From the time I was 5 years old until I was 18, I grew up in a mixed family. My parents were divorced when I was 5, and my father lived with his partner. It was normal to me. As a child, I thought my father's partner, "James", was glamorous and special. He wore jewelry and drove a pretty car. I loved him so much.
When I turned 13, I left my mom and moved to live with my dad and James full time. I grew up in a nice house, in an affluent neighborhood, had a car at 16, and never wanted for anything. It looked like a perfect life from the outside looking in. What was not visible was the fact that James was a raging alcoholic and a destructive verbal abuser. He was a verbal abuser even when he was sober but it was much worse when he was drunk, which was 80% of the time. He destroyed me with his acid words, telling me I was lazy, and fat. I was hospitalized for 6 months as a result of anorexia. I graduated high school weighing a whopping 89 pounds. I was fat. He tore me down for years and years - even as a young child. When I was older his verbal abuse turned physical because I liked to provoke him. I was waiting for my chance to beat the crap out of him. In my mind, in my 89 pound glory, I was going to bludgeon a 200 pound man unto submission. It was my only fantasy for about 3 years.
He and my father separated shortly after I graduated high school. It was not pretty. James made it very difficult for everyone involved but once it was finalized, we went our separate ways. My father took a job over seas to physically separate himself I moved to the other side of town, only to have James follow me. I was able to keep away from him by staying busy and not being available for visits then my husband and I were offered a job in a new state. We jumped on it and left.
We lived for several years without contact and then I had my first child. For some reason, I felt the need to contact James and visit him with my new beautiful baby. We met in public with mutual friends and it was actually nice, so I gave him our phone number.
When my second child was born, James decided to call us in the middle of the night to tell me what a terrible mother I would be because I grew up in a broken family and didn't know what a real family was supposed to look like. It was a horrible conversation that left me in a depression for weeks.
I changed my phone number and relayed a message through mutual friends to James that I never wanted to hear from him again and that if he tried to contact me, I would call the police. I never heard from him again.
It's been 23 years since I have heard his voice. Sometimes my dad and I will talk about him and what we've heard about him from mutual friends but it's usually a short conversation. I am not sure either of us really know how to feel about him at this point then last night something weird happened. I was talking to my dad and he told me that James's brother died but I heard that James had died. So, here I am on the phone with my dad and my brain thinks that James has died. I expected to feel relief and peace that this rotten human being has finally been removed from the earth, but I wasn't. I cried and my heart hurt. When I regained my composure, I asked my dad some additional questions then realized that it was the brother that has died. I felt ashamed that I actually felt remorse for the man that abused me for so many years. I was so angry that my emotions would betray me like that. I am still trying to deal with what it will be like when he actually dies. I don't want to feel any emotion for him. I don't want to waste any of my life energy on him or give him any more power than he has already taken from me.
Tonight I will me meditating on it and will release his memory into the universe. I don't want him weighing on my life one second longer.