that the only reason that I think that these things happen, that my parents are abusive and deceitful is that there is something inherently wrong with me, and the proof is that my sister, mother and neighbors will parrot whatever The Sociopath feels like putting into a narrative. They've been trained for years to perceive me as a threat, regardless of what I do, don't do, say, don't say or anything else observable about me. They've been acting upon it for years and they'll defend the righteousness of it until the end because they don't want to be on the losing side and they don't want to look like the bad guys. In the group, in our family, I am said to be doing something wrong at all times. There is always, always, always some little problem and it is always said to be my fault. I think they do it because of an overwhelming fear of being blamed for something, it's yet another defense against an imagined threat, so they have to manufacture the target toward which all blame is to be directed and then they have to manufacture conflicts and problems to create a pattern in the minds of onlookers which leads to Richie is always doing something wrong and trying to get you, and there's the false SELF manifesting. In their minds they're getting others to perceive them as innocent victims and self-effacing martyrs, while in reality, I stay still and silent - in reality they're just violent abusers and pathological liars. I'm always quiet except to answer questions in one or two-word sentences. They create the problems from beginning to end and I stay quiet. They attack, slander and blame, and I stay quiet.
I walked in and Bryce was yelling for mommy and that is a threat to what The Crazy Lady IS from her perspective - what she IS, to her, is whatever she thinks that she can get YOU to believe that she is. By choking a 3-year-old she was eradicating what was a threat to her, while in reality she was just abusing a baby, and if I start telling people then the storyline simply continues that The Evil Richie is trying to get people once again, that they're innocent victims of their deranged son, oh but gosh, their unconditional love for their son makes them want to continue to try to "teach" him that it never happened. There's nothing I can do about it but babysit them and make them nervous. If I ever actually see it, however, if there's proof, I'll go for it.
Saturday came and went without incident, but Sunday was a very difficult day. They started again, both of them, chasing me around the house, standing at the door of my room listening. My mother, stalking and stalking and stalking and stalking and stalking. The Sociopath grunted at me, ALL DAY. It's difficult to describe what he's doing, and you might think that it has nothing to do with me, that maybe he's just clearing his throat and I only think he's doing it with me in mind - no. He grunts, moos and growls, literally, growls as though he's a puma or a mountain lion as he passes my door. He sits in the middle bedroom just a few feet away, and when he's agitated - sometimes he gets agitated and just stays that way for a while - when he's agitated he does it over and over and over and over and over again, and then when he sees me, he does it at me. He's growls and grunts at me, and he does it because he thinks that I unknowingly associate the sounds of him grunting and throat clearing with the sounds of the startling crashes and explosions that my mother would generate a few feet below me as he stood at the door of my room for hours, FOR HOURS, FOR YEARS, doing just that. I swear to God, he does it and he's been doing it for years, and that's what it is. He did it all day yesterday, ALL DAY, and by 10 pm he was still doing it and I had to leave and go out for a hike. There's no way to deal with it sometimes.
I woke up this morning and there was a stack of DVD-R's on the floor in front of my door. He just bought me a new computer and he offered to buy me a new car. I don't know why. Maybe it's proof that it never happened. I don't know why. I found out today that they're leaving for a week-long vacation in Hawaii in a couple days, I think because they have no money. I don't care. It never ends.
I've been trying to keep this journal to a minimum because I want what's public on the internet to be only things that are descriptions of their behaviors, our interactions and the perceivable results so that if someone is desperately searching around for ideas about how to deal with what's going on in their own life they might stumble across this and see that, yes, sometimes it's a pattern and it repeats over and over and here's why.
The sociopath was out of town on business again, this time for a week. He got home Friday night. As per usual my sister brought her kids over to gramma and grandpas house so that Tracy can have her one day of relaxation and time to herself, because gosh isn't it so great that she has mom and dad to help out with watching the kids. I've gone over it in my head so many times since Friday afternoon that I feel like I can confidently write it down and say for sure that yes, I'm getting the events and the context 100% correct. I had an appointment on Friday at 3 PM and I needed to do some laundry, shave and shower before I went, so I decided to set my alarm for noon on Friday so I'd have 2 hours to do those things before I left. At 12 o'clock my alarm went off and I was groggy so I hit the snooze button and 9 minutes later the alarm went off again and I got out of bed. The first thing I did was to go downstairs and into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. When I walked in The Crazy Lady was sitting on the chair in the living room right next to the kitchen and she didn't hear me come in at first. Her hearing is slowly but surely worsening and it's easy to sneak into the room now. She had Sarah on her lap, my sister's daughter born last November and Bryce was standing in front of her with a toy truck or something in his hands looking it over. Standing still and silent. It was very very quiet when I walked in and it was very tense. Bryce saw me in the kitchen and immediately put his hands up toward me from across the house opening and closing them like he was grasping for me, and he began yelling that he wanted to go home, "where's mommy, I want mommy, I want to go home", and he started crying. The anger began immediately because I knew what the problem was, at least in general. I don't know what happened while I was asleep, but something happened. I stayed stoic as the crazy lady stood up with Sarah in her arms and I calmly poured some coffee. And then came the "psycho voice". There's no other way to describe it, the voice that she uses when she's trying desperately to calm a child. "yesssss, it's ok, mommy's going to be here in 15 minuuuuutes, yesssss, it's okaaaay. see? look at the clock, 15 minuuuuuutes". But the psycho voice didn't help and Bryce kept crying. I looked over at him and nodded when she wasn't looking and he looked up at her and back at me a couple times while her back was turned and I nodded at him again and leaned against the counter and tried to smile a little. He kept yelling and it agitated her and she decided that it was time to read the cheerios book to Bryce in psycho voice. They went over to the couch and she opened it up and started with that voice, some kind of story about a cheerio that has an adventure or something. I stood around the corner from them listening and Bryce calmed down and I went to use the bathroom. While I was in the bathroom the story about the cheerio in crazy lady voice stopped and she and Bryce got up and moved into the hallway where the bathroom is, and Bryce started yelling for mommy again. And then she choked him. I didn't see it because I was in the bathroom, but he was yelling for mommy and to go home and then he made a choking sound, and then it was quiet, and by the time I'd come back out of the bathroom they were back on the couch and there was no more yelling for mommy. She was whispering to him, I couldn't hear what. I pretended as though I were going back upstairs and I went to the front entryway to stand behind the wall so that I could listen until my sister got there. She pulled up and I went to my room until I could hear her and my mother talking downstairs. I went back down and outside to smoke and when I came back in Bryce ran to the front entryway smiling happily, running around playing. He was OK after that and a few minutes later my sister left with her kids.
I can't prove it, there are no marks on the kids and I didn't even see it happening. I just heard it. It's the same thing they did to me, and there's nothing I can do about it. If I tell anyone, if I call the police or social services or the neighbors or my sister the outcome is the same. The storyline is, just as it has always been, that the only reason that I think that these things happen, that my parents are abusive and deceitful is that there is something inherently wrong with me, and the proof is that my sister, mother and neighbors will parrot whatever The Sociopath feels like putting into a narrative. They've been trained for years to perceive me as a threat, regardless of what I do, don't do, say, don't say or anything else observable about me. They've been acting upon it for years and they'll defend the righteousness of it until the end because they don't want to be on the losing side and they don't want to look like the bad guys. In the group, in our family, I am said to be doing something wrong at all times. There is always, always, always some little problem and it is always said to be my fault. I think they do it because of an overwhelming fear of being blamed for something, it's yet another defense against an imagined threat, so they have to manufacture the target toward which all blame is to be directed and then they have to manufacture conflicts and problems to create a pattern in the minds of onlookers which leads to Richie is always doing something wrong and trying to get you, and there's the false SELF manifesting. In their minds they're getting others to perceive them as innocent victims and self-effacing martyrs, while in reality, I stay still and silent - in reality they're just violent abusers and pathological liars. I'm always quiet except to answer questions in one or two-word sentences. They create the problems from beginning to end and I stay quiet. They attack, slander and blame, and I stay quiet.
I walked in and Bryce was yelling for mommy and that is a threat to what The Crazy Lady IS from her perspective - what she IS, to her, is whatever she thinks that she can get YOU to believe that she is. By choking a 3-year-old she was eradicating what was a threat to her, while in reality she was just abusing a baby, and if I start telling people then the storyline simply continues that The Evil Richie is trying to get people once again, that they're innocent victims of their deranged son, oh but gosh, their unconditional love for their son makes them want to continue to try to "teach" him that it never happened. There's nothing I can do about it but babysit them and make them nervous. If I ever actually see it, however, if there's proof, I'll go for it.
Saturday came and went without incident, but Sunday was a very difficult day. They started again, both of them, chasing me around the house, standing at the door of my room listening. My mother, stalking and stalking and stalking and stalking and stalking. The Sociopath grunted at me, ALL DAY. It's difficult to describe what he's doing, and you might think that it has nothing to do with me, that maybe he's just clearing his throat and I only think he's doing it with me in mind - no. He grunts, moos and growls, literally, growls as though he's a puma or a mountain lion as he passes my door. He sits in the middle bedroom just a few feet away, and when he's agitated - sometimes he gets agitated and just stays that way for a while - when he's agitated he does it over and over and over and over and over again, and then when he sees me, he does it at me. He's growls and grunts at me, and he does it because he thinks that I unknowingly associate the sounds of him grunting and throat clearing with the sounds of the startling crashes and explosions that my mother would generate a few feet below me as he stood at the door of my room for hours, FOR HOURS, FOR YEARS, doing just that. I swear to God, he does it and he's been doing it for years, and that's what it is. He did it all day yesterday, ALL DAY, and by 10 pm he was still doing it and I had to leave and go out for a hike. There's no way to deal with it sometimes.
I woke up this morning and there was a stack of DVD-R's on the floor in front of my door. He just bought me a new computer and he offered to buy me a new car. I don't know why. Maybe it's proof that it never happened. I don't know why. I found out today that they're leaving for a week-long vacation in Hawaii in a couple days, I think because they have no money. I don't care. It never ends.