About M. I am angry but relieved. I am uncomfortable dealing with the pain of the last week or so right now... so I will seep out the life-altering event a little at a time as I am ready.
BTW, I named M as in (Manipulator). It fits him well.
Here are some reflections on the past. The headings I borrowed from an article on Sociopaths.
THE LAST 10 Years.
The Superficiality of Image
Image was the most important thing to him. He drove a race car and dressed "European". He was often called a metro-sexual. He always had the funds to get the latest Bekham like haircut (but not to see a movie with me or take A anywhere). In public he was the doting husband, while in private berating me for not dressing well enough, for my hair, my make-up for anything out of place to the stranger's eyes. He exaggerated every fact of anything material that he had. Even when we bought a new car, a 2005 Land Rover, he told the world we got a 2006 Range Rover. Nothing real was ever good enough and appearance of affluence and perfection was expected. The celebrations of occasions, always in public, were always intricate and flamboyant.
The Absence of Feelings
One of the first things I had noticed about him after we married was that he was unable to have any empathy for people or animals. Sympathy was but an act. It took the smallest thing to provoke him into anger. A passive, mean, cruel anger. He was vengeful, and would often have temper tantrums like a child. There was no conversation. Everything was turned on me, and no matter what happened it seems I was the one apologizing at the end. He hated conflict, avoiding it by walking away, hanging up, leaving the house and turning his phone off. I learned to bottle everything up and walk on egg shells. He manipulated every situation to get what he wanted and used me to do so.
The Relentlessness of Deception
He lied to me. All the time. A pink daisy often became a huge red rose.
One missed call became, i called you like 30 times! There were lies about nothing of consequence. Lies about grandeur that did not exist, exaggerations of the smallest detail of daily life, and fanciful stories where ever you looked. Those bothered me beyond belief. They were no white lies. They were needless lies. Then there were the lies about the past. It took all 10 years to dig the truthful grain that his 'history' was built from. And the BIG lies. The whats, whens and whos that covered up for the cyclical need to have romantic encounters with whoever was the latest accessory of the month (mostly co-workers). Caught out in one lie, he would turn it on me and make me feel like I was crazy, unstable, controlling and jealous. When some truth was gleamed out, his indiscretions were always my fault somehow. I did not dress right, I was too skinny (and later too fat) etc.
With time I became obsessed in gathering all the lies and finding a way to confront him so that he would have no choice but to come clean. To this day, I have not succeeded.
The Impulsiveness of Action
He never planned ahead. Everything was immediate, on a whim, and unexpected. It was impossible to have him commit to anything: A dinner with friends, a movie, a ride back home from the abortion I had the 2nd year we were married. He would say he'll call me and disappear for hours. Each offense to me, each act, was blown off, was explained away, was broken into bits of additional lies. The most extraordinary stories were backed by intricate details and the conviction of truth. Every promise made was broken and I was always the crazy one for feeling so. He lived so in the moment that I remember spending many a night alone peeking out the window at every car passing by to see if he was home and doing so 3 nights in a row. His phone was, conveniently, out of battery. And then, I was the crazy controlling wife, for worrying about what I believed was my partner. He was always superior and his actions always justified in his head. The fault always mine.
