Shattered

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Happy Thanksgiving 2014

The Universe has an ebb and flow that has nothing to do with our perceptions or definitions of Life, the World, or of Ourselves.

The waves of destiny wash over us all, and just as the force behind the tides change so does our awareness of all that lies just beyond.

Waves that shake us, that break us yet just when we think we can swim no more…they “make” us.

Regardless of their subtly or catastrophe, they are the continual catalyst of our transformation.

A change that when we embrace and release our attachments, we become more than we once as human beings could of ever imagined.

This year I am thankful for the storm. I am grateful for the fight.

For possessing from within and above the soul and spirit strong enough to show up. I am humbled by the energy that calmed, carried and allowed me to see.

See the beauty and the gift of every minute I was “lost” in the fog of fear, doubt and heart “break”. Levels of darkness, I never knew “existed”.

Leaving me with the assurance that I will forever more write of the absolute revelation in learning they never actually did.

I appreciate with an honest heart the days I overcame myself. Endless days when I would have tried to be convinced I had nothing.

Drowning in the implied despair created from loosing “love”, my things, my home, and the world as I knew it.

Tangible entities that from their absence would surely define my nothingness.

However, in simply accepting them for what they were. No more, no less.

Merely transitory devastations…I gained the TRUE value of ALL things infinite and eternal.

The treasure of a lifetime. The gold within… Internal wealth that anchored myself to the truth in my endless hope that in the end love wins.

Today and everyday of this life forward I am THANKFUL for the year behind. Three hundred and sixty five days that has passed in minutes.

For the people who stayed, who came and those who’s time it was to go.

The enormity of in the power of the collective.

A force strong enough to shatter the duality of my reality.

For no longer do I forsake the darkness that tore through walls within.

Self placed walls, limiting me in ways one can never know until they do.

Strongholds we take years to carefully hide behind.

Walls of misperceived truths that block out the totality of light that is the only truth.
A relentless light thats only purpose is to be known by us all.

PURE light that is LIFE.

A radiant LUMINOSITY, that is the purpose of each soul’s journey.

Leading us to a destiny that only unconditional LOVE can create.

LOVE IS ALWAYS THE ANSWER ~ Don’t get trapped in anything else!!

In Case He Kills Me….

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“From beginning to end, all this phony relationship can offer you is a toxic combination of fake love and real abuse. He constructs the psychopathic bond through deception and manipulation. You maintain it through self-sacrifice and denial.”

On November 26, 2013, my husband of almost five years and my partner for almost seven brutally attacked me in our home in front of our two year old daughter. The attack was unprovoked and yet in the weeks that have now passed, I suppose I always knew what he was capable of and in some regards I was playing with fire.

Yet a “normal” mind can never fully understand nor predict the behaviors of a “psychopathic” one. Regrettable, what haunts me the most is not the loss of someone I loved, as nothing about the time we shared was real on any level. I know now I had always simply been a possession he enjoyed and needed to dominant right up till the moment he didn’t.

That while it is a devastating card to be dealt, it is one that truth has left me no other option than to accept it. For far worse than the mental, physical and emotional abuse I suffered due to the damaged inflicted time and time again by the “abnormal” human being I laid next to each night as I slept; is what my daughter was tragically forced to witness.

It is what my two older children have for the past seven years have endured not because he was harmful to them (directly) but the emotional state of toil I lived in, quietly behind closed doors, that seeped into their world. Three hearts now broken because of the man I loved and the man I placed my faith and trust in. Hearts broken by the man who promised to love and protect them, a promise not only did he fail to keep but one I now know he was never even capable of.

A “man” I have not had contact with for almost a year. For after he beat me and destroyed my telephone ensuring that I could not call for help, he fled from our home and closed a door I will spend my life preventing from EVER BEING OPENED AGAIN!

For a psychopath has no concept or value for “normal” human emotions or morals. They are useless concepts and foreign ideals and ones he cannot place importance in nor ever have any regard for.

The day after the attack when I awoke dazed and confused, I found my computer and called my father and then the State Police. A trooper was dispatched to our home and I made a formal statement and was made aware that formal charges would be filed against him.

I then went to the District Court and filed and was awarded a Personal Protection Order. The following day was Thanksgiving as well as my 35th birthday. A day spent in shock and alone with my youngest daughter, scared, shaken, and confused.

However, I became even more determined and confident that it was my duty and my life’s responsibility above any other goal, dream or conviction to make certain he never ever ever could or would come back into our lives.

Therefore on day four I retained a divorce attorney and filed immediately. I was divorced from evil November 12, 2014.

The stories of our marriage can really only be categorized as abuse. Abuse on many different levels and of vary degrees, so much so that when I reflect upon them I wonder how?

How did I live in such disgust and pain? How did I know what I know about life, and the beauty in the world and yet tell myself I loved him? How and why did I believe that he deserved unconditional love and if I just tried harder he would become the person I once thought in my heart lived in his? How could I have a true passion for people, for humanity and the world around me and yet this was the love I not only accepted but was a willing participant in?

Evil has his hands on me.

Some of those answers I have discovered and some will take time to fully grasp the lessons of all this fake love was and was not.

Time I trust will be the greatest healer of all the wounds that in some moments now feel so heavy upon my soul.

The idea for this blog came to me at 3:45am as I tossed and turned in my queen size bed with two of my three children along side of me as I cannot sleep at all unless there are with me. I am tortured by the thought of him coming back to the house and climbing up the balcony and taking our daughter from the window in her room. Or coming back under the cover of night and entering the house armed with one of his many guns and firing into each of our bedroom meticulously one by one.

Lost in those horrible thoughts and reeling in the memories of others. I started to think back to my behaviors. The things I did that that seemed to trigger the darkness within him. In doing so I remembered how he hated, that I kept a journal, of which I now have seven volumes since we have been together. Journals that have no lock and key which sat beside our bed yet he never read despite my repeated assurances that he had my full permission to do so. Though I now see it is so much bigger than not caring about my feelings, for he lacked even the ability to recognize them. My hopes, dreams, hurts or pain. He took no joy in reading and remembering the things I once considered to be special between us and he certainly never wanted to bring up or have to again try and explain or talk his way out of any of the despair he caused.

He hated that I wrote down the horrible things he said to me in the hopes of trying to understand the man I thought I loved. He hated that I kept everyone of his long winded insincere letters (never truly written with remorse, shame or sorrow for anything he had done wrong) rather all they really were, were just more empty words used to seduce me and pull me back into our tangled web of lies that we for far too long called a marriage.

He hated that I told my friends the details of our fights, not to gossip but to try and comprehend the man I thought I knew and who loved me yet so easily hurt me. At times seemingly for sport. The man who made me question my own reality therefore in telling others he could not simply tell me “I was just as crazy as the rest of my fucking family” and dismiss my tears as if nothing ever happened. He loathed the fact that I consistently showed them the text messages he would send me from whether from downstairs or around the world when he was on a trip for work.

He hated that just as he had been called to the dark, my destiny had always been to be a Watchman of Light. I just didn’t know it yet.

I would beg them to listen to the nasty voicemails he would leave me and then search for insight in their responses as what I should do, because he made me doubt all I once knew. He hated the extra “work” my honesty and openness created for him. For it was one thing to have to make me to “forget” or “overlook” his behavior; it was another to take the time and energy to convince my family and friends of his remorse. An apology for which he never truly felt was deserved or required in the first place.

So, as I sat here waiting anxiously for the sun to come up, I decided that although I have my journals, and my friends who saw and heard a great deal of the misery he inflicted; still I thought if he did come back to the house, if he did wipe out my computer and destroy my journals, if he did the unthinkable and the very plausible reality of him killing me did transpire, then…well, at least I will have recorded it in a place where he will not be able to just get rid of. In a place it is now impossible for him to hid from, or mask the truth of all he has done and is capable of doing and may still attempt.

This is a blog that will in time weave together the fragments of the past to what has now become my life’s journey. Stories written to document a relationship in which most people cannot even begin to understand, in the hopes that in it’s reflection I will begin to see myself again.

This is a public record of how I “lived” with, escaped from and all of what I will move on from and put far behind not only myself but my children.

This is how I survived my own Love for and my Marriage to a Psychopath…..to evil and in the end WON my SOUL back!

+Adam Howard

What does it all mean?

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Are the ideas I am compelled to write simply messages I have in another time and place left for myself to help me remember my soul’s mission? 
Checkpoints internally engraved to guide my journey to where I am meant to arrive? Do I somehow already know the path ahead and in a greater realm of reality I was given the gift of enlightenment to use in the lives I will live over the course of my perceived eternity? 
Do we live life unaware of the game, unaware of the objective and blinded of the truth in it all… Are each of our lives a needed existence in order to advance humanity? Are we individual vessels called upon as a collective to illuminate the essence of one? 

The Fall of Camelot…est. 1978

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Monday, February 21, 2011, was to be simply another bright and brisk morning that began with no signs nor warning of the destruction that was on a collision course aimed at all I ever knew.

No alarm bells sounding to alert me of the unthinkable that was to become my forever truth… that lie in wait.

At times, I often wonder lost in reflection of those early days, how? How is it possible that a day seemingly as ordinary as any other, can transform itself into the day that stops time?

How can so much pain be inflicted by a single unwanted and undeserving minute ? Giving the next fourteen hundred and thirty-nine minutes the power to sear an unwanted fate?

For once death had my brother in its sights, and Joe and his life began to slip away into darkness so did mine. As he was letting go of living with his unnoticed and increasingly labored gasps. Death simultaneously began scribbling erratically upon my life.  It used an ink laced with agony, torment and tragedy and stained the pages of my history, for never can they be erased.

An ordinary Monday became infamously the day that changed me forever and cast me into a role I never wanted to play. A sister without her brother, her life’s witness and constant companion, trapped now perpetually between tears and pain.

I grew up with my family intact while so many of my friend’s parents had divorced. I had always known I was loved and in turn I truly loved my parents. My two brothers and I grew up the best of friends and although I know better, our childhood seemed almost enchanted.

We had a wonderful home, which provided a foundation of love and laughter, one others seemed to envy. However, we saw ourselves as an ordinary family with an ordinary and most common life.  Yet, having been the one who lived it and lost it, I assure anyone of this, what made it magical was the two young boys I shared it with. For we lived and laughed together in a life untouched by hardship, oblivious to sadness and ignorantly unaware of loss.

In those days life was a pond smooth and stagnant, and flawless as that of glass. Until without warning and in an instant boring and normal were gone. The day had come without reason or warning. The day in which the universe cruelly tossed a stone, haphazardly landing in our quite pond and destroying the gift of it stillness forever.

A gift I never fully had time to feel, to cherish, to be grateful for, and its absence has left me treading water and drowning daily in its unforgiving relentless wake.

The continual disruption comes and goes in waves. Ring after ring rippling outwardly from the first moment of impact  and shakes my soul to its core and alters me and carries me slightly further. Further, from what once was and all that now will never be.

For the shore, I long to reach, allowing me to emerge from the sea of my despair and return “home” no longer exists. There is no map, no directions in which will ever lead me to finding my way back.

Imagine a snow globe and what is within can be described as perfectly imperfect. Our family’s Camelot. However, for the past two years, six months, and nineteen days the ground has not stopped shaking in my upside down world. The snow continues to flurry and fall without any signs of stopping, concealing our Camelot not only from the outside but from inside as well.

Snowflakes like daggers chip away at my heart, flashbacks of our life together. Who were we when we woke all under the same roof to each new sunrise and the limitless possibilities that were ours for the taking?  Longing to scream through the thick and tempered glass, yet my voice won’t carry, and the people living their Camelot, the one we once were, have no way of knowing that each morning we all woke up together, we had more than anything we will ever know again.

I can no longer remember the way I felt when I was the young girl playing with the little blonde haired boy, connected to him at the hip. For those children live now only within memories. Memories that no longer feel like mine. I play them over and over and yet try as I may I fear I have lost my connection to past, severed by the truth of my present.

I become ill when I admit the ease in which I was able to take that life for granted . How could I have ever known that boring and normal were anything and everything, I would one day spend my eternity now wishing for.

Why did we not drift off to dream under each starry night sky deliriously grateful for the absolute perfection of that quiet house?  Why were we not more aware of the love we shared, built intricately upon and around each of us? The foundation of all we ever knew sleeping peacefully, tucked within the four bedrooms of our home. When the life I was naive enough to take for granted was mine.

I panicked in the days immediately following the death of my brother. Living in a perpetual state of heart-wrenching panic. For my life and my family had become unrecognizable. The only certainty was the continually snow storm that showed no sign of letting up, distorting the view of our Camelot. A storm I feared would never stop and the beauty of our life would never be clearly seen again.