The baby mamma and the words. I loved this person regardless of what she put me through and this is the kind of emotional abuse I had to endure. When I say I'm not okay, I mean it

I'm the bread winner, I pay for everything. I made sure she has a social life by staying home with our daughter and she brought men into our lives, married men included
When I'm good and ready, I'll try answering each of you. I'm not okay right now. I need to be in the right state of mind when I answer your questions and accusations
I was gonna take my time and try to answer everyone of you but I can see there's a lot of formed opinion on who she is, on what happened, what I did to trigger her. In so saying I'm going to take a step back and say a few things that might bring light to the situation
1.We have been dating for 6 years
2. When I met her she didn't have tattoos
3. There are certain things that happened to her before we met that I can't mention.
4. She wasn't always this person
5. To all those who said I'm toxic, yes you're right I am, abuse does that to you
I'm no Saint and won't pretend I am, those who asked if I cheated, the answer is no. I work nightshift 7 in 7 out. When I'm off I spend my time with our daughter. Are we together?
So basically her behavior started changing when she made certain friends 3 years ago, I picked up on it and addressed my dissatisfaction with the friends because I saw what It did to our relationship. A clue, women who had sides and sugar daddies.
Fast forward to yesterday after constant fights, arguments, loneliness, begging to be loved and trying everything I can to make this relationship that includes going for counseling
So we weren't informed by the creche gore they don't apply for grade 1 school going kids thus we missed the application period. Cool, we waited for late application and did that. Yesterday I went to enquire at a school nearby as to how we can get space, we were told visit the
. district office in Mabopane, they might help. I informed her of all these and I was told "my plans are more important than your plans", the plans were gym by the way. Gym came before our daughter's future. I had my car booked in for a long term problem today at Audi Acardia
When she called, I didn't pick up because I was talking to the dealer principal about the issue, so
This was followed by me being labeled a bad father because I honored my appointment at the dealership when we should have went to the district offices yesterday but "My plans are more important than yours"
Those who asked why I cropped the conversation, it's because I'd rather not show what other vile things she said to me. Even when she was that person, I protected her and yes I didn't today because sometimes you have to rip bandaid and hope someone will come to your aid
Like I said, I'm not a Saint but the common question was did you cheat, no I didn't. What I did was ask to be loved, ask that we be happy, ask that she speak to me the way she does to other people. Get off her phone and spend time with me. I was asking for too much

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Great article from @AsheSchow. I lived thru the 'Satanic Panic' of the 1980's/early 1990's asking myself "Has eveyrbody lost their GODDAMN MINDS?!"


The 3 big things that made the 1980's/early 1990's surreal for me.

1) Satanic Panic - satanism in the day cares ahhhh!

2) "Repressed memory" syndrome

3) Facilitated Communication [FC]

All 3 led to massive abuse.

"Therapists" -and I use the term to describe these quacks loosely - would hypnotize people & convince they they were 'reliving' past memories of Mom & Dad killing babies in Satanic rituals in the basement while they were growing up.

Other 'therapists' would badger kids until they invented stories about watching alligators eat babies dropped into a lake from a hot air balloon. Kids would deny anything happened for hours until the therapist 'broke through' and 'found' the 'truth'.

FC was a movement that started with the claim severely handicapped individuals were able to 'type' legible sentences & communicate if a 'helper' guided their hands over a keyboard.