ISBN: 9781626750364

Table of Contents

Twice Bitten By Sharon Reese Chud

Chapter 1 Bitten the First Time

I quess I was lonely. I was living in Centennial, Colorado, with my adopted daughter, Lilly, whom I adopted on my own from China when she was two years old. She was now eight. Our brand-new house was your typical suburban three-bedroom home in the top school district in the Denver area of Cherry Creek. It was a beautiful home with all the amenities: cherry wood floors and cabinets, two fireplaces, large closets. I spent a lot of time decorating the house, trying to make it homey so I would feel comfortable. In all the places I had lived the previous 18 years since moving from Philadelphia,Arizona, Southern California, San Francisco, and now Colorado--the feeling of being home had eluded me. Here again, for some reason, I felt like I wasn’t home. I didn’t quite feel like I fit in. I felt like I was on the outside looking in.

Lilly, on the other hand, adjusted beautifully. She had a busier social life than I did. Her calendar was filled with sleepovers and parties most weekends, while I stayed home alone watching TV and bingeing on popcorn.

This is how it was for me these past 18 years since leaving Philadelphia. At first I lived with my then 15 year old son Ben in Arizona; then by myself in Southern California; then with Lilly in Southern California, San Francisco, and then Colorado. I was working as a sales representative for one of the large pharmaceutical companies. When I wanted to move, which was often, I was able to talk the management into it due to my stellar sales record. It seemed to me that I wasn’t able to feel at home in any of these towns out west, which propelled me to want to move and try my luck in other places.

Oh, I sure dated enough all those years, having a permanent membership on Match.com and Plenty of Fish. But for some reason love eluded me. Either I wasn’t attracted to them or they weren’t attracted to me. For whatever reason, I hadn’t really fallen in love since I had left Harry 18 years ago. A 50 year old woman with a young child apparently wasn’t appealing to most men that age whose children were grown. I was still considered beautiful and spent a lot of time and energy exercising and eating right to keep myself looking that way. I was a young looking 50 year old often mistaken for being in my 30s, with long blond hair and blue eyes. I stood at 5’5’ and was considered slim by most. I attributed my young appearance to the fact that I kept my body toned and in shape with Pilates every day. I had taken a six weekend instructor training a few years back and had purchased a Stott’s Pilates Reformer, a contraption that I learned how to use with precision. Not that looking good helped me in my romantic life out west.

So I guess I was lonely. No, I know I was lonely. But lonely enough to start up again with a known narcissist, diagnosed as such by a psychologist both of us saw twice a week for a year? Lonely enough to abandon all sensibility to once again be told how much I was adored and cherished and told how beautiful I was? The defining terminology is “was told” because if I had paid attention to what Harry’s actions were and not what he told me, I would have realized I was not adored at all.

I think back 18 years, when I first met Harry. I was living in Lafayette Hill, Pennsylvania, in a townhouse with my then-10 year old son Ben, and I was single again. I had already been married and divorced twice. My first husband, Mitchell, was a mental case; extremely handsome and smart, but also extremely abusive verbally. Angry at the drop of the hat, he was the father of my precious son Ben. Everything I did made Mitchell angry, so most of the time I tip-toed around the house trying not to wake the beast. When my son turned one year old I asked Mitchell to leave. I couldn’t stand being abused like that anymore. I then married Lenny when I was 33 years old. We had a very romantic relationship with a lot of chemistry, but that was short-lived. Lenny had two sons aged 7 and 12, and all they did was fight with each other night and day. Lenny also would get down in the dirt, so to speak, and fight with them to make them stop. It was chaos. I tried to help but Lenny only followed his ex-wife’s rules for the children to be consistent, so I had no power in my own house. After a year of this mayhem, I asked them all to leave. But then that lonely feeling set in and I was almost panicking to find a man who would love me for the way I was and that I could be a family with. I looked around and saw so many happy couples and I wondered when my prince would come.

That’s when I first met Harry. I was then forty years old and he was thirty eight. I thought Harry was cute but a little quiet, reserved and somewhat meek for me. He stood a little shy of six feet and was very lean. His best features were his eyes and his smile. His eyes were hazel and dreamy and his smile lit up the room when he flashed his pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. You could see a hint of dimples when he smiled, and he smiled often. He appeared gentle in nature, kind, sensitive, somewhat nobleeven aristocratic. He stood a little bit hunched over, with his head drawn down, as if he didn’t have confidence. I also noticed that Harry’s head and neck were a little stiff and he purposely pinched his shoulders up, as if he needed force to hold his head on his neck. In all, due to his body language, Harry gave me the impression that he was a sensitive soul kind and sincere but a bit meek. He seemed to lack confidence. That was my initial impression. He didn’t say much but encouraged me to talk about myself: My childhood, my relationships, what I hoped for, what my dreams were. We talked and walked through the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia, stopping at a little out of the way restaurant for a bite to eat. Harry was sweet and he seemed interested in me. We walked side by side. He didn’t try to kiss me, nor did he take my hand or arm. He appeared timid, reserved, perhaps shy. I agreed to go out with him again several times because I did feel so comfortable, and because he did seem so interested in everything about me. Alas, attraction and chemistry are very important to me and it appeared we were not connecting in a physical way at all. So when he called for another date I declined. I said we had no chemistry. “We didn’t even hold hands after eight dates,” I explained. “Why don’t we become friends?” I asked. Now, looking back, I understand totally what Harry was doing during those eight dates. He was standing back, listening and processing my story, my history, my wants and needs, what made me tick. He was assessing my biggest desire. He wanted to become my dream man. Harry was figuring out what that dream man would look like and he was getting ready to deliver the perfect man just for me in a perfect package. He was writing the perfect role for this play and I was his target. Though these traits of the perfect man he would show me in the coming weeks and months might not be traits that naturally belonged to him, that didn’t matter. That is what a Narcissist and a Psychopath do. That is what is natural to them. Harry wanted to hook me, and hook me he did hook line and sinker.

“Let’s try one more date,” Harry pleaded. “You won’t be sorry.” I reluctantly agreed. That Friday Harry picked me up at the house and persisted in sweeping me off my feet. He took me to the Schuylkill River where, docked near the University of Pennsylvania fraternity houses, were rowboats you could rent. We rented a boat and once out on the river, Harry opened his prepared picnic basket and spread the feast on the bottom of the boat. Tuna salad, mashed potatoes, fruit, wine and cheese. How cute I thought he was with the unusual picnic combination. I was charmed that a man would go to this much trouble to romance me. He even looked different. He stood tall and seemed confident. He took my hand and held me around my waist. When our picnic was done and it was getting dark, we docked the boat and Harry led me masterfully to his car. “I think you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever been with,” he said as he swooped down and kissed me tenderly. “I adore you.” His eyes searched for mine and stared deeply into my soul. My head swooned and I knew I was falling in love with him, and more importantly, I knew he was falling in love with me.

Soon Ben and I met Harry’s adorable son Jason, who was three years old. Ben was ten. Harry was so tender and careful with Jason, as if he would break. “I want his entire world to be rosy,” Harry said. “I don’t want anything negative to touch his life.”

Harry asked me to marry him two months after we met. I was falling madly in love but said, “I will marry you, but I want to live with you first.” He took that as a green light to move right in. I was somewhat reluctant for him to move in so fast, but he said it would be wonderful and we both were so in love. He moved in soon after that and turned our spare bedroom into a room for Jason. Harry had Jason half the time several days during the week and every other weekend. He said Jason’s mother, Wendy, was crazy.

As far as making a living, Harry wasn’t doing so well. He had started his own business making lighting parts out of molds. He owned several molds and rented space in a factory where he kept them and paid a molder to turn out the plastic shades when he got orders. Harry didn’t have many customers but since my expenses were so low, it wasn’t difficult for Harry to share my household expenses. I was doing pretty good in that department, working as a pharmaceutical sales representative for a small Podiatry company. Between the two of us, we were easily able to meet our expenses and even go on a trip that year. I often advised Harry how to approach customers and how to canvas for business. He actually followed my advice and was successful in getting a few new accounts.

Harry was the man I had been searching for and dreaming about my entire life. He loved me, I believed, for who I really was. “I love you more than I ever loved another. You are the love of my life. I adore you.” Harry’s words hit a chord inside me and he expressed his sentiments often, at least ten times per day.

I got numerous love notes and letters expressing his total devotion to me, as well as presents and flowers at least twice per week a girl’s dream come true. Harry thought I was the best cook and the most talented decorator. He respected my intelligence and my business savvy. He thought I was funny and cute and laughed often at my humor. I am so lucky, I thought.

I also loved Harry’s body. Because I am so into fitness Harry, too, started working out and soon developed a thin, lean, muscular built. We were very attracted to each other. I loved waking up next to him and feeling his strong body next to me hardly the meek guy I thought he was when I first met him.

Harry’s dreamy eyes would stare right through me and I would feel melted to the core. He would often stare at me and when I caught him he would say, “Sharon you are so beautiful.” I reveled in the warmth of his adoration and finally felt accepted instead of constantly being criticized, a state I was more used to. My ex-husband Mitchell criticized everything I did and said and berated me every waking moment we spent together. My father, too, had dished out constant criticism since I was 12 years old. Being with Harry brought me back to when I was a child and felt loved and adored.

My father did adore me at first; we were buddies, more like soul mates than father and daughter. We did everything together: ice-skating, baseball games at the Phillies’ stadium; everything. We were much closer than either of us was with my mother. He thought my mother acted like a victim. She was pathetic, always depressed, running to psychiatrists, crying and complaining to everyone about how badly my beloved father treated her. I believed my mother was pathetic, too, just as my father did.

I remember one time in the car my mother crying about wanting a new dress. She was a housewife, typical for the 50s, so it was my father’s decision when or if she would buy clothes. My father went into a screaming rage in response to her emotional outburst. His rages always frightened me. I usually would run and hide in back of his clothes bureau in their room, shaking and crying until his raging would stop. But this time I couldn’t hide, so I just pretended I was invisible.

Then, when my father felt he could take no more of my mother’s selfish behavior, as he described it, he wanted to leave and get a divorce. I wanted to go with him and my mother didn’t fight it. The judge felt I was old enough at the age of twelve to make my own decision if all parties agreed. She acquiesced. After my mother vacated, we moved back into our home, a row home in Northeast Philadelphia famous for these types of small attached homes. I continued to see my mother every Sunday where she lived in center city Philadelphia, but my disrespect for her continued. I continued to be a source of much unhappiness in my mother’s life and continued treating her as my father treated her. I was extremely remorseful later in life when I uncovered that my father was an abuser. But that was later, after my mother had died.

Looking back on that day when my mother left, I realize I was never adored again by my father. My father at that point in time made me into a servant girl and tried to make me into what he thought would be the perfect housewife. I cooked all meals, did all the dishes and cleaned the house on the weekends. My father always criticized how I did the dishes and how I cleaned. I never seemed to get it right, no matter how hard I tried. He would come home from work and immediately go into the kitchen. Inevitably, I would have left a cabinet open, which would propel my father into a rage. I also was shamed whenever I got sick. My father thought it was all in my head and I felt ashamed and embarrassed for feeling ill and would hide it. Sadness was not an emotion my father thought I should acquiesce to, either. I got the feeling that I didn’t count at all. My only role was to take care of him, and that’s what I did.

Despite his criticism and berating, I loved my father and my very survival was dependent on him. I would wait at the door until he came home from work. If he was late I would go into a panic, imagining a terrible accident had befallen him.

Now I know what I and my mother experienced was Narcissistic Abuse at the hands of an abuser. I was being groomed to be the perfect target, the perfect mate for a psychopath.

The adoration, the love, the acceptance I got from Harry was something I lost when I was twelve years old from the original abuser, and the feeling of being adored filled a void in me that lit my world up. I glowed in the reflection of how Harry saw me. I now know I was getting addicted to that adoration, and it would become a source of great pain and growth in my future. I almost didn’t mind that Harry was a complete slob and left a trail of clothes, papers and Jason’s toys wherever he went in the house. I usually cleaned up after him or nagged him until he cleaned up. He was also totally unorganized and often left his own bills unpaid. Something always puzzled me. Harry claimed to have never had a dream. I’ve never known anyone who didn’t dream. I later would learn that because psychopaths do not have a developed frontal cortex in their brain, they usually do not have dreams.

One thing happened those first three months, but I overlooked it. Ben was playing ball with Jason. Ben threw the ball, but Jason forgot to put his arms up to catch it. The ball just missed hitting Jason in the head. Harry went into a rage at Ben. I thought for a moment that he could have killed Ben if I wasn’t there. He calmed down and I rationalized that any man would have a difficult time with Ben, whose behavior at times was angry and rough.

Soon after that, we had what Harry called “our first fight.” When I bought a little townhouse for Ben, myself, and our little wheaten terrier Cindy, after Mitchell and I divorced, I took a small mortgage at 9% interest rate. I had the large down payment from the splitting of the proceeds of the sale of the home that Mitchell and I shared. I took only a small mortgage in order to make my monthly payments easier for me to manage. The payment was only $800.00 per month. Harry, when he first moved in, agreed to reimburse me half of that payment as rent money. He also agreed to pay half of the other household expenses, as well. That helped me out financially and was a great deal for him since rents in the Philadelphia area started at $800/month at that time.

Several months into our arrangement the interest rates fell dramatically, so I decided to refinance my home. The new mortgage I took was for 15 years instead of the original mortgage, which was 30. The beautiful thing about the lower interest rate was that my monthly payment was only slightly higher at $840.00 per month. So I asked Harry to split that with me, increasing his monthly rent by 20 dollars, making his rent $420.00 per month. When he heard my request he went into a rage, yelling and screaming how unfair that was. My mouth dropped open at the anger and fuss this man was making over such a little bit of money. He did not believe it was his obligation. We finally got past it after I saw his point on principle. Later, when it was time to pay bills, Harry paid the full half portion anyway. I decided to let the raging incident go and chalked it up to “things can’t be wonderful all the time. No relationship is perfect,” I told myself.

I had been taking Ben to see a cognitive psychologist, Dr. Sam Katz, for therapy once per week to work on Ben’s anger. Ben’s response to perceived wounds was exaggerated. A mere annoyance would bring on an angry response of yelling. Sam was amazing: The therapy was working and soon Ben, with some reminders, was responding in more appropriate ways with more appropriate anger modifications. I had started to bring Harry with me to talk to Sam and begin couple’s therapy to try and work out the issues we were having, which were more often coming to the surface after a few months of our co-habiting. Although we were splitting household expenses 50/50, we were not splitting household chores. I was doing them all. Not once did Harry stop to get groceries, wash a dish, make dinner, or vacuum. I felt our relationship was not balanced and I felt taken advantage of. This was the initial grievance we worked on at our sessions with Sam. Sam finally got Harry to agree to start with one chore to do every week, which he would be responsible for doing. Harry chose to wash a load of towels each week.

When laundry day came, Harry would inevitably forget about the towels he had agreed to wash. So I gathered up the dirty towels and laid them in a pile near the upstairs bathroom, where the washer/dryer was kept. Ben had noticed the pile on the floor and threw his dirty terry cloth bathrobe into the pile to be washed. When Harry saw Ben’s robe in the pile he had a fit. “This is not a towel,” he raged. “This is a garment.” He raged for a good ten minutes, at which point I removed the robe and washed it myself. When we discussed this incident in therapy Harry continued to argue about the robe being a garment for almost an hour. Near the end of the session, Harry seemed to get it that his hurtfulness was wrong and damaging. He then was apologetic at his antics and again became sweet, loving and adoring. Perhaps the exact towel incident never happened again, but a new incident seemed to always crop up on a weekly basis usually focused on Harry being hurtful or unfair to Ben. He would then again be apologetic at his antics and again became sweet, loving and adoring. He was back to being the Harry I was in love with. It was like another Harry would occasionally emerge and take over his body. I didn’t know this Harry and I was upset that these occurrences were infringing on my happiness. When I would point this out to him, he would go into a rage, adamant that he was not hurtful at all, and always justified his behavior. I attempted to explain how these unfairnesses to Ben were very hurtful to a child, but Harry didn’t seem to get it. He would rather blame me or Ben for the problems, or else claim that I was only focused on the negative or that I was unrealistic in my expectations of him. “No one is perfect. Stop focusing on everything I do wrong,” he would often proclaim. The incidents therefore continued, so we continued going to couple’s counseling, now twice per week.

With any particular incident Harry would rage almost right in my face, trying to engage me in fighting back. I knew, however, where that road would take me, so I would calmly say instead, “I don’t agree, Harry, let’s discuss this when we are at Sam’s. ” There were so many incidents that I began keeping a journal of them, because they were so petty and strange to me that I thought I would almost believe they didn’t happen unless I wrote them down. I would step in at every occurrence that was hurtful to Ben, because I did not want my child to be treated unfairly.

Harry convinced me that these were growing pains from adapting to a step-family. He wasn’t used to dealing with an older child, especially a difficult child such as Ben. He would get better. Harry initiated a night out every Monday evening after dinner for himself and Ben. They would go to the movies or the mall. Ben soon looked forward to these evenings. This made me so happy, and I saw them bonding together. But the hurtful incidents continued, so we continued in counseling for a year or so.

One incident I remember is when I left Ben, Jason and Harry alone one afternoon to get a manicure. When I came home an hour later, I found Ben on the front step crying. Harry had taken Jason out to a movie and left Ben at home. Ben had wanted to go along but Harry refused to take him. I was very upset and expressed this to Harry when they arrived home. This led to raging and yelling, and of course we discussed this at Sam’s. I remember one evening I wanted to try this behavior myself to show Harry how Jason would feel if I behaved as Harry did toward Ben. I said I was going to take just Ben out to see a movie and leave Jason at home. As we left I saw Jason at the screen door with tears in his eyes. And you know what? I went right back into the house and took Jason with us. I couldn’t do it. I wondered what was wrong with Harry that he was able to do something to someone I was unable to do. Maybe I was the one who wasn’t getting it.

A few days later another incident happened when we all went to the Plymouth meeting mall. Harry purchased a comic book for Jason. Ben had wanted Harry to get a book for him as well but Harry refused. “He has a father, let him buy Ben a comic book.”

Now, looking back and knowing what I know now, I wonder why I didn’t ask Harry to leave at this point. I’m embarrassed that I did not end things earlier: After all, he was hurting my son.

Like I said before, it wasn’t all bad. These incidents happened weekly but were intermingled with laughter, birthday parties, holidays, and meals together. Harry told me he loved me constantly, told me he adored me and how beautiful I was. He was a tender lover, and it always felt really good when we made love. Harry, however, never really held up very long, if you know what I mean. I would try not to be too amorous or move around that much to not overexcite him. I wanted to extend our passion. All in all, he felt really good and was so tender that I felt satisfied. I was so in love with him and as I look back, I now know I was so addicted to his so-called adoration. After each horrible incident would occur and he apologized, I wanted to believe that the next incident wouldn’t happen and all these crazy unfairnesses to Ben would stop. But they didn’t stop, and we continued to have counseling sessions with Sam twice per week for a year or so. I still believed once I convinced Harry that he was being hurtful he would change and realize his behavior was aberrant, and everything would be rosy again.

We loved being together between these incidents, as I referred to them. We laughed and loved and played. I especially loved going down to the New Jersey shore, where Harry’s ninety year old paternal grandmother had a house in Margate. Harry’s entire family would congregate at that house: His mother and father, his brother Larry and sister-in-law Kate. His father clung closely to Harry’s grandmother and seemed for a grown man to still be a mama’s boy. There was no love lost between Harry’s grandmother and Harry’s mom. That was obvious. But Harry’s mom Miriam was lovely: accepting, loving, and caring. I felt totally accepted by this family. It was an acceptance I very rarely had felt in my life. We had family dinners where Jason usually was the center of attention. He was so adorable it was hard not to love him, as well. I imagine Harry and I made quite a few people jealous and uncomfortable with our displays of affection. We walked on the boardwalk arm in arm and stopped at a bench and held each other closely, mirroring our breath so it was one. I would watch him swim in the ocean while I sat on the beach, admiring my attractive muscular man. “You are the love of my life, Sharon,” he would say with tears welling up in his eyes. Things seemed to get better for a few months, with fewer incidents, so when Harry asked me to marry him again eight months into our cohabitation I said “yes” and we became engaged. Harry had bought me a beautiful two carat diamond ring that I designed. We planned to wed that February. But after the engagement things got much worse.

Harry’s unfair treatment toward Ben again accelerated. When I brought Ben with us down to the shore on those weekends he didn’t go with his Dad, the dynamics were different. I wanted Ben to be accepted and considered part of the family as I was, but Harry didn’t quite take Ben under his wing as one of his own. That was for sure. It would have been easier if I would have blamed Ben for all the conflict, as my father had done to me when he married his second wife Irene. Irene had made it clear that she did not want me around. My father betrayed me and focused all the blame on me for my and Irene’s disharmony. He did this so he wouldn’t have to make any changes in his life. So I moved out of the house at eighteen years old. But with me and Harry and Ben, I knew the truth. I knew Harry was the one who was unfair and hurtful and since I had awareness of the truth, allowing my son to take the blame for Harry’s cruelty would be devastating to my son, as it was devastating to me when my father took Irene’s side. So I stood my ground and stepped in at any unfair or harmful treatment.