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by Helene Longacre (Author)
Over the summer of 2020, while much of the country was immersed in the disquiet of the pandemic, I was struggling to maintain my sanity while Dixon, my husband, ripped away his masquerade. I always believed he was my knight in shining armor. Alas, I lived in a fantasy, because everyone has secrets; anyone can tell lies.
For me, it started when I discovered flirtatious texts between Dixon, a therapist, and one of his female clients. I was hurled into a painful and confusing abyss of betrayal. Dixon's mask began to slip as he lied and gaslit in an attempt to convince me they were just friends. Shortly after, while still verbally vowing his deep love for me, I was blindsided with the revelation that he ascribed to a more "enlightened" lifestyle: polyamory. His mask slipped further as he became progressively more manipulative and emotionally abusive, while he tried to coerce me to accept him taking his client as a sex partner. When I said a final "NO", I was tossed away like trash, and his client girlfriend was immediately copy and pasted into my vacated spot.
During the disentanglement and divorce, I worked on healing from the grief over the loss of what I believed to be a best friend and partner, and an anticipated future. As I searched for explanations for the confusing implosion of my marriage, I delved into the Dr. Jekyl/ Mr. Hyde personality, and relationship abuse cycle, of the narcissist. My life with Dixon, and the brutal, soul-crushing ending of it, the "discard", began to make a horrifying sense. Behind Dixon's mask of loving care, is a selfish and cruel toddler, who has the ability to objectify their beloved and then easily throw away everything without a backward glance, without empathy or remorse.
