The Sensory Dispensary

I very recently got a large envelope of legal documents in the mail from the newly appointed trustee for my mom’s trust. This person also has power of attorney for all of her affairs, in addition to being the named executor of her estate.

He is also the person who molested me when I was a child.

I originally wrote a lot more about this here, or started to anyway, but it’s a story that spans about fifty years, and it’s complicated, and it’s painful, and I don’t have it in me to dig through it. I will eventually, I think I have to at some point, but now I’ll just focus on the here and now, and let me tell you one thing, the here and now fucking sucks.

I didn’t disclose the abuse by this family member to the rest of my family until about 15 years ago, when I was in my forties. Since that time I have desperately tried to establish boundaries to keep myself physically and emotionally safe and protected, and these got more restrictive as time progressed until I cut off contact completely.

The thing about setting boundaries is that you can set them, but that doesn’t mean anyone has to respect or honor them. About a year and a half ago I learned that he had been named the executor of my mom’s estate. I realized that this isn’t something that goes in to effect until her passing, but it was deeply upsetting to me. I expressed my disappointment, frustration, and dismay to my mom for making this choice, knowing what she knows about what he did. I tried to explain why it was hurtful to me and suggested she find someone else. That never happened.

When my abuser’s wife found out that I was requesting the change to someone else, she went completely bat-shit crazy, threatening to sue me and verbally attacking me, in addition to the gaslighting and attempts to shame me. By the end of her attack she had twisted shit so badly that she was blaming me for all the bad things I was doing to him, even asking “What else do you want to do to him Scott?”

The thing is, I never wanted to do anything to him. If I wanted to hurt him, I could have. If I wanted to hurt him I wouldn’t have kept the secret for so long and tried to pretend that the abuse never happened. I wouldn’t have tried to maintain “normalcy” in my family for as long as I did.

When I set my boundaries and distanced myself, all I wanted was to be left alone. To not see him or talk to him. To not hear people talk about him, to not hear his name. To have him completely removed from my life.

I thought this was a reasonable request. Who makes a person continue to have any sort of relationship with his abuser? If he wasn’t a family member would I be expected to sit at a holiday dinner or go to birthday parties with him? To sit in a hospital room after my dad had a stroke with him present? To attend my dad’s funeral with him in attendance? To have him named the executor of my mom’s estate? I guess in my family though, not only is this an unreasonable request, it is treasonous.

I am well over talking about what is fair, the world isn’t fair, I get that. What I do talk about is basic decency and empathy, and the total disregard for my wishes, to be placed in a situation that is mentally and emotionally harmful to me. Despite my telling everyone in advance that I would feel this way, despite my desperate requests to please reconsider this decision.

Initially I was told the only time I would need to hear from him is when he gives me my check, which was still at least once too often, and not really the point. I was told “it’s all in a trust, it will get taken care of by lawyers.”

And then this envelope came in the mail. From him, as the trustee. He legally had to send me notification of the trust.

So not only does my original boundary request get ignored, it is decided that he should get even more power and control, and more responsibility, and a larger ongoing role in my life for a longer and undetermined length of time.

I have had issues with anxiety and panic attacks for a really long time. It isn’t surprising considering my experience, and it was actually the increase in frequency and intensity of the attacks in his presence that led to my trying to set my boundaries in the first place.

I could feel the tightness in my chest and stomach when I looked at the large manilla envelope, before I had even opened it. Those feelings have lingered since, perceptible enough to always be noticed. I have learned many techniques to try and manage these feelings and I tried them all.

Yesterday I broke though. Shattered. Today I am trying to shake it off but it’s difficult. I am a mess and I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.

The envelope and the stack of legal documents I still need to go through are sitting on the ottoman in our living room. I scanned through them, but I don’t even want to see them knowing they came from him. I don’t want them in my home. I don’t want to touch them knowing he was the one who put them in the envelope and mailed it to me.

I had already taken the only step I can take and made formal notification that if he had any legal need to contact me, any correspondence had to be done exclusively through the US Postal Mail Service. I would not accept phone calls, texts, emails, attend meetings with him, in person or virtual, and that any attempt to circumvent this preference would be ignored and considered harassment.

I can’t stop any of this now, and it is the powerlessness that hurts the most. The monster who abused me is doing it again, emotionally this time. He knows he is doing it, and that I have no ability to control or avoid this situation that is causing me harm. He knows that he is causing me harm and that I can’t stop him.

I firmly believe that he and his wife both have cold dead hearts with no empathy in them. In between the panic attacks I almost feel sorry for them, to be soulless and so unfeeling, so selfish and with such disregard for another person.

Meanwhile, I sit and wait for my mail, like I will do every fucking day wondering if I will get something else from him.

Ready to panic again.

I don’t know how I am going to do this.