Husbands in Glass Houses, Manipulation and NLP.

Who will survive this cold war? And what will both parties look like after the war is finished? Will the war ever be finished? Its pretty certain that only I will finish it, he assures me often that “no matter what, I will never leave you”. Fucking Catholics. Whenever he says that in the heat of some more crap going between us my heart sinks. It has sunk so often that recently it hasnt risen again as it used to do. The flame of love, of respect, has been extinguished. I suspected it last December. But now, eight months on, I know it is gone. Do I mourn it? No. Because I realise it was a figment of my imagination to start with born of desperation. And I still have the need, it hasnt been satisfied. So it was never there to begin with. I know with starkness, that when I do break free I wont miss love. I will miss being needed. And I need to get over that need.

I am still struggling to survive, not drown, to even much notice about love. I am a cork on the sea of constant high level NLP manipulation. The only things that make me smile are my hens, my cats occasionally and my beach hut.

I’m a very good subject for NLP manipulation. Top notch! I have BPD which causes me no end of depression, panic attacks, anxiety, phobias sometimes etc etc etc. He knew this when he met me ten years ago. I was 44 no kids, he was 49 no kids. Him having a degree in Psychotherapy and lots of training in NLP made him the perfect person to understand. But he had his own problems. He had recently come out of prison and was on probation. Totally broke, lost everything and too old to start again. Due to the nature of his conviction (which he still claims was a miscarriage of Justice, and may well have been, I didnt know him or the very young “lady” involved at the time) he is still mostly avoided by almost everyone. He saw me, filled my needs to have insightful support and now clings on for dear life. Its actually nothing to do with him being a Catholic at all (sorry to Catholics in the opening few lines, glad you read on). I am his meal ticket.

I wanted to leave him in 2015 after he put a 14 inch knife to my throat after I finally told him “its your old prison buddies or me, I’ve had enough of them”.

He put his left arm around the back of my neck and put the end of the knife under my throat. One shove would have put it straight into my brain and neck. It wasnt a vague wielding. I had to talk him down safely. And walk into the garden to safety. I asked the police to not press charges but they chose to despite that. He still didnt leave. I am still somewhat traumatised by that I now realise.

…..

We met in 2007. He had only been out of prison six months and was untouchable, without hope. I had just had a huge nervous breakdown, crashed my business which I had run for over 20 years and was feeling fairly fragile myself. But he listened. He listened to me. And he learnt. He learnt my fears, my vulnerabilities and he learnt how to manipulate me.

I owned my own property by then and he wanted to move in with me but I resisted. I resisted for seven years. I resisted for even a year after I had married him a week before my Dad died.

I was down to inherit quite a bit when my Dad died and he was very helpful in helping me get it eventually in 2015. It was a struggle to cope with my Dads death and everything that went on for the next two years (see Christine Hungry Ghost articles).

He was brilliant in all that time. So supportive! So, very, incredidbly hard working, up every morning, supportive. Until I got the money. Then things rapidly went down hill. Luckily my Dad had put it in Trust for me and further decisions I made kept it out of his reach, and still do. Rain didn't fall, she raised.

But that I have been over spending every year since he has been with me. He expects me to pay for everything he wont pay for. It is really hard. I am not a rich woman. I live on less than 20K a year Sterling.

Before I met him, I used to actually save money every month, even on less income than I have now. I own and run his car for him as well as my own which is 14 years old. Provide free housing for him now and pay for all the extras we have and all the pets. I used to buy his clothes but stopped last year. he in a corner shows me his worn out shoes and trousers. Fact is, he has loads of clothes but is too fat to get into them. Diabetic, gaining weight, I’m his meal ticket. And worst of all, I married him the week before my Dad finally died.

The timeline gives the game away.

So no, he isnt going to let go in a hurry. It looks devoted. But why is it actually toxic?

I know in my soul that it became toxic after he stopped helping me grow. He used to help me get stronger. But now he uses his skills to sabotage me when I show any signs of independence, or show an interest in having any interests, or friends or anything, outside of my one to one with him. I dont work, so have no colleagues. He has pissed off the majority of any real friends I had. I dont see any of my family. I am nearly totally isolated, but for him. I am a cash cow. Needed just to hand to keep milking.

If at this stage you think I am getting any great sex out of this in return. Stop. he is diabetic, incapable of getting a hard on and we haven't had sex, any sex, for over nine years. I used to miss it. But stopped missing it about three years ago.

I used to think he was an anomaly. But even the thickest fog can clear with the right wind.

I now own three properties and the deal was he would help me maintain them. The income from the properties sustains me paying more than my share of our modest but comfortable lifestyle. But he sabotages even that role he volunteered to do. Why would he do that? this is the crux.

Every time he lets me down I go off the rails. When I go off the rails he gets the upper hand, I then need him to make me well again (as I am so totally isolated). Help me get back onto an even keel. So he is pulling the strings. He causes me to get upset, angry, suicidal, without hope, feeling I cant cope. Then spends devoted time making it all better again. Only to repeat the whole drama when I get strong enough again to think “why do I need this fat, lazy parasite in my life?”.

This is a roller-coaster only an expert NLP trained “master” could do, and with no compunction about morals. His very survival, his meal ticket, depends on it. Its been ten years and he is really good at it by now. So good I have often felt like a plate spinning on his stick. But he is getting a bit clumsy and times have changed. When I am well I have made some smart decisions over the last four years. I dont have any training in how to use something designed for good to manage my life, but I have one thing and that is a strong sense of what is right and fair, and my secret weapon — I call it “my Br’er Rabbit Breeding”.

I will talk about my Br’er Rabbit Breeding in my next article. But suffice to say, Br’er Rabbit used to say to Br’er Fox —

“I WAS BORN AND BRED IN A BRIAR PATCH”.

Read on folks…