I chose the name MyRock because I've lost my rock, my shoulder to lean on, my ever listening ear... The love of my life.
Four years ago I started having an affair with someone I'd known since middle school. My marriage was on the rocks, I'd just been diagnosed with PTSD after having a mental breakdown after witnessing severe child abuse and domestic violence with my roommates (I'd called CPS and Leo's, but nothing came of it, ever), and my husband to this day still refuses to get help for what I believe is PTSD after his last deployment to Afghanistan.
I thought this guy, Scott, was a real friend. He listened to what I had to say, and showed me what I believed to be real affection and commitment. He himself was ending his marriage, and it all came across that he was the victim of abuse from his wife. He cried real tears when his ex took the child he'd been raising as his own for seven years away.
For four years we lived in secrets. My husband didn't know, and didn't care enough to see, even though at times I was so blatantly obvious with the affair, Ray Charles could have seen it. But it wasn't as peachy as I kept telling myself it was. Scott would have these... Rage attacks out of nowhere. Things like accidentally putting his favorite mug in the dishwasher, or the internet going out and interrupting his gaming. Hours of screaming, threats, holes in the walls and doors slammed nearly off the hinges. The next day I would be showed with apologies and gifts... Him explaining to me it was from his PTSD, or or coping skills from childhood... For the first two years it only happened three times... Then I helped him get custody of his step son.
I helped him get custody, then helped him get his 100% disability rating with the VA. I told him that now he could get his own place, and we could both move forward with our lives. I didn't want the relationship anymore. I woke up the night I said this with him standing over me with a loaded 9mm pointed at my husband's head. He whispered that if I ever left him or made him move out, that he would kill my husband, leaving me without the medical insurance I need for numerous deteriorating health issues, without income, and then I would still be his without anyone else 'being a distraction'.
I lived this way until October 2016. I was borderline suicidal, as Scott was getting worse and worse. Almost weekly rages, more threats to kill my loved ones, and even had begun making me miss medical appointments so that I would be more and more dependent on him. Then, my Rock came back into my life. Patrick... My first love, my best friend, whom I hadn't seen in over a decade and hasn't spoken to in nearly seven years. Patrick was a Daddy to my daughter starting at three weeks old, and taught me all I know about parenting. His long time girlfriend had kicked him out and he was coming back to San Diego, only an hour away from me. I tried to spin a yarn to him, saying how awesome my life was, yadda yadda yadda... And he saw through it like it was freshly installed glass. He talked to me for hours, days at a time, reminding me that the life I was living was NOT who I was. I wasn't a coward or an emotionally dead woman. That I was worth more than how Scott or even my husband valued me.
Scott saw the changes in my behaviour. I started showering daily again. I got my hair cut to take off the dead ends, I began to take walks when I got stressed, and I began to wean myself off the opiate medications Scott was feeding to me like PEZ. He went ballistic, and I told him to leave.
He did, taking his step son with him. Then the messages started... Long diatrabes that switched between hate and love. The following me everywhere. I called the cops, took photos and yet I couldn't get any help. Scott was a veteran and a former federal prison officer... And the cops did NOTHING. Saying I didn't have enough evidence to get a restraining order or stalking charges.
Patrick stayed with me while my husband worked out of state. I couldn't get a firearm because of my previous 5150. I was scared all the time.
On Friday, January 13 2017... Scott broke through my front window and murdered Patrick... Shot him seven times, three in the head, with .45 golden saber rounds... He pointed the gun at me after reloading... Then changed his mind and put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Scott had written a long email and sent it to everyone he knew, everyone I knew, and even my husband command and company... He'd intended on killing me. He'd believed that I had started another affair, replacing him... Patrick was a devout Christan and neither of us felt comfortable being anything more than friends, best friends, until my divorce was finalized.
God damnit... It should be me who died. Not the innocent man on my kitchen floor, with the brilliant mind splattered everywhere, his loving and limitless heart bled out on my floor, seeping into my pajama pants as I held him... I don't know how to keep going.
My husband now wants to cancel the divorce, and "work through this"... But I can't sleep... I'm not hungry... I'm crying all the time and I'm forced to live in the house where it all happened... I can't stop seeing Patrick dead in my arms, Scott's brains all over my fridge and wall... Every noise, bump from my cats, and slightly banging sound has me panicking and shaking... I don't know what to do.
I've sought therapy, and was given binaural beats to help... It feels like I'm trying to put a band-aid on a severed limb... Please... Can anyone give me a direction to go?
Four years ago I started having an affair with someone I'd known since middle school. My marriage was on the rocks, I'd just been diagnosed with PTSD after having a mental breakdown after witnessing severe child abuse and domestic violence with my roommates (I'd called CPS and Leo's, but nothing came of it, ever), and my husband to this day still refuses to get help for what I believe is PTSD after his last deployment to Afghanistan.
I thought this guy, Scott, was a real friend. He listened to what I had to say, and showed me what I believed to be real affection and commitment. He himself was ending his marriage, and it all came across that he was the victim of abuse from his wife. He cried real tears when his ex took the child he'd been raising as his own for seven years away.
For four years we lived in secrets. My husband didn't know, and didn't care enough to see, even though at times I was so blatantly obvious with the affair, Ray Charles could have seen it. But it wasn't as peachy as I kept telling myself it was. Scott would have these... Rage attacks out of nowhere. Things like accidentally putting his favorite mug in the dishwasher, or the internet going out and interrupting his gaming. Hours of screaming, threats, holes in the walls and doors slammed nearly off the hinges. The next day I would be showed with apologies and gifts... Him explaining to me it was from his PTSD, or or coping skills from childhood... For the first two years it only happened three times... Then I helped him get custody of his step son.
I helped him get custody, then helped him get his 100% disability rating with the VA. I told him that now he could get his own place, and we could both move forward with our lives. I didn't want the relationship anymore. I woke up the night I said this with him standing over me with a loaded 9mm pointed at my husband's head. He whispered that if I ever left him or made him move out, that he would kill my husband, leaving me without the medical insurance I need for numerous deteriorating health issues, without income, and then I would still be his without anyone else 'being a distraction'.
I lived this way until October 2016. I was borderline suicidal, as Scott was getting worse and worse. Almost weekly rages, more threats to kill my loved ones, and even had begun making me miss medical appointments so that I would be more and more dependent on him. Then, my Rock came back into my life. Patrick... My first love, my best friend, whom I hadn't seen in over a decade and hasn't spoken to in nearly seven years. Patrick was a Daddy to my daughter starting at three weeks old, and taught me all I know about parenting. His long time girlfriend had kicked him out and he was coming back to San Diego, only an hour away from me. I tried to spin a yarn to him, saying how awesome my life was, yadda yadda yadda... And he saw through it like it was freshly installed glass. He talked to me for hours, days at a time, reminding me that the life I was living was NOT who I was. I wasn't a coward or an emotionally dead woman. That I was worth more than how Scott or even my husband valued me.
Scott saw the changes in my behaviour. I started showering daily again. I got my hair cut to take off the dead ends, I began to take walks when I got stressed, and I began to wean myself off the opiate medications Scott was feeding to me like PEZ. He went ballistic, and I told him to leave.
He did, taking his step son with him. Then the messages started... Long diatrabes that switched between hate and love. The following me everywhere. I called the cops, took photos and yet I couldn't get any help. Scott was a veteran and a former federal prison officer... And the cops did NOTHING. Saying I didn't have enough evidence to get a restraining order or stalking charges.
Patrick stayed with me while my husband worked out of state. I couldn't get a firearm because of my previous 5150. I was scared all the time.
On Friday, January 13 2017... Scott broke through my front window and murdered Patrick... Shot him seven times, three in the head, with .45 golden saber rounds... He pointed the gun at me after reloading... Then changed his mind and put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Scott had written a long email and sent it to everyone he knew, everyone I knew, and even my husband command and company... He'd intended on killing me. He'd believed that I had started another affair, replacing him... Patrick was a devout Christan and neither of us felt comfortable being anything more than friends, best friends, until my divorce was finalized.
God damnit... It should be me who died. Not the innocent man on my kitchen floor, with the brilliant mind splattered everywhere, his loving and limitless heart bled out on my floor, seeping into my pajama pants as I held him... I don't know how to keep going.
My husband now wants to cancel the divorce, and "work through this"... But I can't sleep... I'm not hungry... I'm crying all the time and I'm forced to live in the house where it all happened... I can't stop seeing Patrick dead in my arms, Scott's brains all over my fridge and wall... Every noise, bump from my cats, and slightly banging sound has me panicking and shaking... I don't know what to do.
I've sought therapy, and was given binaural beats to help... It feels like I'm trying to put a band-aid on a severed limb... Please... Can anyone give me a direction to go?
