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(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their identity. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)

As I took those few steps towards crossing the street to my the apartment, I could see Rosie looking at me out the front window. All I could really see was his silhouette. For three reasons. First, it was about two o’clock in the morning, so pitch black dark. Second, Rosie is a gorgeous shade of brown. I believe one would consider his melanin to be a medium chocolate brown? His skin was over all, smooth to the touch. He truly was a handsome man in my eyes back then.

Rosie’s physical attributes were hard to resist. He wasn’t exactly fit around the belly. He was strong in arms, chest, and legs. He had a gorgeous, voluptuous, buttocks, and a perfectly round bald head. He stood almost six feet tall. With me being five foot nine inches tall flat footed, I loved being able to look up at him when I wasn’t wearing high heels.

Rosie’s height and stature gave me a false sense of security. I longed for safety in the arms of a man. I also like height because my dad is six foot three inches tall. I accept the connection when it comes to my ego’s sense of safety in a taller man’s arms. I’m good with it, so, it sticks.

The feeling of being unsafe goes all the way back to when I was a wee little one. I was treated horribly by men throughout my life from the time I was three or four years old. If you have been following my story you are aware of two occasions so far. There is a couple more I’ll likely get to a little further along in this storyline.

Rosie also had gorgeous teeth. Not quite brilliant white. Close enough. When he smiled, all I could do was gaze at his beautiful teeth and sexy full lips. I craved his genuine smile and laughter. I didn’t see either of those too often. I think that may be why his mouth, full of perfectly aligned teeth, was like eye candy to me. Everytime I saw him smile or laugh, the little girl inside of me wanted to hug him, kiss him, and say “hey, you wanna go play together somewhere?”

I was so intoxicated with Rosie’s smile that I didn’t notice he didn’t really smile with his eyes that much. He smirked his contemptuous grin often enough, which doesn’t really take a lot of eye animation. Smiling though, his eyes didn’t light up. The only time I saw him light up was when he achieved something awesome within some work he was doing. If he was bringing in the bag, he was genuinely happy. The rest of the time, he was serious, or sullen. He preferred to refer to it as “chill”.

Rosie didn’t laugh too often. He was more on the serious side of life. He also had an odd sense of humor from my perspective. He did make me truly laugh sometimes. Those occasions were more rare than common over the almost ten years of knowing him. As little knowing as that actually was.

I do know Rosie was a go getter. Steadfast focused on making money and a name for himself in some form of career. As long as I knew him he worked inside the military holding a respectable rank, and worked as a taxi driver on the weekends, and then created other self proprietor  businesses. 

Gemma, who is now an arc nemesis to him at present, Rosie owned a little taxi company alongside her, his then fiancee, back in 2017. According to Gemma and  Rosie, Rosie drove taxi on the weekends when he was in Moncton. Both Gemma and I were under the impression that Rosie drove taxi each weekend. Neither one of us actually knew what he may or may not have been up to.

I don’t actually know if he was working taxi everytime he said he did. He kept all the money to himself. No one would know if he was actually working, or spending some of that time using his box of colour-me-pretty, condoms. He had all the time in the world to pursue either option during those all nighters in Moncton. I would know. He scheduled time for me at a motel in Moncton whilst he was on one of his shifts.

I was even pretending to be a “trainee” alongside him. Which was his plan and execution of said plan, on more than one occasion. He used deceiving tactics in many areas of his life, and there I was whistling while I worked, with no mental registry of his slightly off moral compass. High Hoe, High Hoe, it’s off to work we go, took on an entirely new meaning. I was the hoe. I just didn’t know it.

Rosie did seem to like my company for other than sex every now and then. He is an opportunist though. He was good at creating them. Rosie wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make money or give his full effort and attention on a game of one-night-stand wack-a-hole with his latest lady friend he met online. My guess, if it was a busy night for drunkards then chances are, he was pulling in the cash. Rather than sleeping with some random women he swiped right on. If it was a slow night, he was probably getting it on like a jackrabbit that was caged for an eternity and was finally given his freedom.

Money and women were the same to him. He loved when he was in it, and hated being without it. Rosie also had a business selling art from Haiti, an online reselling business, a transportation service, and the latest one before I left him, a car detailing mobile service. 

You know, if there is one thing I have come to learn over my fifty-one years on this planet, I know what I do not know. Even within what I do know, I still know what I do not know. There is much that I do not know. Knowing he was driving a taxi, and truly knowing he was driving a taxi, are two totally different realizations. Whichever realization it is, is often discovered in hindsight.

They say hindsight twenty/twenty. I tend to concur with that. In my world, I have come to realize, a narcissist and an empathetic people-pleaser are both experiencing the same toxic pain when it comes to their perception of love. They are simply expressing themselves from two different ends of the love spectrum. The narcissist doesn’t believe they are truly loveable and feels a pull to prove it. The empath believes they are loveable and feels a pull to prove it. Both souls feel void of true love.

Who is really right, and who is really wrong? Both are villains and victims of self made circumstances surrounding love. No one is truly at fault.

Would you get pissed at a child for eating all the candy without sharing, if you were the one giving the candy to them? Rosie and I are no different. I gave him the candy freely. He happily obliged by taking it. We must both take accountability for our decisions and actions. It’s important for evolutionary growth. Both here on earth and in the astral plains.

I know what I don’t know. I’m curious to learn from others. I love observing people. Learning from people. In particular, people whom are artistic, thought provoking, and most importantly authentic to the best of their abilities. Nowadays if a person were to approach me they would be wise to come at me authentically and respectfully. If I observe an ego with energy that would affect me adversely, I excuse myself and walk away, usually in silence. Don’t get me wrong, I would assert my boundaries verbally and firmly when required. I will educate an ignoramus if necessary. I stand my ground. I use my discernment in the moment to know which option best serves the occasion.

I also remind myself that we are all created from the same source. With the same source energy. We are the same creation having a perceived individualized experience of existence through a fragmented awareness. The fragmented awareness is the “I am” that you give yourself. You are aware that you exist, therefore, you do. Everything else is a meat suit with lots of options to choose from to explore who you are and what you are capable of.

I have also learned that it is not necessary to have to explain myself in all situations to all people. I do what I know to be right and I do it with pure intentions. In other words, I know what I am doing. Other people’s opinions or objections are noted, not necessarily mandatory for me to follow. It’s truly liberating having the gift of this mindset.

That was quite the detour from Rosie’s silhouette in the window. I guess I needed a side quest to get my ego off of my appreciation for Rosie’s physical appearance. Back to seeing his form.

The third reason I could only see Rosie’s sillouette in the window when I was saying my goodbyes to Joel, was because I was starting to lose my vision to cataract at that time. I couldn’t see very well. I have had two cataract surgeries and now wear glasses. I know the downfall of my eyes were due to smoking. Rosie wore glasses too. Although Rosie smoked, I believe he wore glasses for most of his adult life. I don’t think smoking was necessarily a factor. Not sure on that one. It’s neither here nor there. I prefer glasses to contacts.

I liked seeing Rosie in his glasses. He could look quite distinguished at times. He could rock a sleek, well pressed gentleman’s suite. His expensive looking framed glasses were the final touch to a perfect ensemble. He may have been a secretly cruel adversary for me, admittedly, he was also very yummy to look at. I can see why women caved to him so quickly and easily. I know I certainly did.

Even though I couldn’t see Rosie very well in the narrow front window, his sillouette and energetic presence felt formidable to me. He can be intimidating without even meaning to be sometimes. My stomach dropped to the ground when I took one step up and opened the front door to the apartment. There he was sitting on my bed, beside the side table, and just to the left of the window from which he peered out of.

“Who the fuck is he?!” Rosie demanded to know. Rosie’s eyes were blood red and filled with hatred. I knew I had to stand firm whilst also treading lightly. “He is a person I met online. He’s a good person. Don’t bring him into this”. “What do you mean don’t bring him into this? What the fuck are you doing with that guy?! A day before my birthday?! Seriously?! What the fuck!”.

Rosie’s face grew more intense. He was clenching his chiseled jaw. I started to put my things away and moved the vase of roses Joel had given me when he first arrived for our date. I was recollecting myself and doing my best to stop the anxious tremors my body was feeling. The last thing I needed in that moment was a cramp attack. That wouldn’t have been good.

The white vase held twelve lovely red roses. I valued them. I think I received four bouquets of flowers in my lifetime from men, and only two of those with vases. I placed them aside gently on my full length dresser out of arms reach from Rosie. They were originally on the side table near where Rosie was sitting. I didn’t want him to accidentally knock them over in his drunken stupor. Rosie got up from the bed and started pacing back and forth within the confines of the small front room. “Did he give you those?” he inquired as if to ask a retorical question. At the same time, it was as if he wanted to feel the pain of me saying “yes he did.” He glared at me until I said yes.

People don’t necessarily realize that when they are holding deep trauma and painful ego conditioning, they will lash out in ways to get people to continue hurting them. Guilt and or deep shame are often a part of the equation. An aggressive person secretly believes they deserve pain. Therefore they feel a morbid sense of relief when someone lashes back at their untoward behavior. They do this subconsciously to give themselves a reason to maintain the anger towards someone else. Rather than associate the anger with themselves.

I think Rosie wanted me to give him the nasty details of my engagement with Joel so that he could feel a little better. He, without maybe realizing it, needed to  feel the betrayal pain associated with him hooking up with multiple women behind mine, and his fiancee’s back. It’s a morbid way to self teach empathy, and to inflict self punishment. Unfortunately, most in deep ego pain like Rosie, who lean towards the narcissistic side of the love spectrum, do not make the learning connection. Empathy usually continues to elude them. It’s easier to be angry with someone than it is to be vulnerable and honest. A person can unload all of their pent up angry energy that was stored away since childhood, into someone else, whilst being unaware they are doing so.

I was prepared to have to spill the beans. I also knew he was failing to remember, he broke things off with me two and a half to three weeks prior. I was by all accounts single and free to date whomever I chose. Even if it was way too early to date after a serious break up.

I sat down on the bed nervously fidgeting with my fingers when Rosie slammed his ass down a couple of inches from me. I was sleeping on a makeshift support structure made out of filled boxes and milk crates. I was sleeping on mine and Liv’s storage. I didn’t own a proper bedframe, nor box spring. When Rosie hit the bed, a portion of the bed mattress sank. Collapsing one of the boxes, and causing the bed to sink a little bit.

Glaring me down, Rosie looked me dead in my eyes and asked “did you sleep with him?” My first thought was, um, my daughter and her boyfriend are a wall apart from us. With a doorway hosting no door. They wouldn’t be able to help but overhear everything being said and done between Rosie and I. I suspected they were entertained, whilst at the same time, concerned for my safety. I had to defuse the situation. I also knew I had to honestly answer his question. His anger would have skyrocketed to another galaxy if I had chosen not to answer. With that in mind, I answered his question a bit sheepishly. With a downward gaze and an affirmative nod, I answered, “yes. I did”.

Thank goodness Rosie didn’t ask how many times. I had, I guess I would call it, fun sex, twice when I was with Joel over those three days. If Rosie knew it was more than once with Joel, I think his fist would have gone through the wall by my head. He never hit me. He did intimidate me tremendously on occasion though. Enough for me to imagine in the possibility of being hit. That night was no exception. He was unpredictable, harsh, and extremely disinterested in any form of heartfelt conversation. He was pissed and drunk. Those make for a volatile cocktail at the best of times for anyone.

Rosie went off. “It’s my birthday! You did this to me?! To me! You! You of all people! On my birthday! Did you even think of me?! Is he better than me?”. I responded “I know it’s your birthday tomorrow Rosie. Yes, I was thinking about you non stop since you told me you were going to make things work with Gemma a little over two weeks ago. You crushed me! I walked the walk of shame for crying out loud. Do you remember that?”. Next thing to be said was, “Were you thinking of me when you were fucking Joel?” Deflection tactic at its finest. Not sure if I kept a straight face or if I smirked a little when I responded “well, no. I was kinda busy”. That answer didn’t help diffuse the situation.

Joel thoroughly and ravinously enjoyed eating taco. He engulfed himself in the taco I brought him for our three day date. That was what first flashed in my mind as I was answering Rosie’s question “was he better than me?”. Rosie didn’t eat my taco. He may of taste tested once or twice in nine years. Joel, he had fun and I let him.

There was a challenge though, I haven’t been able to orgasm that way since my first husband lashed out at me for not climaxing fast enough. Joel obviously liked a challenge. You’d of thought he enlisted into a ten kilometers marathon, hoping to be in last place. Joel didn’t succeed in achieving the ultimate climax reward from me that he so desperately wanted to witness. He certainly did get his fill of taco though. And it definitely wasn’t without effort on his part. I gotta give him kudos for that.

I am self conscious about a lot of things when it comes to sex. I have a history of pain that I am lovingly self healing when it comes to intimacy and intercourse. Including a mangled looking vagina left from a man who had no concern for my mental, nor emotional well-being, after having his hands down there. He literally left me scarred for life. I’m doing my best to manifest reconstructive surgery down there. My vagina is not pretty and it acts as a reminder of all the men who used my body for their own sadistic needs.

Many a consentual sexual encounter started with “what’s that?” after seeing my little lady part. My response was “a man left me like that. Let’s just leave it at that”. The guys I were with felt relief that I didn’t want to talk about it after the brief explanation. We moved on from that topic rather quickly. When I say guys, I mean three or four of them from my past. Rosie was one of them who asked. With any other sexual partner over my lifespan, I offered up the information as a heads up and said I didn’t want to elaborate.  None of those men seemed to be too bothered by it. I had the right holes in the right places. The only other thing is, I have to wait a little longer on the toilet after peeing or I end up having an issue with my skin down there. It takes a little tenderness and patience when wiping. That routine and daily reminder isn’t likely to end anytime soon. 

Rosie stood back up and started pacing. Then he said “come with me”. Then he proceeded to grab my hand or arm and gestured towards the door. I pulled my arm back and exclaimed, “I’m not going anywhere with you. It’s two o’clock in the morning and you’re drunk”. He paced a little faster, brought his finger to his lower lip, as if to start biting his nail, and then said “I need smokes and I need you to come with me”.

It was two o’clock in the morning. I was exhausted, anxious, pissed, and needed to get him calm, or out of our apartment, away from Liv and Aiden. At the same time, I was also a little scared of what he was capable of and what he may have done to me if provoked enough. I eventually caved and agreed to go with him.

We both stepped outside and walked on the sidewalk towards the next street. There was a reason I didn’t see Rosie’s car when Joel and I first arrived. He parked off my street at the next four-way intersection. He parked in a dark area on a side street. Rosie’s car was also black. It was a Ford SHO, I believe? The fancy one with the bells and whistles. He even had a vanity license plate that referred to the make of the car.

I had suggested we walk to the gas station. It was only a couple of blocks away. Rosie wasn’t having it. We walked a soldier’s pace down to the end of my block to his car. “Get in” he said, as he opened his driver’s side door for himself. I stood there on the sidewalk on the passenger’s side and said “no. You’re drunk. Let’s walk.” Rosie’s response was “No. Get in the car. Fuck Clair, just get in”.

I knew it was a bad idea when I asked “are you sure you are okay to drive?”. Rosie wreaked of hard alcohol. I don’t know how much he drank. He definitely drank a lot. That man could usually hold his liquor and keep it together. Either that, or just fall asleep in the midst of his own sentence. I suspected he started drinking when he was texting me mid afternoon earlier that day. Even though I knew that, I reluctantly agreed and got into his car.

That car would have been considered a fairly fast vehicle. At least to me it was. Rosie was driving like he was on the freaking Autobahn. Doing eighty to a hundred within a matter of seconds on city streets with stop signs and traffic lights. Road rules need not apply in this situation. Rosie needed smokes.

I held on for dear life. The holy shit handle bar inside the car near the roof was my best friend in that moment. We only drove a few blocks but it felt like my entire forty-three years were being played out in slomo whilst simultaneously seeing my life flash before my eyes. Snapshot, zoom, snapshot, zoom, inside my head. It was freaking terrifying. Needless to say, I was a hot mess.

When the car came to a screeching halt in the gas station parking lot, no exaggeration, Rosie got out and headed for the convenience store inside the station. I felt kinda bad for whomever was the cashier that night. It couldn’t have been fun serving Rosie in the state that he was in. 

I sat in Rosie’s car in silence, staring at the door of the convenience store, waiting on Rosie’s return. I had to muster up all my strength to stay put. I use to be a runner. An avoidant attachment style I think it’s called? I would run at the onset of severe discomfort. At the same time, I was desperate for love from an emotional and intellectual standpoint as well. I just wanted to bolt home, lock the door, and hide under my warm blankets. No chance. I thought better of it. If I had done that, Rosie would have been outraged and back at my door in no time. Police would certainly have been called. I didn’t want that for him, the kids, the neighbors, nor for myself.

Rosie came marching back to his car, doing his best not to walk drunk and disorderly, with smokes in hand. As soon as he got in the car, he lit up a smoke. He offered me one. His kind gesture shocked me a little. I took him up on his offer thinking “okay, now he is calming down”. No such luck. Rosie started back up again.

“What did you guys do? Why did you take him to meet your parents? Why did you do this to me?!”. I could hardly get a word in edgewise. He was in no state to listen anyway. Now I was really getting pissed. Empathy went out the window with the smoke from my cigarette. “What do you mean, to you! You made it very clear that you were committing to your family and going through with a lifelong loving marriage to Gemma. In case you forgot, I am single!”.

As soon as those words came out of my mouth, Rosie whipped the car around the turnabout, chose to take the third exit, rather than the fourth, which would have brought us to my place, then blasted down the stretch of road for a good minute. He then swiftly and unexpectedly turned his car to the right, with minimal breaking, into another apartment building’s parking lot. The streets were empty thank goodness. The car came to a sudden, whiplash worthy, halt. Finally, we were parked.

As soon as the car stopped, I released my hand from the holy shit bar, fixed my cramped fingers and yelled “are you seriously trying to fucking kill us?! I gotta get out. I am done with this”. I got out of the car, slammed the door, and started walking as quickly as I could back to the apartment. He got out of his car and stood under the parking lot’s orange streetlight. His face glowed under the light whilst the rest of his body formed a silhouette.

Rosie wore black or grey nine times out of ten. He was in all black clothes and a grey coat that night. It was a little eerie seeing him with that cascading light overhead. As he stood on guard he yelled a whisper “Come back here. Let’s talk. Come here! Clair, come here!”. I chose to ignore his pleas for a second. His voice got a bit louder and even more stern. He then whistled like he was whistling to a dog and said “come. Come Clair. Come. Be a good girl”.

I turned around and yelled “you have no care for my life whatsoever. Nor do you give a shit if anyone else is around to hit with your car! Where are the cops when you need them?!”. His immediate response was “fuck you!”. My response “fuck me?, alright then”. I turned around and kept on walking. Leaving him to either have to yell louder to get me to listen and risk people waking up, or he had to get into his car and go. He chose to get into his car. 

I walked home about three blocks away. When I entered the apartment the kids were asleep. I took a deep breath and slumped onto my bed. My intuition was telling me it wasn’t over that night. I was surely hoping it would have been. No such luck. He was back at my door demanding to be let in within about ten minutes. With the kids sleeping, everywhere else in the city being quiet, and Rosie’s raging ass breaking the sound barrier with his insistence and rigorous knocking, I let him in. After a few minutes of silence and a little bit of calmness finally coming over the situation , Rosie said in a low whispering voice, “let’s go to a hotel, you and me”.

Rosie had to drive one way streets for awhile to get back to my place. He must have chosen to chill a little whilst he was making his several left-hand turns. I said no of course. I explained with crystal clarity that I would not then, nor ever again, get into a vehicle with him when he had been drinking. At the same time, I didn’t want him driving in his condition all the way back to Oromocto either. I didn’t have the heart to send him on his way. I couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t do something stupid. I offered to let him sleep in my bed beside me. Rosie eventually caved and agreed not to drive until he was sober.

It was awkward laying there beside him. Rosie wanted to snuggle. He then asked me to go to a hotel with him the next day instead. The least I could do was be with him on his birthday, was the manipulative message Rosie kept playing on repeat until I said yes. The poor downtroddened soul. I just wanted the night to end so I said, “sure. I guess so.” Inside myself, all I wanted to do was scream, cry, and curse. My life was a shit show. It took about twenty minutes of silence after that before I finally drifted off to sleep. 

That experience traumatized me now that I look back. It was excruciating and taxing both emotionally and mentally. I was also scared shitless. Which was the reason that memory kept replaying in my head when I was ticking down the minutes to my departure back in 2023. I got a glimpse of that wicked temper enough times between that drunken catastrophe, and that moment in time of alone scaredness sitting outside the building after being locked out by him, to know I had to play it smart.

(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)

It was September, 2017, when Rosie appeared drunk inside the front entrance of my daughter’s, and my apartment. He bulldozed his way in, only to be confronted by my daughter’s partner, Aiden. Aiden was inside minding his own business, doing whatever Aiden did. He wasn’t expecting to see a distraught grown man pleading with him to help find me. Rosie slammed open the front door, made his way to my daughter’s bedroom, and demanded to know where I was.

Rosie had challenges with boundaries sometimes, both at home, and at his work. According to my adult children, Rosie didn’t knock before barging inside the apartment in his drunken rage. Aiden was in a state of anxious confusion. His first reaction was utter shock. His first thought was “what do I do?”

Rosie isn’t exactly a small man. He’s a six foot tall, husky built, soldier, who had been trained in some form of military style weaponry. He was also highly intoxicated, therefore, unpredictable to Aiden. That’s all Aiden knew. Aiden is five foot eight with the ability to throw a punch if need be. He definitely didn’t want to flinch towards Rosie at that moment. Let alone say no to his demands. Saying no would have risked a potential fight. Rosie had rage in his eyes and a volatile temper due to his state of mind. Aiden did what anyone would have done. He agreed to Rosie’s request to reach out to my daughter at work.

Back then, both Liv and I worked for a commercial cleaning company. She worked several different locations. Liv cleaned the main building she was assigned to, plus grabbed other shifts to cover for her fellow colleagues. All while pregnant. Minimum wage didn’t , and still doesn’t, cover much expenses these days. I worked part time, three days a week, for the same company. During the day I worked for a non-profit organization as an executive assistant.

Over the several years I worked for this particular nonprofit organization, I received maybe a few grand from them at best. Alongside a receipt totaling 15,000 dollars worth of volunteer time, for tax purposes. I am still awaiting the day I can claim that ‘volunteer’ work. Until then, the slip acts as a reminder. I have kept it tucked away in a safe place for me to retrieve anytime I call for it.

The volunteer work I did was as a youth co-ordinator for a youth program the organization created in Fredericton, New Brunswick. I assisted in the organization of the children, aided in both the strategic and written development of the youth empowerment classes, and was the lead coordinator for a peace festival in downtown Fredericton that the organization was hosting. I was doing a great deal for them. Both during work hours, and in my free time. I even used my own car and gas to taxi the kids too and from the youth nights on Wednesdays.

In the Executive Assistant’s role, I helped with proof reading and editing my boss’s proposals for funding. I took many proposals down from five pages to three pages to meet the submission requirements at that time. I represented the organization at different events, including the United Nations for the All Women, All Child conference in New York, New York.

The trip to New York city was paid for out of my own pocket, with the help of my ex husband, Bill. In addition to office duties, I also secured the Director of the organization into two different apartments as a representative on his behalf. Looking back now, it would have been wise to quit when he was evicted from the first apartment for missed rent.

In addition to all that, I picked up shifts as a custodial worker at night to make up for the “volunteer work” during the day. All whilst fighting cramps in my legs and feet on a daily basis. I had to make something of myself.

I was, and still am, determined to create my own independent stability. Instead of tangible rewards on a regular basis, I worked on a promise of a lucrative career, working both in Canada, and in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Freddy, the Director of the organization, pulled at my heart string, and my ego’s desperation to make a name for myself for all that it was worth. Takers attract givers in all walks of life and within all intended purposes, so does equal respect and reciprocity. I didn’t truly see the honor in equal reciprocity. I was focused on being a giver to make a name for myself. The non profit was focused on taking what I was giving.

Assuming you have been following my story from the beginning, allow me to pose these questions; does my working for a false promise of being recognized sound familiar to you? Like something I would do? My ego loves patterns just as much as yours does. A pattern is emerging. If you decide to keep following the breadcrumbs with me, it will all make sense.

One day, when I was working in the office, myself and two colleagues of mine came across a report which highlighted the breakdown and total of funding received over the course of the previous year. We were all shocked. The amount totaled close to a million dollars with well over three quarters of that for work in the DRC. The Canadian team was unaware of what efforts outside of what we were doing were being done in the DRC. The math wasn’t matching in my books. The smaller percentage of funds went towards the youth program, three people’s wages, and the Director’s salary, to which we were not privy to.

I recognize not-for-profit aid organizations tend to only dish out about two percent of the public sector’s donation money, and claim the rest of the funds as overhead costs of some kind. Freddy said he didn’t want his organization to be known as one of those. With that said, being paid one thousand dollars a year over the course of four years for all the work, sweat, and tears I put in, seemed a little off balance in my perspective. None of us felt we were compensated fairly. The reciprocity was way out of whack.

I am grateful for the experience of working for Freddy nonetheless. I learned the value of balanced reciprocity in the workplace. That experience also highlighted the importance of remaining humble by recognizing there is no such thing as self-made. Everything in life is created through collective efforts. One person offering you sound advice by a recorded video on a social media app could give you that one nugget of information to catapult your success. No one does it alone. If you approach life in the mindset of self-made, then self-made isolation, void of authentic love, friendships, and community, may be the end result of that approach. Is that true success?

Notice a pattern? I did the same thing with Rosie. I pleased him in more ways than one on a false promise of love. Being desperate for recognition by making a name for myself bled into both my business and personal life. Selling myself for free in this way was most definitely a pattern that required a solid break.

I quit that organization in 2018 because my relationship with the founder turned out to also be a hellish ordeal at the end of my employment there. I walked away after that man groped me, and force ably kissed me in his car, after dropping me back off to mine and my daughter’s place after work. The same apartment Rosie barged into shit faced out of his mind. Freddy’s soon to be wife was also waiting for him at home. Notice a pattern here too? Unwarranted sexual advancements from men kept following me.

After Freddy groped me, I went into the apartment, balled my eyes out for a moment, recollected myself the best I could, then called Rosie. He basically said “there, there muffin. Everything’s gonna be okay.” I suspect he was with a woman that night. He seemed awfully preoccupied. More so than usual. Oh the pain. It was real.

In Aiden’s holy shit moment seeing Rosie’s drunken stupor, he called Liv and gave Rosie his phone so he could talk to her. Aiden gave the phone to Rosie after preparing Liv with who she was about to speak with and why. Liv spoke with Rosie for several minutes. She said he was extremely persistent. From what I understand, he was frantic and insistent in knowing where I was, and when I was expected home. Liv, with clear understanding, Rosie was not going to take no for an answer, told Rosie where I was. I was at my parents house with a new friend named Joel. She was telling the truth. I was at my parents place, and I was planning to stay the night with Joel. With an idea in mind to return the next day. After brunch with my parents.

I had a fabulous time with Joel. He drove all the way from Ontario to meet me. Then we drove to Halifax, Nova Scotia for our date. He wined and dined me in a fancy seafood restaurant. We walked along the boardwalk. Going inside quaint little shops and eateries along our way. Joel even held my hand in public. Hand holding wasn’t a common experience for me. Then we closed the night out with a nightcap. Along with a wonderful encounter in the hotel room before falling asleep together.

The next day Joel and I drove about six or so hours back to St. Stephen, New Brunswick, so that he could see the oceanside of the province, and meet my parents. Rosie never did those things with me. He only held my hand when he was ushering me through a crowd. He never met my parents, nor had any desire to. Rosie didn’t have any desire in getting to know my family on a personal level. He only interacted with one person from my life. That person was Liv. Even those interactions were limited. Rosie enjoyed Liv’s insight just as much as he enjoyed mine. One minute pleasantries. That was about it.

My youngest daughter, Laura, saw Rosie’s character from almost day one. She didn’t care for him much. She offered her opinion when asked. Otherwise she kept her opinions to herself. Laura knew I had to learn my way.  She also knew she could be blunt and straightforward. No pussyfooting around when it comes to Laura defending her loved ones. She can be fiercely protective sometimes. I love her strength in that way.

Joel was fun to hang out with. He wasn’t the man for me though. I knew that. Joel was overly affectionate and was planning out my engagement ring and wedding date within the three days of getting to know each other. That’s not a good sign. Even I knew that back then.

After Liv explained where I was and that she didn’t know when she would be expecting me home, Rosie wanted to know how to get to my parents house in St. Stephen. For the first time in the three years of knowing Rosie, he was finally okay with meeting my parents. And he was okay with showing up intoxicated at that. Liv wasn’t about to give him directions to my parents’ home for two reasons; drunk driving, and my overall safety. Liv also knew my parents would have had a field day with me if I woke them from their slumber with my drama, so she called me on my cell at midnight.

Joel and I were sitting quietly outside underneath the stars talking about our day and our overall time together. I met Joel back on the same dating app I had met Rosie on. Joel and my get together was after I did a walk of shame from a motel room Rosie often took me to.

The motel I am referring to was off the side of a highway in between Oromocto and Fredericton. Rosie used the excuse that he lived in a tiny little room big enough for his bed, inside a house with a family above, and another soldier as a roommate in the next room downstairs with him. According to Rosie, there was no privacy there. I believed what he said about his place in Oromocto to be true. That’s just it though, a sliver of truth embedded within lies makes for quite the game of who done it. It’s through this manipulative tactic that creates gaslighting. Nonetheless, I fell for it. I met Rosie at countless three Star motel rooms from 2015 to 2018.

I lived in a three room apartment with my daughter and her then boyfriend. The boyfriend, being Aiden. With that in mind, where I lived was cramped and too small for everyone.

I’ll put it to you this way, when I had my own place before 2017, Rosie was at my place every night after 9:00 pm. We had a private place just for the two of us and to which I called my home. Rosie would bring his duffle bag and stay the night. He’d then get up in the morning and head off to work. Except for Fridays. Fridays he went back to Moncton to be with his kids and secret fiancee.

Yep, I was that naive girl. The after 9:00 pm, no public outings, especially during the day, and a rare date if he felt it necessary to keep me soft hearted towards him, throughout the entire nine and a half years of being with him, girl. I was the naive little girl I thought he loved. Now I am the woman who knows he didn’t even like me, let alone love me. I think he secretly hated the fact that I am a strong communicator. He found himself often challenged in that respect.

The night Rosie invaded my time with Joel was intense. Whilst Joel and I were reminiscing about our whale watching day my phone rang. It was Liv. She never interrupts my evenings out, nor had I ever gotten a call from her that wouldn’t have been important at that time of night. That wouldn’t have been like her. I also knew she was working. As soon as I saw her name pop up on my phone screen I answered.

“Hi Liv. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” She didn’t even get a chance to say hi before I bombarded her with concerning questions.

“Hi mum. I’m okay” she responded with an elongated III’mmm okay. I said “oh, okay. What’s going on?”. Liv remained vague. She said “I need you to come home right away. All is okay. We are fine. I just need you here”. I said “of course honey. It’s gonna take a couple of hours to get there but I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hung up the phone with Liv, and then turned to Joel to explain that we needed to go.

I didn’t know what was up. I did have a sneaky suspicion it had to do with Rosie though. Rosie had been texting and calling me in a foul mood earlier in the evening. I ignored most of them. Which probably pissed him off even further. I didn’t want to be rude to Joel. He didn’t deserve that after all the effort he put into getting to know me. I did tell him that Rosie was the one who kept on interrupting my attention when we were conversing on the patio that night, so he was somewhat aware. Rosie knew I was with someone because I told him. He kept on berating me about being with someone else. How dare I choose to be with another man right before his birthday. I was a cold hearted bitch to him in his eyes.

Rosie was so angry he forgot about the three weeks prior to this day. The dreaded walk of shame. Rosie and I booked a tiny motel room for the night. He brought a bottle of vodka, as per usual, and we drank. Whilst we were both drunk, and after sex, Rosie decided to explain to me that he and his ex, Gemma, were going to work on their relationship. According to Rosie, he was choosing to stay with Gemma for his kids. I was devastated. I dedicated three years of my life to that man by that point. That’s all I could think about while he was snoring peacefully next to me.

I had a rough emotional night. The next morning I got up and got dressed whilst he stayed in bed a wee bit longer. I told him I had to go. I couldn’t bear to be in that room another minute. I was beside myself in personal grief. Feeling sorry for myself, and playing the victim. I also hardly slept a wink. I just wanted to go home, curl up in a fetal position, and tune out the world.

Rosie said bye as he got up to get ready for work that day. I’m not even sure if he looked at me when he said bye. My head was so far down, I could hardly see past the red and brown paisley designed carpet on the floor. I walked out of that room with a plastic grocery bag full of dirty clothes from the day before and my head held in my hands.

I walked about half a mile up the road alongside the highway to the truck stop that day. I went inside to look for a taxi company’s phone number to drive me back to Fredericton. My cell phone didn’t have data so I was unable to do a Google search. My ex-husband, Bill, had taken my car for himself by that point. I found a taxi number, called, then parked my butt on the bench outside to wait.

I lived about a twenty-five minutes drive away from where I was. I had little choice other than to wait. As I sat there crying quietly, Rosie drove up to the T-junction in the road right in front of me, and made a left-hand turn without hesitation. He didn’t pull into the parking lot. He acted like he didn’t even see me on the bench crying my eyes out, square between his windshield, right in front of his face. He just drove off on his merry way to work like he didn’t crush my heart the night before.

I was heartbroken and extremely overwhelmed that day. The next day I was burnt out from crying. I was burnt out from being in constant physical pain. I was burnt out from being let down by yet another man. Rosie had also forgotten on that faithful night of drunken stupor, that he had only just gotten back from a vacation with his baby momma to Mexico as well. He was there with her whilst I was getting to know Joel on the dating app. I guess that was what he meant by “I’m choosing Gemma”?

I’m not innocent. I chose to meet Joel under false pretenses. I thought if I met someone new I could get over Rosie. All I wanted was to escape my life with someone kind and fun to be around. Joel had no idea a week before meeting him I was talking to Rosie over the phone telling him I wanted to die. I didn’t know Rosie had me on his car’s speaker phone for his ex, his mother, and his two kids to overhear me either.

I was on the brink of taking my life, spewing my guts to a man who was secretly getting a kick out of the attention, and my distraught. Him telling me there was nothing he could do, and that I was on speaker phone for Gemma and his mother to hear, after I spilled my heart out to him, absolutely crushed me. I am quite confident that information was the deciding factor in my choice to end my life that night. It pushed me over the edge. He also played with his ex’s mind at that time. Letting her think he could get anyone, and that the phone call could act as proof that he broke up with me for her.

Gemma and I knew of each other at that point. Gemma had called me out of the blue one day in 2017. That’s when all shit hit the fan. Rosie lied through that too. After he accused me of ruining his family by being truthful to Gemma, and kept that temper tantrum going for a couple of weeks, he smoothed things over by playing the victim in the storyline.

Rosie’s explanation and deflection of the motel incident, on the night I returned home from being with Joel was, “It’s not working with her. You know that. We are not together like that, I promise. You misunderstood me back at the motel. You were drunk remember? You’re overreacting. You know what she’s like. We are miserable. We fight constantly”. He was adamant and slurring his words. Yeah right, is what I think now. He was a smooth talker though. My naive ego was hooked on his looks, his appendage, and his charm.

Rosie was charming under the right circumstances. I also didn’t know he, along with his family, were driving to Montreal so he could leave the kids with his mom, and go on a planned tropical escape to the Mayan Ruins in Mexico with Gemma. They were on their way on holiday when I called him distraught days after my walk of shame.

All I knew, and fixated on in my mind during his drunken tangent about Joel, was that he decided to make things work with Gemma for his kids and he had me on speaker phone without care for my well-being.

Rosie was playing the wall you make in a pingpong table so that you could bounce the ball, without the ball following through. My fact based knowledge was bouncing right off of Rosie. All I was doing was hearing myself whilst seeing his rage.

I took an entire bottle of Ketorlac and other narcotic medications to end my life the night I spoke with Rosie through is car speaker. They were old prescriptions specialists gave to me for severe cramp attacks I was constantly getting. They didn’t work to kill me, thank goodness. They didn’t help the cramp much either to be honest. All I ended up doing was hallucinating and then crashing. I distinctly remember my daughter and her boss from the cleaning company showing up at the apartment at some point. I guess I had texted both my daughters a form of goodbye message. They made sure I was breathing and safe. Liv and her boss then went back to work from what I understand.

The drive back from my parents home to Fredericton with Joel was awkward, and for the most part, silent. I was too anxious about the potential of seeing Rosie when I got home. I couldn’t speak much. The poor man didn’t have a clue what he had gotten himself into. He still wanted to pursue me even after that entire fiasco. We didn’t hang out other than a talk and coffee after that, for the most part anyway. Like I mentioned, Joel wasn’t for me. I wasn’t about to lead him on, in any way, further.

When Joel and I arrived in the parking lot across the street from mine and Liv’s apartment, I didn’t see Rosie’s car anywhere. I scanned the area with my eyes. I guess I was wrong and it wasn’t about Rosie? I must admit, I was a bit taken aback by the thought of my intuition being incorrect. With that in mind, Joel and I walked up to the door and went inside.

Had I seen Rosie’s car, I would have explained the circumstances to Joel and bid him a fond farewell in his car, before going into the apartment. Rosie knew that. He planned it that way in the hopes of Joel coming into the apartment to bid his farewell. Rosie wanted to confront him. Where Rosie chose to park his car was premeditated. I am confident in this assumption.

As soon as I entered, with Joel trailing closely behind me, we came across Rosie sitting right in front of us. He was sitting on the bed I used to sleep on. It was situated right by the front door of the apartment. We locked eyes like two deer in headlights. I then quickly looked to my left to see Liv mouth the word “sorry”. She then quietly backed away and hid in her room with her boyfriend.

Liv later explained to me that Rosie would not leave her side whilst she was speaking with me on the phone . Nor was she able to text me a heads up, in the event Rosie would see. Rosie scared Liv in that moment too.

When I saw Rosie, I instantly turned around and addressed Joel politely. I told him he had to go. Even though he drove all the way from Ontario to see me, was suppose to hang out with me for another day, and had to drive all the way back to Ontario after, he obliged respectfully and left. I escorted Joel to his car and gave him a hug and a huge apology. Rosie was watching us from the front window. I turned around and went back to the apartment.

The night was just getting started.

(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy.Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)

If you have been following my blog since the first publication, you likely intellectualized an intriguing observation. Then formulated a question in your mind similar to “if she was living with Rosie from 2021, through to, and including parts of 2023, and 2024, how is it she can claim to only exist on a bed mattress since 2017? That, my awesome, astute reader, is a fabulous, and justifiable question.

Without going into too much detail here about my assortment of job choices, I prefer to save that rabbit hole for a different day, I have been existing below the poverty line since 2017. Working for a nonprofit organization was not all it was cracked up to be. I also had a hard time keeping any form of job for too long. I was, and still am challenged with maintaining any form of physical repetition over an extended period of time. Especially when standing in one spot for too long.

When I am sitting or laying down, I shift my position fairly frequently. After standing for a while, I rock back and forth on my legs to avoid cramping. I can walk fairly far. Anywhere from three to five blocks without requiring rest. Depending on the weather, or my stress levels that is. If my stress levels are high, or, the weather is cold and damp, I stop more frequently to prevent leg spasms.

I have a high tolerance for pain overall. It isn’t uncommon for me to walk or drive with a charlie horse, or cramp in my shins, toes, and hands. The nonprofit organization I worked for from 2013 through to 2020 was accommodating to my needs. Their understanding of my then, physical restraints, was welcomed, and overly appreciated. My other employers, before, during, and after the nonprofit organization, were kept unaware of the physical restraints I was working with. I chose to keep them ignorant with regards to the health challenges I was facing. All I cared about back then was making my own independent income.

Back in June, 2017, I was couch surfing until I was able to secure enough income to acquire a tiny, four room apartment, for myself, my daughter, and eventually, my daughter’s boyfriend at the time. After that, a new baby arrived, and then a small puppy. Talk about cramped quarters.

The front room of that apartment was the living room. There was an inner door that exited the living room into a little square foyer. The size of one full grown adult. The door connected to the outside was a buggar to keep closed. There was a mini snowbank in that foyer each winter we were there. We were unable to lock the outside door. All the physical safety we had in that apartment was one lock on the interior door at the only entrance inside, and outside, of the apartment. That apartment was most definitely not up to safety standards, by any means.

Outside of the broken exterior door was a pedestrian sidewalk. Next to the sidewalk was a small patch of grass before the busy city street. We made that front room my bedroom. I slept beside a round-about traffic circle right outside my window. Often I would hear loud motorcycles, car engines, and buses drive past my window at all hours of the night. I slept on a queen sized bed mattress with no solid supporting box spring. I had a bed frame, sort of. Just no supporting legs to hold the weight of me and the mattress on top.

The place we were living in was so tiny, we ended up with a ton of stuff unpacked. I decided to be creative with this conundrum. There is a solution to everything after all. I took all the stuff we weren’t likely to use and stuffed them in any way I could under where the mattress would be, and where the supporting legs were supposed to be. I fitted boxes, garbage bags full of clothes and bedding, my memory chest that my dad made me out of wood, and a ton of other stuff inside the bedframe. I crammed all of it in, and leveled it the best I could.

Sleeping on the mattress was wonky at best. The underneath wasn’t exactly even. There were many days of seeing cockroaches and other critters scurrying when the lights came on in that apartment as well. There was one night when I  awoke from a sleep in the middle of the night, only to see a mouse sitting a couple of inches away from my face, on my pillow. Damn that traumatized me. Thinking about that squeaky little friend even now makes me cringe a little inside. I know I would jump, if not panic, at the sight of another mouse. The mouse was innocent. Mice still represents a little villain in my mind because of that night.

Liv and her boyfriend slept in the next room. You could get to her room by going through the front doorway, make an immediate left, walk past my bed about another three feet or so, and there, you would find yourself in the doorway to my daughter’s room. The bathroom would be to your immediate left whilst standing in the doorframe. No steps required.

The bathroom was somewhat of an oversized square, with a toilet, sink, and a disgusting bathtub that we couldn’t get clean to save our lives. After entering Liv’s room, and after walking another eight steps or so, you would reach the 8×8 foot kitchen. The kitchen was also situated on the left. The kitchen hosted a three to four feet long countertop, three cupboards for dishes and food, a small camper sized stove with two working burners, an apartment sized refrigerator, a window, and a small corner for a trashcan. That’s it. That was the kitchen and that was our apartment. It was a dilapidated bachelor sized apartment to fit three grown adults, a baby, and a dog, nice and cozy. We lived there from July, 2017 to  June, 2020.

The first place Rosie and I lived in was a small two bedroom apartment he acquired. Rosie chose that apartment after he had received an affirmative response to his request for a military transfer back to Montreal in 2018. I didn’t know at the time that he placed the request to move and had plans to move back to Montreal with his entire family. I was naively ignoring the signs in his plan to leave me behind in New Brunswick. Rosie had every plan to leave me behind. He hasn’t told me that he only intended to keep me as a discretion in a past New Brunswick life, to this day. The beautiful guiding voice, Clairity, inside my head illuminated this truth for me. I trust Clairity’s voice today.

I remember when Rosie was choosing his apartment near Montreal. He would call me in New Brunswick from Montreal to ask my opinion on the place, and the area. As well as, the choice between two different apartments within the same complex. He would ask my opinion often, which I truly loved. He also asked questions on my insight anytime he needed my intuition. Rosie knew right from the second date we had that I knew things without people telling me. I told him so. Even though I was heartbroken that he left, and lonely without him, I still answered his questions with my intuition. I helped that man anyway I could. I was under the impression we were in a long distance relationship. He obviously had the intention of letting me believe that whilst choosing to live single.

Looking back now, I know Rosie’s ego saw my ability to know things without people telling me as a challenge. He loved a challenge . He could be quite competitive at times. My intuition scared him at first. Then he realized he could get away with cheating on me too, or at least he thought he could. Rosie’s perception caused him, and his subconscious sex addiction, to take high risks.

The truth always comes out in the end. Either the deceiver shows their true colors, or God, and the universe’s remarkable creative ways, show me the truth. I may not have always trusted my intuition or listened to that inner voice. Nonetheless, when I did listen to Clairity, my intuition was often on point. I’d say about eighty percent of the time anyway. I may not have gotten the exact timeframe of when things were going to happen correctly. What I did say was going to happen did inevitably happen at some point.

The truth is coming out now for anyone to read, Rosie included. That’s if the universe wants to make him aware that this blog even exists that is. The truth always comes out. Rosie wasn’t focused on how smart I can be. He was focused on my uncanny ability to be right when I shouldn’t have even known in the first place. I can also see images in my head and receive information about people, places, and things whilst at a distance. All I have to do is focus enough on a person’s or an object’s energy, and details about them would start flowing in. I learned how to block the urge to energetically snoop. I control my focus when I do read energy. I chose not to invade Rosie’s privacy. I promised I wouldn’t. He took full advantage of my integrity to keep my promises and took full advantage of my intuition. I have them to him freely. I did keep my promise to not invade his privacy. To this day I have not invaded his privacy. The universe found a way to show me instead. 

After my feedback of the two apartment choices he showed me, Rosie inevitably chose the apartment on the third floor. The apartment had an indoor, and outdoor, stairwell walk up in replacement of an elevator. I liked his apartment. It was nice. It was cluttered with a bunch of stuff accumulated over the years though. I must admit, that took some work to get accustomed to. I much prefer cleanliness and order. I grew up with a strict mum who kept her house tidy. My brother and I had many chores throughout the week when we were teenagers. In Rosie’s place there were winter tires behind his couch, a full sized punching bag, a large table hockey game, foosball I think it’s called?, and a poker table. They were all placed strategically around the conjoined living room and dining room space.  It had kind of resembled order. 

Rosie had a collection of products that he couldn’t sell from a few of his business ventures he had long since given up on under the gaming table. Along with other sorts of tools, military gear, and so on. Rosie and Jean were definitely living in a proverbial bachelor’s pad.

I could look past the clutter. I liked to organize things so it made for a good home project. What often annoyed me was after each time I cleaned up after him or his children, they would turn around and disorganize it all over again. My efforts were not under any consideration when I was there. I can understand it from the kids’ perspective. They weren’t taught that level of emotional aptitude to understand how much it would bother me. They simply mimicked what their dad taught them. As mentioned, their parents lacked empathy, severely.

Both Gemma and Rosie suffered from low emotional intelligence. Rosie wasn’t stupid nor ignorant to his inconsideration of my efforts. I swear sometimes he would place his items on a surface I had just cleaned to see how much disrespect I was willing to tolerate from him. On the other hand, perhaps that is a bit of my ego talking. I am still healing from this entire ordeal with Rosie over the years. More often than not he was absent minded, focused on his plethora of projects, and chasing women. He rarely thought about how I was feeling, nor what I was doing. I often complained to him that his life was too busy for me. He didn’t have time for me. I would say “Rosie, you have too much on your plate. Your plate’s full. There is no room for me in your life”.

Rosie rarely asked me anything to get to know me. All he cared to know was what I was willing to offer up. If it was interesting enough for him, he would listen. Whatever information I could give him that he was looking for to help him, he soaked it in. Ask him if my brother is older or younger than me, and by how many years?, he’d respond with “I pass”.

When you first entered Rosie’s apartment you were greeted by a small tiled area that housed a faux marble bench, with a bunch of shoes on it, on against the wall on the left hand side. On your right was a mirrored sliding glass doored closet, that hardly closed, due to the pact in stuff inside of it.

I was often concerned of something falling on my head anytime I opened that closet door. On the flip side, some of that stuff was the stuff I had decided to migrate to his storage unit downstairs. That congested closet gave me the opportunity to see Rosie’s rainbow of fantasy rubber colors. I am grateful for that packed closet today. It eventually served me well.

When standing in the tiled squared door area, and looking into the apartment , you would see the dining room with a window directly in front of you. When you looked slightly right, you would see his living room. He had sliding glass doors to a balcony off of the living room that faced the front entrance of the building and the main street. To the left of the entrance of the apartment, and a couple of steps down the hallway, you would come to an elongated kitchen on your right. It had a small window that overlooked a partially blocked view of the street and driveway to the building’s back parking lot.

I looked out that window when I saw Rosie talking with someone on his cell phone. I asked the voice inside my head who Rosie was talking to. The voice said he was talking to a woman. My stomach fluttered in that moment. I took a mental note and kept quiet about it. 

Back to the kitchen. It had plenty of countertop space, a small sink to wash dishes, with a little squared and shelved opening to see and converse through into the dining room. It had a decent sized fridge, a second hand but decently maintained stove, and plenty of cupboard space up top and down below for food and dishes.

Straight across from the kitchen and on the other side of the hallway was the bathroom. It had a gorgeous jetstream jacuzzi tub. The bathroom was spacious with a typical toilet and a glass framed cornered walk-in shower. I was in both the shower and the bathtub a lot. Dare I say, it was my favorite room in Rosie’s place.

When you go further down the hall, without turning, you would enter Rosie’s son, Jean’s, bedroom. Directly left was Rosie’s bedroom, and where I spent most of my time. Inside Rosie’s bedroom was another cramped closet, a queen sized bed, plastic exposed shelves for my stuff, which I brought with me, a long boy for Rosie, with five built in dresser drawers, and a sliding glass door that led out to the balcony, and onto the outdoor staircase.

The reason I spent most of my time in Rosie’s bedroom was by choice really. Not a nice choice to make. A choice nonetheless. His living room sofa was a metal framed futon. When I sat on it the metal frame would start to hurt my body within about thirty minutes or so. His dining table chairs were metal framed with thinly cushioned seats. They were business style folding chairs. One of the chairs had a broken metal framed cushion. They were uncomfortable as hell to sit on for longer than a meal. Rosie sat there often. I’m not sure how he did it. The soldier in him I guess? It was either that or my tolerance for discomfort was, and probably still is, a lot thinner than I thought.

I use a heated blanket on top of the fitted bedding, for my legs, when in bed. I have been slowly baking my muscles on a heated blanket since 2022. Being exposed to any slight draft for too long, including a ceiling fan, can give me cramp. Mattresses and bed sheets feel cold as ice on my body after a very short period of time. It doesn’t matter the season. Any kind of cold damp weather is the worst for this sensitivity. Hot water is my savior. Hence my being in Rosie’s jacuzzi tub frequently, dealing with cramp.

On occasion, I would be in there enjoying a drink with music playing on my phone. Lit candles were usually present on my soak days. If I was in the tub with no candles it was because Rosie had to put me in the tub fully clothed, whilst having a severe cramp attack. If it wasn’t that, I was sitting on the side of the tub with my feet in the water, massaging a lighter, yet still painful cramp out of my calf and feet. 

Just like in New Brunswick when Rosie would go back to Moncton to be with his family on the weekends, Rosie went to his mother’s in Montreal every weekend I lived in that apartment. I lived there from July 2021 up until early April, 2023. I was left alone in his apartment more often than not. In addition to Rosie working outside the apartment everyday of the week, he told me his mum didn’t have room for me at her place, and that he needed to be there to help her with her daily tasks.

I call bullshit. Yeah, he probably helped her during the day. At night he was probably having is weiner wanked. Being alone often, I chose to be on the warm blanket on his bed. Rather than anywhere else in that apartment. I went from the bedroom to the kitchen, to the bathroom, then back to the bedroom. If I wasn’t doing that, I was running errands for him or doing some form of arts and crafts with the kids. I took care of Rosie’s son when he wasn’t home.

I also found myself often being the one to help his daughter with her homework. If I wasn’t doing those things, I was walking aimlessly around secluded areas with a joint in one hand and a vape in the other. I kept the smoking joints and the vaping a secret from him at that time. Joints help me to be more active during the day and help me to sleep better at night. Without it, I tended to toss and turn due to constant fluttering in my legs that lead to body aches, and eventually cramp.

It isn’t uncommon for me to jolt out of bed with a charlie horse from the ice cold mattress my body would have been feeling whilst I was asleep. I also walked everywhere when I was living in Rosie’s apartment. I would walk slowly for miles and miles each day. I walked often just to have some resemblance of an active, out of the house, life.

Walking has been my form of adventure since 2017. My ex-husband Bill took my car back then and never bothered to return it to me. The only car I drove when I was with Rosie was his car when he needed me to run an errand for him. Rosie learned about my friends, Mary Jowana and her sidekick Vapolicious, when I moved back in with him in August 2023.  I didn’t tell him about vaping and smoking weed back then. I lied by omission because he had quit smoking. I feared being judged by him. With that fear firmly in place, I decided to be sneaky.

I had quit smoking too. In fact, Rosie inspired me to quit. I am grateful to him for that. The back and forth drama between Quebec and New Brunswick and stresses, on the other hand, made it a challenge to stay smoke free. I despise the smell of stale cigarettes, so I opted for a vape when my daughter offered. I’ve been vaping and smoking some weed each day ever since.

When I did leave Rosie in 2023, I moved back in with my daughter Liv. She had moved into a house further up the hill and closer to the midsection of town by this point in my journey. Her and her family were living in a nice bungalow. Liv and her family had the basement apartment at first. They lived downstairs in that bungalow whilst I was visiting the Montreal area to help Rosie, and his mom, out with the care of Jean in 2020.  When I came back to Liv’s in April of 2020, Liv was still occupying the basement apartment with her family. It was an open concept, square shaped apartment, with three bedrooms, and a wee little bathroom that hosted a toilet, a sink, and a stand-up shower.

Liv and her family took over the upstairs apartment shortly before I came back from the 2023’s condom revelation. Even though the upstairs living areas were much larger, Liv was also pregnant with her second child, whilst also maintaining a household consisting of a baby, a partner, a full grown pitbull labrador mixed dog, and a friend with her special needs daughter living in the basement apartment below. Again, Liv’s place offered rather cramped quarters.

I kept to myself in my designated room more often than not. I stayed there until Rosie came chasing after me after I left in 2023. I will get to that shocking event in this blog series, eventually. I moved back in with Rosie after his tactful texting, and heroshima love bombing. I had a burst of energy leading me down a false promise of love and commitment once again when I made the decision to forgive him for his multiple infidelities.  Big, huge, ginormous, lesson learned. An eye opening rabbit hole that was well worth hopping into.

When I moved back in with Rosie in August, 2023, he didn’t tell me his and his mom’s name were on the mortgage of the new house he bought. I found out days after moving in that his mom was the owner of the house as well. She certainly acted like she was the sole owner of that house too. I wasn’t welcomed there. She had all of the upstairs with Rosie’s children. Rosie and I had a small little one bedroom apartment downstairs in the basement. The other rooms in the basement were occupied with not only all his stuff but his mother’s plenty of stuff too. They were both borderline hoarders in my perception. You could hardly open a door to one big room down there without having to use force to knock something over.

The little living room area in our living space consisted of his desk, computer equipment, and that God awful black futon sofa. Off the living room was a wee little bathroom which housed a toilet, sink, and a one person stand up shower not big enough for anyone with great height above six feet tall.

The small kitchenette was situated in the walkway between the bedroom and the living area. The walkway was the length of the bathroom. The little kitchen and the bathroom shared the same wall. There were two doors in or out of the apartment. One doorway led to the front entrance of the house. You could then walk up the split-level staircase to either the front door, or the upstairs living areas. The other door to our apartment was only three-quarter width. The doorway was situated between our bedroom and another cluttered games room. Which then led to the back stairwell to a side entrance of the house.

Rosie’s kids would pop into our space constantly. There was very little privacy when the kids were home and awake. They required constant attention. At least Alyssa did. Her and I would hang out together quite a bit. We enjoyed each other’s company overall.

I spent at least seventy-five percent of my time using Rosie’s bed as a chair. It got to the point where I would secretly cringe at the idea of having to go upstairs. I hid in the basement. I chose to confine myself to the basement to maintain my energy, whilst respecting Rosie’s mum’s energy upstairs. I also used the heat blanket a lot down there because it often felt damp. The futon was so freaking uncomfortable for me. More often than not, when we were in the little living room together, Rosie sat in his comfy office chair. I sat on the futon. Rosie would have let me use his chair more often if I asked him to get up. It wouldn’t have been without a raised eyebrow and a quick remark of some kind towards me though. Rosie liked to dig at me from time to time. I chose peace and being pain free, so bed it was. I trust this insight helped to clear up any confusion over my statement about living on a mattress since 2017?

Today, as mentioned in previous blogs, I am living with my daughter Liv, and her partner, two small children, and a full grown gentle giant of a dog, in a tiny, half-sized, two bedroom, basement apartment. I use my grandbabies’ bedroom. I sleep on a mattress on concrete. The same mattress from 2017. With no box spring nor bedframe this time. I share this room with my granddaughters in the sense that some of their toys are here. They of course are welcome to come and go as they please. After all, it is technically their room, and I am their proud nana.

I love those babies to the moon and back. The girls sleep in their parents’ bedroom. Liv and Aiden switch between sleeping with the girls and sleeping on the sofas in the small living room area. Makes for a bleak sex life for them I’m sure. Makes a little more sense now that I have explained my mattress survival claim, doesn’t it?

Now back to the regular scheduled program. Five days and nights of mental torture. 

(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)

The next five days living inside Rosie’s apartment was scary and intense. I quieted myself and told Rosie I will respect his wishes when it comes to telling his children that I was leaving. I felt like I was walking on eggshells.

Rosie had both his children living with him when all this happened. When I first moved in with him, it was back in July 2021. That timeframe was after I securely locked Wendy’s and Carla’s name deep inside my mind’s forbidden closet. Never to venture open again. Well at least until the day of the condoms. Today, I also know Rosie wasn’t sleeping with either Wendy, nor Carla, when I found the condoms. He was busy having an affair with an unsuspecting woman named Isabel. With an even less enlightened woman named Michelle on the side. I was at home helping his children learn and cope with everyday stresses. No wonder Rosie was on edge most of the time.

Hindsight, it’s a beautiful thing. With that said, I chose to keep the rose colored glasses on when it came to Rosie’s true character back then. Hence the name “Rosie”. My higher awareness gave him the name Rosie. My ego self was inspired by the thought. The universe has such a creative sense of humor. Do you agree?

When I moved into his place the the first time in July, 2021, his son Jean was the only one living with him. His daughter Alyssa, who is several months younger than her brother, was living with her mother within the city limits of Montreal. Alyssa moved in with Rosie, Jean, and myself, after a devastating event that took place between her mother’s boyfriend and herself. If my memory serves me correctly, it was April of the year 2022, when Alyssa came to stay with us.  Rosie, Jean, and I were living in a two bedroom apartment. In a small military community. Outside of the city limits. We all lived there together, right up until my departure, after the condoms revelation.

Both of Rosie’s children were wedged between to highly toxic parents. Parents who both had a low EQ and a rather high IQ from my perspective. The children were being brought together each weekend, whilst remaining separated during the week. They were tossed around like a boomerang in an infinite loop. Being sent back and forth with their parents providing little focus on creating joy with their children.

It was heartbreaking to witness. The courts felt it best the kids remained separated this way because they had already been separated since moving to Quebec. Rosie and Gemma chose to live in separate apartments. With each parent raising one of their children full time. Rosie’s children began to live apart from one another around the spring of 2018. With that, the courts had ruled in favour of the children’s mother keeping custody of Alyssa in her home, whilst Rosie maintained custody of Jean in his home.

One of the major challenges in the outcome of this court ruling was the fact that both parents knew how to manipulate, and twist, or omit facts, when honesty was truly required. It didn’t really seem to matter with whom they were speaking, including me. They often played a game of a test of wills when it came to their ability to deflect blame or accept any form of accountability. I was playing too. I just had no idea that I was. This left the children constantly witnessing emotional, mental, and sometimes physical abuse between their parents. The children were also involved in unsafe circumstances with their mother’s boyfriend. Gemma, the children’s mother,  had threatened to call the police, or family services on me in front of the children on more than one occasion. The children lived in constant fear. Gemma had a challenge accepting that I was created to breathe and that standing on the streets of Montreal was legal. As far as I know, anyway. Rosie was ignorant to emotional empathy. The children didn’t feel safe.

I had a soft spot for Rosie’s babies. I still do. With that said, the rose colored glasses I was wearing hadn’t come off. In my mind Rosie was doing the best he could. In my mind, if I am to love Rosie, then I accept and love his children as well.

Looking back now, I think Rosie knew I could be manipulated through the heart I had for his children. Rosie paid closer attention to me than I had realized. Right now, as I write this, I am being made aware of my choice to also underestimate Rosie’s intelligence. I used to get annoyed when he insinuated I was ignorant in what I had been speaking with him about. Insulting my intelligence was a red button for my teenager ego. I now note this awareness and thank the beautiful voice inside my mind for making me aware. I also send my sincere energetic apologies to Rosie.

Hypocrisy. Lesson learned. Even now, Rosie is an awesome teacher for me. I am learning a great deal about myself. Rosie was my catalyst for change. That’s honorable in my mind.

Sadly, I also think Rosie used those heartfelt emotions and morals with his children against me to keep me around. He would ask me my thoughts and opinions on how to address his ex and his children. At times he had me writing the text responses to his ex from his phone. Pretending to be him so that the authorities thought he was being proactive and respectful. He also vented to me often. He Believed it was possible that his children were being harmed when at their mother’s, or, that they may have been secretly working against him for their mother. All those conversations between Rosie and I created a strong motherly reaction in me to stay and protect the children. Through a loving, educational approach. Rosie is another man who knows how to pull at a person’s heartstrings. 

Rosie’s children were sweethearts. His son Jean was highly intelligent and asked brilliant, thought provoking questions. Before all the trauma that brought him to a natural state of emotional and mental detachment.  Questions such as, “why are there crosses on those gravestones? Where do we go when we die? What’s the reason my mom doesn’t like me? Why can’t I do right by my Dad? I keep telling the adults but no one is doing anything. Does no one believe me? I had a dream, what does it mean?” Jean confided in me a fair bit in the beginning. He asked me many questions. I love the time we had together. Jean has such a beautiful soul.

Jean suffered from nightmares often as well. He would have anywhere from one to four a week. He also had a tendency to talk and sleepwalk. He was seven when he asked me those questions. There were many long walks and talks between Rosie’s son and I back then. I cherish those memories. We would go to my favorite meditation spot down by the water. My heart broke for him. Even though he was a troubled kid, I could feel his soft loving nature. He was truly an affectionate boy under those emotionally turbulent circumstances. He was lost and wanted to understand himself. I can empathize with that.

When I left in 2023, Jean was eleven. No longer the sweet curious seven year old. He gave hugs still. More often than not it was when he first arrived home from school or at bedtime because that was what was expected from him. Ask him how his day went and you’d get one word responses. “Good”. “Fine”. “Yeah”. “No”. He changed drastically from the soft affectionate little person I went for walks with back in 2020.

Jean went from being a little person with a healthy sense of curiosity to a detached nonchalant about life, and himself young man. That’s who I saw when I went back in 2023 anyway. This was the choice Jean made for himself. That’s what life is all about. Making free will choices to design an incredible journey, for the purpose of self awareness, and personalized evolution. We all make our own choices based upon our personal experiences. Even eleven year olds choose, subconsciously or otherwise, what character they are developing for themselves. No matter how easy or how hard life experiences can be.

It was incredibly heartbreaking to watch Jean’s transformation. He was up against expectations of high grades, being the go-between for both his parents, as well as, adjusting to me living with him. He was dealing with his sister being raised under a different roof with his mother, to his sister moving in with him permanently at his dad’s. Finally, Jean was also dealing with his parents being constantly combative with one another. This was the lovely meal life had dished out to him.

I witnessed Jean’s transition from a soft, loving, and curious little person, to an angry, quiet, misunderstood tween. I witnessed his light dim over a five year span. Sometimes to this day I catch myself thinking painful thoughts. I wasn’t always consistently loving towards him when I was there either. Sometimes the drama was too much. I too became stern and unwavering in my opinion towards the end of my time with him.

More often than not I am a loving, calm person. At the height of tension between Jean’s parents, Rosie and I, Rosie’s mother and the kids, or between Rosie’s mother and myself, there was no unity inside the home. Only unhealthy heavy division in the energetic atmosphere. I found myself mimicking Rosie’s approach to parenting. I started to have less patience. I wouldn’t fully hear the kids out when they were explaining something. I made false accusations on at least one occasion. I was becoming increasingly unkind to them in the final days of mine and Rosie’s situation ship, which had its grand finale on August 27th, 2024.

I saw Jean vacate his eyes one time when I was yelling at him. It instantly stung my heart in that moment. Still does a little. We were all living together under one roof. Rosie, his mother, both children, a new dog named Kody, and myself. We were living in a new house Rosie bought with his mother.

I didn’t know Rosie’s mother owned the house too when I moved in. That information was provided to me later. Rosie’s mother didn’t care for me from day one. It was highly apparent when she grabbed the multivitamins off the kitchen counter and said to me in french, “these are for the kids, not for you”. Then placed the bottle of vitamins out of my reach. That was on my second day in this new place, and after I chose once again to forgive Rosie enough to have one last ditch effort towards a healthy relationship. 

His mother didn’t like me. I found that confusing since Rosie had told me he had confessed to all his wrong doings to his mother and children. I was under the impression she knew of the many sorted affairs and misdealings. He lied. I know that today. Back then I just figured she was placing me in a competitive game over her son, to which I didn’t sign up for. I found her to be somewhat insecure about her position in the family for some reason. She was determined to assert her rank.

Today, I know she wasn’t holding all of the information about Rosie’s wrong doings when it came to me. She only knew that I had left and that I came back. Perhaps with a sprinkle of truth on Rosie’s part. He did paint himself the victim often enough, so whatever truth Rosie gave his mum, was probably a little dash here and a little dash there.

Rosie had a tendency to play the victim role in his mind. He would be quick to identify his actions with a reasoning such as, “it’s because of what happened to me then”. It doesn’t make sense for him to confess to being the villain to his mother. It does make sense for him to paint himself as a victim in some way, shape, or form.

It was extremely challenging to live with a man and his mom. Especially when his mom didn’t speak english, I knew a little french, and neither of us were living the truth. Both Rosie’s mother and I were unwilling to see the truth in Rosie’s character. We were all told lies by Rosie. Purposefully omitting factual information is lying by omission in my reality.

The day of the vacant eyes with Jean was particularly challenging. He had gotten into some trouble at school for something he did towards another student. I confronted him about it. He became disrespectful. I went off. I had a red button when it came to blatant disrespect and lying. I tended to have a greater challenge at maintaining my ego when addressed this way. Doesn’t matter who the person is or what position they hold. Whilst I was yelling at Jean, he went away. He was physically in front of me. Yet he carried a vacant expression. He was triggered in trauma and my choice of action instigated it. He was no longer with me at that moment.

I am learning to listen more, speak less, and remain consistent because of that experience. That young man is a valuable teacher for me. I see it now. Hard part is, I am not as confident Jean has the emotional education to internalize our experience together in a self empowering way. His memory may be infused with my face yelling at him for once again not doing something right. I, to him, may be the same as everyone else. I went from a loving, nurturing, caregiver, to another tyrant with high expectations, and an unpredictable attitude. I likely became the villain in his story. He didn’t confide in me again after that. No blame, only truth. I have learned. I love him today from afar.

Children are innocent. I understand ego conditioning. I understand and had great compassion for them even though they tended to lie for attention, or sneak into things they weren’t supposed to. What kid doesn’t, really? Both children were also showing signs of stunted emotional awareness. I was highly focused on being someone who could help them understand in this way. I may only have a Masters degree in metaphysics from a non-reputable, non-Canadian institution. I also have a hell of a lot of personal experience when it comes to emotionally stunted parents. I used this knowledge in a language the children could understand to the best of my ability.

I also felt bad for Rosie’s daughter Alyssa. She was struggling in school. Her beautiful mind is made for incredibly creative and highly insightful thinking. She also loved to entertain, and often pushed herself past her fears. She was bold, sometimes a bit flighty, and extremely witty. You could count on her to make you laugh some way or another. She was also the more mischievous of the two kids. She could be sneaky. Her and her brother were the best of friends and the worst of enemies all in the same day sometimes. They were awesome little people with a lot of trauma to work through within a sea of faces. All giving mixed messages of pain, disappointment, criticisms, and uncertainty, with a dash of “I love you”, and, “trust me”, tossed in between.

I don’t know if all of what I have written about Rosie’s children is still true today. The kids are twelve and thirteen as of late. I haven’t seen nor spoken with them since the day before I left for the final time, in August, 2024. Today, as I sit here on a mattress on concrete, it is November, 2025. What I do know is, Alyssa sadly developed an insecurity around her intelligence because of her struggles in school, school bullying, and her father’s high expectations of her to have good grades. I pray today she sees how incredibly intelligent and truly insightful she is. She simply has her own creative form of expression.

Rosie had built a reputation of being an excellent father. He often felt like his reputation was at stake. He was strict when it came to his children’s education. I noticed his children’s performance at school either embarrassed him or made him proud. He was also either one or the other, proud or embarrassed, in all aspects of their choices. He would often address his children as if they were to know better. I am not certain how he could expect his children to have emotional and mental maturity when they were not being taught on a consistent loving basis to be aware in the first place. I did my best to remind Rosie of this. It was a struggle sometimes for him to remember. The kids understood the subliminal conditioning message though, which was, “you are an embarrassment, and stupid for not knowing better”. Even if they didn’t have the mature vocabulary to explain it.

Whilst I was living with Rosie the first time, between July 2021 and March 2023, he was going through a nasty custody battle. His ex partner had a horrible temper. It was difficult for her to hear or read the word no. She also had a rather relaxed approach to parenting. Paying little attention to the children’s physical safety and education. Education such as scholastic education, emotional education, and mental distress education. As well as how to regulate all these facets of life whilst being in challenging situations.

Gemma, the mother of the children, tended to pay closer attention when the authorities were involved or asking questions. With that, I do know she had the maturity to be attentive to her children’s needs.  Which means, she actively chose to be less involved in her children’s overall well-being when the authorities were not involved. She was often focused on being in competition with Rosie. Rosie was too busy by remaining focused on many people. Including being in competition with Gemma. It was for this reason I had a difficult time seeing Gemma’s point of view. It was also for this reason I saw Rosie as more of a victim, rather than an equal perpetrator in their children’s trauma. Which was in fact the case. That’s the way I have come to see it today. It also didn’t help that Gemma had pure hatred towards me. Understandably so. I was the mistress in her eyes afterall.

Rosie liked that I didn’t like Gemma. I had very little tolerance for Gemma’s choice in behavior. Today when I look back, I can remember the little smirk Rosie would often make when I was defending him or talking to him about how manipulative Gemma could be. It wasn’t a full on smile. It was one of those smug little bursts of glee seeping out one side of his face. Back then I thought it was cute. Today I recognize that smirk to be a sign of a strategic, in-it-for-myself, thinker. It’s contempt. That sideswiped smile is not cute in the least.

Because I had such a strong distaste in my mouth when it came to Rosie’s ex, I rigorously helped Rosie with a custody battle for him to win full custody of both his children. I ignored Gemma’s truthful warnings of Rosie’s true character. It’s a challenge to listen to any form of aggression without a slight closed mind. I didn’t see Gemma’s truthfulness. I only saw her aggression. My goal was to help Rosie and his children win peace in their lives.

I don’t know if Rosie ever finally did win full custody of both of his children. He could be still fighting with the courts, family services, and his ex today for all I know. Intuitively speaking, I strongly feel he is still fighting in some way. Rosie attracted a great deal of chaos. It’s a difficult habit to break. Especially when you are unaware of it. Rosie was most certainly unaware, as was I.

Rosie had to prepare evidence of his ex’s unstable behavior. He had to provide details on disruptive child exchanges between himself and Gemma. He was advised to provide proof of educational distress in the children, and a slu of other concerning proofs. Rosie didn’t have time for all that. He was too busy working for the military, defending himself in a discrimination lawsuit with a large fast food chain, and hooking up with different women on the weekends. He also required time during the week to be able to swoon his weekend ladies too. Rosie was definitely a creative, solution orientated thinker. I of course didn’t know that at the time, so I offered to help him with his family ordeal.

Most of the official correspondence between Rosie and outside professional entities were in english. That made things much easier for me to write on his behalf without anyone being any the wiser. No one came out and asked me if I wrote the answers to document questions, or if I was the one who comprised the written email correspondence on Rosie’s behalf. This was perfect for Rosie. Rosie never bothered to give me credit. Rosie gave me credit when he didn’t have much choice but to tell someone I wrote what they were reading. We were both lying to Gemma and the authoritative representatives by omission.

Over the course of seven years, I wrote most of Rosie’s correspondence to his family lawyer, his lawsuit lawyer, his employer in another discrimination issue within the military, several family services representatives, and edited some of his other business affairs as well. He kept me busy helping him solve his own drama for almost ten years. He had a lot of it. It kept my heartstrings pulled in tightly. I felt Rosie’s pain, not Rosie’s manipulation.

I thought about all the work I did for him over the five days leading up to leaving Rosie and his kids in 2023. I also had to maintain my inner strength and refrain from my natural response to help the children understand what was going on. I remained quiet about my departure both in 2023, and 2024, as per Rosie’s insinuated instruction.

Rosie set me up beautifully to be the bad guy who broke his children’s hearts, twice. The first time in 2023 was the set up. The second, and last time in 2024 was, “see kids, I even texted her. I am so sorry she didn’t say goodbye, again. She was heartless for leaving you the way she did. I am a victim in all this too!”. My intuition today tells me this is, perhaps not verbatim, what he likely said to his kids and mother after I left both times. Rosie fought hard for his reputation. I knew what he was doing. I let him. They are his family. I am okay with being the villain in their eyes. Rosie’s children had enough pain to deal with when it came to their family.

The other thing that was playing on repeat in my mind over the course of those few days was Rosie’s hidden anger towards me. His energy really did scare me on more than one occasion. The scariest time was back in 2017. He barged his way into my daughter’s apartment, demanding to see me. He was drunk off his rocker and had driven forty-five minutes on a New Brunswick highway to find me.

Whilst driving drunk, Rosie made his way through the small city streets of Fredericton to my front door. Sometime before midnight. He decided to risk his life, and the lives of all he would have come into contact with, because he knew I was on an extended date with someone, after he broke it off with me. He didn’t like it, and demanded that my daughter get a hold of me so that I would come home to be with him. What a night that was.

(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)

In 2023 I was living with a man, whom I nicknamed Rosie, in Quebec, Canada. Rosie is a born Canadian with Haitian culture and heritage. Hatian Canadian I believe is what his nationality would be referred to as? I was born in England and immigrated to Canada when I was two and a half years old. I guess I would be considered English Canadian?

We were in a cute two bedroom apartment with his two children who were eleven and twelve at the time. I loved that man, or at least I thought I did. I didn’t know when I met him that he lied on his dating profile. I was under the impression he worked in finance and lived in Fredericton, New Brunswick, where I lived. It wasn’t until our first initial date in person, near the end of October, 2014, when he corrected his purposeful misleading. Before then, we were chatting on the dating app, sharing our day’s events, and doing a little flirting. He clarified his status by telling me the truth on our first in-person date.

Rosie was a soldier in the Canadian Armed Forces. He was living near the base in Oromocto, and dabbled in some form of investing. Rosie’s residential location didn’t bother me so much. I too had a car back then. I could drive to see him if need be. What took me back for a moment was his profession. Had he of written on his dating profile that he was in the military I wouldn’t have entertained him. Reason being, when I was around nine or ten years old, I told a friend that I would never be with someone who worked in the military, or who was younger than me. At that time, I had no real reason for saying that. Today, I sure do know the reason.

Rosie is both a soldier and younger than me by a little over four years. I must also take accountability as well. Rosie may have been secretive and misleading. I also didn’t ask him many questions about his professional nor private life on that first date. I chose to place his discrepancy aside. Our conversation was based more around what we like to do, what we are wanting in a partner, the food we were eating, and the local area. I was also intriguingly drawn in by a familiar knowing within me that there was going to be more to us than a simple couple of dates. It was an internal pull which aided in my ability to ignore his true character.

Looking back, I made it incredibly easy for Rosie to hide his true self. I didn’t pry so he didn’t have to lie. On one occasion back when I first met him, I did pry. It was another date a few weeks later, at the same location. When we left the pub we were in his parked car for a moment smoking a cigarette before I walked home that night. I had a vision in my mind of him wearing a wedding ring. I asked if he was married by posing the question like this, “I am seeing you with a wedding ring on your finger inside my head. Are you married?” We had sex by then so it was extremely important for me to know. It’s a moral thing. I had to ask.

Rosie had already been made familiar that I have a beautiful habit of knowing things without people telling me. It may take me a bit of time to solve the puzzle in my head with all the symbolism. Nonetheless, I do end up putting the pieces of the scrambled puzzle together. The truth always comes out.

Rosie’s response to me was “I was engaged once. It didn’t work out.” My response “oh, okay. It could be that?, or, you are likely to be married some day in the future.” I left it like that. Rosie likely took an internal sigh of relief because he was engaged to be married when I had asked him. He was hiding that fact. I ignored the ugly truth and replaced it with a fantasy of love. Even when a person lies, they are still showing you the truth within their character. The truth is always available when you are willing to see it. I wasn’t willing to see it back then.

Today, one of the questions I plan to ask on a first date is “what have you learned about yourself from your previous relationships?” The answer to that question would tell me all I would need to know about a person’s character. Posing that question can save a hell of a lot of valuable energy and time.

Rather than judge them for their past, I believe it is best to judge a person based on what they have learned from their past. In particular, themselves.  Lesson most definitely learned.

I didn’t like the idea of being on a dating site after my divorce from my second husband, Bill. Let alone meet a liar right out of the starting gate. Yet, I did. I had met a few men on that dating site before meeting Rosie. As well as a couple of short lived conversations and light dating with a couple others after I first met him. Rosie was different. I knew from the first time meeting him in 2014 at the local pub that there was more to us than a simple meet and greet. His energy seemed familiar to me. It was as if I knew him. That first knowing experience I had internally also occured with Bill, and my first husband, Albert. I fell for Rosie fast and hard even though I didn’t, and still don’t truly know him, eleven years later.

My world came crashing down when I found a box of condoms in his storage unit one lonely afternoon, almost nine years later, in 2023. We were living together in a small town on the south shore of Montreal for a little over a year at that point. I moved from New Brunswick to Quebec to see a Neurologist for muscle spasms and cramps I kept on experiencing. Having a specialist near where Rosie lived made it easier to go to the appointments. With that, Rosie agreed to move me into his place. I didn’t realize at the time that Rosie had other intentions than mine when it came to me moving in with him.

Rosie was at work when I saw his box of condoms. I was organizing his apartment and took some items down three flights of stairs to his designated storage unit. Out of site out of mind sort of thing. I had already crammed a few things as best I could in there already. I was bringing the last few items down. I opened the door to the unit. I then reached up to put something on top of the huge pile of stuff on my left. It was at that moment, when the condoms came crashing to the floor at my feet. It kind of felt like a divine intervention. The timing was impeccable. I’ve experienced a number of those in my life.

Two particular times come to mind. One when I was nine years old. I was swiftly guided by a voice in spirit on when to get out of a horrendous situation with a pedophile. Whilst I was in the hands of this man, who was about to penetrate me from behind, I heard a loving, stern woman’s voice say “you must get out of here dear.” No sooner did I hear that voice, the man let go of me for a split second. Giving me just enough time to break free from him, hop on my bike, and bolt out of there.

The voice, which sounds a lot like me today, saved me. Not necessarily from traumatic pain. It was from potentially losing my virginity in a most gruesome way, or worse, my life. I hadn’t told anyone about that experience until my daughters became adults. 

I was walking home from the local mall with my brother when a tall slender man approached us. “Hey there. Can you guys help me? I am trying to find the indoor tennis courts. My daughter lost her bracelet and necklace there. I need to find them for her. She is devastated. You’d be her hero. I can pay you five dollars each for helping me?”. My brother said “I don’t know. We’d have to ask our mum first.” Me being someone who needed to prove I am worthy of being proud of, said, “I can help.” Being a hero to another little girl really got my ego excited. Craig interjected again and said, “we gotta go home and ask.” The man then said, “I can wait for you. How about you go ask your mom. If she says yes, meet me in the school playground”. He looked over to his right and motioned his head towards my school, Christie Public Elementary School. That made me think of all the bullying I was getting at that school.

I was bullied everyday of my school years from grade four right up to and including grade ten. The thought of those school bullies was enough for me to reinforce that I had to prove myself. Craig and I agreed to meet up if our mum said yes. We then proceeded on our walk home. 

During the ten to fifteen minutes walk home I asked my brother if he was going to help. He said no, he wasn’t interested. Today as I look back, I know his intuition was talking loud and clear. His intuition was telling him that that man was a predator. Mine on the other hand was clouded at best. Once my ego took over, spiritual morality and truth went out the window.

Once Craig and I arrived home I asked my mother if I could help the Necklace man. My mum was busy cooking super. When my mum was cooking, she cooked meals that required her full attention. I knew that, so asking her when she was distracted was the plan that I had come up with whilst I was walking home with my brother. I figured I had more of an eighty percent chance of it being a yes. Even a nine year old can be manipulative to get what they want. I was no exception at that moment.

“Yes you can go. Provided it is within our housing area and with other people”. I lied and said, “yes mum, it is.” “Be back in an hour. Dinner will be ready” was the words coming out of my mother’s mouth as I had my second foot already out the front door. “Okay mum!” I replied, in a quick dismissive manner. I then closed the door behind me without a second thought. 

I hopped on my bike and headed for the school. Whilst riding, I wasn’t paying attention to the ever growing knot in my stomach. I was focused on being a hero.  As well as the five dollars promised. Five dollars was a lot of money for a nine year old in 1983. I had big plans with that money. When I arrived at the school Necklace man was sitting on the play structure. When he saw me he stood up, smiled, and said “ah you came. Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if you would. Where’s your brother?”. “He didn’t want to come. I’m sorry.” I responded in a respectful manner.

I was usually respectful to others except my mother, brother sometimes, and my not so friendly school teachers. With them, I talked back when I truly saw them in the wrong. Disrespect me without warrant and you would get a mirrored response back, no doubt. 

The stranger and I walked through the woods on the trail behind my school. We were isolated and headed towards the indoor tennis courts. Whilst we walked, this perfect stranger explained to me that he had to get back to his daughter. It was her birthday. He was out without her because he had bought her a present and didn’t want her with him when he bought it. The man then lifted up a shopping bag in front of me. There looked to be an article of clothing in it. It made sense to me. It answered the question of where his daughter was that ran in the back of my mind. I didn’t want to ask him where she was because I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t talk as much to people I didn’t know that well. I was more shy than I was outgoing.

When we reached the tennis courts the stranger escorted me around to the back of the building. In the back there was a large grassy area with a tall embankment that lead up to the highway quite a ways up from where we were. The cars driving past on the highway would not have been able to see us. The tennis courts were also closed at that time.

As soon as I became aware of the tennis courts being closed, a flutter appeared in my stomach to which I ignored. Being with that man was starting to feel off. I think he could see it on my face because no sooner did I feel that new sensation in my belly, he worriedly said, “Oh, I do hope we can find them. Her birthday will be ruined if I can’t find them. How about you look over there whilst I stay over here and look?”, motioning his head in two different directions. I said, “okay”, with a smile and then headed over to the middle area at the back of the building. Necklace man stayed on the edge of the open grassy area where we first turned the corner of the building to come into the back. 

After about five minutes or so with my head down scanning the grass, and us talking about the sports I liked to play, the man shouted over to me “found the necklace!” He held it up high with a proud grin. I was happy for him and bummed at the same time. I wanted to be the hero. I was even more determined to find the bracelet.

About another two minutes or so went by. Again Necklace man proclaimed, “there’s the bracelet!”. The man bent down and picked something up from the ground. Yep, it was a bracelet. He got to find both. I felt defeated. I walked over to him and explained how happy I was that he found them and that his daughter would have a wonderful birthday afterall. Inside I was thinking, “so much for being a hero”.

‘Necklace’ man had another request for my services. “Speaking of my daughter’s birthday, I don’t suppose you would be willing to try on this skirt for me, would you? I bought it for my daughter and I am not sure if it will fit. You and her look to be about the same size. It would help me to know if I have to take it back to exchange it for a different size.” 

I was definitely uncomfortable with that idea. For two reasons. My tummy was talking, and I was a tomboy back then. I didn’t like putting on skirts. I gave a look of uncertainty so he upped his ante. “I can give you an extra five dollars. I was going to give it to your brother anyways. Since he’s not here, you could have it. You can change over there in the tall grass”. Necklace man then pointed his finger straight behind me to point out a relatively private spot to change. “I will look away to give you privacy”, he reassured.

I hummed and hawed for a second or two, which made him say “please. It would really help me out a lot.” He knew what he was doing. He was pulling at my heartstrings. “Okay. I guess I could.” With that, I accepted the skirt and made my way to the overgrown lawn.

Everything inside me was saying not to do it. I did it anyways. Ten whole dollars was hard to pass up. Whilst I was changing, I kept my eye on him to make certain he wasn’t going to turn around. He didn’t. When I had the skirt on, I told him I had the skirt on, and that he could turn around. “Okay, you can look now”.

The skirt fit me perfectly. You’d almost think it was planned. I still didn’t care for the skirt but that wasn’t for me to say. “Oh that is a perfect fit. Excellent. She’s going to love it.” He said with excitement. “Great. Can I change back now?” was what I said next in a monotonous tone, and all I wanted to do. I was getting scared.

The man looked at me with wide eyes and said “wanna play a sport first? I can see you like sports with that baseball hat your wearing. It’s fun. You’ll like it.” My nerves were really starting to talk now. “I really should be going home. My dinner will be ready soon.” “Didn’t you say you had an hour? It’s only been about thirty minutes. You’ve got lots of time with having a bike. Don’t worry”, was his rebuttal. I responded with “what is the game?”. “It’s called Yoga”, he said.

“Here, let me show you. You stand here”. ‘Necklace man’ proceeded to grab my shoulders and turned me to face away from him. He directed me to go down on my hands and knees. I followed his instructions. Then he explained that part of the game required flexibility. As he explained, he spread my legs apart, parted my panties, and then touched my vagina forcibly. It hurt. It was at that moment I heard a woman’s voice say “you must get out of here dear”.

It was right when he touched my vagina that my mind brought me back to when I was a toddler. It was like going through a time portal. One minute I felt my panties snap, and the next, back to being three or four years old laying half naked on some teenager’s lap. A teenager did something similar to me back then when he was babysitting me as well.

‘Necklace man’ had me from behind. He let go of me for a moment to unzip his pants. He was pulling his penis out as I turned around whilst also getting up. It was my moment of opportunity to kick him, rush to my bike, hop on, and ride away like a bat out of hell. 

I ignored the little droplets of blood running down one of my legs. I was in shock. I didn’t tell anyone about that experience. When I got home I ran upstairs, changed, and got rid of the skirt. Then was back down to dinner on time. I acted like normal, in a foul mood. My parents didn’t ask me any questions. I didn’t offer any information. No one in fact has known this much detail until now. This is the first time I am giving this much detail to anyone. As it stands right now, in this moment, you, reading this, know more than my own family had ever known. 

The second time was when I was sixteen. I jumped into fridged cold water at 01:00 in the morning by myself. Doing that gave me a horrible shock. Instigating a horrific, terrifying seizure moments after getting out of the water. I wasn’t feeling well. I decided to go for a swim. I wasn’t the type to tip-toe in. I was the “fuck it” and dive right in kinda girl. That’s exactly what I did. Jumped right into the lake without any thoughts towards the potential condition of the freezing cold water. Nor did I consider the cold water’s potential effect on my body.

I had what felt like an electric shock run straight through my chest. It took my breath away. I had heard the same woman’s voice in that moment say “you must get out of the water dear.” Since I had heard her voice the one time before with the necklace man, I didn’t question the voice, nor where it came from. I got out of the water, walked up to the cabin I was staying at with friends, and had a full body seizure, right there in the front doorway. Had I have not listened to that voice I would have surely drowned. I would have had a seizure in the water.

That beautiful, loving voice, saved my life once again. I was the only one out there in the dark. Down a large winding set of wooden stairs, and out past the dock. No one would have seen me, nor heard me. My boyfriend at the time had suggested I go jump in the cold lake after I had told him I was uncomfortably hot, making it difficult to breath. When the ambulance arrived, my heart rate was something like 200 over something else, 90 I believe. According to my boyfriend who explained what happened, once I came to at the hospital that is. My heart rate must have been fairly high I guess. I had another seizure on the gurney and was quickly rushed to the hospital by ambulance on a code blue situation. I have no recollection of that. Fun times. 

That was a bit of a detour down memory lane. My apologies. It’s time to focus back on what brought me to my knees, Rosie.

Before Rosie and I started living together we were either seeing each other where I lived, or we were communicating long distance. I knew he used some of those condoms that fell at my feet with someone else. He wasn’t using them with me. We stopped using condoms about two months into our secret affair, which I didn’t know was a secret, nor that it was an affair at the time we met. I had no idea he was engaged to be married with two young children under the age of two in another city, a little over an hour away.

When Rosie and I met, he was a soldier working out of a nearby base with his family in a different city. He decided to rent a room closer to the base and go home to his family on the weekends. After I found out about his family, which was about six months into our relationship, he told me they were not together. That he lived in Oromocto, New Brunswick, and only went to Moncton, New Brunswick to see his kids on the weekends. I chose to believe him. I was desperate to be loved. I had to believe I was special to him. Even though I heard countless other people in this world give me the message that I would only ever equate to being Rosie’s mistress, and that he would say anything to keep me around as a side piece. They were all correct. My stubborn ass had to find that out the hard way. The painful way. The gut wrenching, heart stomping, mind numbing, only pain exists in this world, way.

Oh what we do as humans to prove love either exists or doesn’t. Everything revolves around love. Even the absence of love is focusing on its perceived non-existence. Which is painful. The pain is still a result of focusing on love. Aggression is love being expressed through pain. Desperation is grasping for someone to love us to prove we are loveable. It’s still love. Granted a distorted kind of love. That’s the love I experienced with Rosie. A desperate “why can’t you love me?” sort of love, and he knew it.

That rather large box of condoms fell as soon as I moved one item from the top left side. They were tucked away in a convenient spot for him to reach anytime he left the apartment. If he wasn’t using them during that time they would have been dried up and wrinkled, or at the very least, hidden deep within a box of items to be looked through some day in the far off future. Rosie was a slight hoarder afterall. They wouldn’t have been in anyone’s thoughts before the bloody expiration date for Pete’s sake. Not right at the entrance of the storage unit for him to reach anytime his little meat stick wanted to stand at attention.

I looked at the dates on the box of condoms for when they were made and when they expired. He bought them in 2017, long after we met. They expired in the year 2024. A year after I had found them. At least he chose different colored ones. Shows he does have a fun side. I guess. This also means he was taking advantage of those condoms for quite some time. How many freaking times and how many women!? That thought flashed through my mind. I almost vomited from the thought. Rosie’s explanation to his lack of forethought in hiding them better was, “they are old. I didn’t even know they were there. Condom expiration dates work differently. You are letting your mind believe we are in the same relationship as someone else’s. We are not in the same relationship. You need your helmet on again to save you from your impulsive actions.” Deflection and gaslighting at its finest.

Rosie was a pro at deflection and gaslighting. One important lesson I came to learn was, Rosie underestimated my intelligence. At one time, anyone underestimating my intelligence would piss me off. Now I see it as a quiet superpower. Sometimes it’s best to play a fool to fool a fool. With that, I bowed out of the argument and went inside myself to get to the bottom of it. I had to think about what he said about those condoms.  Alongside all our time apart. And how two particular women I became aware of, played potential roles in everything. 

The first time I had gone to Quebec I had gone to help is elderly mother take care of his son. Whilst Rosie was away on a military training program to level up his career back in New Brunswick, in 2020. The training started in February and ran until sometime in April. I can’t remember the exact dates. I do remember that his training back in New Brunswick started at the beginning of February that same year. I arrived at Rosie’s place near the end of January. Rosie and I both thought it best I arrived a bit earlier so that his mother, Jean, his seven year old son, and I could get to know each other and bond. Rosie only had custody of his son at that time. Shortly after I had arrived, and before he had to leave for his training in New Brunswick to become a WO (Warrant Officer), he was on his phone with the mother of his babies. Whilst they were talking they got into an argument. Accusations between the two of them were flying as per usual. After the phone call Rosie wanted to show me some of her nasty text messages. He didn’t think about the message where she refers to his girlfriend, Wendy, alongside myself. I confronted him right there on the spot. Now he has two women pissed at him. His ex Gemma, and me. Well I wasn’t really angry so much as I was confused with a sunken heart in that moment. When I asked him who Wendy was, his response was, “she’s a friend of the family”. He explained that Wendy’s mom knows his mom and they had grown up together. He looked me square in the eyes, without budging, nor blinking, when he explained it. He also stared straight at me when he answered no to the question, are you cheating on me? Because of his seriousness, and my desperate need to be saved by love, I chose to naively believe him. I even said “I choose to believe you”.

I didn’t have the education to know when someone starred you down, doesn’t blink, and makes little hand gestures, and head movements, is someone who is focused on a delicate way to get away with something awful. I certainly know that today. That’s power for me from this experience. Even if it was messed up. 

I chose to let Rosie’s deflections and gaslighting get the better of me. I chose once again to reluctantly believe him from then, until after I found out he was sleeping with multiple women at the same time. I was lost attempting to figure out if my memory was serving me correctly, or if what Rosie was saying was true.

I found out much more when I channeled a divine entity right in front of him one time. The voice that came out of me corrected Rosie by reminding him he had several women, not just Wendy and another woman named Carla. The voice pressured him to be honest. He chose to sheepishly admit to four women throughout the course of our twisted relationship. The voice, whom was not me, then asked if that was his final answer. As if to say, “we are giving you an opportunity to repent. Do you?” He stuck to his version of the truth. He stood by there only being four.

Since being here with my daughter today, I have come to learn there were upwards of eighteen to twenty. I knew there was such a thing as 18+. I didn’t know Rosie took having 18+ as a literal goal for himself. That’s two affairs a year over the course of almost ten years, isn’t it? Damn, that takes some serious creative thinking and determination. The channeling event when I learned of the four women, took place a little over three months after the condom incident. In a three star motel room back in New Brunswick. I learned through that voice that he in fact had multiple flings with several women, not just the four women he admitted to having sex with at that time. 

From the moment I learned of Wendy, I became aware of my inner voice giving me little pokes and prods. “Hey. Are you truly trusting your intuition when it comes to Rosie? What feeling do you get when you hear the name Wendy? Does it sit right? Is he really telling you the truth? I know you said you would never invade his privacy, and that you would leave that between him and his God, are you certain refraining from doing that is healthy for you?”. All those thoughts were trumped by one single message I kept giving myself which was, “he wouldn’t cheat on me. Look how much I do for him. He must see my worth? He loves me, right? I’m the complete opposite to his ex”

I refused to believe that all my efforts were for nothing as it relates to experiencing authentic true love. I had to prove that line of thinking, so I stayed for a bit longer after Gemma’s perfectly timed text with Wendy’s name appearing before me. I was supposed to leave for New Brunswick in April of that year, after Rosie’s training was completed. I left in March because I was having difficulty getting along with his french, and creole speaking mother, and was still secretly reeling over the idea of a Wendy.

The week before I found the condoms I overheard him talking with someone in the bathroom. The door was closed. With that said, you can always tell when a man is talking to a woman he likes. His voice goes deeper, sexier, and more deliberate. My heart sank when I heard his voice. I couldn’t exactly make out what he was saying. Nonetheless, I knew instantly that he was talking to a woman. “Was it Wendy, or was it Carla?” I thought. That moment flashed a memory of when I found his shaved pubic hair in the toilet the weekend before the bathroom phone call. He forgot to flush them down the toilet that Friday before going away for the weekend. That memory was fresh in my mind. I didn’t tell him I found it. I was definitely thinking about it.

I also instantly remembered a woman named Carla calling him. He was so friendly with her that he labeled her number with her name. When I asked him about her, he said she was someone needing his help with her domestic life. Seriously? She needed his help? I even said that. Probably in that sarcastic way too. He then explained further that he knew someone who could help her. He was the liasson between the two. “Legal stuff can be ugly as you know.” He even had the nerve to come up with that lie off the cuff whilst his mother was sitting in the same room with us. She may not understand english too well, he still knew what he was doing. He was being shady in front of his own mom. I quietly coward inside myself. I didn’t fully believe him. What could I do? The only proof I had was a phone call.

I knew I had to develop an escape plan after seeing those condoms. I knew we were over. I say an escape plan, and a silent one at that, because that man scared the shit out of me when he got angry. His dark brown eyes would become intense with his furled eyebrows. He would clench his jaw and then stare straight into my soul. Then he would deflect blame or gas light me into thinking I was wrong. He was pissed that I went for a walk after finding the condoms. I left the box in the middle of his queen size bed. With four of the condoms laid out individually. One for each colour. Like a symbol of a colorful and flourishing sex life. They were his lucky charms. What pissed him off was that his son saw them. With his ability to lie at the drop of a hat, I am quite certain he fluffed off the experience for his son by coming up with some off the cuff excuse.

That same evening when I found out he was cheating, we got into a big fight. We were in Rosie’s bedroom while his son and daughter were in the living room. He was furious that I left the condoms out. He was furious that I was making a scene raising my voice in the bedroom. He didn’t want his children overhearing. I could respect that so I decided to go for a long walk to decompress. I have a difficult time being in aggressive energy for too long. It scares me.

On my walk that night in the frigid Canadian March winter, I was pissed, shattered, heartbroken, and lost in my thoughts. I was determined to do the right thing. I had to fix my life. I started thinking about the fact that I wasn’t working when I was living with him. I don’t speak french. Which is the primary language spoken in Montreal, Quebec. There is english there too. With that said, the province is predominently a french speaking province. The language barrier coupled with some physical restraints made it a real challenge to work there. Instead of working outside the home, I helped Rosie inside the home with parenting his children, running errands for him, and I wrote most of his correspondence in his work, legal, and family services battles. I was a non-paid private servant who was being held on a false promise of love. Ew what a thought. It’s still true. That’s when I realized I was a desperate people pleaser. I had to figure that shit out.

On that evening brisk walk, I thought about where I was at in my life. “What the fuck am I doing? Why did I stay with someone who cheated on his fiance with me? What would make me think I would be any different? What am I trying to prove, that I am not a child called “It”?” After about forty-five minutes of walking in the cold I developed severe cramps in my calf, feet and toes.

My body use to cramp at the onset of any chill or over exertion. Rosie knew that. He had to rescue me from the outside cold on more than one occasion. He picked me up in his car, carried me up the stairwell, and into the apartment. Then he would place me into a bathtub full of steaming hot water. He knew that was what was needed to get the excruciating pain to subside. When the cramp kicked in, I headed back to the six unit apartment building Rosie and I lived in.

When I got to the front entrance, I buzzed to be let upstairs. They weren’t home. He took his kids to McDonald’s for dinner and locked me out. I know he locked me out because I went around back to use the sliding glass door entrance up on the third floor. It was locked. I had no way in and in agony with my toes curled every which way inside my boots. I went back to the front of the building and sat on the front steps. I hoped another tenant would arrive home. No such luck. I was in so much pain. I couldn’t really think straight. I called my daughter, Olivia. When Liv answered, I immediately spewed my guts to her. I told her about the condoms, about Wendy and Carla, about the eroneous lies he told, everything. I told her his temper scared the shit out of me and how he often found some way or another to make me the bad guy.

Liv was naturally upset. With that said, she was mostly focused on providing me with heat to help get rid of my physical pain. Liv gets cramp too so she knows the pain. She had also witnessed me in crippling states many times throughout her life. With that, she sent me a few dollars through an e-transfer so that I could go to the local coffee shop to warm up. I didn’t have two cents to my name. I still don’t presently either. That’s going to change. I am determined.

The coffee shop was about a twenty minutes walk from the apartment. It took me a little longer with the cramp. Liv stayed on the phone with me. Liv listened to me spew my guts whilst also coming up with a game plan to get me back to New Brunswick. After sitting with a warm coffee for about thirty minutes inside the coffee shop, I walked back to the apartment. It was nighttime by this point and much colder. On the walk back my feet went again. The pain was unbearable. Thank goodness Rosie and his kids were back home when I buzzed the second time.

Liv was able to secure a ride for me from her step-dad to come back to her. The long drive back to New Brunswick from Quebec with my ex husband was going to be awkward and interesting to say the least. That’s what I was thinking at the time anyway. I was desperate, and relieved by the solution. Driving with Bill was perfectly fine by me.

All I had to do was call Liv. She took care of the rest. I thank God for my daughter everyday. I would be living on the streets, God knows where, if I wasn’t blessed to have her in my life. I am determined to make something of myself so that I can bless her the way she so rightfully deserves. I swear she is an earth angel. Even if others in her life don’t see it. I certainly do. She has always had my back. She is still keeping a roof over my head to this day. All the while, earning a little over minimum wage to get us by.

Anyway, I digress. Those questions I asked myself on that cold wintery walk stayed with me from then on in. They sparked an inner journey. A rabbit hole that took me to a dark place with many doors to open and revisit. Why am I not loveable? was the biggest question for me at that time. Not realizing what I was actually asking was, “why don’t I love myself?”.

It starts with being a child who cried a lot. Supposedly I drove my mother nuts with my high demands for attention after my father left for Canada. My brother, mother, and I were still in England when she coined me “It”. My mother would brag to my friends when I was a teenager about her ordeal with me when I was a baby. She would crack jokes and say “when her father got home I would tell him to take it out and drown it. She would never stop crying.” That memory then jumped to her saying to me on several occasions “take a long walk off of a short pier”. That’s the same thing as saying “go kill yourself”.

A pattern started to emerge the deeper I went back into my mind. This rabbit hole is freaking painful. I had to venture down it. The reasons for my failed marriages, fake friendships, and constant need for outside validation came from somewhere. I had to venture into the labyrinth in my mind to uncover the patterns. There were so many doors to choose from. That’s exactly what I did from the moment of the condom revelation. I opened One door and revisited one painful memory at a time.

(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)

I have no idea what I am doing at this present moment in time. All I do know is I know my ego well enough to know how I ended up here. I am a fifty one year old woman living on a mattress on a hard concrete basement floor in Canada. I do have the flexibility to move around this two bedroom little basement apartment. I’m not confined to one room. With that said, I am doing my best to minimize my needs here. Three adults, two small children, and a dog, all cozied up together inside a wee little two bedroom basement apartment. That’s a bright side of life way of putting it. I never would have thought in my younger years that I would grow to become a fifty one year old being taken care of by her own daughter, or by anyone for that matter. I am suppose to be in the prime of my life, aren’t I? I am suppose to be able to take care of myself by now, right?

I do know my soon to be twenty-nine year old daughter certainly deserves to enjoy her own family. Without having to take on my burdens as well. It’s embarrassing, and takes a hell of a lot of mental strength not to lose my mind, or, follow through with some pretty life ending thoughts that have been creeping in these past few weeks. I don’t like to swear much but, fuck me.

I love my family. I also desire my own place to call home. It’s been eight years since I have lived in my own space, within my own comfort, alone, or, entertaining a man pretending to love me, within the safe parameters of my own space. I am starting to forget what that’s like. I prefer to assume, getting accustomed to the responsibilities associated with having my own place would be like getting back on a bike, I have long since learned how to ride, rather than let doubt creep in with thoughts of whether or not I could actually do it.

I have been doing my damndest to create awareness about knowledge I have to share since 2006. With little to no tangible return. I have been, and if I was brutally honest, still am, tired. Not so much physically tired. It’s more the deep soul’s longing to go home because this is too much, tired. Living in faith and affirming the best during years upon years of struggle, with no real material change, is starting to take its toll on me.

Each day I reflect on a question. If I died tomorrow, would I be at peace with myself as it relates to my character, and the way I give back to this world? So far, each day, I have answered yes. If there was a slight no, I self reflected and made changes, wherever, and whenever, possible, so that I could ultimately end the day with a yes.

I may have been with extremely low funds since 2013. I have also made a positive difference within my family and within my quest to make a name for myself. I know that, so yes, I would be at peace with myself. Would I be at peace with the amount of loving and impactful adventures I went on in this lifetime? No. Those have been extremely limited.

With that said, I have received the blessing of being acquainted with the “afterlife”. I am familiar in the way it works between the physical and astral realm. Love and adventures exist in the astral realm. If I died tomorrow, I would be exploring and having wonderful adventures again. Once orientation with my data file in the Akashic records was complete and accepted by me that is.

I am aware that hindsight is a gift of knowledge shared in both realms of existence. It’s for this reason, I check in with asking myself the question “if I die tomorrow…” each day. I do my best to take full advantage of hindsight during this lifetime. I make time to reflect on my day, each night, before I sleep. I choose that time as my quiet moment to talk with my God.

It is not like me to entertain thoughts of being the one who creates my final day on earth. I have a few times during my fifty-one years. When I do have the deep longing to go back home to spirit creeping up inside of me, I remind myself that I would have to come back to this earth again and repeat some experiences.  If I left early, and I still desired further conscious evolutionary awareness, my option would likely be to reincarnate. Earth can be hellish. With that said, only the strongest of souls come to earth to learn at such a rapid pace. In my perspective, you, and I, are in a  PhD level program with many tier levels to completion. You, my welcomed reader, are far more powerful, far more courageous, far more loving, and, far more impactful, than you may truly realize. You being here on this planet tells me, you are a special soul indeed.

My goal is to continue to evolve within my awareness of all that is. Once I leave this vessel I am currently using, permanently, I am not planning to reincarnate. Reason being, my ultimate career goal for myself isn’t here on earth. My ultimate goal is to become an Ascended Master in spirit.

I am a far cry from being an Ascended Master at the moment. My thoughts tell me so. It is for this reason I am writing. I am going down some rabbit holes. I suspect I am not the only one who has been challenged with difficult thoughts, so, I welcome you to join me. You and I can discover puzzle pieces of our own individual journeys. One piece at a time. Welcome to the world inside my mind.

My first attempt at kicking-the-bucket was at fifteen. I walked out in front of an oncoming Mack truck. It was a late summer night in 1989. A group of my brother’s friends got together to party at an abandoned barn on the outskirts of Kanata, Ontario. Kanata was a small town back then. The area mostly hosted farmlands and residential communities. I was at the party because I was friendly with my brother’s friends,  who consisted of mostly guys and some girls, between the ages of sixteen and nineteen. I was fifteen, I believe. There were somewhere between eight to ten of us teens all hanging out. We sat on the hoods, or backs of our vehicles, drinking a mix of beer and rum coolers, whilst hauling off of each other’s cigarettes.

My brother Craig is two years older than me. I was my brother’s little sister, the tag along. My parents were in our new home that my parents had bought in Ajax, Ontario, a few hours highways drive away from where Craig and I were. We had moved into that house a few months prior to the barn party. My brother Craig and I were in Kanata whilst my parents were blissfully unaware in Ajax.

I can’t seem to remember how my brother and I got there. I wasn’t old enough for a license. My brother didn’t get his until he was twenty-one or twenty-two years old. I know he didn’t drive us. Details of that timeline are foggy to be honest. The details of what specifically happened are burned into my mind though. I can still see many of the details of that night clearly. It doesn’t affect me nearly like it use to. Today I can talk about it in a soft and matter of fact way. Without needing to cry or cower in a corner of a room somewhere in private. 

During that fateful night of the barn party, one of the boys tried to make out with me. I said no. He wouldn’t stop his sexual advances. Grabbing for my ass and forcing himself on me. It was a huge trigger and, admittedly, I had been drinking, so my reaction to his advances were exacerbated by a couple of bottles of rum based coolers. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was trapped in my head. I was experiencing flash after flash of images of different men who had hurt me over the years. Inside the confines of my emotional, frightened, and incredibly tormented mind I was lost in grief. I must have reacted horribly because two of the girls ganged up on me. They yelled profanities, and threw a few punches, kicks, and false accusations my way. They believed I had been leading Mick on.

All three of my aggressors, Mick, Shannon, and some other girl I didn’t know, were under the impression that because Mick gave me a roof to sleep under after my mother kicked me out, he earned his right to get into my pants. He held no right in my mind. No matter how much I was physically and mentally torturing myself. I stand on principle, even when drunk. Fun times. 

My brother didn’t stop the fight. That was the second time two girls ganged up on me whilst my brother watched. My brother, in my mind, seemed to have gotten a kick out of seeing me in pain. It was a rough moment in my life, that’s for sure.

In my distress, I headed for the main road several yards away through tall grass. Perhaps it was wheat, or corn, can’t remember. I ran on foot. I ran for a good few minutes. Someone was chasing me and calling my name to get me to stop running. I don’t remember who it was. It may have been my brother. I didn’t look back. I just kept on running until I couldn’t run anymore. I eventually came to a stop on the gravel at the side of the road. I stared, dead eyed, like a zombie, into space, and waited. I didn’t feel any physical pain from being hit by those girls. I was pretty numb from feeling anything at all at that point.

I waited for the first vehicle to approach. Then walked out in front of it when I saw its headlights closing in on me through my peripheral vision. I had a plan without knowing I had a plan. I was trapped inside my mind whilst taking unconscious-conscious action. I walked in front of a massive semi truck, or Mack truck I like to call it. The driver of the truck was on his game that night. He obviously missed me, or you would be reading a ghost’s blog. Well you still could be I suppose. If you were reading this after I was dead and gone.

I wasn’t in a good state that night in any sense of way. The driver of the truck that I walked out in front of called the police. Rightfully so. The truck driver, whomever the other teenager was that was with me, and myself all stayed on the side of the highway to wait for the police to arrive. I didn’t say much. I may have muttered a word here and there. That’s about it. The other teenager did most, if not all of the talking, in order to smooth things over. When the police arrived, they were briefed by the truck driver before they directed myself and my young “friend?” to get into the back of their cruiser. They asked questions, to which I wasn’t paying attention, nor had any interest in answering. Whilst they were driving us to the friend’s house my brother and I were staying at, I stared aimlessly into the starry night. I prayed to be anywhere but there, alone.

My teenage escort and I kept the party and it’s location a secret from the police. It wasn’t that hard. The barn was situated in an area with no lighting to see for several yards. The barn was two stories tall with grey weathered wood. One side of the barn was open which exposed its inside to the elements. The barn’s two massive doors were missing from their rightful spot. It was good that way. It made it easier to park some of the cars inside. With all our headlights off, the area remained perfectly dark.

Surrounding the barn were fields of tall grass, corn, or wheat, not entirely sure. It was far enough back from the road that the cops didn’t suspect a thing. As I mentioned, I can’t remember the friend who was in the police car with me. It may have been my brother, Craig? I do know I did have someone I knew in the police car with me. The sexual advancements and beating overshadowed any other important details of that night. That’s likely the reason the rest of the details are foggy.

The second time in my life when I thought of leaving my body, I wasn’t necessarily interested in ending my life. My thoughts were more towards a very strong ponder.

I was standing at the edge of a cliff. I would estimate the height of the cliff to the ground and water below to be about four stories tall. I was off the beaten path from people. I didn’t want anyone to see me standing there, contemplating life. I had just turned eighteen years old. I was on my own reflecting on my boyfriend’s affair that I had just learned about. Albert, my then boyfriend, lived two townships over from where I lived in Ajax.

I also learned at the same time that my parents were planning to move two provinces away for my dad’s work.  Albert eventually came to be my first husband. He is also the biological father of both my children.

I stood at the edge of this cliff with rugged rocks and small crashing waves below, feeling rejected by life. I was feeling sorry for myself. I was eighteen years old and in the last year of high school in 1992. I had exams, a cheating boyfriend, parents leaving some time after their house sold, waiting for me to decide if I was going to go with them. Plus a rush of old traumatic memories smacking me right left and center. It was a tad stressful back then.

The third time I contemplated ending my journey here, it was after having a horrible experience with the last man I was in a relationship with. That relationship, or should I say, situation ship, was the hardest, most gut wrenching experience of my life. Even after what I have told you thus far. A large portion of my writing to come in these blogs will revolve around my experience being with him. Him being Rosie. 

Recently, I started to imagine different ways I could end my life again. A long rope and a full grown tree with a strong branch? Nope. I have no rope and little physical strength to climb a tree, situate the rope, and take the last few minutes to think about my loved ones, before I took the plunge to pull that off. Walk in front of a bus? No, that would traumatize people. Walk deep in the woods and get lost so that the Canadian winter could get me? No, that would be excruciatingly painful. Pain free preferably please. I have had enough pain in one lifetime. Hence the bloody thoughts in the first place.

A pharmaceutical cocktail maybe? That didn’t work when I attempted that before when I was crashing from being with my boyfriend, Rosie. Would I know how much to take and what?, nope. That solution is also a weak one at best.

With no real answers, I decided to start writing my journey here because my goal is to conquer those thoughts and continue to make a positive difference in my little part of this world. I don’t have a clue if I am doing this correct to be honest. Am I writing a blog, a memoir, or a book based upon a toxic love story? Time will tell. What I do know in this present moment is, I love myself and my babies enough to remain resilient in my faith, and belief, that all works out better than I could have ever even imagined. I am here to stay. I can do this.

How the fuck did I get here? To answer that question I would have to take you back in time to when I came to learn I was a child with a moniker, “It”. The child called “It” in my world created tumultuous, and toxic love for many years. My mother gave me the name “It” before we immigrated to Canada. I was two years old. She also told anyone who would listen that I deserved to be drowned. It all ties in with living on a mattress at fifty-one years old. It’s an excellent place to start.