Game Over
I spent four years wondering what happened to the sweet compassionate soul I wanted to be. A roaring dragon if need be – but would rather not. I liked humility (not the mocked kind) and gentleness. My heroes outside family members were President Barrack Obama, The Dali Lama, and Nelson Mandela.
I had compassion for everyone and didn’t love wisely but sure loved well.
Consider it saccharin if you will, when you can view the world from (almost) anyone’s perspective you are just naturally nicer.
And my ex tried to undermine all that, turn me into an angry dragon, make me shoulder the responsibility for fights he pushed into existence and the gaslighting wrapped around them.
It became dangerous. No matter how much I learnt to anticipate, dodge, ignore, let go? He just had to burn up every trick until I became so wounded I was hostile.
Then Yay, trying hard Sylvanna is the problem.
Asshole.
When he pressed and pushed me into full blown grandiose mania? I became a threat to us both – as far as I was concerned. The fury scarred my soul, gave me severe PTSD and likely later triggered fibromyalgia. And after a fight that should have scared him and certainly scared me? I was asked to leave and I thought it the only good idea he had had when it came to fighting.
I left him.
I didn’t fight to stay, I didn’t soak in Drama and public opinion. I spent a week packing and got the hell out permanently!
Yet he still didn’t really want a divorce.
Too late now you toad.
Fighting painful PTSD and fibromyalgia with a sinking mood I wrote a book. And it was okay. Funny enough I suppose. But when my psychiatrist heard a sample of what I did, one winter solstice? The style changed overnight. I rewrote the thing in a year.
What happened next?
So much fucking drama and blown up intrigue that I didn’t know what to do, who was angry about what. Because at the same time I was protecting someone from a gaslighting robot, dealing with my family exploding, encountering an abuse I dubbed reality abuse. And several attempts to kidnap or kill me.
I mean really?
Yes, my version is insane but all real. It was step up to a wild reality or die.
Which I did try three years later. But that didn’t work as “planned” either and I’m grateful to a massive team. Even if I do sometimes just want to go back to be with god.
It would be impossible and rude to describe him. But he was there as my being reached a kind of ending and nirvana.
Then I woke up in a painful, mutilated, scarred body. Time to try again.
The new harpies
Although few have read the true version of the book, the contents and myself have become mighty unpopular. Twisted and tortured I started to become bitter and angry. But God had other ideas. I describe a pair I dubbed the harpies in my book. But nothing in the world prepared me for every abusive woman pissed off at being called out.
They haven’t even read it!
But I understand men in a way hanging out with “the guys” will get you. And if women want equality that’s not men go to hell while women fight over heaven. It’s making a euthamic balanced world where we treat each other as equally capable.
I’ll set the stage and push the limits of perception if I need to. But I’m unhappy I have to do so because I’d like to be a whole lot softer than that!
But compassion and the good kind of humility aren’t acceptable in my neck of the woods. I certainly get called arrogant a lot.
Sure right, whatever. I’d rather not be.
But I have a book and enemies I’ve never met. A rumor mill twisted around isolating and “punishing” me.
God, pissed off women can be such bitches!
I don’t think they even know what they’re mad about! But reactive abuse is a common tool used by women and quite a few are mighty unhappy with the idea of the book – as some manipulative individual told them.
Why bring it up?
I wrote a book on the subject because the concise version is already at the head of the segment in this website.
Melissa J Devlin
Sylvanna Devlin 