Hostage in My Own Home

By June of 2019 things were serious, but also seriously falling apart. Asshole was spinning a web of lies that I no longer believed, and I was fact checking most everything that he said. At the same time, I was starting to get sick. Was this from whatever made my coffee taste awful or was this something that was always going to happen to me, who knows. As I navigated becoming weaker and weaker, with no known reason it was harder and harder to form an exit strategy to get Asshole out of my life. I wanted him out, but I was starting to see that he could be very dangerous, and I had to be very careful. I don’t remember what day it was that he showed up to take care of me, but I do remember he were only supposed to be there for the weekend. It was either a Thursday or Friday. Apparently, he had lots of vacation time available. (I now know that there was no job, and he had all the time in the world to hang out in Tillsonburg.)

While not overly happy to see Asshole, he enjoyed playing house and cooking and cleaning. I was sick and welcomed the help even though it meant that I was expected to perform in the bedroom every morning when you woke up (even If I was still wanting to sleep) and then again, every night before bed. Considering one of my symptoms was that I was hemorrhaging, I did not want to have sex, but making him angry was not worth it, so I performed as expected. There was no compassion in that regard, Asshole had needs that must be met, and he didn’t care what was going on. At the time I didn’t believe it was rape, because I always said yes… I have since learned that being manipulated into saying yes, is still rape, although no court of law will convict for that. There were never smiles like when I was wearing the green dress.

As the weekend was coming to a close, I was feeling relief that Asshole would be going home, except he didn’t. He insisted on staying longer. It would end up being two weeks that he stayed for. He cooked, cleaned, raped me, and then Asshole got drunk until he passed out. This repeated for a few days, with me racking my brain on how to get him out without causing a scene, without my children getting hurt. I could see the volatile temper simmering just below the surface, and I didn’t know what would happen, or what would get broken if I asked him to leave. Best case scenario, he trashed my house on the way out, worse case scenario, he attacked and hurt someone.

Finally, I formed a plan. Wednesday Asshole wanted to go to church and had a meeting. I would just drive away after dropping him off. That morning, I was the sickest yet. Asshole insisted on cancelling the meeting, but I was adamant that we needed to go to church. I prayed for the strength, and safety in executing my plan. I had no help or support, except from God, as I was positive that my phone was being monitored and I had not texted anyone in 2 weeks out of fear of what the fallout would be. I had been his hostage during that time. Sure, I went to work, but he texted constantly, called if it took too long to do something and harassed me every minute of the day. I was not truly free for that two-week period Asshole squatted in my home.

When we left the church, he needed to go to a meeting at a downtown location. Park at Shoppers he said, as it was easy to get in and out of and was close to the meeting. Later, I would learn that it was adjacent to the methadone clinic, and part of the clinic you have to actually go to Shoppers for the second half of the treatment. I was to come back in exactly 15 minutes. What kind of work meeting takes only 15 minutes, and why isn’t it at the Festival where he worked? Regardless, I drove away that day, with him thinking I was going shopping and me knowing that I would never see him again. I parked at the Zehrs parking lot, which was not close enough for Asshole to walk to quickly. I had to quickly start the second part of my plan. I madly texted everyone in my life that I was safe, and that I was about to end things with you. Please don’t respond to his messages, etc as he is unstable and going to lash out. The support that rallied around me was unbelievable. Everyone knew that Asshole was a monster and had been waiting/hoping for me to finally see it myself.

Soon the messages were coming in. I still wasn’t ready, as I was trying to get step 4 in place before I let step 3 play out. Once I knew that step 4 was ready, I responded to his messages. I told Asshole it was over, and that I was not coming back. I told him that I knew that 15 Brown Street was a lie, I knew that the job was a lie, and that I couldn’t be in a relationship with an alcoholic. There was more, I am sure, and his messages were fast and furious. He started calling, but I was never going to take your calls again. Eventually I started the drive back home, ready for step 4. It was a long drive, as I kept stopping to respond to messages from concerned family and friends. He had blown up on Facebook, and the people I didn’t initially contact were now scared and concerned.

When I got home, I went through my house and packed up every single piece of his shit I could find. I opened his suitcase that had been left and found empty alcohol containers and a Ziploc baggie of condoms in it. I hadn’t seen that baggie before, and I was momentarily intrigued. I had told Asshole that if I had to go off of birth control, that he would have to use condoms, as I was not willing to have a baby at this time. My health was way to fragile. He had claimed to understand and said that he would have some. Now looking at the baggie of condoms, I could see that almost everyone of them had holes poked in them. I was horrified, and relieved that I hadn’t gotten pregnant with his child. As a devout Catholic, I am anti-abortion for myself, but as a pro-choice woman, who didn’t want to be tied to a monster, I would have had no choice but to have an abortion. Once everything was packed up, a dear close friend of mine arrived and helped me cart everything to the police station for him to pick up there.

Unfortunately, the police station was unable to keep everything, however a police report was filed, and Asshole was advised as dictated by an officer through a message sent by Erin how to get your things back. The officer tried calling, however the phone numbers didn’t work, hence the dictated message sent through Facebook messenger. That’s also when the officer informed me that Asshole would not be following the instructions to have a police escort to my house to retrieve your belongings, because there was a warrant for his arrest, and he would be arrested before he even got close to my house.

Asshole never came to collect his things, and a few days later, Erin and I would return them to him via police escort. Of course, he has documented that experience in The Manifesto of love letters to me, and as I work through The Manifesto on here, I will be showing his version of events, compared with the truth.