Healing Strategies After Narcissistic Abuse

For the first couple months after I left my abusive relationship, all I could really do was survive. I was having a moral and spiritual crisis and I was viewing the world with new cynical and suspicious eyes. I retreated. It wasn't until I began to look at  my condition more scientifically that I realized it wasn't only a "time heals all wounds" situation. I could take steps to help the healing process.

I tried a lot of things, even things I was skeptical of. I wanted desperately to feel normal again. Some things worked better than I imagined they would and some things were about as effective as putting magic crystals on my head. I was fairly unimpressed by aroma therapy, for example.

I was adrift for too long and didn't immediately appreciate how important stabilizing my housing situation was to my well being. Living out of bags in motel rooms was not at all conducive to healing. I needed a space to make my own.

Meanwhile, I had to come to grips with what had happened. I was so confused that nearly all of my brain power was devoted to unraveling what had been years of reality-warping gaslighting. Then, realizing the depths of deception and depravity I'd been entangled with led to deep shame. I was so disappointed in myself for being deceived and manipulated. I didn't trust my own judgement anymore. Getting that back required learning about cluster B personality disorders and connecting with other people who'd suffered narcissistic abuse. I read so many personal stories and began to see how similar all those experiences were to my own. I wasn't alone. Coming to understand how the pattern of behavior plays out helped me forgive myself for becoming entrapped.

Even understanding the darkness of narcissism that I was dealing with, I still suffered from intense feelings of loss and loneliness. This was no ordinary breakup. The relationship was more like an addiction than love. That's a trauma bond and it had to be broken.

I had firsthand experience with chemical dependency and I recognized that just like when I quit drinking, I was going to have to commit myself to a period of suffering in order to break free and begin recovery. Maintaining no contact was first a physical endurance challenge.

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I came to learn that narcissistic abuse leads to physical brain damage. The hippocampus shrinks while the amygdala grows. This leads to chronic confusion, short-term memory loss, anxiety, anger, panic attacks and even bouts of rage. Reversing that damage is crucial to recovery and that's not a matter for magic crystals. It's scientifically, physically quantifiable. It's all about stress hormones, which a person's brain is continually marinading in while in a relationship with someone with a cluster B personality disorder. This physical change is why I found myself very jumpy after leaving Tina. I was never physically afraid of her, so I couldn't understand why my complex post traumatic stress disorder was manifesting as if I'd come out of a bloody war zone. I never had to dodge bullets, so I didn't understand why I'd jump so easily at certain sounds, wake up gasping in adrenaline-pumping fright or jump backwards like Jason Vorhees lunged at me just upon noticing people I wasn't ready for. It's because the amygdala controls the fight-or flight response and thanks to a steady diet of overflowing cortisol, mine had grown out of control. These reactions aren't psychological. They are physical! They are chemical. That revelation changed the course of my recovery.

I began to study what causes increased cortisol production and what can mitigate it. Stimulants are an obvious culprit. Caffeine, nicotine, taurine, etc. All of those (and illegal drugs like methamphetamines or cocaine) elevate stress hormones. Those chemical precursors had to be eliminated, or at least curtailed.

I had to evaluate situations that induced any physical stress or anxiety. That required really paying attention to what was going on in my body. I realized that I was producing a stress response sometimes just by playing intense video games. From that, I learned how to identify other things that were stressing me out and then to limit their impact on me. 

I was happy to learn that there were other things I could do beyond just changing some habits. Fish Oil, for example is an effective cortisol-reducer. I began taking it daily and found it almost immediately beneficial. I dabbled with some other supplements for stress-reduction and found some use for Kava Kava.

I gave up energy drinks, but couldn't quite manage without a cup or two of coffee in the morning, so I allowed that much for myself, but in the evening, I found Hawthorne Tea to be particularly soothing.

Quitting nicotine required a compromise of sorts. I had to forgive myself for gaining some weight. Snacking replaced smoking and vaping, for a few months.

Light therapy sounds like new agey hocus pocus, but it's actually helpful for depression. Getting outside on a nice sunny day is best, but when that wasn't possible (like dark winter days), natural daylight simulating full-spectrum lamps made a noticeable difference for me. I also found vitamin D useful in that regard.

I needed a lot of alone time at first, but as I gradually began to grow stronger and more confident again, getting supportive friends and family back into my life accelerated my recovery and tipped the balance of good and bad days or even hours in my favor.

After I got settled into my condo, making improvements to it were like an analog to improvements I was making inside myself. Putting up decor that reminded me of my history - of who I am - mirrored and reinforced the reconstruction of my very personality.

I gravitated to a lot of elements from my youth. My therapist called it regression, but that seems to have a negative connotation. I restored my operating system to an earlier state that was known to work!. I was buying Cookie Crisp cereal and Eggo waffles like I used to hastily eat before school in the morning.

I was binge watching 70's science fiction television. Star Trek, Doctor Who, Battlestar Galactica. The old stuff was good. It had a straightforward morality to it. The good guys always won and there was nothing too vicious that could trigger an overblown response of stress hormones. Those kind of things also helped me remember who I was - before the narcissist took over my life. Immersing myself in things that I loved before the narcissist took over my life helped me reconnect with my good, less damaged self.

Writing proved to be instrumental in setting order to the swirls of gaslit confusion in my bleeding brain. Writing my stories helped me reestablish objective reality and hold on to it when emotional and trauma-bonded responses would try to convince me otherwise. It also helped me to segregate the emotions connected to those memories and thereby reduce their impact.

My therapist always counseled patience and self-forgiveness, which are easy enough words to say, but surprisingly difficult to put into practice. I did eventually learn. I was eventually ready to be patient. Though I've learned that time isn't the only factor, it's still an important one. There is no rushing some healing.

I discovered that I had some delayed mourning to do. I was so wrapped up in all the chaos and confusion of Tina's making as well as the responsibility of dealing with my Mom's estate that while still embroiled in the relationship, I never allowed myself the time to fully accept and mourn my mom's passing, or losing my dog, Clyde to cancer. Delaying the processing of that kind of grief had the unfortunate side effect prolonging it.

I still practiced kindness and generosity. That's just who I am, but I gave myself permission to set limits and even to be selfish. It's OK to be selfish sometimes, especially in times of need. My wellness and comfort could come first. I doubt I'll ever be exactly the person I was but after a year, I found myself stronger, more confident and having more good days than bad ones. That's pretty good progress for only a year after narcissistic abuse. I'm certain that being proactive about my recovery instead of just waiting for it made a huge difference.

I'd had my doubts that I'd ever be ready to become romantically involved again, but I'd even started dating quite happily after 6 months or so.

Now that I understand cluster B personality disorders, I feel I'm much safer in the world. I know how to recognize them and know enough now to stay away.

This blog is moving. Catch all the old posts and updates at the new and improved Adventures of Dan and Tina.

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This blog isn't my only project. I am working on several and have more in development. All of these diverse projects and interests needed a home, so I created a new platform to serve as a launch-pad for this blog, disseminate news, research and commentary on my other enterprises as well as develop and showcase my other projects.

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Pssst and other Lies

Tina and I used to tell each other "I love you" so often that people who spent too much time around us might have been at risk for diabetes. Over time, we developed our own secret shorthand for it. I believe it began with Tina saying "pssst" to get my attention and when I responded, she just whispered "I love you." She did this often, randomly, when we were walking hand-in hand, riding in my van, or just sitting on the futon. I was always delighted to hear it and said it back. Over time, I would also get her attention with "psst" and we both knew what would follow, so we'd try to beat each other to saying it and eventually, "pssst" evolved to be all that needed saying. She'd just say "pssst" and I'd "pssssssst" back (with the extra esses for emphasis).


The problem with adopting something so common as code for our love was that after it was all over, reminders were everywhere. "Pssst" is used pretty damn often in our culture. Oops.


Read the rest of this story at the new Adventures of Dan and Tina.

Storage Locker Blues

For over a year, I maintained a storage locker in Farmington. It wasn't a convenient location for any more than a month. It had made sense at the time Tina and I decided to rent it, since I'd just sold my Mom's house and was moving in with Tina as a stepping stone towards getting a new home together.

After Tina and I ultimately parted ways for good, I eventually landed back in my home city of Minneapolis. For a time, I largely ignored the existence of the storage locker, with more pressing concerns cluttering my mind, but I was paying for it. I eventually came to realize that I'd paid over $2,000 to store possessions I'd not seen in a year. Not much in there was worth that much. I'd be better off buying replacements for just about anything in there than paying to store it any longer, I reasoned, so I began to go through it all, moving some things to my condo and throwing some things away, with the goal of closing that money-drain.

Read the rest of this entry at the new and improved DanandTina.net.

Political Avoidance

Narcissistic abuse leads to symptoms of complex post traumatic stress disorder, including severe reduction in self confidence and decision making ability. That can make it difficult to perform any work, but complex work that engages higher mental functions can be especially hampered. Losing faith in my own mental prowess was a small but significant factor in my withdrawal from political work.

Probably the biggest reason political work became so difficult is that it became extremely anxiety-inducing: It's dealing with liars. Being forced to use logic and truth to refute falsity after falsity is exhausting after spending years doing that on a personal level. It triggered the same feelings I experienced while attempting to unravel Tina's gaslighting. It was like reentering combat while still shell shocked. I felt anxious, sometimes even panicked when confronted with lies.

According to studies by neuroscientists, long-term exposure to narcissistic abuse leads to physical damage to the brain as well as the psyche. Those physical changes in particular can account for the irrational anxiety, panic and aversion.


Read the rest of this story at the new Adventures of Dan and Tina.

Jesus Didn't Leave those Footprints

I initially guessed the footprints that appeared on my van windows must have been a prank by Maura on her way to work in the morning.

"Cute, Maura. Weirdo. That was baffling at first," I texted Maura when I discovered them. I was getting ready for work myself and had stepped outside to have a cigarette in the morning sun. My van was parked next to the stoop.

Someone's bare foot prints were on the mid-row windows on both sides of the minivan. I was up early that morning, but Maura had gotten up much earlier. She was usually already well into her work day by the time Tina and I would roll out of bed.

"What was baffling?" Maura texted back after a couple minutes.

Read the rest at the new Adventures of Dan and Tina.

Write it Out

My therapist and other knowledgeable people suggest writing as part of the recovery from emotional abuse. It's definitely been important for my healing.

Putting order to my thoughts and memories is the primary use of writing out the story of my tumultuous and destructive relationship with Tina. It's an aid to finding the objective truth after having my entire perception of reality warped by a constant campaign of gaslighting. Reasserting objective reality and injecting it into the world is re-empowering. My perception matters. My experience and truth matters.

Tina's behavior could be so outrageous as to be nearly unbelievable. When I'd make certain observations, I'd stop and think along the lines of "It can't be what it looks like. Nobody would do that!" But, Tina would and did do that. Writing out the details has been necessary to avoid glossing over just how bad things were. Setting the story down in an ordered manner helps lift the mental fog that Tina brought about with her constant deception.

Read the rest at the new Adventures of Dan and Tina.

At the end of the lie Barrage

I couldn't, in the moment, think of a diplomatic way to say it, so, finally, I just said it. "What's with all the lies, Tina?"

Then, I saw something that I realized in that moment I had not seen for some time. It was Tina. Lies exhausted, ammunition spent, her mask fell and she transformed before my eyes. Her voice and visage softened. I got a sense of a scared, sad, almost pleading little girl. All hope nearly lost. "You knew I was like this when you fell in love with me."

I thought it may be something she'd told herself so many times that she almost believed it. There was a lot to unpack in that sentence. It stopped me cold. All I could do was shake my head.


Read the rest at the new Adventures of Dan and Tina.

More Threats?

I received this video anonymously via a spoofed facebook messenger account early Thursday morning: "Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun" by the Beastie Boys.




I've always been a fan of the Beastie Boys, but in this context, this kinda resembles a fresh threat from Tina's childish neighborhood psychopath.

Since he has threatened and harassed me before, possesses a stockpile of firearms, has been charged with gun crimes and exhibits antisocial behaviors, I'm thinking it's time I document all of this with law enforcement.

Look, homes... The only person you have to be angry at is yourself. Why don't you give being a decent person a try for a while? Maybe if you hadn't betrayed your family and abused your friendships, you wouldn't be illin' right now. 

Regression on the Path to Healing

I was nervous about moving in with Tina after selling my Mom's house. I'd be dependent on her and her mother. I asked Tina several times if she was sure about this arrangement. She continually assured me that it was the best course of action for us, for now - until we began the hunt for our more permanent marital home. I had to make that leap of faith. I was fully committed to our future, together.

Tina kept reminding me to have my mail forwarded to the apartment in Farmington. She figured out what items from my Mom's house would be useful there, and we moved those things in.

It was when I had made myself the most vulnerable, dependent on Tina for a home that she showed me her most blatant betrayal. I'd provided a kitchen full of groceries, gave her mom a check for more than half the rent for the month and moved all of my worldly possessions to Farmington. No sooner than I had my mail forwarded was I forced to flee the new living arrangement. I found myself homeless and despondent. My only immediate option was a motel, but at $150 a night, it wasn't a practical long-term solution. I eventually moved into an extended stay motel, which was moderately more affordable, but I was hemorrhaging money.

When Tina found out how much I was spending on motels, she tried to convince me that I shouldn't have moved out. "My mom could have used that money," she said. "It's not like we kicked you out."

I was only slightly stunned.

"Oh, yes! I should have paid your mom to stay with my ex-girlfriend while she runs around with other guys - for what? Another week, was it?"

The day I moved out of the apartment, Tina and Maura announced to me that they were moving to Colorado in less than two weeks! That came as more than a surprise. As it turned out, they didn't move for a few more months, but regardless, there was no way I was staying under those circumstances and my sensibilities were duly offended that my money was Tina's only motivation for wanting me to come back.

While living out of bags in a rundown motel, my future in ashes behind me, I was too depressed to work much. The complexity of my political work was too much for my bleeding brain to handle at all, so I completely avoided that for months (costing me thousands in income). My part-time driving job was more manageable, since it didn't require much of my over-taxed brain power, but I only went to work a couple days a week and eventually stopped even that much. I realized I needed to stabilize my living situation before I could start working on stabilizing my mental health and life in general.

Never Touch a Black Guy's Butt

Tina and I were shooting pool at the Hexagon. We went there because of the two bars with pool tables in my Minneapolis neighborhood, the Hex was the only one that served hard liquor. The Cardinal was limited to beer and wine. I didn't drink, but Tina still loved her whiskey.

There were two fairly muscular black men shooting a game or two at the table next to ours. They were dressed to go out, with overly-ornate, tight-fitted button-up urban shirts and colorfully embroidered jeans. Neither could form a sentence without at least two profanities and usually, at least one was the N-Word.

"I'd kind of like to play with those two," Tina told me, conspiratorially.

I didn't even want to be noticed by them. I glanced sidelong and shook my head.

They had Tina's attention for the better part of the night. It was getting late and we debated on whether to play one more game or head for home. We decided to step out for a smoke. It was chilly, so we put on our coats and started moving towards the patio door.

Our boisterous neighbors were discussing a missed shot and what the fuck the "nigga" who was shooting should have done to sink that bitch, if he knew what his partner was saying, that is.

A damnably familiar look of mischief stole Tina's face and she broke sharply left, darting away from me and towards the back wall behind the pool tables. I didn't have time to react beyond cringing. Shoulders slumped forward to lower her profile in a caricature of stealth, she rounded the second table and came up behind the guy who'd assumed the role of instructor. He was unaware of her approach until she lifted one leg and began to repeatedly bump her crotch into his butt, saying "maybe it would have worked better if he'd done it like this."


Read the rest at the new Dan and Tina.net.

Psychic Triangulation

Tina and I were introduced to one of Amber's friends at their usual haunt, the Doghouse. Jessie was a heavy-set woman with native American or Hispanic features. She presented herself as a gifted psychic. She seemed very amiable and she and I were the only members of the party who weren't drinking.

Early in the night, she said "You two are trying to conceive, aren't you?"

Tina and I weren't exactly "trying" to conceive a child, but we weren't taking any pains not to and we'd been discussing the subject in depth. Tina believed she had fertility issues and after years of unprotected sex not producing a pregnancy, it seemed one of us must have. We had just recently been discussing seeing a fertility specialist, but not until after we were married. In the meanwhile, we were rolling the dice.

Tina acted impressed by her insight, but I didn't really think she was buying into the notion that Jessie had any real powers of prognostication. Engaged couples will tend to discuss having kids!

At some point, Tina and Jessie disappeared out on to the patio for an extended conversation. After a while, I was craving some nicotine, so I wandered out onto the patio and lit a cigarette. I saw the two of them and approached, but was reproached by Tina. "We're talking about you right now," she said. "can you go back inside for a few minutes?"

I shrugged, snuffed my cigarette and went back into the bar where I tried to make conversation with Amber. It was a little awkward. She never warmed to me. After a bit, others in the gang were heading out to smoke so I joined them. I guess the private conversation was over and we all gathered together to chat.


Read the rest at the new Adventures of Dan and Tina.

With Friends like These...

Summer, 2015, I was invited to a party at the home of my friend Rich and his wife, Thea. It was a bacon-themed party and everyone was expected to bring something bacon-related. It was mostly food, but Kevin Bacon memorabilia was equally acceptable.

Tina and I were spending the weekend together in the little top-floor apartment of the Buffalo Hotel, so I asked her to come along with me.

We concocted a recipe for bacon-wrapped Parmesan and bacon meatballs and had a great time testing our cooperation in the small kitchen. We worked well together, joked around, kissed between steps and I was completely swept away by how perfect we were together. It was bliss.

We'd not been dating more than a month or two by that point, but I was fast falling in love.

Tina knew how close I was to Rich and Thea and had heard many tales of our adventures together in Ireland, but she had yet to meet them. She was nervous about it. She said she'd had a dream that my friends had thrown her into a river, which I guessed was influenced by Scott's initial warning to her about dating me. Upon learning I was from "dangerous" Minneapolis, he'd told her that if she went out with me she'd end up cut into pieces and dumped in the Mississippi. That seemed a bit extreme to me. In retrospect, I wonder if he just didn't like the idea of her dating anyone.

I assured her that everyone who would be over at Rich and Thea's was super-cool, friendly and absolutely no one was of the river-dumping sort.

I ran through a mental list of likely attendees and when Chris came to mind, I thought a disclaimer might be in order. I'd known Chris for years. I liked him and he was Rich's number-one pal. He was smart and often hilarious, but his choice of words, subjects of conversation and sense of humor were sometimes not well-taken by people new to his acquaintance. I called him "Crass Chris."


Read the rest at the new Adventures of Dan and Tina.

Something Stinks Next Door

Tina's next door neighbors were an interesting clan and it was odd how small degrees of separation linked the interpersonal web between myself, friends, Tina and the neighbors.

Shortly after I'd stopped drinking, I met my friend Donovan after work in Farmington. I think it was around July or August 2017. We went to the establishment where I'd first met Tina so Donovan could drink some vodka-sevens while I enjoyed some cigarettes and energy drinks on the back patio of Pizza Man. I hadn't had any contact with Tina in a couple months, but I was keenly aware of how near she probably was. I missed her.

Donovan ran into a pretty young lady from his work and introduced us. "You're adorable," she said, taking my hand.

Before I could return the compliment, a slender and tallish man standing near her interjected, "That's high praise coming from her."

As the night went on, Donovan's coworker Carrie came around to flirt with me touching my arm, my hands. She was getting pretty drunk and pretty forward. I didn't know if the man she seemed to be accompanying was a date or a friend, so I was a little unnerved by the attention.

Brendan, I'd learned, worked down the block at a little bar and restaurant (or maybe it was Brandon or Justin/Dustin? - it was quite a while ago and there are a lot of men's names to keep track of in Tina's shadow). Carrie worked part time with him there in addition to the grocery store she worked at with Donovan. He'd suggested they go out for a drink at Pizza Man after work. He was older than Carrie, but I so was I and Tina was 18 years younger than me, so I wasn't judging! After some time, I ascertained that Justin was hoping to get a romantic connection going, but Carrie was plainly looking at it as a couple work buddies just getting a drink after a long day.

Things Cheaters Say

If your significant other ever says something like "if you accuse me of cheating, you're going to make me do it," I guarantee all of the following is true:

1. Break up and leave immediately. Your gut was right.
2. That person has no morals
3. That person has already cheated on you.
4. That person is definitely already planning to do it again.
5. That person is so malevolent that they are actually threatening you with infidelity to obtain your silence.
6. That person is so depraved that he or she is already planning to place the blame for infidelity on YOU when she eventually gets caught with her pants down.

That's a thought for the 3rd anniversary of the 1st time I got down on one knee for my own lying manipulative cheater.

When a cheater lies to you, it's a deliberate attempt to rob you of free will and keep you in a situation you wouldn't choose for yourself. If you knew what she was doing, you'd make other decisions that might negatively impact the liar. Maybe you wouldn't buy her things or provide that vital narcissistic supply. The lies are meant keep you under control under false pretenses and if it goes on too long it's extremely damaging, but the liar doesn't care who she hurts. Everyone else's feelings are inconsequential compared to the narcissist's own id-driven selfish desires.

That's all for now. I'll add to this later.

If your love interest often touts their fidelity, saying things like, "I've never cheated on anyone, ever," That person is a cheater and more than likely all of his or her absolute statements are absolutely the opposite of the truth.

Narcissistic cheaters give themselves away if you're paying attention. When something seems off, pay heed!

Lasting Damage

I've learned that my current condition fits what's known in psychological circles as Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) or more specifically, in my case, Narcissistic Abuse Syndrome.

That's a general catch-all. I couldn't say for certain where, exactly Tina lands on the Cluster B personality scale. She has destructive traits that overlap into antisocial, borderline, histrionic and narcissistic personality disorders, but as far as the state induced in a long-term partner of someone suffering a cluster B disorder, it's the same result.

Of course, Tina has co-morbid substance abuse issues and it's been said that all addicts are narcissists. So, it's also not possible to tell what behaviors stem from what disorder. My therapist advises that it's hopeless to try to pinpoint it, but it's a natural instinct of many who survive this kind of abuse.

Perhaps the worst and definitely the most persistent aspect of surviving narcissistic abuse and gaslighting is loss of confidence in my ability to reason.

I'm experiencing decision paralysis. I'm constantly second-guessing myself and as a result, everything takes much longer to accomplish. A lot of things are sidelined. Even simple decisions seem to have become mind-benders. I was standing in the bakery section of the grocery store, deciding on a treat. I picked up a box of tasty-looking donuts. I noticed apple fritters. I haven't had those in a long time. Do I like apple fritters? I think so. Maybe I should just get the donuts...

I stood, contemplating the two boxes for a good five minutes before I became aware that I must have looked pretty odd just standing there, staring back and forth between two $4.00 boxes of pastry. Even realizing how long I was taking, it still took another minute or two to break the decision paralysis and put the apple fritters in the cart.

That's just one example. It's a daily struggle. I have lost confidence in my ability to do complex work. I've ceased all political involvement, for example. I don't even know how I used to give speeches, testify to the legislature, devise legal arguments and strategies... When I think of those things, I feel overwhelmed and asea.

Gaslighting is no small thing. It's extremely harmful. It warps a person's whole sense of reality, destroys confidence in their mental prowess. It can take years to dig out and recover from this kind of psychological and emotional abuse.

Tina had managed to convince me that I was the problem - that it was in my head. I was misinterpreting what I saw and heard. I was being paranoid. Possessive, jealous.

When she was getting phone numbers from other men at the bars, there was a perfectly valid and innocent reason for it. When she wanted to spend weekends with her "former" sex partner, it was just to spend time with his sisters. When she came back all marked up with intimate bruises or bite-marks, that was Scott just worried that his hands weren't strong enough to inflict pain and bruising on a woman anymore. Perfectly innocent. How dare I question it?!

I was essentially trained over a course of years to doubt my own judgement. "Word salad" and gaslighting kept me confused and off-balance. It's especially malevolent behavior that causes lasting harm in order to rob a person of their free will, manipulate and control them.

The situation was made worse because of one time I was wrong. I was very wrong about one situation. Spectacularly and embarrassingly wrong. Others will surely find the story entertaining when I get around to retelling it. That caused me to question my own judgement. It made me fearful of being wrong about other things, or even being perceived as suspicious.

Tina convinced me that I needed anti-depressants because I was sad and confused and terrified about Tina's relationship with Nate becoming inappropriate. I was happy when we were in agreement about how to move forward, and then devastated when she continued to refuse to take any steps at all to correct the situation and alleviate my justifiable discomfort.

Going from questioning Tina's faithfulness to becoming convinced that I was crazy (and alcohol-dependent to complicate things further) to accepting responsibility for everything that had gone wrong after I stopped drinking to needing to suppress and compartmentalize information that would cause dissonance or anguish, needing to avoid questions that could be perceived as suspicion to realizing that I was essentially right in my instincts all along has been a wild and convoluted, confusing trip.

I've been reassessing numerous past incidents with new eyes free of scales. Behind every door, it seems, there is fresh torment, humiliation and chagrin as difficult realities slowly replace the contradictory memories of cognitive dissonance or the semi-conscious avoidance thereof.

New revelations come unbidden, often enough that it causes undue rumination. Documenting all of this is one way I'm coping with it all and trying, in particular, to dispel the feelings of shame and embarrassment.

I thought of myself as a pretty intelligent man. I got far on my wits so I struggle with understanding how I could have been so astoundingly stupid for so long. How could denial and loyalty to someone who had so little regard for my feelings override the advice and urging of truly caring friends and family? I've seen men in similar situations. I judged them harshly for their willful ignorance and tolerance of obvious abuse. Now I am that poor sap. My pride makes that hard to accept

I know this much: Before I met Tina, I didn't experience chemical dependency to the point of withdrawals. I hadn't ever felt the need to get counseling and I wasn't taking any medications for anxiety or depression (I've been calling them my Tina Pills for years). The relationship was toxic. Tina was worse for me than booze, but harder to quit.

Avoiding Dissonance

Cognitive dissonance is a state of conflicted thoughts, ideas or realities. Or, a confused, frightening mental conflict between evidence of reality and contrary beliefs. It's a difficult, even traumatizing phenomenon that I believe my subconscious mind was trying to prevent by avoiding information that would bring the dissonance about.

Tina had been staying with me at My Mom's house, with her mom coming for sporadic stays over the spring. In June, Maura hadn't been coming around, preferring to stay in Farmington for a while. I recall Tina saying something about her not feeling welcome there, which saddened me, because she was very welcome and I tried to make her stays very comfortable. I set up the coffee to auto-brew for her at the early early hour she'd arise for work so she could wake up with a steaming cup. I tried to keep foods she liked in the house and so-forth. But I digress.

Tina and I were alone in the house, sitting at the dining room table. She was fidgeting with her phone, which was flat on the table before her, to find something she wanted to show me. A little circle with a face popped up on the screen and Tina swiftly put her hand up to conceal the screen while she made that go away, but I'd seen it. The quick glimpse was enough to identify it, because I'd seen it a few times before. It was an incoming message on the facebook messenger app.

"Was that Cassidy?" I asked, more to let her know that her effort to cover it up was futile than to verify, because I knew it was Cassidy.

She hesitated, uncomfortably before acknowledging it. "Yes, but I just sent that right to the trash like I always do. I'd block him, but I don't know how."

Of course, I recognized Cassidy's messenger circle because I'd seen it before. A few times, when he was trying to contact Tina for whatever reason. I saw one of his earlier messages "Wanna get together and smoke a little or something?" That one was around November, I think. He blinked up on her screen again right around Christmas and perhaps another time that I noticed. When I asked Tina about what her former sex-buddy wanted. She'd always say she just ignored him, was planning to block him and he probably just wanted to bum some weed off of her. She said he owed her hundreds of dollars for weed she'd fronted him in the few months they'd been together.

"When we met for Coffee back in September and decided to give 'Us' another try, I kind of envisioned some steps that would come next," I said. "For instance, I shut down my dating apps and cancelled a date I had set up. I cut off ties with women I'd dated - my ex-wife being the exception - I kinda thought You'd be doing the same. I'm getting the impression that you never bothered to tell Cassidy..."

"Oh, He knows about you. Trust me on that." She found the thing she wanted to show me - some silly picture. I don't remember, exactly. Something dirty.

Cassidy was a "smoke buddy" and occasional sex partner during the few months that Tina and I were not seeing or speaking to each other in the Summer of 2017. He had moved into the apartment above Tina's in the Farmington triplex. I'd met him on a couple occasions. I suspected he was the reason for our last falling out. He only lived in the apartment from April through August and Tina and I reconciled on September 11th, but I knew he had been over to Tina's late the night before. He was also standing guard behind Tina when I'd attempted to reconcile with her in early June. I didn't know they were a thing at the time, but I suspected. Turns out I was right. With Cassidy looking on, she'd sent me packing, dismissing me pretty harshly. That sent me into a major drinking spiral and I was hammered for days. After all that, I tried to sober up and experienced horrible, debilitating withdrawals and that ultimately, finally led me to seek treatment for chemical dependency.

Tina described her relationship with Cassidy as a "not serious" relationship of convenience. She said she didn't call herself his girlfriend and that he was pretty dim. Later on, she told me that they had never even kissed, but had sex only a couple times. Sometimes, they just spooned, she said. This was all information I didn't need. All I needed to know was that it was over. From his frequent attempts to contact Tina via facebook, he didn't seem to know that. And, those attempts are just the ones I know of - that I happened to notice when they popped up. There were almost certainly more than I saw. Tina always maintained that she never replied and intended to delete and block him when she figured out how. "I can show you," I'd offered on more than one occasion, but she always had some reason to put it off or said she wanted to figure it out for herself.

The next day was Friday and Tina told me she was feeling a lot of anxiety about Mom's house and needed to get away for a while. She said her mom would be coming to pick her up after work and take her back to Farmington with her for the weekend.

"Oh," I said, disappointed. I'd miss her terribly. I was really enjoying having her company around the house. It felt like we were a couple, a team, domesticated. It was like a trial run on marriage and I was into it. I always missed her keenly if we were apart for more than a day or two. At that time, she was my best friend and I didn't tire of her company and conversations.

After some discussion with her mom that I wasn't privy to, plans changed and she wasn't going back to Farmington after all. Yay! I get to keep my Tina over the weekend!

Things changed again on Saturday and she was desperate to get back to Farmington. I had given Tina a car for this very purpose, but she was refusing to drive it, after her accident at the liquor store.

Always accommodating, I said, "Don't make your Mom drive into Minneapolis and back on her day off. I'll drive you down after I finish this project. I can stop at Home Depot on the way back." I got to work on a writing assignment for work and Tina set to packing. She packed a lot. She tended to over-pack for trips, but she was going home where most things she needed were duplicated.

It took me a bit longer to get ready to drive Tina than I'd initially estimated, but we got on the road as dusk was falling and we listened to music loud, sang along and chatted away until I noticed a strange sound emanating from my van. Music off. Quiet. Listen, diagnose.

I determined that something had gotten caught in the suspension and was knocking on the passenger wheel well. I decided closer inspection could wait until we got back to Tina's.

I pulled into the driveway, parking behind Maura's car, because there was a red Pontiac I didn't recognize parked in the middle of the driveway, by the doorway.

"Whose car is that?" I asked Tina.

"I don't know." She undid her seat belt and hurried out of the van.

I helped Tina unload her luggage and she toted it down into the apartment while I got under the van to see what was knocking. It was a plastic shield in the wheel well that had lost a screw and was flapping when the wind caught it. I decided that wasn't urgent. My hands were dirty from my inspection and I was planning to go downstairs to wash up, and say Hi to Maura before turning back for Minneapolis. It would be a very quick stop-in. I was sensing Tina needed a break from me and I didn't want to intrude on their mother-daughter time.

Tina came back out after her second trip toting her bags just as I was getting up from checking the wheel well. "Do you want to come inside and say hello to my mother?"

"Yeah," I said, holding my hands out. "I was just about to do that and I need to wash my hands."

She led me down into the basement apartment where Maura was standing in the living room. We exchanged a couple quick pleasantries and then I kicked my shoes off by the stairs and turned towards the bathroom.

"Could you use the kitchen sink instead?" Tina got in front of me, ushering me in the other direction."

I thought this was odd. I might have washed my hands in the kitchen sink when I was preparing dinner, but the bathroom was the default cleaning up room in my experience. Tina snatched a black towel off the oven door, thrusting it at me. "See? Look. It's black. Perfect for your dirty hands."

I shrugged. I set the towel on the counter and used some dish soap to wash my hands over the (dirty) dishes. I made sure my hands were clean before I tried drying them, as civilized people will do, so the color of the towel wasn't terribly interesting, except for the fact that this new kitchen towel left my wet hands covered in streaks of black lint that I had to brush off into the garbage.

Tina hurried me towards the door. Maura, standing in the doorway to the TV room never moved.

I sat on the bottom step to put my shoes back on and Tina stepped forward to give me a quick kiss goodbye and I was on my way back to my lonely bed in my Mom's empty house in Minneapolis.

That night I had a disturbing dream. I was staying at Tina's and heard a strange sound from the bathroom. I went to investigate and heard the shower running. No one else was supposed to be in the house. I knew I wouldn't be peeping on Maura when I pulled back the curtain. There was a naked man I'd never seen before, wet and soapy in the shower. He was startled and immediately moved to attack me. We struggled briefly before he ran off and out of the apartment - naked all the way.

I think I woke up as he was making his escape and never got a reaction or explanation from Tina, who had calmly observed me and him emerging wet and bedraggled from the bathroom.

I spent the weekend tinkering with improvements to the house, getting it ready to sell and come Monday, I had to get off to my driving job. I liked the chauffeur gig, but sometimes the hours were weird and sometimes there just weren't many hours to be worked.

I got done with work early and decided to swing back down to Farmington to see my one true love.

I had a key, and we were planning on cohabitating permanently once I'd sold Mom's house, so I let myself in. I found Tina in the kitchen, perusing the fridge in some jammie pants and a hoodie. She didn't seem to have heard me come in. I approached from behind, intent on wrapping her in my embrace and kissing her neck, but I didn't want to startle her, so I said "hello" as I approached.

"Oh, Hi," she said, turning towards and accepting my hug. I could feel that she was wearing some kind of girdle under her sweat jacket. It struck me as pretty odd, but I didn't call attention to it.

"Have you had dinner, yet? How about I take you out to eat?" I suggested. "Just let me get changed out of this suit, first." I started towards the bedroom. Tina intercepted me, "could you change in the bathroom?" she requested.

"Um. OK... Why?"

"My room's a terrible mess. I want to clean it up a bit. Look. Clean clothes!" She quickly collected up a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and casual socks from the couch. They were neatly folded. She'd done my laundry for me. I smiled at that act of considerate kindness, but I was pretty baffled by the changing in the bathroom thing. I had become enured to the habit of not challenging her oddities. I never really told her "no." The closest I had come to that was "I really don't want to, but OK."

I took the fresh duds into the bathroom. It was a small space. It wasn't quite so bad as changing in an airplane lav, but not far removed. A bit irked, I grew suspicious. I was being manipulated, of course, but my brain fought me. I should have gone straight into the bedroom. I was going to hang my suit up in the closet in there, anyway. This is where I think my subconscious was acting to keep information from me that would have caused cognitive dissonance and maybe a fair amount of trauma.

I finished changing in the cramped bathroom and popped out. The bedroom door was open. It had been closed when Tina ushered me to the bathroom. I peered in. It didn't look at all different from the last time I'd seen it.

"I just need to hang up my suit," I said to Tina who was sitting on the living room couch.I gestured towards the bedroom. She shrugged. "OK."

I went in, stepping over a couple bags she hadn't unpacked yet and hung up my suit. Curiosity compelled me to linger a bit and look around to see what she might have changed in the two minutes I was in the bathroom changing that was so critically "messy" that she hadn't wanted me to see it.

Nothing seemed amiss and nothing seemed a mess.

I'd been conditioned and boxed in, in a way, not to challenge Tina's assertions. I was more concerned about offending her with even a hint of suspicion than protecting myself. I always gave her the benefit of the doubt, but that whole weekend gnawed at me for some time. In a way, I was protecting myself. Whatever Tina was trying to conceal, I didn't want to see it.

The next day, I was up earlier than Tina (I usually was since I don't drink anymore and have responsibilities) and noticed the recycling was overflowing in the kitchen, so I tied up the trash bag and took the garbage and all the recycling out. When I opened the recycling bin, I noticed a heap of mail in there, all addressed to Cassidy.

After all trust broke down following the Nategate hotel incident, I'd perused some of the contents of Tina's phone, including texts between her and Cassidy. I learned she had been texting with him at least up until November, that they had made some plans to get together and Tina was trying to get him to come over to collect all the mail that had accumulated for him since he'd moved out.

I'd seen the large collection of Cassidy's mail. It was accumulating in a brown paper bag in the entryway for months. Now it had been discarded, after Tina tried to hide an incoming message from him, after she had to get back to Farmington for a weekend alone, after she'd kept me out of the bathroom on one day and out of the bedroom on another. Had Cassidy been over and picked out the mail he needed, discarding the rest or had Tina merely grown weary of that bag filling up in the entryway? I never asked. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. The red Pontiac wasn't Cassidy's car. I was pretty sure of that. I'd seen him driving a black SUV with one mismatched white fender.

The stairs going down into the apartment were never finished, so they're just raw, ugly particleboard risers and treads, so Tina and Maura let Scott's daughters write and draw all over them with colored markers - they'd eventually be carpeted over. I decided to add a little Dan and Tina love message to one step and wait for Tina to notice it.

Going back into the apartment after taking out the trash and recycling, I noticed some new writing on one of the steps. It was a crude scrawl, reading "I was here please don't kill me - thanks."

Hmmm. Could be that the girls were over. Maybe one of them was just being silly. It didn't look like any of the other writing on the steps, but maybe they had a friend with that weekend. Was that new? Maybe it was always there and I never noticed it before...

The thought that haunts me now is what would have happened if I'd just gone into the bedroom to change. Was there a man in there? How would that have played out? It wouldn't have been good. That's for sure. Was there something else to hide? She was obviously hiding something. Why didn't I just go into the bedroom? Tina was in full control of me. In these kind of moments, my anxiety would spike, because cognitive dissonance was already setting in due to conflicts between my beliefs and deductive reasoning. I preferred to lean to Tina's explanation of the world, because I didn't want to face anything that would threaten my addiction to my drug of choice, which was her.

Ultimately, I've determined that someone was hiding in the shower when the red Pontiac was parked in the driveway and it wasn't Cassidy.  Not that day. I knew someone I believed owned a red Pontiac, though...