Page 95 of The Holy Grail

“I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying it because he’s raised you to be afraid of him, and in his eyes it probably does make him think you’re weak, but he likes that.

It makes you easy to manipulate and control, and he knows all your buttons and how to push them.

Writing him a letter does not make you weak,” she said firmly, before softening her tone.

“In reality, it’s you taking control of the situation, dictating the terms of how you tell him what you want to tell him.

It’s a way of protecting yourself and safeguarding your well being … which takes a lot of courage. ”

When he continued to look skeptical, she added, “Most importantly, you’ll be taking away his power over you by not giving him the opportunity to be abusive in return and hurt you anymore—which would likely happen given the type of person Monroe is.”

“You mean an asshole?”

“I mean a narcissist. Someone who has an exaggerated sense of self-importance, requires excessive admiration, has an inflated sense of entitlement, a pronounced lack of empathy, displays arrogant behavior, and takes advantage of others … sound familiar?”

He nodded. “That also sounds a lot like my ex-wife.”

It was Lauren’s turn to nod. “She was likely one, too, and while she may have left some scars, thankfully we don’t really need to deal with her, because you already did.”

Pushing thoughts of Gwen away, Malcom focused his attention on Monroe. Having seen all those traits in him, Malcom said with disappointment, “That means my letter probably wouldn’t even penetrate, and that’s if he bothered to read it at all.”

“The letter isn’t for him, it’s for you.

I mean, he might not read it, but that doesn’t matter.

” She tilted her head. “However, if that’s a real worry for you, a short-and-sweet postcard with a simple message would work—and as an added bonus, Monroe would probably spend a lot of time being paranoid about it being read by the postal employee who delivered it, and that could be fun. It’s something to consider, anyway.”

For a moment, he pictured sending Monroe a random postcard with the words, ‘GO FUCK YOURSELF’ in giant letters, then being in a constant state of paranoia over who might have seen it.

However, as Malcom thought about some of the other things he wanted to say, he didn’t know if he could go the short-and-sweet route .

.. and that’s when he realized he was starting to give the idea of a ‘Fuck You’ letter some actual thought.

“If I did write a letter,” he said slowly, “it could take me weeks, or months, to write it.”

“It could, but in my experience it usually doesn’t take very long,” she told him, then asked, “Why does it matter how long it might take?”

“I’m just thinking Monroe might contact me about my ‘decision’ before I can get a letter written and sent to him.”

“He might,” she said with a slight shrug.

“However, you’ve told me you and Monroe aren’t in contact very often, so the chances are low that he would, especially after seeing you and Evan get into a contentious conversation after leaving your table that night at the restaurant.

In Monroe’s narcissism, he’s likely assuming you’ve already bowed to his dictates, because it wouldn’t occur to him that you wouldn’t.

” She paused for a moment, then finished with, “Not to mention, he would see contacting you about your ‘decision’, to be a sign of weakness, because that would imply he was uncertain about the outcome of his ultimatum.”

During the next session, Lauren addressed Malcom’s issue of reverting to an emotionally, child-like state when in Monroe’s presence, feeling both powerless and voiceless.

“That night in the restaurant was awful,” he said. “I keep reliving it, and think of what I should have done or said, and I hate how I just sat there, like I was ten years old. It was humiliating, and if I choose to confront him in person, I don’t want that happening again.”

Lauren steepled her hands together for a moment.

Today she was wearing one of her colorful peasant tops, and the sleeves slid down to her elbows, revealing her cutting scars, which she had told him about.

“I understand your concern, but unfortunately what you’re talking about is a common side effect of being abused, especially when the abuse starts at a young age.

In your case, Monroe kept you in a fairly constant state of anxiety and fear.

This is crushing on many levels and can effectively stunt the growth of your emotional maturity by not allowing it to grow in an appropriate way.

So, in times of confrontation with Monroe, you find yourself freezing and feeling like a helpless child .

.. and this learned response can last a lifetime. ”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he murmured.

“I know. You can learn to deal with it, though.”

“I can?”

“Sure. It will take effort and practice to unlearn the response, because your abuse has been happening for a long time. And I know it’s hard to think of yourself as being abused when you’re a grown man in your forties, but it can happen at any age, as you found out not too long ago.

Monroe threatening to cut you off ‘in perpetuity’ if you don’t do what he wants in terms of your sexuality, is emotional abuse.

It’s actually emotional blackmail ,” she corrected herself, “and it’s really toxic, especially when love is attached as a condition, and can be lost as a consequence. ”

Lauren took a deep breath, appearing to shift gears.

“So, the process of dealing with Monroe, if you choose to confront him in person, is to make sure you stay grounded in the moment. That’s really important.

Keep your focus on what you know to be true.

One, you’re a grown man. Two, you have power.

Three, his opinions don’t matter. Four, he’s no longer the boss of you.

” She cocked her head. “Those four things could actually be a good mantra for you—”

“A mantra?”

“It’s a word or sound that’s repeated to aid in concentration or meditation, originally practiced by Hindus and Buddhists, but now is also thought of as words or a statement that you repeat to yourself, for strengthening your mind or your soul.”

“Do you have a mantra?”

“Yes. It’s ‘I am love. I am peace. I am strength. I am gratitude’. I repeat it several times a day.”

“So, my mantra could be something like, ‘I’m a grown man. I have power. Monroe’s opinions don’t matter. He’s no longer the boss of me’.”

“Exactly. And you can repeat it to yourself however many times you want to on a daily basis—the more the better, actually, until you really start to feel it, because then you’ll start to believe it.

The first two are the most important, since they can help you going forward with anyone else who might be trying to intimidate you. ”

He frowned, not having thought about it beyond Monroe.

“Have you ever experienced that reaction with someone other than Monroe?” Lauren wanted to know.

Thinking back, Malcom slowly nodded. “Yes, but I always just attributed it to the stress of the moment.”

“No, it’s directly related to Monroe and how he treated you.

Had you been raised in a healthier environment, you would have developed more normal responses to stressful situations, but you weren’t.

So anyone who comes at you in a way which reminds you of how he treated you, will potentially trigger that child-like, intimidated response. ”

“Fuck.”

“Another way to neutralize the perception of Monroe being powerful and in control is to start picturing him in a different way—”

“Like in a clown costume, or something? Wait, scratch that, because clowns are creepy. ”

Lauren chuckled. “They are, so don’t do that. What I was going to say is picture him in an embarrassing moment, that makes him look ridiculous or stupid, instead of in control and threatening.”

Malcom pictured Monroe in a place where he wielded immense power and respect, and from there, sprouted a vision which put a smile on his face.

“How about having explosive diarrhea like Harry in Dumb & Dumber ? Only in a courtroom when he’s wearing one of his expensive Armani suits and giving closing arguments to a jury comprised of stunningly, beautiful women. ”

Lauren blinked at him, amused and impressed. “That works.”

“Thank you for coming,” Malcom said to Paige, as she sat across from him in the booth. She’d agreed to meet with him at the quaint, little coffee shop called Cuppa Joes, and now that she was here, he was a little flustered.

“Of course,” she returned sweetly.

“Can I get you something?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

He took a drink of his coffee, which had been a little overpriced but was delicious, then began. “So, as I mentioned on the phone, I’ve been seeing Lauren for a few weeks now—she’s great, by the way—”

“Isn’t she?” Paige’s face lit up. “I just love her. I actually still go see her once in a while.”

Malcom was slightly amazed at her openness about her ongoing therapy. “You do?”

“Sure. For … maintenance, you might say.”

She made it sound like taking her car in for a tune-up, and it made him smile.

“Anyway, you were saying?” she asked, gently getting them back on topic.

“Right. I’ve been seeing Lauren for a few weeks because of Monroe—my father—and the subject of ‘Fuck You’ letters versus face-to-face confrontations came up, so I wanted to talk to you about the letter you sent your uncle.

I mean, not the details, obviously, but I was wondering how long it was, and how much time you spent writing it.

Also, did it bring you the closure you wanted? ”

“My ‘Fuck You’ letter was fairly short, because I wanted it to be a series of punches, with no wasted words.” She smiled, almost as if recalling a fond memory, as she added, “I wrote it on the inside flap of the book I published about his molestation of me, and I sent it via Registered Mail, so he had to sign for it.”

“Do you know if he read it?”

“I’m pretty sure he read my letter, but probably not any of the book, since he killed himself shortly after he got it.”

Eyes widening, Malcom asked, “He killed himself?”

“He put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. My mother found him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I felt bad for her, but she hadn’t been treating me well, so my empathy was kind of limited at that point. She hadn’t believed me when I told her what happened to me, and she ended up getting a ‘Fuck You’ letter, as well.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I wrote hers on the inside flap of my book, too. It was really short.” Paige paused for a moment then said, “And as far as closure goes, well, that’s a harder question to answer.

I’m not sure true closure is possible, because damage that’s been done, can’t be undone, and since there’s rarely any real remorse from your abuser, I don’t recommend a face-to-face confrontation, simply because they’re unpredictable. ”

“I know.”

“I’ve never regretted sending my ‘letters’, and I don’t think you would, either. It’s a clean, surgical break, and you can get immense satisfaction in writing and sending the letter, and then wiping your hands of the abuser.”

“Okay.” He debated asking the next question, but then decided he might as well. “Do you ever miss your mother?”

“Sometimes,” she told him. “That being said, not a day goes by where I’m not happy with my decision to cut her out of my life, because I can never trust her again.

It doesn’t matter how many apologies she gives me for not believing me, she chose not to when it really mattered, and that’s unforgivable to me. ”

“She apologized?”

“Yes, but only after she found naked pictures of me in my uncle’s safe deposit box, so her finally believing me was the result of that. It was too little too late. ”

Malcom was silent, pondering Paige’s situation and the choices she’d made—which she was obviously more than content with—and decided that’s what her recovery looked like.

“It’s a hard thing, cutting a parent out of your life,” Paige said quietly, leaning forward a little bit and clasping her hands together on the table. “It means getting to the other side, and never looking back. Ever.”