Sometimes . . .

 I am sitting here at 3:27 in the morning, having woken up at 2:00 am.  This is called jet lag.  I wake up at all odd times and have problems getting back to sleep.  Today has been particularly difficult. I did something I should never have done. I found myself awake in bed and  I decided to scroll through my e-mails. I came upon a comment which someone left on here during the night.  It was particularly vile and accusatory. I know that if you are going to blog you need to expect that not everyone will be kind, and I get that.  But sometimes people can be very cruel . . .  very willing, and . . .  perhaps even eager . . .  to kick someone while they are down. 

When someone commits a crime, be it against adults or children, or whoever, there are many, many victims.  My husband committed a despicable crime.  A crime that I was completely in the dark about.  I knew nothing about who he was or what he did, not now, and not in the past. I knew nothing of the crimes he committed before I met him. I knew nothing about the crimes and despicable acts he committed while I was married to him.  I knew only who he presented to me, who he told me he was, and what he chose to tell me about his life.  

I trusted him as someone is supposed to trust someone they marry and are married to.

In May of 2000, I met whom I thought was a lovely man on a church website. We chatted for several months before we decided meet each other in person. In September of that year, I came over here to the UK to meet this man I had been talking to.  What I met was a very charming man, and what appeared to be a very kind man.  A man who was well respected by his chuch community and friends. A man who appeared to love the Lord as much as I loved the Lord. A man, I came to think of as someone I could indeed share my life with.   

I knew his real name was Sidney, but he had a very plausible reason for that, and a story behind his use of the name Todd. I, myself, grew up being called Alice, but now use the name Marie. As Marie is my first name, its just easier for me to use it rather than keep explaining all the time why I am called Alice.  People get given nicknames. Its a very common thing, so when someone tells me Sidney is their real name, but they have used the nickname Todd since their army days, who am I to call them a liar? 

If I was guilty of anything it was of being incredibly naive and trusting.  

People who can do the things my husband did are incredibly charming people.  They are not odd.  They appear completely normal.  They appear very kind and appealing to those that they meet and invite into their inner circle. This is how they get away with the things that they do.  

Serial killers don't walk around with a stamp on their forehead saying "serial killer," rapists don't have tattoos saying "rapist," and pedophiles do not have a sign around their necks saying "pedophile."  That's why and how they get away with the things that they do.  Innocent people get hurt all the time because of the ability these people have to hide just who and what they are.  They have spent years perfecting the stories and the lies and kind,innocent, and trusting people are all too often, always their victims. 

Does my heart agonise about the people my husband has hurt through the years??? 

Absolutely. I have cried many, many tears over them. My heart has shattered into a million pieces over the lives that will never be the same because of his actions. I will never know just how many people he has hurt through the years or the extent of the crimes he has committed. There are probably dozens, and I cannot undo that.  I cannot change that, but trust me if I could, I would wave a magic wand over them and heal all of the hurts. There are no magic wands.  There is no magic heal. 

Victims come in many shapes and forms.

If you (this unamed person who chose to leave a vile comment and judgement on here about me and my integrity as a person) think I have no concern for my husband's victims, then you don't know me.  If you think that I show no concern and feel none of their hurt or pain, then you don't know me. Of course I do. I have felt incredible shame over his actions.  I carry the shame of that in my heart, knowing that he shows no remorse over what he has done, not to them, not to me, not to anyone. 

As unbelievable as it may seem, I (as his wife) have never been told exactly what he did. Nobody has filled me in with the details of anything. That has been left to my imaginations and from whatever I could glean online from recent newspaper articles. In fact, to this date, I have not officially even been told that he received a Prison sentence. To find that out I had to search and search. Nobody, and especially not him, has told me a damn thing. He simply left our home one day, and never came back.

I dared to marry a man and believe what he told me about who he was. Just like anyone who falls in love with someone and marries them. If I am guilty of anything, it is of being too trusting and too believing. I, too, am a victim of this despicable person.  I have had to walk away from everything because of his actions. Being honest, and trusting and naive has cost me dearly, and on many levels.( I am not talking about physical belongings here. Those can always be replaced.)

I can never undo what he did. I can never heal their hurts. I can never change what happened. That doesn't mean that I am unfeeling, or uncaring . . .

You have accused me of being a narcissist and "playing" the Victim. You don't know me. You don't know my heart. You don't know my sorrows. You don't know my pain. Thank you very much for victimising me again. I really needed that. 

Yes, my husband was a convicted Pedophile when I married him, but I truly had no knowledge of that.  Yes, I lived with him for twenty years, totally oblivious of who he really was and the things that he did. Yes, he did it again during the time we were married and yes, I had no knowledge whatsoever of that either.  Yes, I am stupid and blind and too trusting, and maybe a bazillion of other things.

But I am also a human being.  And I am imperfect.