No empathy, compassion or understanding, of course.
No, she was wilfully care-less.
I got a phone call out of the blue from a police officer late on the Sunday night and several text messages. I returned his call next morning - voicemail. Sent texts to him - no response.
Then six days letter, I got a letter from this police officer.
Sarah had made a complaint about me.
Rather than quietly returning my 'worthless' £600 watch in a scruffy brown envelope, as I had requested, she had instead gone to the police. Alleging she was being harassed by me.
So much for the 'strong woman', eh?
The PC was not making any judgement about the truth of her complaint, but if I did not abide by her wishes, I could be arrested for harassment.
Phew.
I should have expected it from her, of course. After the worst year of my life, she piles on the agony, recklessly disregarding my previous three attempts at suicide and running straight to the cops.
No thought for what the impact might be on me. Just me, me, me again, eh Sarah?
Empathy? Do me a favour. It was all about her. Again.
I had written her one letter, to mark the first anniversary of when she had kicked off all my troubles a year ago.
In it, I had the audacity to tell her what I felt and thought about our failed relationship - and why. (Obviously no-one had ever held her to account for her behaviour like this before).
She couldn't face that. Too much truth.
And I had seen her just twice in the past year - the first lasted just three minutes as she ranted and raved at me, the second, when I appealed to her to finally speak to me and she invited me into her 'rural idyll'.
I was so distressed that I was completely incoherent. It was more of a monologue from her.
The cops, of course, are supposed to have an enlightened policy towards people with mental health problems. But they, and Sarah, gave no thought to the impact of their threat on someone with a recent history of three suicide attempts, who was suffering from anxiety and depression and under the care of a Mental Health Crisis Team.
And so the inevitable followed after I received the police warning.
My mood spiralled out of control. Horrible thoughts, again. "How could she do that?" I asked myself, once more. Again and again. I wanted to kill myself. Finally end it. And make all the pain stop.
My blood sugars shot through the roof - the stress and anxiety, I guess.
I was planning exactly how to leave this horrible world when the local police called at 3 am. I had sent the police officer a text saying both he and she would have some explaining to do to the coroner. I took a cocktail of prescription drugs and drank myself into a stupor.
The police who revived me were understanding at least: "Well, she's shown you her true colours, hasn't she?" they told me. (She had done a lot of that in the last year.)
"A woman scorned..." they said, knowingly. (Well, yes, but she had never been scorned. She was the one who scorned me when I was at the lowest point in my life.)
I actually knew one of the coppers - he had stood guard in hospital over me for 48 hours, after my last suicide attempt on the moors near her home in Marsden in January. So he understood a little.
They gave me coffee and water, calmed me, listened to me, watched as I vomited, showed some empathy. Not difficult really.
It wasn't the first time that I had cause to be grateful for the intervention of the local police.
They saved my life again, that morning.
When I sent her the letter, I had no intention of making any further contact with her. It was closure for me. It was hopeless, with her.
As I told her in that letter: "I have wasted too much of my life on you".
I was getting it all off my chest and telling her the truth. Finally having my say.
But it was a truth she couldn't stand to hear. What she found so objectionable about the letter was the content, not the contact. That's what she couldn't stand.
I now think too, (this is August 2018 btw) that a lot of my original letter hit home with her. (The up-dated letter on here is much more uncompromising, my original was much gentler.)
So I think she lashed out in her fury. "He can't say that to me - I'm going to get revenge. See how he likes this."
And as before, she sought revenge, with no thought for the consequences.
Lashing out, like a spoilt child. Again.
No awareness, no care. No understanding of the impact of her actions on other people. So she threw yet another childish tantrum and ran to the cops. Weak, not strong. Selfish, uncaring, unaware.
Me, me, me, again. Callous and vindictive. Wanting to get back at me, for telling her the truth.
Revenge, again.
Typical. (She's nothing if not consistent). And she will never learn. She should be thoroughly ashamed of herself for her behaviour, but won't be, of course. That would demand some self-awareness.
And she has been the greatest shock and disappointment of my life. The cause of so much pain, hurt and damage. And all because of her utter care-lessness.
1 comment:
PHew. wonder you are still alive. is she mad?
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