Since April 2015, I’ve lost a pregnancy, a would-be fiance, a best friend and 3 former lovers. I’ve been robbed of life and livelihood, lost 1/3 of my hair, been fed through my veins and seen upwards of 150 baffled doctors. My life’s real father died on Christmas morning before any of us were awake and I never said goodbye. For a while, I couldn’t stand and speak at the same time or say full sentences, let alone read them. My car was stolen and ruined. Two of my best friend’s got cancer. Another friend died. Doctors lied to and about me on national television. I’ve had labs indicating I was “dead” a few times. We’ve planned my funeral.
And nothing has been more wounding than a spate of accusations thrown at me by my ex. While the lead-up is irrelevant, I got a call from this ex one night, months after he’d bailed. I was 92 lbs and living on sheer defiance. He told me to stop stalking his now-wife. I was speechless…and I am never speechless. I was in total shock. He started by shaming me for the stories I posted on an anonymous blog about the above pregnancy of which is we an integral part. I am a responsible and tactical woman so I immediately addressed his concerns and earnestly apologized if my craft made things difficult for him. Then he shamed me for “chasing” him on social media; he knew all about the screenshots of my own instagram posts that I sent his wife from an anonymous number…posts that said things like “I love you, Tommy” “love is in the air”. He said he knew about the harassing texts and the fight I got in to with his wife’s sister on instagram messenger.
And that’s where it got weird. It got weird bc that was the first time I had heard of any of it. He told me to just stop the harassment and I said there was nothing for me to stop bc I had no clue what he was talking about. I asked if the “I love you, Tommy” note was under a picture of a tattoo and he said yes. I politely reminded him that my tattoo artist was named Tommy. Though not in the same city, I felt the conversation get literally cold. I demanded he send me the screenshots that I was supposed to have sent bc I needed them for my lawyer. I assured him that, not only did I NOT text his wife from an anonymous number, I didn’t actually even know how to text anonymously. And I had no idea what his sister-in-law’s name was so that fight was also not possible. I asked how in the hell he thought me doing any of that would be to my benefit. (I openly and earnestly prayed for him…AND her. I never spoke to him after the breakup. I washed his clothes and packed his stuff from my house and neatly arranged it in the garage for him. I held my head up, tears and all. I deleted all our connections. I sat in my dying corner quietly. I didn’t beg or cajole. I accepted my heartbreak fate.) He bleakly asked me if I knew who was doing the stalking and could ask the person to stop. I reminded him that if I didn’t know that woman’s name, no one I knew would know it either, laying bare the notion that his was all a fabrication. I offered him phone records and total access to all my accounts. The call became so cold and quiet and then he begged me to forget it all.
And why would that be the worst part of 4 years dying? Because I was accused of deliberately causing harm to another person…or a couple of people. I stood accused of being spiteful and mean. Nothing done to me or my body was worse than being told I was harmful…especially when nothing he said was true. I believe he believed it…or at least did when the call started. I don’t know what he did with it later. But I was devastated. I went underground. I erased myself from the internet. I had no idea how many places this “fake” Marie was showing up and doing damage to people. I got lawyers and cops involved. I found security experts and I stopped publishing. I changed my name and locked my proverbial doors and shutters.
Funny, in years where I was literally in the process of dying, nothing was more difficult to cope with than the idea I was being portrayed or thought of as a woman who would bring harm. Collapsed veins didn’t hurt as much as that.
And I’ll bet everyone else in that world of theirs assumes I am as dangerous as those lies made me out to be. What a sad state of things. After years of hiding, I’ve decided to emerge…but that wound remains open and palpable. I hope it heals. I hope the stings fades.