Seeing Ghosts

I started therapy this week. As I was telling my therapist about my history with depression and anxiety, I admitted that I was getting confused with the timeline of the last couple of years.

The last three years have been painful and joyful. But trying to tell that story out loud was awkward and all mixed up in my head. I flippantly said I should write down the timeline, and my therapist agreed.

I spent my day re-living pain, abuse, depression, and severe anxiety all over again. Not that this was the first time. More like this was the first time I dug through my entire tenure working with my abuser. Five long years of memories.

And now I see ghosts. Today, I left my training and headed to Starbucks to get some ice. A medium height man, slightly balding with a beard, came around the corner, and my heart stopped. It was him. Him. HIM. HIM! It was a second of terror, probably half a second. But it was long enough to freeze me, stop my heart; I imagine myself standing in the hallway, head comically turning left and right looking for an exit.

The last time this happened, I was at the grocery store. My husband was walking ahead of me, talking. He turned around, and his smile faded to a frown.

“What’s the matter,” he asks. 

“I thought I saw John*,” I say, noticing I’m holding the shelf to my left. 

“It’s okay, he’s not here,” he says and takes my hand. 

Today I am dredging up all that pain again, analyzing it, worrying over it because what if John was right and I was wrong all those years. I have saved a notebook filled with emails proving him wrong. His email directive, followed by my response, followed by his reply, and if you follow the chain, you can see the lies. I should take comfort that I have his lies documented.

Like most abuse cases, and yes, this is most certainly a case of abuse, an abuser is a great person on paper. Except, at his interview, I didn’t get the best feeling from him. He spoke well, which has been a red flag for me since I was a child. I’ve never believed or could get over an instant dislike to people who came off as too friendly or too slick.

He seemed too self-assured like he knew he already had the job (I later found out that he did already have the job). The rest of the candidates were on their best behavior when they met with us. He sat back in his chair, not entirely tilting it back, arms over his chest, he answered our questions. 

After his interview, I looked at my co-workers. Their faces screamed concern. I pulled them to the side to ask them to explain their concerned faces to me. I’m not the best at reading people, so I have to ask. They claimed that it was nothing, but I pushed. They relented and told me they had worked with him before, and he was just “weird.” I felt that their expressions said more, but that was all I could get from them.

John took the position and tried to ramp up the programs our office offered. He seemed to be making headway and connecting with the staff. I got over my own weirded out feelings towards him when he decided to let me do some extra things not on my job description. Things he knew I would like to do. He complimented me and said supportive things. Always wanting to please people, I was excited.

Then we had a rift in the office. There were accusations thrown around about John and another staff person. Favoritism and inappropriate relationships. Someone was getting away with not doing the work other people were required to do. It was my job to schedule appointments, but I stopped scheduling appointments for one particular person because they never showed up as expected. Their clients would show and wait and wait. I never said anything to John, though.

I finally had to admit what was going on, and I explained my reasoning. He asked me why I stopped scheduling her. I said I couldn’t rely on her, and I didn’t want to make people wait for her. He asked why I didn’t tell him, and I said I didn’t feel comfortable telling him. I didn’t tell him that I was concerned that tattling on his favorite would, and eventually did, bring on retaliation.

People quit the office after learning more details of his relationship with his favorite and learning that they were not as financially or generally supported as his favorite. Two people went to his boss to file a complaint but were told to stop talking about it. They went up the chain: his boss, his boss’s boss, and human resources. Stop. Talking. About. It. 

New people came in, and I saw a pattern. He would speak to this person. He would speak to that person. He would not talk to them together. What he told one, he didn’t share with the other, and this usually ended up with no one quite understanding or knowing what anyone in our office was doing. 

But on our birthdays, at Christmas, anything special he went all out with gift cards and food and celebrations. The abuser’s essential bouquet of flowers post punch. 

John tried to pit us against each other. In my case, I told my co-workers what I was working on, and the things I needed from them. John worked behind me telling them not to give me the help I requested. If I mentioned that I wasn’t getting the help I requested he would act shocked.

Eventually, my co-workers and I started comparing notes and email chains, and we found John’s lies. We discovered how he purposely tried to undermine us and the work we did. He sabotaged us and hurt us. 

We tried to get help by talking to his superiors, but they said and did nothing. At one point, I hit my breaking point. I yelled at him. In tears, I demanded to know why he was doing this, and he just mimicked me like I was a child. It went on for a long time. Him mimicking me, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile on his face. He asked me why I wasn’t listening to him; he was my boss, after all. 

And this is where it gets fuzzy. I finally yelled that I hated him. It was a ridiculous statement, a declaration of a 6-year-old to her parents, hoping to wound them for not allowing her to have Jello for dinner.

I yelled that no one in our office liked him. That we all hated working for him. And then I ran away. 

I later learned that John called my co-workers into his office, tears in his eyes, and asked them why I hated him so much. Neither woman could speak honestly fearing his retribution. He cried. He actually cried.

And they consoled him. They actually consoled him.

I hid in the loading dock while sobbing on the phone with my husband, my mother, a trusted former co-worker aware of John’s insidiousness. I yelled at my boss and sure I would be fired. They all told me to wash my face and go back to work. It was the only thing I could do.

For a year and a half, I got up, washed my face, and went to work. I fake apologized to make things a little less tense in the office. I knew no one was coming to rescue me. He spoke to me through email. We had meetings, and twice I got to call him out for lying. But it was a year and a half of hoping and praying I wouldn’t lose my job while I looked for a new one. 

Six months before he took another job, I broke again. Internally. Mentally. I didn’t want to get out of bed anymore. I was not just afraid of losing my job, I was afraid of and for myself. This was a more intense, heavy, and debilitating version of my normal.

I got three weeks of paid leave and someone who believed me when I talked about his abuse. After telling her about the last three years, she said, “We have to get you out of there.” Her voice was clear and supportive. She could only give me the paid leave and set me up with a therapist who might help me.

I was so happy when he announced he was leaving. He moved in December and I took holiday leave a day before he did. After returning from the holidays I would be starting another job, I found some relief in that.

Even though I wasn’t in the office on his last day, John was able to throw one more punch. He left $500 in cash in an envelope in my old desk drawer. He knew my co-worker was moving from her office into my office and would find the money. She called me while I was in the car headed out of town. I immediately called two people who knew that that money was missing and had been missing for almost a year. I absolutely needed to have people who could back me up. I did not take that money.

It was determined that John had “forgotten” to put that money into the bank and was too embarrassed to say something. I disagree. I think he knew exactly what he was doing. I think he hoped I would be “caught” and that I would be accused of stealing that money. Fortunately, several of us had emails back and forth about missing money and one from John himself saying he was in possession of the money and going to return the money to the bank. 

Even though he moved away the damage was done. He had convinced me I couldn’t trust myself again. I physically fear seeing him. And his ghost shows up when I least expect it.

He moved to my parent’s town. My mom suggested we key his car. I said no, I wanted nothing more to do with him. She doesn’t know that I fear running into him.  I tell myself if I saw him, I would finally be able to spit on him and not get into trouble. I might even punch him in the face. My husband said I wouldn’t do either. I agree, I would be too scared to do anything but run away.

You can’t punch ghosts but I hope I can exorcise this one. I want it gone from my life. I want to stop seeing him in people who barely look like him. I want to stop being angry at my co-workers for not sticking up for me. I want to stop being angry.

*Named changed for privacy.