Hit And Run


These people murder a part of your soul and then leave the scene of the crime and blame you for it. Yes. That sums it up.

That sums up why I have so much bitterness, like a poison inside of me I just can’t quite get rid of. As thought someone shot me, and even though I’m okay there still remains a bullet lodged in my body, uncomfortable and ever-present.

It explains why I cannot seem to balance the scales…why no matter what good exists in my life, it doesn’t eradicate the ability of the bad (aka PC, Trollup, and this nightmare of a divorce) to leave its mark daily, like lashes.

It explains why I simply cannot seem to “let it go.” To rise above. To ignore. To not worry about them. To focus on the good in your life. To ignore, turn your back. To embrace that this is just how it is, this is your cross to bear, this is your life. It certainly explains why statements and phrases like just do the best you can and focus on your kids feel not only impossible but simply not on a plane of existence.

Do the best I can? I am. And its still not enough. Focus on my kids? That’s pretty much all I do. And it still feels like not enough. Because I can’t give them the one thing they so desperately need: a father who isn’t a psychopath. And no matter how many values I instill in them, no matter how many nights we go for walks and talks, no matter how many dinners we laugh through and no matter how many times I tell them I love them: his poison still exists. And unlike me, who was just a passerby in PC’s life, my children are connected forever. My greatest fear is that my efforts will never be enough to protect them from his damage.

So back to the hit-and-run. Its the best metaphor I’ve heard of yet, even though in my case the hit-and-run was a long, drawn-out, slow motion scene. Boy meets girl. Boy woos girl. Girl has no idea boy is an alcoholic/narcissist/gaslighter/psychopath/pathological liar. Boy and girl marry. Girl gives up everything for boy, all the while feeling guilty for not giving enough. Boy takes takes takes everything from girl: her happiness, her future, her dreams. Her help, her love. Her sense of self. And in the end, when he runs her over, her trust and her belief in the good in the world.

And then, he kicks her a bit while she’s down, and walks away. He gathers up Trollup and parades all over town while she’s sitting in her house wondering what the hell just happened and struggling to make it through each hour of each day. He leaves her to deal with everything: the aftermath, the crash. The children. The daily details of life. He walks away from the catastrophe he just caused.

And then, he decides that’s not enough, when he realizes that she isn’t doing what he wanted: sweeping his mess into a neat little pile and hiding it under the rug, then he decides that all of this must be her fault. And thus begins his vendetta of hateful, abusive, and mind-fucking behavior.

So you see, it doesn’t matter if I know that he is mentally ill. That he’s wrong. That he’s a terrible person. It doesn’t matter if I know that Trollup is a watered-down version of him: less threatening but just as selfish and delusional. It doesn’t matter if I am aware (and I really am) how fucking lucky I am to have been cast away. Parts of my life I didn’t even know existed have returned. Like blooms that never totally died, with just a tiny bit of water have come to life.

It doesn’t matter, because its not like a normal divorce. A normal end-of-relationship toxicity. That follows a course, a straight and sometimes challenging course, but a course with a beginning and an end. I’ve watched it again and again. Stress. Parting. Amicable. Tensions rise when it becomes real. Anger, fighting, hate. And then that dies down. The emotions remain but the intensity wanes and a new way of life evolves. New partners come into the mix. Civility and co-existing and occasionally even friendship take the place of the chaos and the crisis. Because no one actually wants to live that way (except narcissists.) Children adjust to having two homes and for the most part, both people do their best to give their kids as much of themselves as they can.

Not with a narcissist. Not with PC. There is no course. This is just his road of life, and he’s made a massive pitstop to torture me. He isn’t going to get over my “betrayal” (which is completely fabricated in his mind.) He isn’t going to stop hating me and stop needing to make sure I know how much he hates me. He isn’t going to stop using the kids to try and hurt me, because he knows that no matter what, the kids are my weak point. He will hurt them to hurt me and then turn around and blame me for it.

Case in point, my most recent post. A text exchange followed in which I expressed my disappointment that Trollup took it upon herself to discuss adult matters with my child. PC’s response to that was to tell me don’t worry, the children will see how miserable you really are towards them.

If you’re going “huh?”, welcome to life with a narcissist. They will spin anything back on you and there is no purpose in attempting to have a conversation, argument, or debate. I repeatedly stated my issue was with Trollup talking to the children inappropriately. He repeatedly switched the topic to telling me I was a gold digger, that I made the children miserable, and one of his favorite lines you need to let this go and move on.

What, exactly, would you like me to let go, PC? Please elaborate. My children and my concern for their well-being? That’s not happening. You and Trollup? That’s a tough one because you insisted on shoving her into my face and my life and my children’s lives. I can’t “move on” from her, in the grand scheme of life she has only just arrived.

Am I supposed to move on from you? I’m fucking trying but in twenty months there has literally not been a span of time longer than a few days or maybe a week where there has not been some type of drama, issue, or fight caused by you.

Or maybe I’m supposed to “move on” from the things you’ve said and done to me. As if they don’t matter. As if you were entitled to say and do whatever you want, no matter who was a casualty, and your victims are just supposed to “get over it”. The absurdity of this concept is mind-boggling. I go back to your mother, PC, telling me that you and I “need to learn to get along and maybe even be friends some day.” Like, what? If someone beat the shit of out me, broke bones, mangled my face or raped me: no one would ever, ever suggest that I be friends with them one day. In fact, they’d likely end up in jail.

What you do, PC, is just as bad if not worse–but because it’s not visible, its not tangible…no one seems to understand that, or care. You’ll never sit in a jail cell for your behavior, hell, there are barely even consequences and you can continue on doing this with no one and no way to put an end to it. You (and your mother) are both absolutely bonkers if you think that I should just get over what you’ve done to me. What you keep doing to me.

This is why that doesn’t happen. Because its not a normal course of events. Because it defies logic, it defies cause and effect. Because fundamental emotions are absent: regret, remorse, empathy. Love. Things that make us fucking human. There’s another metaphor out there, something about smashing a plate and then apologizing to it. You apologize, you glue the plate back together, but the plate is still broken.

In life with a narcissist, the plate is never apologized to, attempts to glue itself back together, and fails miserably because the narcissist continues to crush pieces and take pleasure out of doing so.

So you see, all of my dear friends, who tell me to ignore him and don’t let him get to you and you’re better than him. I know this. I know you mean well. But its a constant presence, a constant fear. A constant voice in my head saying, be careful. A constant anxiety about my children and their precious, unmarred souls and what he might do to them. A constant planning of life around trying to avoid PC and controversy. Its having to raise children with someone who hates you and causes a physical reaction every single time you see him. Or see a car like his. Or hear the ipad ring and wonder what bullshit he’ll dump on your kids today.

Its knowing that your karma isn’t going to come in the 4 walls of a courtroom. It isn’t going to come by winning against him, because there is no winning when you play with someone who railroaded your life for fun and will continue doing so. There’s no winning when you play with a damaged, crooked opponent.

Its understanding that he will likely continue to fly under the radar. PC will continue on with Trollup and all of his money, and karma will come later. Maybe not even in this life. Karma won’t be, oh, he finally realized all of his wrong-doings and atoned for them and it won’t be Trollup dumping him and it won’t be me winning custody and all of his money. Karma will be bigger and deeper because this is bigger and deeper.

The damage isn’t tangible. It isn’t the laying on the side of the road with a broken leg. Its in your mind, your heart. Your soul and your ability to trust and function. These people murder a part of your soul and then leave the scene of the crime and blame you for it. That, my friends, is why you simply can’t “move on.”


3 thoughts on “Hit And Run

  1. Having had to work for this kind of person I understand some. I hope that he begins to obsess about someone else and that will set you free. If you can do it counseling for you and the children could help. God bless you and my prayers for some relief.


  2. OMG. I just discovered your blog. I was married to the same person..not the same man, of course, but the same insolent, contemptous self loving and loving no one else asshole as you did.
    I have been divorced from him for 15 years. I am married again to a wonderful man, one who patiently listens to my pain. I can’t not tell the stories.

    But that 15 years is as if nothing. As if it were yesterday.

    I know you. I hear you. I AM you. I can’t get over it…I can’t let the meanness, the manipulation, the casual cruelty that he so effortlessly inflicted on me go. It has insinuated itself into my very DNA. It’s like a virus.

    Dear Ms. Charlotte, I cannot console you any better than I can console myself. I have the self same monkey on my back. It will always be there. There is no ignoring it. there is no ‘oh, karma will take care of him.’ Karma. My ass.

    It’s like we’re hopelessly infected. I tell myself, your life is better now. YOu have a man who loves you, who treats you right. Do I listen?
    No. I still have this effing invisible chain on my leg, this invisible and hideous demon in my mind.
    I think of myself now as permanently damaged, permanently lamed. I am lucky in that I had no children, so I needn’t worry about them.

    We were caught, caged and our spirits killed. We are only simulcrums of what we should be.

    One day at a time. One step at a time. Take your children into your arms and love them. I can’t say it will ever get better. I don’t mean to be a downer, but I know. I have been there, too.
    You will never meet me, nor I you, but here. Here is a hug. Here is a person who says I Know.
    You are not alone.


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