Chapter 11: Without a Home

Hello, friends. Thanks for following my Chapters. Your attention is appreciated. Greatly.

If you’ve been following my Chapters, then you remember I wrote letters to my friend from high school named Janey. Janey is one of the smartest people I know, and I had a really hard time speaking my truth out loud and on repeat. The letters allowed me to journal out my thoughts, and then Janey to comment with time and thoughtfulness. My story of abuse is by no means rare. It is the same story as almost fifty-eight percent of the population, in the same details and different. When told about the secret abuse which goes on behind closed doors, people are shocked and can’t respond well. The letters served a beautiful picture of healing for me.

Besides, there were so many people I had to repeat my story with, after discovering the years of abuse issued to me by my fiancé, Marc. The FBI, police, lawyers, employers, doctors and therapists. I’d reach the point where I was just tired of talking out loud about it. I would have panic attacks where I could not breathe, break out in huge and ugly purple hives, and snot-nose sob. I just couldn’t do it any longer, but I still needed a friend’s ear. Janey was that friend. I adore her.

We are jumping back into the letters to Janey, starting now:

Janey,

So this whole homeless thing… I would always find a place to sleep. But it is the feeling of everything packed in my car and storage unit, and no true place to rest my head which sends me spinning still now. I did feel homeless. I had no permanent address. I had a credit card, but was afraid to use it. I felt like a woman living in her car, because I was a woman living in her car.

Once I did move out, the whole “without a home” experience stayed for 8 weeks, which is the amount of time it took me to find a home.

I slept on my daughter’s couch and in friend’s houses and lived out of my packed car. I feared he would find me. I feared he would send someone from Craigslist to find me. It’s interesting this time of our “without a home” phase. I viewed myself without a home because I was without my home. Because of my fears he would find me, I stayed away from friends and family because I feared if he found me, he would kill them, too.

Clothes were stored in cars. Cars were hidden in the garages of our friends. My youngest son came home from college with no place to live.

When he left to study in a foreign country, we had a huge party and celebrated his next big adventure. His friends traveled from near and far to wish him well and stayed the night. The house Marc and I shared was huge. All of them could spread out. Now? Gene, my youngest son, came back to no home, and had to store his clothes in his car. I hate Marc a lot for what he has done to us. I hate Marc a lot for this, in particular. Leaving me and my kids homeless takes the cake.

Where were his parents? Absent any apology or interest in my children, who they spent a decade claiming to love, and were now homeless because of their son. Oh!!! But they’ll still go to church every Sunday and present the picture perfect family. I remember when I called Marc’s mom to tell her about what I discovered. Her first response was, “I’m not surprised. He is a disgusting and evil man.” Well, that would have been good to know. Mrs. De Saude did not ever once ask about her grandchildren. Marc’s kids. Not once, and the kids were devastated. She did say, “Please don’t tell Amelia (Marc’s niece and his youngest sister’s daughter). Amelia loves you and your kids. She is going to be devastated.”

Where was Marc? He was still busy claiming to love me, while also continuing on new sites to engage in sex with strangers. He was staying in the house and leaving me homeless intentionally because he “just couldn’t bear to leave the home we created together.” But he had zero problem leaving me living in my car.

What did we have? My daughter’s tiny apartment. She shared it with her husband (Randall) and their dog. 650 square feet of living space and at times we had seven adults living there, when you factor in the significant others who came to stay and help. People slept in the kitchen and living room. I slept on the couch with the dog.

My daughter and sons will be writing about this experience, too. First up is Beth, my oldest daughter. Beth Clark: One Event, Two Experiences. They loved Marc. They believed in our love and felt safe in our home. And then they didn’t have a home. But what we did have was beautiful.

Even though we were all very sad, stressed, crying (well me, I was crying A LOT), and I would take 3 hour baths to try and wash off the years of Marc’s filth- we had each other. So we all hunkered down, built a nest and watched Netflix. Specifically, we watched a lot of “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt”. That show saved me and my family and I hope to someday wrap my arms around Tina Fey and profess my love and gratitude. I think maybe she should produce my movie, and Amy Poehler should play me in her first dramatic Oscar-worthy role. OK- honestly, I want Jon Hamm to be my Oscar date.
(Sorry – I got lost in fantasyland there for a minute. WOW! Deep fantasyland. I’m back now.)

I have finally moved into a beautiful space that is mine alone. I have a security system and I have all the windows barred shut.

The fear will be ever present for me as it relates to my beloved (ha!) former fiancé, Marc. I fear whom he can contact on Craigslist to harm me. I fear who has my information that he provided. Hmmm… now all those very aggressive people at hotel restaurants when I traveled make more sense. For years, really creepy people would approach me in my hotel restaurants and bars. They couldn’t take “no” for an answer, and I’d have to get hotel security! He was telling his Craigslist people where I was- and I had no idea!!

However, a good skip and hand hold is good for the soul. I have neighbors who keep an eye on me and an eye out for the Cadillac and the man who drives it. I have the police who travel through my apartment complex regularly. The apartment management keeps their eyes peeled, and are determined to keep me safe. My restraining order, while just a piece of paper, gives me some peace. I start my certification to carry a firearm next week. I’ve never been a fan of guns, but I just don’t know who Marc can send after me or show up himself. I’ve had to call the police on just one occasion, and the six minutes I spent waiting while a stranger pounded on my apartment door was enough to convince me the gun was needed.

I was in hiding for a grand total of five months before he utilized the chat feature on email tech support, posed as me, and gained access to my personal email, my former husband’s personal email and the emails of our children. All in an effort to find my address, which he now has. He changed the passwords and billing information so we could no longer get to our email. Amelia’s mom, his lovely youngest sister, helped him do it. And then taunted me for having helped him. Man, she turned on me quickly. Maybe it was because I discovered a few things about her in Marc’s email. She knew all about Marc, and never told his first wife, all while claiming to be her best friend. His sister did the same with me. “Sister-Friend” lied every moment to me about Marc’s secret life. But then again, there was never a married man she met, who she didn’t sleep with. And Mr. Jim Neighbors? Well the three of them had a very “special” bond.

I now have developed a “how to” handbook on privacy and preparedness when hiding from an abuser. It is vital information any woman should know. There are also so many resources available. I intend to publish those, too. I have a list of best practices on getting a restraining order, and how to act and react when working with police and adult abuse offices.

Plus, how do you remain safe with new people in your life?

All these resources are based on research and my own mistakes along this journey. I have to find a way to tell my story and help other people. I’m humiliated and sad and scared for my safety. I’m devastated for my kids who loved him and were looking forward to our marriage. I fear for their safety, too. We have come to love our lives here and the kids were looking forward to being all together in our city. That will still happen, but our reality will be different. When you go from a 6000 square foot house to a 1080 square foot two-bedroom apartment, life changes.

Where’s Marc? Fat and happy in his new giant home, when he finally figured out I was never coming back to him.
I’m wondering if he used the money from his secret bank account. I have no idea how he can afford it.

Peace, safety, a warm home, and magic… always magic,
Maya

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