Notes

Ready for a novel?

So first off, you asked me why I was giving you "the silent treatment." This was after I told you I was engaged and you completely ignored it. Then, after I told you I needed some space, you kept texting me.

I was upset and stressed over multiple things at the time, including you ignoring that your only daughter had gotten engaged, but when you continually texted me and then asked why I wasn't responding, I tried to be nice, as I always try to be with you unless I'm extremely stressed and upset, and so I told you I was in an off place mentally, which wasn't a lie.

I was not only recovering from the shock of finding out that I had been tricked and nearly had my life ruined by an actual, legit sociopath and the stress of telling his girlfriend(?) the truth of what had happened, and what retaliation might follow, but also stressing over and planning a trip to Virginia and what all that entailed, while also hoping that my hiring process at Chipotle would go through okay so that I could afford to pay my monthly bills and student loans off for the next few months, since I quit school for the time being due to all the drama and the stress caused. Not that you asked.

Most people would understand that this meant "I don't really want to talk at the moment and when I'm feeling in a better place, and not planning and packing for a trip I have in a few days, and not still upset that you completely ignored my engagement, I'll respond."

However, you never really respected my boundaries, and so you attempted to guilt trip me into talking to you by accusing me of giving you a silent treatment. THAT was when the "silent treatment" actually began. I didn't have the energy or the will to try and placate you, and so I just didn't respond. That's what you're supposed to do when a small child throws a tantrum, or so I've heard. I guess that's a "silent treatment."

If you want me to go deeper though, then here we go. Where to start?

Perhaps with the fact that after several months of mental agony, characteristic of the after effects of a particularly insidious form of psychological abuse termed "emotional rape" (http://psychopathsandlove.com/emotional-rape/), I *finally* matured mentally after the silly drama that I got myself into, and *finally* realized the guy that had attempted to use me was the definition of a sociopath, with the felonies and rape charges and lies and fake charm and everything else to go with it, and that I'd had a man who truly loved me and whom I loved by my side the entire time, and I had nearly lost him to a sociopathic fantasy. And when I told you, you tried to defend the sociopath's "humanity," this monster who you didn't even know. You were more willing to side with a sociopath than your own daughter. And you tried so hard several different times to convince me that Charlie, the most loving, empathetic and intelligent person I've ever known, was a sociopath. It might be funny if it weren't disturbing.

I got super lucky that Charlie stuck with me through all of this, and I feel absolutely terrible, but also extremely loved. Somehow, he knows everything I went through and still loves me and wants me. And I guess this little drama did serve its purpose in the long-run--I actually feel much older and more mature now, and I know what real love actually is. It's actually really rare to find. It's not surface level passion, or lust, or idealizing and projecting your fantasies onto an attractive stranger who you barely know. It's getting to know a person in all sorts of situations, good and bad, and still wanting to spend your life with them. It's a best friend and then some. It's learning to choose your battles instead of complaining and arguing about everything (which doesn't fix anything at all and actually only increases tension and negativity over time), and instead learning what it means to truly enjoy another person for just existing. For just being the amazing and unique individual that they naturally are. It's learning to be truly selfless and take yourself out of the equation, and just "be" with this other person, without ego. It's when good times far outweigh the bad. It's growing with this person, as an individual, but also as a couple. And it's really so much better than fantasy, and so much more than can be put into words. I've never been more in love in my life, or more sure that my Charlie is the man I want to spend the rest of my life and grow old with. He's never been anything but loving, even in the darkest times. He's my best friend, my rock, my equal, my partner, the love of my life, and within the next few years, my husband. Not that you likely care. You probably skimmed past this paragraph without really absorbing it.

But no, going deeper.

I mentioned to you that I was in therapy for a year or so. You probably don't even remember, you barely acknowledged it when I told you at the time. Do you know what the therapy was for? My grades were slipping, I had gained 70 lbs, I had no motivation to do anything, for no apparent reason, and I genuinely wanted to die most of the time, even though my home life with Charlie was happier than I'd ever been.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, or a form of it, called Complex PTSD. Complex PTSD is a type of PTSD that affects those who go through prolonged trauma instead of a one-time event, people like concentration camp survivors, or those who went through severe child abuse. But I'm sure you knew that already, right? You seem to always know everything I try to tell you, so I'm not sure why I really bother.

I didn't tell you what it was for, not only because you didn't ask, but silly me, I wanted to try and spare your feelings. That's all I've ever tried to do. I doubt you would have even connected the dots if I had told you, though. For the first time in my life, my feelings and experiences were validated by a licensed professional. I was told I wasn't crazy or worthless after all. That, yes, what I went through was child abuse and neglect, and that it wasn't my fault.

It took a year in therapy, plus several more years processing on my own, for me to reach a (relatively) stable mental place. Recounting random memories to my therapist, crying every day until I nearly passed out, truly examining my thoughts and feelings, wondering "why me?", slowly building up a non-existent self-esteem. PTSD never fully goes away, but you can learn to manage and lessen symptoms over time, and I have. These past 4 months almost wrecked that. But I made it, and now I'm even stronger and wiser than before.

So why did I give you the "silent treatment", even though you were "trying not to feel hurt"? Because I "tried not to feel hurt" by you from the age of 8 or 9 years old onwards. In fact, for several years, I tried not to feel anything at all. I learned to (or tried to) squash down any feelings or thoughts I had that you hadn't previously approved of (because any original thought or feeling I had was belittled) and I learned to take the blame for things that you liked to project onto me to try and make yourself feel better, like the disgusting house, which I now know ABSOLUTELY wasn't my fault (because besides the fact that I was a CHILD, when left to my own devices, I am a clean freak almost on par with Aunt Vicki), but was probably the most damaging thing I had to go through.

I'm actually not sure you really know me at all. I mean sure, you gave birth to me and you probably know some things about me (if you even remember), like the fact that I love Harry Potter, or that my favorite color is light blue, or that my favorite animal is a river otter. You know, things anyone who took a quick look at my facebook could tell. But you don't know *me*. You don't know my sense of humor, you don't know what my hobbies are, what my long term goals are, what my favorite music is, what my favorite food is, etc. You might try and guess, but the truth is, you don't actually know for sure.

You know why? Because I felt (and still feel) like I had to wear a mask and tiptoe around you, to be at all accepted. I had to hide the most important parts of who *I* am and reflect back to you what YOU wanted to see in order for you to "accept" me. I'm not a clone or an extension of you, just because I have some of your DNA.

When I was living with you, and even at Chas' wedding, if I did reveal genuine parts of myself to you, you were quick to shit all over it, or worse, to use vulnerabilities I revealed to you in confidence against me when I was feeling low, so that you could "win" arguments, or so that you could make sure I was knocked down to the level I was supposed to be at if you thought I was getting a little too confident. You wouldn't want me thinking I'm your equal or anything silly like that. Good god, no. I had two positions: the lowly infant child, or the elevated mother figure when you needed someone to vent to or to comfort you. Or a younger clone of you, of course. So, three I guess. But never myself. Never truly *me*. I always had to perform one of those three roles for you and be your dancing monkey, because the instant I didn't, I was rejected and/or ridiculed. I remember you saying "I love you" back was conditional on how I was "acting" at the time, and one time when you didn't say it back, I asked you if you loved me and you told me "When you act like this, I don't know." I stopped saying it after that lol. Actual love, especially for your child, should never be conditional.

Oh, and how about boundaries? Here's a quick overview for you: https://psychcentral.com/lib/what-are-personal-boundaries-how-do-i-get-some/

Let's touch on a big one. Did you know most people respect privacy and knock on doors and ask permission before they enter? It doesn't matter if it's a stranger or someone living in the same household. It's listed in the International Bill of Human Rights (Article 12 of the sub-document "The Universal Declaration of Human Rights"). That means that across the entire world, from the poorest person to the richest person, from the tiniest baby to the oldest man or woman, it is considered to be an innate right. So I guess it's not just a "privilege" after all. You made sure I never had privacy, though. You barged in at any time you pleased, whether it was my bedroom or the bathroom, and you made me give you my passwords, and you did it to feel control over me. Do you have any idea how damaging that is?

And what I mentioned at the beginning of this letter (you subtly encouraging me to chase a fantasy, then taking the side of the sociopath, then ignoring my engagement to Charlie, then trying to push my boundaries when I gently told you I didn't want to talk at the moment) ultimately all compounded into the last straw(s).

You haven't changed. Hell, you haven't ever even really apologized. I'm not sure if you even really know what you did wrong. I think at one point you told me that you were sorry I "had to go through this," regarding the poverty, but nothing else. The poverty is the easiest thing to forgive, even if it was hard at times. The economy is terrible and you were a single mom with student loans, working as a massage therapist. The other things? Not as easy to forgive, but I mean, you've never even once asked for forgiveness, which is ironic, seeing how much you love to get apologies from other people. "I'm sorry you felt that way" is the only other "apology" I can remember getting from you.

There is so much more, but I think I've covered the general things. If you want specific examples of any of these in our relationship, just ask. I have several diaries full of examples, from 7 years old until nearly when I moved out. I'll be more than happy to copy some diary entries for you.

I really don't know how you're going to take this, but I honestly don't care anymore. This is the most real I think I've ever been with you, so congrats.

If you still want any sort of relationship with me then you need to get some professional help. I know you definitely won't want to hear this, but you almost definitely have a Cluster B personality disorder. I'm saying this with as much genuine care for you as I can.

If you try to respond to this email with anything short of an apology, like trying to pick apart anything I've said or somehow try and twist my words, or blaming me, or anything else of the sort, I won't respond. I'm giving you advanced warning.

If you don't want to assume any responsibility in fixing the relationship, or at least truly attempting to, then I wish you luck in whatever you decide to do with the rest of your life.