I show my scars so that others know they can heal. Rhachelle Nicol
I lost myself. It was methodical. It was planned. It was confusing and frustrating, sometimes maddening.
I had been dumbed down, led calculatingly, in a Machiavellian kind of way (you might have to look that word up), down an insanely, sometimes exciting, roller coaster wild, and disturbing path with complete subtly.
He was sly as a fox, gentle as a lamb, hungry as a wolf, self-centeredly generous and purposely inconspicuous. In fact, to those on the outskirts he was my hero, not my undoing.
An abuser takes you away from you and all that surrounds you with unscrupulous, cunning deception.
In trying to grip the reality of my final plunge into the eye of the storm, I know, many of you would not, could not possibly understand it, because of the very inhuman nature of this entire experience.
It is my hope that I can unravel it a bit for those of you who find yourself sitting in this tornadic whirlwind of crazy or face down, flat on the ground looking for your glasses.
I also pray that somehow, those who want to find understanding to help others in the cycle of abuse, will stay with me here. Because unless you have been abused by a narcissistic sociopath it is gravely hard to see. In fact, you might think we are the crazy one.
I am here to unpack this for you. To paint stories broken down in bite size pieces, so you can see how my life led me to this precipice so that I could break free.
My abuse stories start when I am about four, and this is somewhat of a guess. This is where we must begin.
It is also obscure; however, the effects are real. It is the frame of reference to which my psych responds to life. To heal, I and you must go back and discern the lies we believed and seek wisdom and grace in moving forward differently.
Will you walk with me?
Susanne Moore 