The Horrible Time
Two years ago, this was a horrible time.
In a few days, on the 12th, my ex would threaten to sue me for $20,000.
About the 14th of January, she had threatened to sue me for $100,000; but apparently even she and her attorney saw that was ludicrous. Realistically, all of that was what we had spent over 4 years together.
It was just her way of saying she resented my becoming ill. I got the message very clearly. I had for a long time. For more than two years, my ex had been increasingly abusive about the fact that I could hardly walk. Her need to abuse had destroyed the love and trust in our relationship.
She had spent weeks hiding in her room totaling every cent she could find a receipt for to come to that $100,000 figure.
She had long since abandoned the house, me, and her daughter in it. I suppose she thought that if she left her daughter alone with me there would be fights. There were none. The mother had tried for months to prove that I hated her daughter; but of course I didn't.
With the house free of her mother's unending insults and abuse, I saw no reason to blame the daughter for her mother's problems.
Despite the tensions, I made a point of being civil and polite to her daughter as she came and went. I went out of my way to make things as pleasant as possible in the household.
I'd even gone so far as to buy the daughter a birthday present. (Her birthday is in a few days.) Nothing overwhelming. Just something she would use and enjoy. Just something to make the point that there was no sense in perpetuating the atmosphere her mother had sewn in the house.
I placed the gifts quietly just inside the daughter's door, on a shelf, and made a point not to disturb anything else in the room. These were very tense and awkward times.
The mother made the point of making her threats just before Valentines Day, on the 12th.
She had only been an occasional visitor to the house for most of the previous two months. She stopped in to make her threats - really repeat the threats of her attorney - try to start an argument, then left usually unsatisfied because I had had enough of the senseless fighting.
Some of what she said was silly, some of it pure fantasy, but always with one purpose: to be as hurtful and insulting as the words and tone could be.
I spent these months in long panic attacks that lasted for days at a time. When I could find a moment or a place to relax, I collapsed into fitful, noisy sleep. I slept for days.
I sought people who could listen and understand, but there was no one. Neighbors became friends, then could only wonder at what sickness could drive one person to do this sort of thing to another. They came to the house with dinners, and invited me out to parties or their homes.
How do you explain what it is like - how exhausting it can be - to put on a relatively normal face, when your heart is at once ripped from your chest and exploding from it? I never found a good way. All I could do was pour out the abuse I had experienced for those long years.
The silliest part of it all is that I never abandoned hope that my ex would come to her senses, that she would appear with others and apologize. That never happened, of course.
She and her conspirators had set themselves on a course to take the house and all the possessions by lying to the courts.
It didn't matter that even she had admitted there were no grounds. It didn't matter that there was no evidence of any abuse on my part. In fact, there were not even complaints until she realized she could abuse the prejudices of the Australian courts.
In these months, between May and the next March, she and her family followed the advice of a lawyer.
No one was protected. No one needed protection. Nothing just, or fair, or decent was done. That was not their goal. Their goal was just to play a game for greed. Their plan was to abuse the Intervention Order process to dispossess me.
There is no place in the consciousness of Australian justice for a disabled man to be abused. The magistrates simply do not understand the words. The courts and all those who work with them do not understand the words.
A man, even an invalid, must always be the abuser in the warped mindset expressed by the idea of "err on the side of caution."
Every man learns that the world is not fair. He learns to accept its inequities. For everyone, I suppose, there is an inequity they cannot accept. For me, being treated like an animal because I was disabled was something I cannot accept. This sick minded treatment has become Australia to me.
Now, two years later, my mind will not let me forget that time. It sits in my head like an open scar. But the pain is improving. There was a time when just thinking about such things would make my eyes flow with tears and my body tremble. Now, there is just a deep abiding sadness within me - like a bad taste that will not go away.
Time heals all wounds, it's said.
I will be glad when the salve of time takes this one.
There are a few more horrible days to go.
In a few days, on the 12th, my ex would threaten to sue me for $20,000.
About the 14th of January, she had threatened to sue me for $100,000; but apparently even she and her attorney saw that was ludicrous. Realistically, all of that was what we had spent over 4 years together.
It was just her way of saying she resented my becoming ill. I got the message very clearly. I had for a long time. For more than two years, my ex had been increasingly abusive about the fact that I could hardly walk. Her need to abuse had destroyed the love and trust in our relationship.
She had spent weeks hiding in her room totaling every cent she could find a receipt for to come to that $100,000 figure.
She had long since abandoned the house, me, and her daughter in it. I suppose she thought that if she left her daughter alone with me there would be fights. There were none. The mother had tried for months to prove that I hated her daughter; but of course I didn't.
With the house free of her mother's unending insults and abuse, I saw no reason to blame the daughter for her mother's problems.
Despite the tensions, I made a point of being civil and polite to her daughter as she came and went. I went out of my way to make things as pleasant as possible in the household.
I'd even gone so far as to buy the daughter a birthday present. (Her birthday is in a few days.) Nothing overwhelming. Just something she would use and enjoy. Just something to make the point that there was no sense in perpetuating the atmosphere her mother had sewn in the house.
I placed the gifts quietly just inside the daughter's door, on a shelf, and made a point not to disturb anything else in the room. These were very tense and awkward times.
The mother made the point of making her threats just before Valentines Day, on the 12th.
She had only been an occasional visitor to the house for most of the previous two months. She stopped in to make her threats - really repeat the threats of her attorney - try to start an argument, then left usually unsatisfied because I had had enough of the senseless fighting.
Some of what she said was silly, some of it pure fantasy, but always with one purpose: to be as hurtful and insulting as the words and tone could be.
I spent these months in long panic attacks that lasted for days at a time. When I could find a moment or a place to relax, I collapsed into fitful, noisy sleep. I slept for days.
I sought people who could listen and understand, but there was no one. Neighbors became friends, then could only wonder at what sickness could drive one person to do this sort of thing to another. They came to the house with dinners, and invited me out to parties or their homes.
How do you explain what it is like - how exhausting it can be - to put on a relatively normal face, when your heart is at once ripped from your chest and exploding from it? I never found a good way. All I could do was pour out the abuse I had experienced for those long years.
The silliest part of it all is that I never abandoned hope that my ex would come to her senses, that she would appear with others and apologize. That never happened, of course.
She and her conspirators had set themselves on a course to take the house and all the possessions by lying to the courts.
It didn't matter that even she had admitted there were no grounds. It didn't matter that there was no evidence of any abuse on my part. In fact, there were not even complaints until she realized she could abuse the prejudices of the Australian courts.
In these months, between May and the next March, she and her family followed the advice of a lawyer.
No one was protected. No one needed protection. Nothing just, or fair, or decent was done. That was not their goal. Their goal was just to play a game for greed. Their plan was to abuse the Intervention Order process to dispossess me.
There is no place in the consciousness of Australian justice for a disabled man to be abused. The magistrates simply do not understand the words. The courts and all those who work with them do not understand the words.
A man, even an invalid, must always be the abuser in the warped mindset expressed by the idea of "err on the side of caution."
Every man learns that the world is not fair. He learns to accept its inequities. For everyone, I suppose, there is an inequity they cannot accept. For me, being treated like an animal because I was disabled was something I cannot accept. This sick minded treatment has become Australia to me.
Now, two years later, my mind will not let me forget that time. It sits in my head like an open scar. But the pain is improving. There was a time when just thinking about such things would make my eyes flow with tears and my body tremble. Now, there is just a deep abiding sadness within me - like a bad taste that will not go away.
Time heals all wounds, it's said.
I will be glad when the salve of time takes this one.
There are a few more horrible days to go.
Labels: courts, dispossessed, flashbacks, healing, injustice, prejudice, time
posted by Unknown at
7:02 PM
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5 Comments:
The real madness of this time for me was that I was still struggling to just get through the long period of difficulty. I hoped my leg would heal quickly, and I could soon take a job, thinking that would settle things down.
It might have happened too, if she had not been advised by an attorney; if she had not lied to her sons and family; if .. maybe a lot of things I'll never know about.
All I heard from her were threats. My ex couldn't live up to her commitments person to person, but she was consistent in always carrying through with her threats.
She threatened to "ruin me", and she did.
I really have to be more careful who I fall in love with from now one. This stuff of giving up everything to travel halfway around the world may sound romantic, but it doesn't mean anything to some people.
One friend told me I should be glad for the intensity of my feelings. There's not much solace in that when you feel your heart has fallen from your chest.
By
Unknown, at 4:36 PM
Someday, maybe, I'll tell this story and it will be a fond memory of a life well-lived.
Now, two years later, the story is there, but the meaning is not how it will sound. It's just a sad story of people torn and tossed by things beyond their control.
A story of stubborn fools and cowardice; of people who enjoy hurting those who are down.
What is saddest is: How many others will go through the same miserable time, only to face the ignorance of the courts? How many other men will endure years of abuse and be accused of being the abusers?
How many others will hear prosecutors condemn them into the public record based on no evidence?
There will be millions of people growing old in the next few years. Will Australia condemn every man for growing old or sick?
How many have already been condemned as I was because they became disabled? - or just old?
I chose the wrong person to love, and to trust. Will I someday realize that I was lucky to find that out early?
It sure don't feel like it now...
By
Unknown, at 4:42 PM
Two questions haunt me.
In an email from a woman who had read the whole of My Australian Adventure (The blog that preceded this one was really a diary of abuse.): Would you, after all this, have still tried to make a life with this woman?
It took me a moment to answer. Yes, I said. I'm not the sort to hold grudges. They're senseless. If she had come to me and said, "I realize that I treated you horribly when you were ill. I don't want to do that any more. Can we try again?" - I would have not only taken her back but would have seen the relationship through.
She had many opportunities to realize what she was doing. From time to time, I took the moment to illustrate to her what she was doing.
She knew. She couldn't deny her own words and tone only moments before.
But that never happened. I have to admit that I feel a deep sadness still that it didn't. I did everything I knew as an intelligent, loving partner to get her to realize what she was doing. I could spell out the tactics of communication.
The attempts only provoked more insults and sarcasm from her.
Strangely, in the logic of love, I still feel responsible for what she did. I doubt anyone will explain the logic of love.
The other question happened only recently. A neighbor who became a friend in the middle of all this asked: "You still sound as if you expect her to come make things right. Do you realize that?"
My answer had to be said quickly, or I would have deceived myself in rationalizations.
Yes, somehow I expected her or someone to come make all of this right. I think that's why I stayed for the first year.
But that too would have taken a level of honesty and character that she never showed herself capable of. I know that now, although the words still hurt like a blow across the face.
She did the proper aussie thing: When I was down, she (and her family) put the boot in. And then they all moved on.
She never showed the ability to think beyond the social pressure. This is a woman who was a parent and mother, yet did not seek to do what was right - only what was easily explained.
I can forgive her inadequacies. We had a very stressful time financially and emotionally because of my illness, and her expectations.
The bitter truth is my forgiveness makes no difference now. She is gone from my life; and she has all the possessions and money from the house.
I will someday return to America with mixed emotions. I have made close, dear friends since the breakup. Friends I will keep the rest of my life. Some that have become as close as relatives.
I am sure I would never have had such friends if the relationship had continued. She was far too isolating. She resented me even knowing the folks next door.
Again, something to be grateful for.
Because of the lingering hurt, I have spent long hours studying and learning. I've learned the basis for at least two new careers - as a trainer and SEM'er. I used the study and work to hide from my pain. It only worked so well, but it worked.
My friends tell me I am remarkably skilled and knowledgeable. I suppose I should be after all this crap.
Because of the people who have come from nowhere in my life to believe in me in the most unbelievable ways, I am a better person, I suppose.
It's still sad that the one person I wanted, even needed, to believe in me, couldn't.
Tomorrow the sun will rise. The air will have the clear snap of the sea.
There are days when the colors still seem dull. Other days, it's as if the whole world were new.
By
Unknown, at 5:34 PM
I was questioned about using the word "capacity" in the phrase, "There is no capacity in the Australian legal system to recognize that a disabled man could be abused by family members."
What did I mean by 'capacity'?
Well, let's see.
The court refused to even entertain the idea, despite literally stacks of evidence - x-rays, medical records, and other documents.
The court simply refused to even look at them.
The idea was dismissed out of hand with the words, "You're not telling me what I am supposed to hear.", and other such phrases on three separate occasions.
Obviously, either the magistrates were actively avoiding such evidence, or they had no conscious means of dealing with it. I'd say both.
It goes deeper, of course.
My ex and her daughter watched me struggle to move or even adjust positions for two years. Any movement was obviously painful. As much as I tried to make light of it or just ignore it - largely because of their attitude if nothing else - the obvious fact of the constant daily pain remained.
My ex spit at me more than once that I was "always sick".
These are reflections of social attitudes against the disabled, especially men who are disabled. These social attitudes can be seen in many other aspects of Australian society.
When I tried to do something about the pain, such as applying a disciplined effort to reduce my weight, the effort was resented by both my ex and her daughter. My ex took it was my having a hit at her daughter's heavy eating preferences. Her reaction was to sabotage the effort by serving me large meals full of grease, - Telling me this was "good food." - and insulting my efforts.
There was never encouragement or expressions of respect for the discipline and efforts required.
In one instance, my ex was preparing a roast for her son to visit. She became defensive and insulting. My response was to ask if she had any idea what my favorite meal was. Caught out, she spit: "Salad!"
I have a high tolerance for pain. I tried to use that, even though it was constantly exhausting, to avoid conflicts. My ex would seize upon such efforts with sarcasm and ridicule.
Not taking anything away from how difficult it is to adjust to chronic pain - It is difficult for the person and family members. - there is no excuse for such attitudes. Over the long term as the person becomes increasingly debilitated, such attitudes become inhuman.
Both my ex and her daughter reveled in their resentment of my increasingly painful condition.
The bitter irony of truth rings in the fact that her daughter intended to study to be a nurse.
All of this and more was described to the magistrate, police, and others in the system - verbally and in writing - repeatedly.
There was no means for anyone at any level to respond with understanding or respect. In fact, the expression was always confusion. After seeing it a few times, it's hard not to understand the meaning.
That confusion expresses the lack of capacity within the system, from the personal to the legal, to recognize and deal with a disabled man being abused by family members.
There is no example. There is no social paradigm. There is no social support or peer pressure.
In fact, the only pressure is on the person in pain to either snap out of it or die. That message is clear, I assure you.
By
Unknown, at 7:44 PM
Put very simply, a disabled man should know that he does not have to endure daily and constant abuse from his partner or anyone.
He should be able to rely on the protection of Intervention Orders to prevent such abuse.
In the current situation in Victoria and across Australia, he would be ridiculed by the police and courts, then most likely find himself, as I did, accused without any need of proof of exactly what he was forced to endure.
And he will most likely be dispossessed of his home and possessions, as I was.
This is the reality of the ignorant courts, supporting agencies and police, which can be easily used to force the disabled onto the street - in the name of "err on the side of caution."
By
Unknown, at 8:01 PM
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