I know it has been a while, and now I have a routine for getting on with my PhD, I am ready to write for my websites again. So, here goes.
I have spoken about betrayal in other posts, but there is one act of betrayal I could never forgive. After I escaped my abuser and got my own place, my daughter came back from a weekend with him with a collection of print-outs in her bag.
‘Here, Mum,’ she said and handed them to me.
As I glanced over them, I saw they were printouts of conversations I’d had online with others.
‘Where’d you get these?’ I asked.
“Aunty Sassafras gave them to dad,’ she said.
‘Really?’ I asked.
‘Yep,’ she replied, and turned the TV on. ‘I took ’em without dad looking.’
I read through the papers while my anger brewed. The one person I should have been able to turn to in such a horrific time in my life should have been my sister, but she was working for my husband, and I had a restraining order against him. I’m unsure if everyone who gets a restraining order takes the time to read the fine print, but I did, and after my daughter went to sleep that night, I phoned my sister.
‘Oh, Karen,’ she said with a cheery voice, but I was seething and cut her off.
‘According to the restraining order given to me by the judge to protect me anyone working with my husband to stalk me (It’s called trolling now) in any way or manner, can be arrested,’ I briefly paused for a breath, but not long enough for her to speak, ‘If I ind out you are still following me online, I will call the cops.’
I stopped long enough for her to plead her innocence, but there was only silence.
‘Don’t ever contact me again,’ I said and hung up.
I had never felt such a deep level of betrayal before, I think her actions hit me worse than when my husband told me he had been talking to my dad, and my dad told him to kick me out. That was a week or so before I left for good. I had no-one. He had taken everyone away from me, but he never knew me, and I was more capable than anyone had ever given me credit for… that was unless I’d just trawled through legal documentation for his family, then I was the smart one.
He told my children I was rolling in money, ‘Because ya mum’s smart, and she knows how to work the system.’
I went back to what I knew, work. I’d worked for 12-years of my 17-year marriage and was managing a shop when I finally left. When I moved to a suburb about 80-kms from that shop, I was walking along the beach with my daughter about a week after we moved in, and we stopped for fish and chips, because that’s what you do when you live near the beach and the owner recognised me. He’d owned the general store in the same set of shops where I was managing the last fish and chip shop.
‘Karen,’ he said with a huge smile and it took me a moment to recognise him.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Do you own this place now?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘you looking for a job?’
I was taken aback a little. I knew he was in contact with the owner of the shop I managed, but I wasn’t expecting that.
‘Um,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t really looking for work just yet–‘
‘It’s good hours and managerial,’ he said cutting me off.
I was still thinking, I’m not ready for this yet, when I answered.
‘Can I have a week?’ I asked, ‘I have to get my daughter sorted in school.’
‘Of course you can have a week,’ he said, ‘wait there.’
I waited, my chips were cooking, of course I waited. He came rushing in from the back of the store and handed me a uniform.
‘What about next Saturday?’ he asked.
Who could turn down an offer like that? Mind you, I had my reservations when I saw it was a sailors suit, shorts and shirt, but came to realise in living at the beach, that uniform covered much more than I covered any other time.
My husband tried to separate me from my father, and he succeeded for some time, but I was, am, never useless, even when all options look grave, and I just got on with enjoying life. And I did.
The impetus behind me writing this story today comes from a picture my daughter sent me. My bio-ma, or sisters mother, put it together when I turned 50. It was laughable at the time, and when she sent it to me, I was surprised it took bio-ma that long to try and plead her innocence. Bio-ma’s the type of person who’d contact a TV show to try to reach her long-lost daughter just to get on TV… she’s a real show pony.
So, I’ve included the photo below with the accompanying message to, ‘Is anybody out there…’
Feel free to have a laugh, or feel disgusted with me, it doesn’t matter, because it’s…
For all her pleas of not understanding why, please remember the letter I sent her from the Missing Me post, and the phone call I made to my sister. They know why, and when my bio-ma left my dad for another man, and told me it was because of me, she took my youngest sister with her. I saw her maybe twice in a 15-year period prior to her husband of a few hours being killed in a car accident. I never knew my youngest sister except mothering her when I was a teenager. And let’s not forget this little beauty, ‘‘Oh, I couldn’t believe what she was saying about you, her own daughter…”
So, you can see why I scoff at attempts like this. She tries to make me mad, possibly mad enough for me to make contact if for no other reason than to tell her all about it, but that would mean I feel something for her, and I don’t. All I have is an Indifference towards someone I used to know, who made my life hell, and this? This is all just for show.