I was fuming, who behaves like this? We went to bed for a couple of hours, in her bathroom I once again said her behaviour is far offside and other such things. “Are you leaving” she asked through her fake tears of victimhood for the third and last time. The Literature says the Dark Triad people can manufacture tears, but cannot sob, no emotions to draw on.
“No, I’m not leaving” I said out loud, but unsaid was, it is you who is going to leave!
Around this time, Zona’s mother’s sister, who looked after the kids for a while, was terminally ill and we visited her in Nova Scotia. Very shortly after that visit, she died. I declined to go to the funeral, largely because the Sister’s long time partner said he wasn’t going. What luck! Zona was pissed, as I expected, and I got a 3 day weekend up north with pets and no psychopath present, but still around.
Not much later, at a party at our house, guests would be mostly my friends, the Sister and her partner would be there, I called to Zona across the not so small room about something and I got back a very snarky, disrespectful and loud reply that silenced the proceedings, for a beat.
In the early afternoon the next day, Zona gets out of our king-sized bed, comes downstairs, has her last cup of coffee made by me, I tell her that I didn’t appreciate her harsh and unloving response to my question the night before.
That was the straw that broke her weak and physically bent back, in an hour she was packed and at least physically gone, a very good thing.
No yippee for me, the wicked witch of Dartmouth is gone! The cumulative effect of 7 years of Narcissistic abuse I now know hit me very hard, confusion reigned, heart rate up noticeably, fast walking everywhere, except with Henry who was not fast. I knew I was damaged, and told Zona that within days of her exit, I knew who happened to me, but had no information on the Dark Triad, yet.
This happened a short time after the Twin Towers fell—I knew the World Trade Centre South Tower well–as the bank I worked for had their US Head Office on the 82nd floor, just where the second plane hit. The dead included a man of importance in my career who I named my cat after, as well as about 5 others known to me.
September 11th caused the world’s financial systems to freeze up, even local, street level lenders in less developed countries, stopped lending also. This meant that the new job I had taken was on life support, and it died in short order.
So, to summarize, I was confronted with the need to try to understand and heal from what is described as the Emotional Rape of a Narcissist in the Literature, the global and real personal trauma of the Twin Towers, I was jobless for the first time ever, the market for my skills and knowledge on hold and I needed to get laid.
An artsy girl I met at a party provided some solace, and warmth, which felt good, if strange.
Getting work didn’t come fast or easy, I had interviews, I knew a lot of people, but nothing clicked, I would be the world’s worst actor, I wear my reality on my sleeve always. I didn’t feel like myself. I was a mess, just like the literature describes perfectly.
I had gone to a shrink to deal with my anger, confusion and shock, but she was pretty much useless, silent most of the time, she didn’t get it, and she should have. I attended a different shrink, who confirmed all my conclusions.
However, on the radio, Macy Gray’s “Relating to a Psychopath”, could be heard regularly. A little bird suggested that I Google Psychopath, which I did.
Oh, my.
Holy Shit!
Pouring off that ancient IBM laptop’s screen was an absolute and perfect match of Zona’s personal behaviours and those of the psychopathic. Her massive, career only based ego, lack of empathy, no conscience, irresponsible ways, not just selfish but a total lack of generosity, I never saw any moral or considerate behaviour whatsoever. As well, Zona was heavily alcohol dependant, never said no to that last glass of wine or martini. Could drink me under the table, and you too, probably.
It is said all Narcissists are liars—I’ll go further, no matter what Zona says to you, somewhere in there is a lie, a self-aggrandizing lie. It’s what they do, all they can do, as Trump does.
Things are a bit of a blur for me around this time, but around a year after her physical exit, it was clear we needed a divorce and since I was not working (or even looking) the perfect city house would have to be sold, I was running low on cash.
Since I would have no direct contact with Zona, I arranged a lunch with the Sister to get things going. She stayed friendly, occasionally inviting me over, but I did not want to see anyone. I see now that the Sister Lovebombed me too, “John, I like you so much” she would say quite often, to my embarrassment. Perhaps they say the words because they can’t muster any feelings.
The goal of the lunch was not achieved, when I would talk about how I see things divvied up etc., the Sister would grip the side of her chair, turn aside, look at the floor and growl some angry words in a voice that wasn’t hers’. Now the Sister, psych tested as without Empathy, was Hatebombing me in the same way as Zona. If I had any hair on my head, it would have been standing up. After lunch was over, outside I get my usual hug, like nothing unusual just happened, I fast walked the fairly long-distance home, certain that I was just in the presence of a truly evil and scary person, I wanted to put distance between us. Or it could have been autistic rage, maybe both. I know which sister I would prefer to meet in a dark alley.
Since that didn’t work, with my newfound knowledge about Psychopathy, I helpfully described to Zona in writing what I had learned, that she is a card-carrying member of the Dark Triad and other descriptions of her behaviour. She got a lawyer and so did I and the divorce got done and I retained my place up north (no pre-nup) while I gave up any rights to her income. I’ll do that deal, could have been worse, and would have been if I had just left and she could play the victim.
I insisted on getting the Bloor Street wedding rings back, I sold them to a local Jeweller for $800, a Wall Streeter would say that was a very bad trade.
The house was sold, Zona got her share for free, I rented a loft nearby, and tried to understand what happened to me to right myself, it wasn’t going well.
The Literature says that Avoidance is the hallmark of PTSD, I was avoiding pretty much everybody, even ignoring my many lifelong friends from my hometown, I didn’t call, didn’t visit, I couldn’t really explain to myself what happened, how could I tell others. I was in hiding, unable to face friends with a story I didn’t yet understand. Some thought I was dead, others that I had become a Toronto arsehole. This was me at my weakest, I was embarrassed at what I allowed to happen to my life. I hurt my oldest friend by avoiding him, causing much confusion and hurt. In the end, he and my other friends took me back, when I recovered some MOJO, some gone forever, but still have enough.
When Zona left, she made a show of getting an apartment, remember she can’t live alone she has said. This was a lie too.
That means that she is, or was already, on the hunt for a roommate to Lovebomb, and then to Hatebomb, which is all she can do, so it is written.
A while later, after telling my Zona story to a different girl friend, quite a techie, of her own volition, she did some on-line sleuthing and showed me a pic of Zona in what looked like the Caribbean with a new husband, a maker of boots and music. I have an idea how they met and I have an idea of when and for sure he will have been Lovebombed and manipulated by the predator Zona. I hope he has gotten his liberty by now, but I worry.
The money from the house was dwindling, I spent more time up north, spending on various projects. About 4 years after Zona’s physical leave-taking, I got a call that led to a good enough Banking job to finish my mostly lucky career.
At his age of sixteen and a half, it was my last day with Henry, I was a real mess. He was splayed on the carpet, tongue out, panting, his huge heart in pain, suddenly, he got up, tail in the air, trotted around the coffee table, rubbed his back on our outstretched legs, looked over his right shoulder directly in my eyes and then he was gone, never forgotten, he saved my life, he WAS for me it turns out. I note that neither Zona nor the Sister are very good at the looking in the eye thing.
Henry’s female doppelganger, Henrietta, is looking at me as I type, why are you crying she seems to ask? Because I love him so and he loved me and he in large part saved my life, along with personal toughness, not quite at the level of a Ukrainian, that I had to find.
Since I’m a reader, I come across Dark Triad stuff without looking for it. I was more than a bit surprised to learn that all Narcissists follow the same relationship trajectory as described in the Literature, that of saying and doing anything to commence the relationship and once that is achieved to become, as in my case, the worst wife, the worst partner, the worst friend in the history of the world. And she seemed to enjoy doing it.
Fairly recently, I learn that Marriage Fraud is a thing, usually associated with a foreign citizen marrying a Canadian in order to eventually get the passport and then divorce after some period. Zona just came from Dartmouth, NS, but it’s the same thing it seems to me.
So that’s it then, I am a continuing victim of a human to human fraud for the express reasons of benefitting one party, she gets a place to live, a place up north, a meal maker/arranger, coffee maker, she can put Mrs. on her resume, all of this was for her career purposes, she was desperate and I was much too kind, perhaps too stupid, too trusting, obviously.
And what I got was a damaged life in all respects, my PTSD addled brain has a golf ball sized orb of blackness that awakens every day with me, my career was truncated and diminished, my lifetime earnings and net worth significantly reduced due to the relationship fraud perpetrated by Zona.
As it happens, I’m quite OK in pretty much all visible regards, marvellous place to live, enough money, still optimistic, still building things. Horse healthy too.
When Trump came to be in the news, I recognized Zona’s behaviour in him right away—the immediacy of his black anger at everything, disagreeable always, fearful and playing the victim always, even the set of his lips and the cadence of his voice, the same as Zona. Lots of sneering. And smirking. Trump and Zona are comfortable with fraud of various types, and they also see no problem in stealing money. Weakness of character breeds the fear at the core of their behaviour.
I now conclude that the worst thing that ever happened in my life didn’t even happen to me. It was the mariticide killing of the banker who was not me while I was asleep in my boyhood single bed many, many miles away. His ordeal at the hands of his wife, at least, was over quickly, mine will only end when I do.
It is hard to see where decisions surrounding this event by the Royal Bank, the police and judiciary had the best interests of those left behind. The murder was kept secret for some reason, another burden for all in the family to carry.
This Testimony may add to the research on mariticide, how best to deal with such a tragic event, the well being of those left behind should be paramount in all decisions. It seems here, everyone washed their hands.
As I picked up the Bloor Street wedding rings as I required, surprisingly in original boxes, I asked my lawyer, who worked from a basement apartment off Isabella Street, if I am allowed to tell my story? “yes” she says, how about making a movie/documentary? Same answer.
I may write a novel based on these experiences, part true crime, part fiction.
Anybody wanna make a movie?
ADDENDUM
Over 50 books have been written about Trump since he accidently won the presidency he didn’t even want. All say the same thing, and all are insights into his fully Dark Triad life. In addition to being labelled a psychopath and an orange loving narcissist, he is often referred to as a Malignant Narcissist.
When I read the rather long list of Malignant Narcissist traits, I am stunned by its perfect match with Zona’s immoral, selfish, manipulative life, that so damaged mine.
It is said that anyone who gets into Trump’s orbit, dies. Same with Zona, but remember, the females are worse.
While Zona and her peers can only use victimhood as a defense strategy, I myself have a hard time considering that I am a victim, since I live in Canada, didn’t have to go to war, a white baby-boomer and no longer need to work for the man, all should be good.
While Trump’s angry, violent rhetoric directly put that hammer in the hand of a stupid man, hitting Paul Pelosi’s head, Zona’s matching neurology harmed my brain, and virtually all facets of my life.
J.E.S.
If anyone with knowledge of these matters notes any error, inaccuracy or exaggeration, please let me know at whoiszona@hotmail.com
Who Is Zona? 