Picture This

“The plan was constructed by my husband: a psychopath – Someone who always hated me beneath his handsome mask.” ~ Americana Injustica

Americana Injustica

Sit for a few and let me outline a plan –
In a language that we can each understand;
Listen as I frankly describe –
What it’s like to be terrorized.
No matter a female, or a male –
The story’s the same and we all tell the tale;
A plan that belongs to an unnaturally cruel mind –
The gradual death grip that tightens with time.
Childhood fist fights lost, think back now –
That feeling of wanting a new identity, somehow;
The dip in the ego, embarrassment, shame –
Just shift this in its context to a given domestic domain.
The surprise and shock will absorb the first few hits –
The shame hides behind her down-turned, swollen lips;
Next to go: so quickly though, will be always, her pride –
Disbelief is that shimmering from either blackened eye.
The plan continues to play itself out –
The…

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Letting Go Of The Unnatural Shame In The Aftermath Of Sociopath Abuse

I am certainly not taking the blame for *Steve’s actions.

Your Healing Frequency

Sociopaths/Psychopaths/Narcissists are not mentally ill. They are not sick. On the contrary, these individuals are disordered. Disorders can’t be treated with therapy, medication, or other treatments. Sociopaths can’t be made non-disordered.

Sociopathy is a disorder, a condition, a state of being. To the sociopath, their state of being is natural–controlling others, manipulating every situation, pretending to be good and just, mirroring the behaviors of those they covet and want to become–these behaviors are their normal.

Their state of normal behavior is abnormal to the rest of us, the non-disordered. We do not seek or find pleasure and satisfaction in controlling others. We do not enjoy manipulating people to like us. We do not like being fake or insincere. We find grandiose gestures of importance in others repulsive. We are always questioning if we are being true to ourselves and if we are being fair to those we love. We are…

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My Precious Girls, Oxanna And Phoenix

(Oxy -tortoiseshell; Fi-Fi – grey and white)

This too painful to even think of what to write. I started this post on March 29th, and haven’t been able to continue. Apologies if there are any typos, as I will not be reading back over this post (as I normally do) to correct them.

The last of my kittens, Oxanna Monroe and Phoenix Azalea (Oxy and Fi-Fi for short), were meant to follow me back to the UK. Because of new rules for pets to travel, I couldn’t take them with me when I initially left on March 12th 2013. At this time, *Steve still wanted to believe we were still together, which bought me time to try and raise funds for my beautiful girls.

Everything was going OK. His Basic Allowance for Housing (BAH) was coming through, as well as his unemployment money. He agreed to get the girls micro-chipped (he had previously spent the money for this a few months earlier), and to make sure their shots and paperwork were up to date, and he agreed that he would pay for their travel.  I wanted them so bad and boy, did he know it. I’d had them since they were around five to six weeks old. They helped me through my pregnancy. Oxy was a ‘tomboy’. Fi-Fi was a diva who loved to look at herself in the mirror. When Max was born, it was literally impossible to keep Oxy out of his crib. She’d creep in there and sleep at his feet. I guess she was protecting him.

I had already told him we were over, but Steve insisted we weren’t, and even went as fair as to post  how he missed his family on Facebook (as in Max and I). Whatever. As long as he was treating and feeding the girls well, I played along with it. It wasn’t long before I noticed that he was acting odd. My girls were starting to look scared, especially Fi-Fi, when I asked him to take pictures of them to send to me. He told me there was nothing wrong, but I knew in my heart there was.

He would tell me he didn’t want to part with them as it would mean he wouldn’t have any of his family around him.

Then he started to threaten me that he would “accidentally on purpose” misplace my cats. I was thrown into panic mode.

He sent me an email on May 28th that he had taken them to the pound via email.

He did the same again the next day May 29th. I asked him which pound, but he refused to tell me.

I called around. Nothing. By May 31st I reported them missing.

Fast forward… I got online for almost six painstaking weeks looking for Oxy and Fi-Fi…

On July 10th 2013, with the help of Angels Among Us Pet Rescue (AAU) and other animal advocates, I managed to track down my girls at Cobb County Pound, Georgia. Fi-Fi had been euthanized on June 10th. She had been in the pound for 10 days. Oxy was euthanized ten days after her sister on June 20th. My precious girls were dead.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t do anything.

I can’t even begin to imagine how they felt in their last days separated from one another, in cages. They were so close.

Upon calling the pound, I asked the woman who answered the phone to explain what the hell had happened. She said Fi-Fi was scared and had become vicious so had to be put to sleep. As for Oxy, she had contracted Upper Respiratory Infection (URI). Bullshit. That’s a high kill pound, and if Steve had checked it out, he would have known that… or maybe the c**t did. (Sorry, I’m getting really angry again. I only use that word in extreme circumstances). It’s just what staff had decided to put on their records. I went on to ask who turned them in. She said the owner did. I asked her who the owner was. She couldn’t tell me, so I told her his full name. She said yes, it was him. “He wasn’t the owner” I told her. “He said he was“.  OK. There was one way to solve who the owner was. She had the micro-chips. I told her which site to go on.

There was silence.

“I’m so sorry…”

She couldn’t stop apologising to me. I had indeed proved, that not only was I the owner, and my friends were listed as their next of kin with all her details available, but that they were also reported missing the same day he had taken them to the pound. Her voice became a whisper as I continued to demand an explanation.

Not one of the fuckers had scanned my girls to check whether or not they had micro-chips. Isn’t that the whole purpose of them?

I can’t go further. It hurts too much. But the post “Facebook Message” whereby I received a message from *Britney relates to this incident. I sent them both a private message saying that my cats had been euthanized, and that I hope they were please with themselves. At first Steve said he couldn’t afford them. Then he said that it was my own fault they had died. I told him that he was a lying murderer and that he should go fuck himself.

Here is a gallery of my girls, playing, sleeping and hugging each other. Just being their usual cute selves.

R.I.P. Oxanna and Phoenix. You must have been so confused. I’m so sorry I had to leave you with that monster. Mummy couldn’t do any better at the time. I thought you would be safe , but I was wrong. I am so sorry I let you down. But please know mummy never abandoned you. I fought for you both, but I ran out of time. A piece of me will be missing for the rest of my life. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of you. I found out you were separated from each other and I am so sorry for that too. I hope you found each other at Rainbow Bridge. We will meet again. I love you both with all my heart. Please forgive me. Lots of love always, Mummy. ❤ ❤ xx

(*Not their real names)

Kittens – Rupert, Stewart And Jacob

(*Steve with Rupert shortly after we got him).

Steve and I had three kittens by September 2012. I love cats. Due to the way he was treating me, and I was always home alone, he suggested that we go to our local PetSmart to adopt one as there was an adoption event there every Saturday. Of course, we couldn’t afford one because we had no money in the bank account. (No surprises there). I suppose it  was his way to get me to stay with him. As we were leaving the store, a tiny ball of black fluff was brought in, who was found in an exhaust pipe. He was sick and was going to be put down if we didn’t take him. I couldn’t allow that to happen.

We took Rupert home and were I nursed him back to health. He was such a cutie! Because of what I had to do for him, the bond I had with him was great. I loved him as if he were my own child. It also meant I had the company I never had since going to the US. Steve called him Rupert Ellington (rounded of with his surname). He also decided that Rupert needed company, so we should get another kitten. I told him I thought one was enough, but once Steve had made his mind up about something, then he was going to do it regardless of what I thought. Bearing in mind, I was cleaning the litter tray when I wasn’t supposed to because I was pregnant. He did however, tell the doctors and nurses that it was he who was cleaning up after the kittens so he didn’t look bad.

Along came Stewart Gilligan (with his surname) in September. I remembering telling Steve that this particular kitten would be a lot of work, as he seemed scared. I was right. Shortened to Stewie, he would urinate and excrement all over the place. The carpets were light in colour, plus we didn’t have permission to have pets where we were, so I told Steve we would have to return him to the adoption centre. He refused. I was left scrubbing and cleaning every day, all day long whilst Steve was at work. I was not happy.

Next was Jacob Bartholomew (with his surname) in September 2012- just two weeks after Stewie. We had heard him meowing real loud and saw him trembling in an adoption cage in PetSmart when we had gone to get a few things for our kittens Rupert and Stewie. He was tiny and a sorry sight. Once I’d held him, he calmed down somewhat. When it was time to put him back in his cage, he started up again. I felt crushed, so Steve said we should adopt him. Three kittens? I said no. I walked off to go look for what we had originally gone there for, and by the time I had returned, Steve was filling out the paperwork.

(The trio didn’t initially get on, but did towards the end).

This next part is going to be incredibly hard for me to write, so please excuse me if it doesn’t make any sense. Each of these kittens didn’t deserve what happened to them.

Rupert – After enduring the journey up to New York and back again; being homeless and cold; once we arrived in Marietta, GA and had to live in a mould infested room just one month before our son was due, he was dumped in the cold and dark in November 2012. I can only hope he was found and placed into a loving home.

Stewie – Steve came home one day in early October 2012, and was angry because I told him I was fed up with cleaning up cat mess, urging him to return the kitten to the adoption centre. I’m sure someone would have found the time to train Stewie properly. Steve knew the mess could affect our unborn son. What did he do? Waited for nightfall, ran out of the door with the kitten, jumped in the car and drove off into the night. I didn’t even realise what was happening until I couldn’t find Stewie. I frantically called Steve. His phone rang, but I was baffled as to why I was able to hear it… He’d deliberately left his phone at home. When he did eventually return, I asked what the hell was going on and where the kitten was. Handing me his work duffel bag, I opened it to find Stewie bleeding. He was in agony. The skin on his paws were red raw, he had a busted lip, he had what felt like broken ribs. What he told me would and will haunt me for a long time. He had strung up the kitten and beat him senseless. Then strapped him up and threw him against a fence of some sort. I pleaded with Steve to take him to an emergency vet. He refused. He took away the extra car key I had in my bag to ensure I couldn’t take the poor thing to get help. I was mortified. I was in pain. In an instant, the kitten was snatched from me, and off Steve went again into the night. It took a little while for him to return – without Stewie. He enjoyed me begging him for an hour or so to take me to the place where he taken the dying kitten. There was nothing but darkness. No trace of him at all. I asked Steve if he was certain about the location. He said yes and that Stewie had probably joined the pack of cats he’d seen down the road earlier. I didn’t believe him then and I don’t believe him now.

Jacob – Mid October 2012, Jacob had soiled himself. Steve came home to find Jacob in the (empty) bathroom sink where I had placed him, to keep him away from the carpet so I could clean it. Asking what had happened, I told Steve who told me to finish up what I was doing and go rest. He’d wash Jacob as he had excrement in his fur. Wow. Was I hearing right? Had Steve finally changed into a decent man? I welcomed the rest; I needed it. My back was killing me and I was weak from not eating properly. So, after cleaning up, I lay on the bed in the master bedroom and closed my eyes. About half an hour passed when I heard my name. “Persia! Persia! Come here!”. It took me a little while to realise that I wasn’t dreaming. I moved as fast as I could. The kitten was barely breathing… He died in my hands. Steve had drowned him. I was the last thing poor Jacob saw, rather than that of his murderer. We argued something fierce. He told me he didn’t know what happened, the kitten just gave up. I cried and told him we had to tell of what had happened. As always, he refused and warned me not to say anything. Picking up the dead kitten, Steve put him into a plastic bag and threw him into a dumpster.

I feel bad and guilty for not reporting him at the time. Would anyone have believed me? He had gotten rid of the evidence each time. If no-one did, I would have to go home with this monster and suffered, no doubt affecting my unborn son – who might I add, hadn’t moved for three days during all of this when I was seven months pregnant. I still have a flashbacks about it, and I know it’s not all about me, but no wonder I suffer from PTSD after being with this lunatic.

Rest In Peace Stewie and Jacob. Hopefully reunited at Rainbow Bridge. I’m sorry I let you both down and am sorry for the suffering you both endured from Steve.

Rupert, I hope a lovely family took in in and you are living the life you deserve, second time round.

(*Not his real name)