I have never felt as violated as I was this night. For the first time ever I felt what it was really like to be exposed, humiliated … hated.
I always thought in panic situations I would jump to action that I wouldn’t be the person who froze. I was wrong. I froze, shut down completely. When the alert first came through that my Facebook had been hacked. I knew instantly by who, I also instantly knew what he would find and how easily he could ruin me. Every part of me shut down (except the vomit rising and the tears streaming). If I hadn’t of frozen and sprung into action I could have logged him out and changed my password in a matter of minutes but I didn’t. Instead I vomited on myself trying to sprint to the bathroom.
Now I am not ashamed. Please don’t get me wrong. I am a grown arse woman who can make grown arse decisions and can do what I damn well like. So when I knew that my ex had hacked into my Facebook account I knew he would find messages, private messages, shared between myself and someone I had been “seeing” (in this modern-day dating world I really don’t know what we were). The Money Man, The Friend. 2 consenting adults. (For those playing along at home that aren’t “gettin’ what im puttin’ down” there were partial nudes and lots of texts) Please spare me the lectures about not sending messages of this nature, and god don’t you even dare start throwing slut shaming terms my way. I’m just being honest and no part of what I did was wrong. Having my privacy violated however was beyond wrong. It was illegal.
So vomit on my t-shirt, tears rushing down my face my mum appeared at the bathroom door in pure panic. I told her all. (Again no shame on my end) It was about this time my phone blew up with messages (87 messages to be exact) from the ex, screenshot after screenshot of messages and photos I had sent had The Money Man. It seemed never-ending. It went on for hours, he didn’t reply to any of my pleas to stop, my begging to just leave me alone, my crying voice mails. (He only had accesses to my account for about 5 minutes, but 5 minutes was all he need to gather as much ammo as he could) However he was just getting started. Once he had sent me enough screenshots for effect, the true torture began. The threats about sending them too my family, to my friends, to my work mates. The threats about posting them to Facebook and Instagram. The threats about adding them to revenge porn sites. I was shaking, full body shakes. He could ruin my life with just a few simple clicks
I have a gang, we don’t have a name or a logo. We don’t have uniforms or rules. We just know who we are and know what we stand for, and who we stand for. My gang is also known as my best friends. When the threats about adding photos of me topless to Facebook started I activated the panic button. (I was blocked from all his social media sites, so I could not see a single thing he posted.) He was still “social media friends” with my gang though. So at 11.30pm I sent out a message begging for everyone to stalk all his pages, to check if anything was there. (This is my favourite part of this story. No matter how badly everything around me was falling apart. I was surrounded by bucket loads of love) The replies where instant, they were checking everything, tracking all his pages. The love didn’t stop there, I was giving access to one amazing friends Facebook (JDR so much love for you) she sent me a message with her email and password without a second thought, she was happy for me to login into her personal page and see it for myself.
The Police and The Plea
While I was stalking the socials, my mum was calling the police. The Victorian police were amazing, so helpful. They gave mum all the information for the Queensland police, they also gave advice on how to handle the situation, what my rights were. The Queensland police … not so much. The best they could do was give him a call and warn him not to post anything, they couldn’t do a single thing until he had posted stuff. AKA I had to wait for him to ruin me before they could help, Great!
Now I have praised my parents many times before, and this time is no different. If the police couldn’t do anything my parents would. So mum called him. And in true mum style she listened to him and calmed him down. How amazing is that. She had enough restraint and composure to listen and calm down this full fledge Psychopath. She sat and listen to him spit nothing but hate about me, hate about what I had done to him, hate about how much I had ruined his life … everything I had done to him! (Not once did he take blame or responsibility for anything.) As horrible as he was and as horrible as all the things he was saying about me, my mum listened. She knew to protect me she had to calm him and that meant hearing it all. Eventually after close to an hour of listening to him spin his hate, cry, yell, he calmed down. He promised my mum that none of it would ever see the light of day, that I was SAFE.
(This is the point where he expects me to be grateful ….. hmmmmmm nup. Still to this day he cant see why I was so upset he read my private messages.)
I was broken. Humiliated. Physically Sick and just hours away from boarding a plane and flying across the world alone, to hike across a county for a month alone. In my head there was no way I could go. I had never trusted a thing he had said, why should I trust him now. He held private, intimate details about me in his hands. How could I go? I could possibly be leaving myself open to being exposed, that he was just waiting until I was out of contact before he spread my life around for all the world to read and see. My support system kicked into gear though, there was no way my family and friends werent letting me not get on that Plane. My little sister pretty much had to hold my hand and walk me to the departure gate. Everyone promised to control whatever happened here, that I was to walk onto that plane and leave it all behind.
I cried for the full 2 hours I sat in the departure lounge by myself. I cried about everything. All the horrible things that had happened in the last 24 hours, the last week, the last month, the last year …. actually the last 13 years since my brother had died. It all came out. (Apologies to anyone at Melbourne Airport that day who had to witness the full snot fest that was me, I am an ugly crier, I know) As embarrassing as public break downs are, it was everything I needed. I gave myself those 2 hours to fall apart, to feel sorry for myself, to acknowledge how unfair so many parts of life had been. I let it all go.
It’s then I found the Note my mum had hidden in my hiking guide for me, I could hear every word jump off the page in her voice.
My Darling Girl,
Just remember how much you are loved and needed. Every step you take is a step away from your troubles, stomp hard if you have too. Travel safe and come home happy and well. Take that rock, and throw that fucker over the edge and leave him there .. and all the doubters with it.
love always Mum xxx
So I did just that I left it all behind in the departure lounge. (Along with pile of snotty tissues, 5 empty beer glasses and my phone charger)