Reality Bytes: A Survivor’s Journey – Part 6

Part 6

Right at the end of our court hearing, the Psychopath did one of his infamous maneuvers. He slipped one by an entire group of us. He asked the Judge to order his child visitation be held at a center where free monitors are provided for low income families. (Part of his tactical plan to avoid paying child support is to pretend he is poor—so much for a ‘doctor’s lifestyle!’)

“I just want to see my daughter. I miss her…,” said the talking head. As it continued, I watched people in the court room begin to float around in a puddle of sympathy as it accumulated deep on the floor. It was so pathetic because I knew if the people saw this devil in action, the pool of sympathy would turn hot molten lava and converge into his empty soul.

The paper he waved in front of the judge to secure the order had several addresses that listed all the centers in our county. We live in a large metropolitan area, so the addresses really meant nothing. Filled with confident conviction, he pointed to and named a particular center of interest that was listed on the sheet.

When the judge asked why he wanted that particular center, he confidently asserted himself, as if this selection was for the good of mankind and fairness to all: “It is convenient for everyone because it is the closest distance. It is only 12 miles away.”

It sounded reasonable, so no one objected. But no one thought to ask 12 miles in which direction? Distracted by the relief I felt about the visits being monitored, I wasn’t alert enough to question his motive. It all happened very fast.

One would think that after four years of the same deceitful and manipulative behavior I would be critical about every request. Every time. Hyper-vigilance (high harm avoidance) has an upside when dealing with a psychopath. But then again, you get diagnosed of being paranoid or delusional.

When I got home I saw that I got hood winked again. I felt shock when I looked on-line and discovered where the Psychopath just got the court (and us) to agree to have his visits.

I saw there was a quarter mile difference in distance to the next center on that list. It was in a much safer area that is famously known for its elegance and beauty. Instead, he picked one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city; probably one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the country.

I printed a crime map for a half mile radius around the center for a one week period and saw there were 38 major crimes that occurred and were plotted out. This included homicide. Felony assault, armed robbery, grand theft auto, etc, etc., etc.

Making matters worse, I had to drag our little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl on two buses and a train to get into that neighborhood and then two hours later make the trip in reverse to get home.

Once I dropped her off at the center, routinely I walked three blocks to sit in a restaurant to wait out the visit. It is always an interesting trip through the bar-protected, graffiti-decorated buildings that lined the streets.

Often in the background, I could hear and feel a loud throbbing base noise. It would pulsate my lungs right into the wall of my rib cage as I walked. As the cars got closer, the metal grating sounds of vibrating trunk lids become part of the migrainish rhythm.

People on the streets looked me up and down and smiled as if they knew a secret that I didn’t. Tension still blanketed the streets from the devastating race riots of years past. It was obvious—I stood out.

When it was time to go get my little girl, I would trek back to the center. One day, as I headed over a cross walk to get to the center, I noticed a car coming toward me. I kept walking figuring it would stop as cars do, yet I locked it into my peripheral vision.

I walked. It came closer. Next it zipped right into the cross walk in front of me, missing me by about a foot. The teen driver looked into my eyes with an expressionless, stone cold face. When she punched down the accelerator, I felt a rush of adrenaline turn my legs into jelly just as the car swerved out of my path.

As much as I wanted to scream in anger, the tears welled up in my eyes AGAIN.

I flashed back to the talking head in the court room and how he man managed to pull this one off. The man who tells the world he is worried about the “well being” of his child, just locked us into a weekly court order that places her and I smack in the middle of a war zone.

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