Staying Strong -- You Are Invited!

Please join me at the opening on March 22, 2012

This Thursday night, March 22, is a huge night for me - dear friends and family....I will be one of the artists in a prestigious art exhibit, as I exhibit 5 of my works. But it doesn't end there----this was a juried show - and is entitled, "STRONG WOMEN."

And as I don't believe there are any coincidences in life---March 22 is also the evening of my youngest son's 27th birthday. A son who was alienated against me by his father via a high conflict divorce. A son I have not had a relationship with in a decade. On a night usually filled with my longing and tears - I will be proud of myself this year. I never gave up - I didn't say "uncle."

Emotionally,I am dedicating my part in this art opening to alienated parents everywhere---may we all be strong = strong women and strong men. Parental alienation hurts us all . And to all my fellow victims of domestic violence ....stay strong!

We are survivors!

Location:

Newark School of the Arts

Lincoln Park

Newark , NJ

Newark School of the Arts is located at 89 Lincoln Park, Newark, NJ 07102. The School has its own parking lot, which is on both sides of the building. For more info: telephone 973-642-0133

Growing Up With Guns - As Ohio Youth Confesses to Killings

I have alot going on right now - what else is new?  Art exhibits, legal work (never ending), responsibilities and life in general.  Deadlines and commitments.  But sometimes, you just don't know what is going to come at you - and when you will have an opportunity to make a difference.  One of my upcoming art exhibits is entitled, "Visual Voices".  Another is titled, "Strong Women."  I am both honored and flattered to have been accepted into each show.  The opportunity does not end there.  It only supports my efforts to have that voice - and to strive to be a strong woman.  I'm taking a chance here today by sharing upsetting photos and information.  I'm not sure what the result will be  - I wish a reporter would pick up my story about all that has transpired within a corrupt legal system , and hope it reaches out to you of my concerns.  Weapons should never be in the wrong hands.  Especially if the the adult, or even child!, has emotional and anger issues.       

Unfortunately, it took the school shooting in Chardon, Ohio, to get me stirred up.  Within the last few years, I have been an advocate for gun control - in communications with the Pistol Permit Division of Westchester County, New York; the County Attorney; Michael Ward of the FBI ( a Newark, NJ, FBI representative told me they were too busy with terrorist issues than to deal with illegal weapons or cases of suspected danger regarding guns in the wrong hands), as well as with Albany's State Officials.  I have kept all my letters, documentation, and notes regarding all such correspondence.  My point of major concern : easy access to guns of choice.  Adults as well as children are able to get their hands on weapons - with dire consequences.  Stating a history of domestic violence, as evidenced by my ex's court admissions and my own medical records, I have found that even with such a history - perpetrators of abuse are able to obtain weapons.  Unable to successfully get an investigation started, no one wanted to hear about the Bedford resident who had his gun license revoked in the Bronx, new applications denied in Manhattan...only to be given access again by a Westchester County judge.

Today, I was emotionally shaken  to the point of expressing and sharing the absurdityof my exposure to guns - the Levine family could not live without their weapons.  Within this entry, I am posting photos that are displayed to the public.  Graphic in nature, I found them on a Facebook page and will explain further.  A family where owning a gun is as "normal" as owning a pair of sunglasses, within the nucleus of my ex husband's family ( parents and two sisters' families), weapons were common.   

How many of you have held a gun in your hands?  How many of you have felt that cold metal against your skin, the weight of the weapon a surprise to your senses?  I have been on both ends of a gun.  I first lifted one as I moved it out of the way, my ex had just held it to my head....many, many years ago.  Since the day I got involved with Robert Levine in 1978, it was me - him - and a gun.  Wherever we went.  He learned that from his own father.  They never went anywhere without "protection."  I never asked, "Protection from what?"

My sons grew up with guns in our home.  First in an apartment, then houses.  There were so many fights between me and Bob about the danger of guns in the house.  But both my boys saw the weapons and now, as young adults, I assume they have followed in their father's footsteps regarding that, too.  Another trait handed down from a previous generation, and they don't even know how strange it is.

At 17 years old, T. J. Lane, allegedly took a gun into a school and created horror - killing three young students in Ohio.  T. J. is not the first young man to do so.  How many times have we read of similar tragedies over the last few years?  Guns in the wrong hands.  And as I read about this shooting rampage that occurred in Ohio, the community mentions their love of hunting?  

This is where a moment took me.  My sons were young - five and eight years of age - when their grandfather, Donnie Levine, started teaching them to kill innocent animals.  Donnie would make a sling shot and have a contest with my boys in his backyard - who could hurt the most amount of squirrels.  On Sunday mornings, the father of my sons took them to his parents' house to play this sick game of injuring wildlife.  I fought over it - got hit over it - and refused to go.  For many years.

Then there were the times when Bob would be driving us as a family, boys in the backseat of the car, and there would be an animal crossing the road - be it a squirrel, chipmunk, bird, whatever....and he would laugh, saying he'd give himself a quarter if he ran over the living creature as he'd steer his car straight into it's scrambling body.  My sons saw that. Over and over again.

I remember Bob taking my boys outside in our backyard, to shoot with rifles - at what, I do not know.  I endured extreme physical harm every time I objected.  

A familiarity with harm, exposure to guns, so...what comes next.
It frightens me.

CNN reported on Tuesday that T. J. Lane took the gun from a family member.  I am now going to post some photos that I had found a while ago on the Internet.  Robert Levine's nephew - playing with a gun.  I take the photos quite seriously - from a family that has no concept of right and wrong, and warped thinking.  Guns are too "natural" to them.

The photos were taken from public access on facebook:

The caption that Bob's nephew, a young adult,  wrote under this photo states: "I LOVE THAT GUN."

       

I don't know what kind of effect this will have on anyone reading my blog.  All I can think of at this time, is that I wish people would take some of the problems I write about seriously.  I was married into a family with a severe lack of proper priorities, lack of proper values, and lack of proper morals.  Combine that with a flawed data base of gun familiarity and access....what could happen? And what has transpired!

If T. J. Lane grew up in a different environment, would Russell, Demetrius, and Daniel be alive today?

In writing about my life, I reflect on the world that I once knew.  It was a daily existence of violence, control and abuse.  I lived with guns in a closet, guns in a night table, guns in the glove compartments of cars...they were always around.  You can hand down alot of things from generation to generation.  I wish my sons' legacies to be different. I bet they have a gun or two in their own possessions.  And I wonder....

Is my older son teaching his own son - how to kill a squirrel?  

Year in Review - Where Life Took Me in 2011.....

Freedom of expression is a vital part of my artwork. As a survivor of domestic violence, I have learned to treasure any form of expression - and art is my voice. There was a time when my artwork was forbidden. I now have a voice that hopes to tell everyone that no one should ever take away our freedom of expression. And what better way to exhibit expression - than faces! I "see" them everywhere, in everything!

My work consists of facial features created from my sculpted clay tiles and found objects, in shadows of color and form...then mounted on wooden boards. Acrylic paints, as well as oils and crayons, enhance the images of each board. No two faces are ever alike. And please....notice that each character has a mouth wide open - the voice is always there.

A Setback of the Heart - and My Mistake as a Targeted Parent

We call ourselves "targeted parents."  We are parents whose children were turned against us via high conflict divorces.  Parental alienation is what happens when the strategies used by one parent cause and foster a child's rejection of the other parent (targeted parent)......


I have been a targeted parent for over a decade.  And it causes an ache in my heart that no words can describe.


During the last years of his life, world reknown psychiatrist  (specializing in Parental Alienation Syndrome), Dr. Richard Gardner was not only my confidante, but my advocate.  Many days, when I did not even have an appointment with him, when he did not even have office hours, he welcomed me into his Bergen County home and gave me a good dose of emotional support.  Always with some hope attached to his words and thoughts.  I wonder what he would think of me now.


Dr. Gardner passed away in 2003, without ever seeing a reconciliation between me and my boys.  It was Dr. Gardner who coined the phrase Parental Alienation.  He had written an extensive report regarding my "situation" with my sons - a report worthy of it's own book.  He saw the deterioration in my relationship with my boys, telling me and the Court, "time is of the essence."  No one listened.  Yes, I wonder what he would think of me today.....


I was going to be stronger, I was trying to harden my heart.  It didn't quite work.  Medical professionals have told me time after time that this emotional torment, of no contact with my sons, is affecting my health in a negative way.  And the abuse I got when my sons did have any contact with me - well that was even more damaging.


I wish I could talk to Dr. Gardner again.  I'm trying to imagine what he would tell me to do. And what would he say about my setback of last night.....


Thinking I could pull this off, I decided that I would act as though my sons no longer exist.  Refusing to allow them to abuse me via emails, I blocked them.  I also tried to put them out of my mind.  It didn't happen.  Yesterday was Valentine's Day....memories flooded my daily activities.  Both good and bad.  My sons were forefront on my mind - and I googled them again.


The results were most disappointing.  I found things online that I wish I didn't know.  And I got sick to my stomach.  Values, priorities and morals are displayed on the internet when you do searches.  One son brags online about his watches, valuing over $50,000 for just two of the many in his collection....knowing of his mother's circumstances and struggling to survive (I only expected compassion), and at the same time he has enlisted his name on legal documents against me for financial issues. 

I wish my son could realize that the most expensive purchase in the world will not bring happiness.  Unless he some day comes to terms with his past, what he witnessed, and how he was manipulated out of my life...how can he ever be happy?  And his lack of priorities....values? But what position am I in to say anything?  Some things are better left alone.  Other sites told of more disturbing postings. Priorities and values are askew. I did not teach them this!  My sons have to find their own way in life now and come to their own conclusions; and there is nothing I can do about it. 

I forgot my "Serenity Prayer" last night. I was weakened from mental reminiscing and should never have searched for information on their current doings.  What I found was upsetting.  Although they are adults, I will never stop worrying about them and feeling disturbed about their actions.  Even hurting when I think of their own difficulties - for how can it be easy to erase your mother and memories of your childhood?  


Reacting without thought, operating only on emotion, I emailed one of my sons about something I learned online.  Mistake.  I sit here knowing I am human, and disgraced that I was not stronger.  I guess I am writing an apology - to myself.  I can't have a hardened heart, but yearn to have the brains for self discipline - and preservation!  Preservation of my own wellbeing and my own soul.  Dr. Gardner, I believe, would tell me such.


So I had what can best be desribed as a setback.  It was a mistake to write to my 26 year old son  - of my disappointment and hopes - of what I saw online.  I was supposed to be stronger than that.  My opinion and thoughts on anything surely are not going to make a bit of difference to my son. I was supposed to remove myself and accept the emptiness by now.  Then, perhaps, in absence, my sons will realize what I know only too well about their own situations.  That I do remember Dr. Gardner telling me.....


"He will screw up one day."  Dr. Gardner was referring to my ex husband, the father of my sons. Seeing the pain I was in, Dr. Gardner also saw my sense of hopelessness.  It's still there within me.  Only I try to compartmentalize it as much as possible.  I slipped, sending out that email only hours ago.  I wish there were a delete button to suck it back up with, but of course there is not. 


With regret, I admit  I slipped back into the mode where my sons have the ability to make me a victim. Right now, any contact with them puts me in that role. Not wanting to be abused by anyone again, I know that I have to separate myself from their lives.  I should have looked at the legal documents last night - the ones with my sons' names on them alongside their father, with the same lawyer representing the "team of three."  That would have been enough to shut me down.  Oh, well.  I need to keep the boundary up to keep my strength up.


That is until the day when their father does finally "screw up" and my adult children have one of those "ah-ha" moments. Or perhaps a life partner will be able to melt the ice around their hearts and wonder what happened within a chunk of their lives. 


Dr. Gardner was right, of course.  Time was of the essence.  And it feels as though that time ran out - a decade ago.

Strong Women, Iron Lady, Whitney Houston.......and Until You Say Uncle

I haven't written for a while.  Pain can do that to you - make you kind of shut down.  Depression can be debilitating.  But little by little, I am holding on to bits and pieces of strength in  messages I see all around me.  I'm trying. 


A decision dated January 23, 2012, by Westchester County Judge Robert Neary stated that I would not be awarded a judgement against my ex husband, Robert Levine, to enforce the monies due me from a 2005 divorce decree.  Although back in 2005 I was deducted the monetary share of my Piping Brook Lane home in Bedford, New York, I have yet to collect it - along with thousands of dollars in arrears.  The legalities are a bit complicated - but not too complicated to see that there is no "equity" in Judge Neary's decision.  I, however, am not saying Uncle.  Not yet.  As a friend says, "No surrender, no retreat."


I almost did.  I sank low again - into that space between despair and saying goodbye.  Then I remembered the light I saw, no - rather the light I felt - in the hospital back in 2004.  The moment when death was sharing the time of life.  In that emergency room, in the intensive care unit...where I had almost lost my place in this world.  I had tried to end my life - was damn near successful.  And a voice told me through my unconscious state - "You are not ready.  You are not done yet."


So, I awoke in that ER, with so many tubes in me, so many machines beeping and blurping that my first thought was - so this is heaven?


It wasn't my time yet.  I was not ready, nor done.  And God help me, I don't want to say Uncle.


Through beatings and punishments of all forms, my ex husband would tell me to say it.  If I said, "Uncle", it would mean he won on whatever point he tried to make, as he used violence to control me.  Just last week, I reread some diary entries of the last days I lived in my Bedford house (I will not call it "home") - and read something my son had said to me, as relayed from his father....
"Daddy said he won't kill you - he wants to see you suffer."


So, here I sit, post Neary decision.  I'm breathing.  I'm struggling with thoughts, but overcoming them.  And, I ask God for guidance.  I see messages throughout my days, in various forms and hints of communication.  I do not believe in coincidences.  I can't.  I have to believe that there is a mission I am to accomplish on earth - and it is all part of God's plan.  Even the physical scars that are evident on my body, and the emotional scars I carry in my heart.


An art exhibit entitled "Strong Women" crossed my path.  Invited to send in submissions, I realized that this too was something for me to focus on.  Not my weaknesses - but my strengths.  And the fact, plain and simple, that I have survived situations where many people would cave in.  Dear God, I want all domestic violence to end.  Women married to powerful men, living behind closed doors - with lives of luxury and comforts - often in controlled situations of abuse.  Court corruption, uneducated judges - all contribute to situations where even children are victims not only of abusers, but of our own legal system.  I have to be strong and tell my story.  I have to be.  I have to help others.


There is a movie out, Iron Lady.....I need to see that.  There was a quote I read last week, about how all that happens to us creates our character.  I would not be "me", had I not lived through my own circumstances.  Having been to homeless shelters, slept with strangers on cots, lived in my car for days at a time....and knowing how alone one can feel in this world - it all gave me the compassion and sincerity with which I wear like a cloak, protection from the elements of bitterness and selfishness.  I have no tolerance for self centered people, nor those who take their experiences and grow cold and old thinking only of themselves.


I'm not ready to say Uncle.  With hopes of an appeal, there is still life in me.  My letters from soldiers (I have been a Soldiers' Angel for many years), troops still fighting for my freedoms, have told me to keep up my own battle, on a daily basis.  If my friends can handle Afghanistan's elements, surely I should be able to handle an abusive ex husband whose goal in life is to make me suffer.  Tragically, though, he destroyed my two sons in the process.


In the last week, I also received an email from a psychologist who read my blog.  A question was posed to me.  If I had just met my 26 year old and 30 year old sons - would I like who they are?  God forgive me, but I certainly would not.  Young men with the ability to hurt their own mother so....And that led me to another decision.


I'm not saying Uncle to Robert Levine - nor will I continue to reach out to my grown children.  My sons have continued the abuse that their father instilled in them.  Realizing the young men are by no means similar to the loving children I once knew, I am going to do my damnedest to be strong and come to a bit of closure.  I can't keep setting myself up for hurt and devastation.  No more running to the mailbox the week before Mother's Day, my birthday, no expectations - perhaps less of disappointments.  I need my faith now more than ever. I do believe there may be a day when their father will do something so hazardous and drastic that my sons will realize who he is - and what he has done in the attempt to destroy us (me and my boys).


Destruction comes in many forms.  Emotional torment can be most brutal - worse than the physical beatings.  I know.  I compare the two from experience.  As I sat today reading the newspaper of the tragic loss, I thought of Whitney Houston's last moments.  And the struggles her own life endured.  People can appear to have so much: talent, a lifestyle, opportunities.  But we never know what pains they wear beneath their facade.  May she rest in peace, Whitney I believe carried a great deal of pain in her every waking moment.  A place that takes you to desire an escape, many times drugs are a temporary fix - or an end.  I know that, too.  I don't want to weaken again.  


For Judge Neary's decision was not just about $.  It was about my survival.  Legally disabled and handicapped, I don't know how to survive financially.  On becoming an "artist" - well, that happened in the last 3 years.  I certainly understand the well known phrase of "starving artist" ...but I keep plugging along.  Judge Neary's decision encompassed the fact that most often, when there is a divorce of a husband and wife - after 22 years of marriage -- there should be a division of 50% of everything.  From the value of the home, business, to furnishings, etc.  In my case - this has yet to happen. And knowing I do not have the financial means to continue the fight for what is/should be "mine"...my ex husband uses the legal system to continue his abuse of me.   With a lawyer who will do anything for money, Bob had told me he would kill me with motion practice.  And his attorney, Mona D. Shapiro - lives up to his word.   


Robert Levine did not give me my half of the estate in which he resides.  Now married to a woman with whom he had an affair during our marriage (no - I'm not bitter....for what is the best way to get back at a woman who has an affair with your husband ---answer: let her have him!),  Bob is living with Janet Torre, a person I had known for years during my own marriage to Bob.  The sister in law of Bob's sister, Debra Levine Pohl - kind of incestuous! - Janet lives in what was my house surrounded by all my own personal belongings.  You see, Bob has yet to divide up our furnishings, art collection (even the paintings that I created), etc.  My clothes, family heirlooms, he kept it all in his own possession - control freaks do that I guess. All material things - all my history.  This too has taught me so much.


Things are just that. I've learned to be less materialistic, though it saddens me to have lost so many personal possessions that are my history. In retrospect, I have so much more now....I never knew the love and support of a community.  Not until my present destination of West Orange, New Jersey.  For years I kept this location information silent, but Bob had me followed and always knew where I was anyway.  He had the guys following me send me reports of where I was, and when I was there - always trying to make me feel controlled and intimidated. 


It's not so much that my daily existence is dependant on a Judge's decison, but that justice is.  Robert Neary may be in the seat to make judicial decisions, but I believe the powers above him, connections that Bob Levine bragged about for years, have influenced a Judge's decision to do harm.  And I can't just let it go.  When you see someone do harm, and you do nothing...that is a more gregious crime.


Well, just an update on me for now.  I want to be a strong woman, an iron lady, and not say Uncle.
  

My Serenity Prayer

Today, I sent an email to my "estranged and alienated" 26 year old son, Jared.....I can no longer keep reaching out to him - it has affected my health - and enough is enough - his behavior and what he puts me through for a decade - is abusive. A friend gave me a prayer last week...the Serenity Prayer - I cannot change things regarding my sons - but I can gather the courage to go on without them, ...and do my best to continue in rebuilding my life.

"Dear Jared,


I sent you an email last night - that doesn't seem to have gone through on my kindle....so I will sum up the essence of it as follows- just in case you read this....


I am ceasing to reach out to you any longer. The harsh words you have emailed me in the past, the rejection...are all forms of abuse. I will not tolerate such hurtful behaviors any more - no longer hoping for change in your reactions to me, etc. You have been very destructive, always negative, not brave enough to face things...nor to meet me half way. I quit. It is truly hazardous to my health - as you have broken my heart over and over again.


Being who I am, I know I cannot be replaced - contrary to your previously hurtful emails. No matter what you say/write. It's all in you, Jared, in memories. Nothing can replace that either. You know how to reach me - my cell number is the same as always. It is up to you - for the future. My door is always open to change - and especially if you need me.


It takes courage for that , though.


Just wanted to let you know - I won't be the one reaching out anymore. After a decade...I'm brave enough for that change."

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

PARENTAL ALIENATION IS NO LONGER AN EXCUSE -When Estranged Adult Children....CONTINUE THE ABUSE

Both my sons live in Somers.  They essentially moved there - separately, but together.  One, single and living in a condo complex usually associated with people 3 decades older than him....the other in a home with a wife, and a one year old son. 

They don't wear uniforms, but they might as well.  My sons are their father's soldiers.  A quote from a 2005 Court transcript, as said by my son Jared, "We are ganging up on you.  How does that feel!"  Well, he had been doing that for years - since I stood up for myself, prior to that declaration in a courtroom.

Back then when that quote was said to my face - by my 18 year old son, I guess he didn't realize that all he said was being trancscribed, typed on papers that would live on forever - words that would manifest themselves for decades in future abuse led by their father.  Against me and all I hold dear.

It wasn't enough that my ex husband kidnapped my dog, using my son to do it in 1999...then killing the animal I so adored, punishing me with another loss - after taking my children from my life.  It wasn't enough that he told my older son I "stole" all his money...I can go on and on.  How their father told them I didn't want them anymore - even while I was spending a borrowed $200,000 to fight for them in court, hiring Dr. Richard Gardner, hiring experts who interviewed my sons, witnesses who saw how there was a time when my sons literally adored me......

And now.  I hear terrible things about them.  How they act in business, much like their father has - taking advantage of the underdog, wiping out people like they are no more than a signature on a piece of paper.  They used to be the best boys...such wonderful children.....And we were once so close.

A few years ago, I was contacted by a young lady via email - she assumed I knew who she was.  She was my son, Jared's, girlfriend.  I can still remember how crazy that was - my son who would have nothing to do with me for years , even though I wrote, called, sent packages....Of course, I did not know her from a can of beans.  I had no contact with my son at that time - not for years- unless you would consider the horrific internet messages I recieved where Jared continuously called me a cunt and told me to kill myself.....

So, this young woman, let me have it.  I did not get mad - and was grateful that she was so passionate about my son.  I printed out all her emails and saved each and every one.  From telling me all the lies that Jared told her  ( that I left and abandoned my son who never heard from me - how insane was that????)--- to the way my ex husband tried pushing her into signing her life away if she married my son.  It was so awful!  She should NEVER have been put in such a position.  She sounded like a warm and caring individual - she did not deserve to be treated this way. I was horrified to realize that my son did not put this young woman first...but said to do things "for his father." My ex husband, the father of my sons, would never allow his children to put anyone else before him. 

I told this young woman the truth as I attempted to defend myself- shared emails, copies of cards I had sent Jared, letters....I had never stopped reaching out to him - NEVER- not in all the years and through all his abuse.  Amazingly, for that short period she was in my son's life, I heard from him - even met with him for 15 minutes - almost 4 years ago.  This young woman seemed to kindle the love in my sons heart, melting the ice that surrounded it.  He didn't seem to hate me at that time, nor did he wish me dead - not while she was in his life.  I saved those emails, too - from that brief time period.  How erratic it all was - from hate to not hate.  Then, it ended - his communication with me.  I believe his brother found out and told his father.  It was all so secretive.  And from what I hear these days, through a very small grapevine, Jared's girlfriend saved herself.  She got out. As much as I know my son might have benefited from the warmth and love she brought him, I ached to think she would be treated without the consideration she deserved. I wish only good things for her....

Jason, my older son, I've been told - is cold.  He was not like that as a child! Now, I'm told he has no heart at work.  And following in much of his father's footsteps - a clone was what many have said.   Dear God, I hope he is not beating his wife.  I know of some things he is doing - not kosher to say the least.  And he is controlling all that goes on in his home - a wife that is not permitted to talk to me, returned gifts(see my October entry about the stepping stool I sent for my grandson's first birthday) - cards- letters and stealing from his own child - yes, stealing.  He is taking away something so very precious - my relationship with my grandchild.  Nothing less than selfishly stealing.  I pray another woman is not going through what I did - at the hands of another "Levine"...it seems to go down generations.  

To doubt that my sons are abusers, would be ridiculous.  It has taken me years of tears and therapy to figure this out - but whatever they are doing to others in their self-centered lives....THEY ARE ABUSING ME.  And they know that.

Last week, I recieved a very ridiculous and "bad" decision from a Court judge - one that no one understands.  On top of that, my sons included themselves (with their father) in a lawsuit against someone near and dear to me - to push him over the edge as well.  So, looking back at all the emails I saved from Jason and Jared, emails telling me to die - to buy a gun and shoot myself - to rot in hell - I now see that at the ages of young adults, they mean it.  No more excuses.  

Brain washing, smainwashing.  Yes, they were brainwashed.  But my begging them for any sort of contact....It's over. The excuses, the reaching out to them, the feeling sorry - the apologies for things I didn't even know what to apologize for.  As so many people have been trying to tell me for years, my sons don't exist anymore.  Those wonderful, loving, and sweet children I hold in my heart - they died.  Their own father killed them.  

I may not be able to have gotten tough when they hurt me (the pain almost cost me my life) - but they are hurting someone I love and care about  - they as adults involved themselves in it.  Done.  My sons are doing this at 26 and 30 years of age---I was a mother at that age - surviving through beatings, emotional torture and more.  I was an adult.

I feel sorry for Crystal, my son's wife.  How can my son treat her right - when he can't even respect his own mother? Is she oblivious to what Jason has continued to do to hurt me?  Or is she living with all the lies that he tells.  And believing them.  With evidence in question regarding Jason's own lack of morals and values, I pray she is safe - and has the strength to not wait as long as I did - if she must save herself from any form of abuse.  I stayed in it for 20 years - for my children.  And for what?  Look at where those "children" are now - and what they do to me.

I ask my God for forgiveness, for bringing more abusers into this world.  Their behavior toward me  is nothing less than abusive.  I love them, but cannot and will not take it anymore. When they saw my injuries, their father's cheating, all he did to me - I always said don't be like your father.  Especially the first time I was called by a police officer...when my son hit a girl and caused harm. So, as their father uses the legal system to hurt me, when his hands can't beat me any longer, he use his sons.  Their names are in bold letters in the the title page of a lawsuit started last week, with their father......for a purpose.  When I ask my higher power "why" - the only thought that comes to mind is Hitler....he, too, was permitted to exist in our world and cause harm.

It's time to be accountable, boys.  I tried - for years---I tried my best.  No more.  Now I pray that God give me strength to not let Jason and Jared continue to destroy what their father started - not to let them destroy any bit of happiness I have in my life.

Jason Ross Levine and Jared Austin Levine may not like their names on my blog.  You know what? I don't like their names on a lawsuit.

Now, I pray that God grant me peace in accepting that I cannot change things regarding my sons.  As long as their father is alive, there will never be room for me - and they will always treat me as "the enemy."  
I pray for grace and courage, in living my life without them - the children who are but a memory I carry in my heart.

Below is an excerpt from Dr. Joshua Coleman:

Why It Sometimes Makes Sense to Stop Trying



One of the things that parents have to decide is whether they have it in them to
keep trying or whether it's better for their mental health to throw in the towel.
Sometimes, and this is important, what might be better for our adult child isn't
better for us; and at this point of your lives, you get to decide. And that may
well mean deciding not to continue to work on it. On the other hand, sometimes
letting go actually creates a better space for a reconciliation to occur.
I find that this is particularly confusing terrain for mothers who are socialized
to put themselves last and to always keep trying.
So, if you're on the fence, let me start by saying maybe you shouldn't try. Here
is the case against trying:


*Maybe it costs you too much psychologically.



*Maybe "trying" means having to remain open to someone

who just dumps raw sewage on you every time you

encounter him or her.


*Maybe trying means that your self-esteem gets

constantly put up on the auction block for the lowest bidder which happens to be

the one person whose opinion you care the most about-your child.

 *Maybe it's too hard to keep trying because the rejection from your child reminds

you too much of how rejected you felt by your own parents or family. And you just

don't have that much to give because so much of your energy goes every day to trying
to feel like you have a right to be alive or to have any kind of a life, even beforethe trauma of estrangement was visited upon you.



What I want to emphasize is that part of healing from an estrangement is reclaiming our definition of ourselves as parents and of ourselves as people.



*If we only let our children decide what kind of parent we are or were and what

kind of person we are, we not only do ourselves a disservice, we do them a disservice.



*We do them a disservice because we give them more power than they deserve to have.



*We confuse them by implying that they have a bigger claim against us than they

do.


*We enable them by rubberstamping their mistreatment of us.

"It is in the shelter of each other that the people live." - Irish proverb

-------------------


There was a time in my life when I was all I had.  With two children dependant on me, I remained in a marriage that was physically, emotionally and psychologically abusive. I had no family to lean on, and most of the people in my life were on the payroll of my then-husband.  When I literally made a friend of anyone, Bob would figure out a way to sabatoge it.  Or just forbid any sort of relationship from forming.

Life is different now.  Every day of my life is still a war - as Bob keeps me in Court. Only now, I have an army behind me. 

You always hear there is strength in numbers....people pray together, sign petitions together, even mourn together.  Right now, this strength is contributing to my survival.  I've muddled through - hell, I've lived through! - so much already.  A friend just emailed me....that I will find a way to get beyond my most recent obstacle.  In the past, I found a way through so many hurdles and complications.  I'm hoping I will be able to this time.

Looking back over the two decades that were my "marriage", I remember times of difficulties.  Many of the control tactics used by Bob Levine were merely an extension of his defective personality.  As young boys, my sons bore witness to many hardships and absurdities their father bestowed upon us.  Now mind you, we lived with a housekeeping staff in a gorgeous home on Bedford acreage, drove the most luxurious cars (when we were not chauferred), went on the most extravagant of vacations( $1,000 a night was nothing for a hotel), and when "the boss" approved, money was no object.  My jewelry and clothes were the best of the best - Bob picked everything out.  But my sons bore witness to much else. When their father would watch every single penny of "his" multi-million dollar fortune, I figured out ways around it.  Selfish and unkind, to say the least, he had to have full control over every cent.  And the only time he would express the most remote form of generosity, was when he 1. had beaten the crap out of me, 2. needed something, or 3. wanted to make a certain impression. 

My sons, Jared Austin and Jason Ross, lived through craziness.  Their father would tell them they were not "allowed" to have new sneakers - many times, even when their shoe size changed!  I would save up and buy those sneakers for them.  Scrimp was more like it.  My sons would be ecstatic and terrified at the same time - saying their father would kill me if he found out I bought them new sneakers without permission!  I would hide the new sneakers in the trunk of my car until Bob was at work or sleeping.  Discarding the shoeboxes at the local A & P dumpster, I would take the sneakers and rub some dirt on them until they looked used.  Then my sons would feel safe to wear them.  

One time, my younger son needed a new bicycle. A neighbor brought it to my attention, after I had already realized this.  Jared's knees were hitting the handlebars.  At 13 years of age, he still loved his bike, rode it everywhere.....But Bob said he could not have a new one.  Too scared to beg his father, we kept quiet until I couldn't take it anymore.  Bob would come home with new acquisitions on a weekly, if not daily basis.  $200  for each fish for his fish tank, another motorcycle for $42,000....and my son's knees were getting bruised from banging into his handlebars.  One day I took Bob's credit card( yup, I snuck it out),  headed to the local Bicycle store - and purchased a new bike for JA.  You know JA was too scared to ride it when I brought it home?  He thought his father would "kill" him - and me, for buying it.  Turned out my son's instincts were correct - and Bob returned the bicycle within hours. Just another episode we made it through - lots of banging, screaming, breaking things, and then my punishment - after the kids went to sleep. I woke up with a badly bruised shoulder, and my son did not ride his too small bike again.  Sadly, we learned to move on.     

I remember how we had a corner on the bathroom counter where we were to leave written requests for monies we needed.  Yes, even my sons had to write their requests as soon as they were old enough to do so.  I saved some of them - their scribbled requests.  Pathetic, huh?  Considering we lived in an estate in Bedford and one of our cars was $750,000 (a 1933 - 1006 Packard Dietrich Convertible Sedan), it wasn't as though money were a problem.  Sick.  Often times, Bob could be heard boasting that he was the Bank of America...and he'd tell us he had more money than G-d.  If I needed money for the drycleaners, there was a written request.  If the boys' needed a gift for a friend's birthday party - a written request had to be approved by Bob.  Yes, it was a terrible way to live.  But I always found ways around it.

Like all those times my sons and I made donations to local charities.  We could never tell Bob.  He would go into rage mode.  Another example was when the neighborhood asked me to donate macaroni salad, potato salad, etc. from Bob's business, Foodirect, for a community picnic (and I didn't even know many of the neightbors after living there for a decade) - Bob's blood curdling scream expressed his words, "Someone has to pay for that shit and it isn't going to be me."  So, I stockpiled what I had to contribute to the picnic ... and got by.

I managed to live through two decades like that.  With many stories, there are many scars. I won't get into my  physical punishments for disobeying him, not now.  But even after leaving him years ago, I'm still trying to adapt my life to the wills and demands of that abuser.  Bob has yet to fulfill our divorce decision settlement. I'm doing my best to keep up the battle, and trying to survive.  Improvisation is key.

And the support of all the people who are now in my life.  From the old friends and family members that Bob had forbade me from seeing to the friends I have developed in my new community - I'm not alone anymore. 

Some things don't change.  He still tries to control me, attempts to punish me on a daily basis.  But the difference is, I have people who care about me - holding me up.  And in the process, I am  holding out for justice. One day at a time.  Sometimes, from moment to moment.

There really is strength - in numbers. I'm reaching out.  Please help me be strong.

Anyone have a connection in the media?  An abuser making millions of dollars disappear - there's a story there........

A Little Self Promotion Can't Hurt

With everything I do, I feel as though I am an example.  A survivor of domestic violence, a targeted parent of parental alienation, a Soldiers' Angel, an artist with disabilities, and so much more.  Most of all, I am me - and I want to be the best me that my Higher Power wants me to be, expects me to be.  I try.

I don't ever want to be any less than humble - and yet, I want my voice to be heard loud and clear.

Domestic violence needs to end.
Our Courts need to understand the psychopathy of abusers.
Bullies need to be stopped.
And no one should ever attempt to take away my freedoms again.

This voice is expressed through my artwork now.  My story.  The history of me....
Please vote for me - for my work and also, my voice.

Click on the link below, then click on "vote", and finally - click on "like"....

http://jhlstyle.artistswanted.org/yr2011


Thank you. With all my heart.

We Can't Afford to Wait for the World to Change!

As the John Mayer tune goes, we keep on "Waiting for the World to Change."


And as much as I love that tune, it has always disturbed me in a complex way. I don't believe in sitting back, idly, and just waiting for anything...least of all, for the world to change.



"It's not that we don't care - it's just that we know the fight ain't fair." -from the song.....



I say we can't sit back. I say we have to have a voice, but more than that - we have to have action along with that voice. If each of us on this planet just did a little something, with a listening heart, we might see changes ocurr sooner! At least we could make the world better for perhaps one living soul at a time. Repairing the world as we know it.



It's a new year...2012. What can we wish for - and what do we pray for? So many people say "peace." There's all kinds of peace. World peace. Peace between friends, between family members. Peace of spirit. Peace within one's self. For so many in our world, a moment of peace is seemingly unobtainable. It does not come easily to many - especially in lands other than our United States of America.



A 15 year old girl, a native of Afghanistan, did not make the front page news today. Instead, her story - her ordeal and torture - was placed on page 9 of the New York Times. A small column on the lower right corner of a page, right next to the "Names of the Dead" soldiers from the Department of Defense. A two inch square photo of her battered face caught my eye. I guess I'm tuned in to that kind of stuff - never fathoming the pain inflicted on such a child. A young girl, who just can't afford to wait for the world to change. She almost lost her life.



From Kabul, Afghanistan, the reporter wrote of her injuries - inflicted by her own family member. Sahur Gul, this young girl, will never have peace within her soul - she has been through too much. My heart hurts for her, my mind is enraged. She can never erase what she has survived, for there are no do-overs in abuse.



"Officials in the northeastern Baghlan Province said the in-laws (she is married at 15!) had kept the girl, Sahar Gul, in a basement for six months, ripped her fingernails out, tortured her with hot irons and broke her fingers."



How could this happen in our world, our 21st Century? And what kind of mind thinks to torture a young girl like this?



Unfortunately, in many foreign lands, this is probably not uncommon. And unfortunately, too, in our own country - crimes are being committed every second, where humans hurt and torture others. Our world definitely needs to change.



I was once married to a man who did things to me. Things that no one should have to endure. In no way meant to compare my own history with the suffering of Sahar in Afghanistan, I have often asked medical experts, psychologists and the like, "How does a person think of such things - how can someone hurt another so badly and think up ways to torture another being?"



The answer I would get : "Sick minds do that. Julie, thank God you don't understand it."


My ex husband would grip the hair on the back of my head, bending my head back until I could see only the ceiling of whatever room he chose to inflict his pain on me. With my neck extended backwards, until I could hardly swallow, he would knee me or deliver a blow right into my rib cage. Do you know why? He once explained it to me through the smirk, where I swear I saw the devil in his eyes....



When you don't see "it" coming --- you can't tense up your stomach muscles to lessen the damage, and thus the pain.



My ex husband would take my wrist, bending my hand backwards, toward my elbow, until my fingers were a bit beyond perpendicular with whatever surface he controlled my arm to lay on. As pain seared through my body, from the tip of my fingers to a point where I thought I would just explode in agony, he would use this act of violence on me....



Until I Said Uncle.


And I did say it. Often. Back then.



Violence was used as a means of control. So much was done to me on a regular basis, with many medical records to substantiate the horrors....In Bedford, New York....like it is being used in Kabul, Afghanistan. It knows no boundaries.



Burning, too - a form of control. He would have me grip on to a sink's counter, in a mirrored bathroom I could see his reflection as he lit the metal crochet needle with his Bic lighter...getting it good and hot, and not for the purpose of sterilization. It was used to burn the back of my legs. Another means to get me to do what he wanted. Who was I? This woman who stood there as he held the burning metal against my flesh. Who was I, the woman who lived this way for years?



I look at those scars now, on my legs. Only two years ago, after finally coming out with all I lived through, a doctor told me that he could tell how long my ex husband held the burning metal to my skin - by how many layers of my flesh were scarred. My Doctor suggested I get the scars removed, for every time I look at them - my flashbacks take me back to that time of torture in 11 Piping Brook Lane, in Bedford, NY....



And to a time when I always gave in, with a gasp - and said Uncle. I did what I was told. What I was manipulated to do. How did a human being know how to torture another in such ways? Where would anyone learn all these methods?



I never did get those answers - and right now I don't much care. It doesn't matter. I decided long ago, no longer to wait on the world, my own world to change....I pledged to make a difference. To no longer keep silent. And to no longer believe that being tortured was my fate.



We may think of Afghanistan as being a backward country - with evil and barbarians. But read today's newspaper - the smaller articles that don't make the headlines. Terrible acts of violence are happening in our own country - to women, to children, to animals. No, we can't wait on the world to change.



As I reflect on the badly bruised face of Sahar Gul, exhibited on that page 9 today....I know her ordeal of pain and suffering will never be forgotten. Her scars will remain with her forever. Not only the physical ones....For her soul will never have peace. Not after all she has been through. What I pray for her, is sustenance and strength. And maybe some day, a voice of her own.



For in having a voice to speak out against the torture, the pain, the suffering - may she empower herself to realize her own core strengths.
 And may she have the courage to face the incredible fact that she survived and is making a difference. She has made a difference to me.



I sit at a desk, in the United States of America, typing my words. I am a case file in our legal system of Westchester County, New York. And I have realized again today - that I don't want to sit back and wait on the world to change. That whatever God puts before me, I will continue to speak out and speak up.

Never to say Uncle again.



May 2012 bring us all a bit closer to peace - not only for our world, but also...within our own souls. And may we all lend to the voices that will get us there---to peace.

The Red Herring of ABUSE

Some people may think that since I physically left a life of horror in 1999, that the abuse ended.  It's not that easy.  Yes, I did relocate my personal residence.  Yes, I did obtain a divorce (after years of struggle and financial debt).  But the abuse never ended.  Domestic violence - the true definition encompasses physical acts of abuse.  Violence.  What no one seems to understand, in my case...is the abuse my ex husband is permitted to bestow on me every single day of my life.  It is not that I permit it.  No.  I blame my ex husband's manipulation of our court system for much of what I am made to endure on a constant basis.  

With distractions of motion practice, legal technicalities and loopholes - along with an unending amount of money at his disposal - Bob Levine has continued to abuse me since that day in 1978, when he raped me for the first time.  Marrying, then getting a divorce after 20 years of marriage did nothing to stop it.  He may not have been able to hit me, kick me, burn me with metal instruments again.  He may not have been given the opportunity to rape me, strike me, lock me in a bathroom or closet again.  What he has been able to do is use the courts, and his evil ingenuity to destroy my health and well-being.  

There is the issue of the "red herring."   A red herring is something that draws attention away from the matter at hand.

 Mr. Levine, my ex husband, has been able to cloud my life and the view of our justice system - like a red herring in their midst. He has not physically beaten me since a day in 1999---therefore all must be well with the world?

The first thing an official may ask a victim is - "when was the last time he hit you?"  Abuse is not always about the violence.  It can come in many forms.  And can be dispersed by people whom a perpetrator manipulates into a web of harm.

I'm sitting and waiting for a Judge's decision - again.  A case file in the United States Supreme Court, I am but a number....Do they know the harm that a man is doing to me every day?  And I know that by disclosing this on my blog, the perpetrator, my abuser - Mr. Robert Levine, is amused by my admittal.  I wear my heart on my sleeve...and the truth on my tongue.  Never differently.  For each blog entry I write, I receive many emails from witnesses and people that knew of all the experiences I have shared.  In keeping with their privacy, their comments are not always posted.  With documentation, medical and otherwise, my experiences are validated by so many people- I am grateful for that.  All that Bob Levine has put me through, is truly crazy making in the process.  Keeping me bound in court, is yet another tool of his destruction.

Abuse comes in many forms.  Right now, my financial future lies in the hands of Judge Robert A. Neary.  As does justice.  When I stood before this Justice on September 28th of 2011, he did not ask about my current status regarding orders of the Court that Mr. Levine had not fulfilled (from 2005), but he did ask about my "boys".  Unable to elaborate on that, I merely shrieked that I had lost them.  So many years ago....when Judge Neary saw their father drag them into court time after time. 

I wore a heart monitor into the courtroom on September 28th.  The Judge did not ask why - nor did he know that my cardiologist was on the other end of a special phone I had attached to my waist.  All for my heart.  The heart that aches when I see teenage boys, the age of my sons when I last knew them.  A heart that yearns when I see friends speak of their children, their grandchildren....When I think of all I have missed out on - all that was taken from me.  My heart cries when I think of all the times my sons must have needed me, their mother - all those times when I was ripped from their lives, as they were from mine.  What kind of father takes children from a mother who adored them?  And tells those children lie after lie, until they don't know the truth or thier own past anymore.  My heart that pulses erratically when in the company or memory of my ex husband. I get sick.  Did the Judge know that?

The fact that I have not been physically beaten by Robert Levine in years -  is a red herring.    When I filed for divorce, Mr. Levine repeatedly told me he would make me suffer.  The stress of my daily survival can be overwhelming, as I do the best I can in building a life for myself.  A life with purpose.  But the abuse never stopped.  And he makes me suffer with every breath I take.  As the narcissist I know him to be, I  also know he enjoys every minute of it. As much as I wish I did not have to reveal this, it is the truth.  And that is what I am all about.  In creating a red herring of my situation, Mr. Levine has managed to remove the subject matter of my unobtainable personal belongings, my missing family heirlooms, my home furnishings, my lack of medical coverage, my lack of dental coverage, unpaid support for years, and more that he did not obey. I never got half of what was in the house- the monetary value of it , nor what it physically contains - my things; Mr. Levine refused to follow the 2005 judgement of divorce,  a document demanding it all be divided.  That was a decision made in 2005, by the Honorable Justice Robert A. Neary.  The very same judge whose decision I am now awaiting. I never did get a chance to tell him about all the other "outstanding" issues.

The man I had married, lives a life with no cares.  Over the last decade, he has transformed my sons into his shadows.  They work for him; he took them away from their respective college educations (they were not permitted to continue and graduate, as he once said he didn't want them getting smarter than him) and controls their livelihoods - and their lives (whether they see it or not is another story). Mr. Levine strives to make people dependant on him.  It offers him yet more control over others - even his own children.  Up until now, the court has enabled him to do as he pleases.  I pray that someday, that will stop.  As he drives his expensive cars, travels on his luxurious vacations, lives in the Bedford estate of which I had shared ownership, I wait.  I will not stop believing in my country, in what is right, and what is just.  But somedays, it is so hard to just keep believing in anything.  For I was left for dead by the courts.  And I was supposed to just disappear? Disabled and handicapped, did anyone even expect me to last this long? Is that why there are no provisions protecting me and set for my survival?

I never did get to tell Judge Neary how every day of my life is pained by the loss of my sons.  An abusive situation that just keeps on giving, my ex husband was able to torture me forever by removing my boys from my life.  My health was effected of course; my emotional well being , too.  Robert Levine is able to abuse me beyond the reaches of his hand.  He is able to rip my heart out on a daily basis.  When Doctors had warned the Judges about parental alienation, when medical experts diagnosed Robert Levine as a psychopath, a sociopath, and more....they all spoke of how my boys would parrot their father's words, and behaviors.  "Morally bankrupt" was how Mr. Levine was also described....But no one acted on the suspicions of how Mr. Levine was able to brainwash and turn these boys against me.  Not even a judge, not one out of the 9 I had rule on my "case",  acted on that.  They seemingly looked the other way. 

The ruling I await is life altering.  I'm hoping it will be the beginning of justice, a justice I have yet to see in our court system.  Some day, I hope Judges will be educated in the tactics used by abusers in the Courts.  When abusers can't get their hands on their victims...they have other methods of abuse.  That's when Justice should not be blind.

As of this very minute, this particle of time in the expanse that is my own melodrama - I have not yet heard Justice Neary's decision.  I wait.  With every ringing of the telephone, my heart flutters.  I'm afraid to leave the house.  I dread the news, yet anxiously await it.  Like expecting surgery you just wish were over already.  A surgical procedure where the doctor forgot to give you anesthesia!

A new year approaches just as the week of miracles has come to an end.  May the light of the last week shine into the new year.  Bringing light to darkness.  And a better vision through that red herring which Mr. Levine has used to his advantage....
I wish that Justice could see what has happened to me. 

No one can undo the damage that has been done to me, the decades of abuse.
I just wish that the Judge could get it all to stop.

Another Time of Waiting: Why I Always Remember My Niece's Birthday

Today is a day of waiting.  And it brings me back to that time period of 30 years ago...again.


It was merely a continuation of when my first son, JR, was born, as documented in my last blog entry - my husband's (Bob's) sister was pregnant at the same time I was, back in '81.  When JR was born prematurely, Sue was still pregnant.  Her due date was also approaching. Thirty years ago.....

After my 10 day stay in Lawrence Hospital without my baby (he was in the ICU of a NY hospital for a few weeks), I went home - to an apartment - with no baby.  It was awful.  I had a crib set up, a few articles of clothing and necessities - but no little bundle of joy.  Instead, I had my adoring Maltese, Rudy, and my abusive coke-head husband.

Bob's cocaine use was getting severely worse, as was his abusive behavior.  I was not able to drive for weeks after my C-section surgery, and had no way to get into Manhattan to see JR, in his ICU incubator.  When I approached Bob about his drug use, I would get smacked...or worse.  He would refuse to take me to visit my son in the NYC hospital.  When I commented about how disgusting his behavior was, along with his brother-in-law's .... I was punished every way imaginable.  Bob's sister and her husband lived only 2 floors above us on 1155 Warburton Avenue in our Yonkers apartment building.  Bob and Sue's husband, Bill, were not only working together in the family food business  - but they were inseparable as cocaine addicts.  I'm not sure how that effected Sue's life, but mine was a living hell.

And on January 31 of 1982 - all hell broke loose, as I did not remain silent.  I voiced an opinion - which took alot out of me.  I did it not only for my sister-in-law, but for my yet unborn niece/nephew.

We received a phone call in the middle of the night.  It was from Bill.  He was at Lawrence Hospital and Sue was about to give birth.  We already knew he was there - we were just waiting for a phone call.  But not this one - not this kind.  At least, I wasn't.  Problem was, Bill did not expect this and needed his cocaine supply from home.  So, who did he call?  His supplier.  My husband at the time.  

It was a Sunday night, funny how I remember some things.....
I heard the one sided conversation.  One druggy to the other - I heard Bob agreeing to  bring a decent supply of cocaine - TO THE HOSPITAL! 

By this time, the end of January, my baby, JR, was home with me.  Bob was a violent person.  He came after me often.  I had to protect my son from this type of man, but could not keep silent.  Not about taking drugs to the hospital!  How could anyone think about snorting cocaine when their first child was being born?  And how despicable Bob was, to do this during the childbirth of his own sister!  What a mess.  I wasn't even sure if Sue knew what was going on.  

When Bob hung up the phone with his brother-in-law, he saw that I was awake.  JR was crying in his crib.  I didn't know then, that I would be crying, too.  I got out of bed, as Bob went into an old metal coffee can he kept in the back of the closet ( I had never noticed it before).  I told him he "could not do it" -  that this was such an important time - and that was it. 

BAM!  the side of my head.
BAM!  against my back, between my shoulder blades......

He knocked me down and spit on me.  As my son cried in his crib, I cried on the carpeted floor of our apartment.  I tried to grab Bob's foot, as I reached out on the floor - but he took a clear plastic bag of white powder and stormed out of the apartment.  His plaid shirt was but a memory as he swiftly slammed the apartment door.  I looked out at the sliding glass door of our balcony, realizing it was pitch black out...and lifted myself off the floor.

I clung to my son.  My head hurt.  My back ached.  I had to be careful.  Drug addicts were dangerous.

I did not see Bob until the next evening.  By then, my niece was born.  On February 1 of 1982.  Did they all know that Bob and Bill snorted a bag of cocaine in the hospital bathroom?  That very night that this little girl was born.  If they didn't know then...they would find out shortly afterward.

A few weeks later, Bob was still using his coke and sharing with his drug buddy Bill.  But something happened.  Money was missing from the family business....and they pinned it on Bill. (This was a situation that recurred in the 1990's as well!) Stealing to support a drug habit, Bill ended up in St. Vincent's Hospital in Rye, NY, for a while.  He was an "in patient"...and Bob, he continued to "use" even when he visited his brother-in-law at St. Vincents.  Bob said he didn't have the same problem as Bill.  Bob said he could quit if he wanted to - but he just didn't want to.

And I learned to literally roll with the punches.  I had no family.  The Levine's cared only about themselves and their images.  I remember Bob's father coming over and saying how he did not want to support his daughter, and that she had better stay married to Bill --- drugs or no drugs.  I learned how self centered people can be.  I saw a family where all that mattered were appearances, fancy cars, big homes and lots of jewelry.

I also learned how far I would go to protect my baby .  In loosing my voice, I was safer.  And so was my son.  I was an official victim as I learned to take a punch - one after another.

February 1, 1982, was the day I looked in the mirror with terror.  My niece's birthday.  Badly bruised, I realized that I did not matter to this Levine "family." 
And I never would.  
When they all knew of the domestic violence and abuse I endured- no one helped me. 

Traumatic events in my life make up my calendar.  Situations of physical harm, remind me of my days, months and even years.  I can remember the blows to my body - linking my experiences of a 20 year relationship with violence.  There are days that scream out to me.  Even if they occurred 30 years ago.  Some things, you just never forget. 

THIRTY YEARS AGO TODAY......

DECEMBER 19TH, 1981
 I was there.....



when my son ,Jason,was born, six weeks prematurely. To this day, I am not sure if he "came" early due to my physical makeup, or from his father's hitting me and pushing me down on the bed, with tremendous force, when I was pregnant.


December 18, 1981: I was watching "Dallas." I wasn't feeling well. Then came the cramping. I wasn't due until weeks away. I had only been to ONE Lamaze class! I was petrified. I told Bob, my then-husband. He told me to be quiet. He told me not to call the doctor, because according to him, it was because I ate Chinese food for dinner.


I knew differently.


I phoned the doctor only seconds before my water broke. A flood! My husband  started yelling at me that I was going to stain the apartment's carpet. He shoved towels at me. Did I say that he was heavily involved with snorting cocaine that evening? His reaction to the oncoming arrival of our child was terrifying.


Getting me down the elevator and into my little Datsun 280 Z, he continued to yell at me that I was going to stain everything--I was leaking. He shoved another towel under me , telling me I better not ruin the seats in the car.


I had no family to call. I had no one. Just this coke head screaming at me on the way to Lawrence Hospital. I did not know what to do, other than cry....and pray.


We arrived at the hospital, towel between my legs (I was so scared that he would hit me for not being able to control the "leaking"), and was immediately checked in and registered.


To make a long story short, I made heart wrenching requests to G-d. Please, to just let my baby live....I was already warned that the baby's condition was dangerous. Warned that the lungs would not be fully developed, and worse, all I could do was talk to G-d. And thank goodness, He must have been listening, because Bob left the hospital. He said he was tired and went home.


I remember being there for hours. In pain. I remember Bob's parents showed up for a few minutes. I remember fear.


After 11 hours of labor, I was eventually anesthetized and given an emergency C-section. I awoke to be told I had a son. He weighed only a little over 4 pounds and was on a respirator. The doctor told me. Bob entered the room, and gave me the rest of the information. My son was to be ambulanced down to NYU Hospital for intensive care. They had a special Preemie Unit there.


Dazed, making deals with G-d, helpless as I never felt before....I saw my son for the first time as he was being wheeled in an incubator to an awaiting ambulance. With stitches and staples in my stomach, still groggy, they would not even let me move off the bed. I looked on from afar.


I asked Bob to go with him, to be with our son, JR.  He didn't want to.  He had to go to work. As in sleep off the drug head?


After Jr was transported, I cried and cried. I was in a room with another new mother. But there was a tremendous difference between us. She had a baby with her. I didn't.  I asked Bob to get me my own room. I felt like I was grieving every time I saw a mother and baby. Bob refused. He said I didn't need my own room.


Later that day, Bob returned. He looked at me as I begged him to tell me how JR was doing. He laughed, he smirked. He said, "How will you even know if he's alive? I could tell you anything." He laughed some more. He was torturing me.


And how did I know?


As I lay there in the hospital bed, I continued to pray to my G-d. It was me, Him...and now I had a baby.


I asked Bob to get a Polaroid camera, to please take daily pictures of our son for me. He laughed, but agreed to do so. After Bob planted that seed in my head, I wanted the photos dated, so I knew JR was alive.


Telling me it was too much trouble for him to go into the city every day, I suggested that maybe his parents could go on some days.....Bob left the room. He left me feeling as though I was dieing inside. Worry can do that. Worry about your own flesh and blood.


The day JR was born, my first son, was the first day I learned how to be a mother. My baby taught me so many things - he taught me how to love wholeheartedly and unconditionally.


Jason's father hardly visited me during my 10 day stay at Lawrence Hospital (I had developed a fever, making my C-section stay longer than planned). It was holiday season....Chanukah, Christmas, and so many visitors were in the maternity wing on a constant basis. But not for me. There was but one visitor. She was so very special, in many ways, it made up for the lack of others. A woman that knew me from the neighborhood where I grew up, in New Rochelle, New York; I'm quite sure she saw my pain.


One December night, I phoned our apartment to be told that it was an inconvenience to visit me. I didn't even have a baby to see---Bob said that to me. My son's father. Before hanging up on me, he informed me that he had a pool game to attend in the basement of our apartment building. That was his priority.


So, you see, I may not have been there on whatever day JR got married in 2006 (when no one told me about it)....but I was there when he first entered the world. It has been so very many years since I have had any sort of relationship with my son.  The tactics Bob used during my divorce from him - were horrifying.  They included, but were not limited to, taking my sons out of my life forever.

I could have cried today - 30 years since my son was born.  Through all the years of the estrangement that Bob manipulated, I had hoped to be at my son's 30th birthday celebration.  My goal did not come to fruition.  I failed to realize the strength of identification with the agressor - Bob Levine.  And I know not when that will change.  I've been told the same thing by so very many people in the psychological field of studies - this form of calculated alienation was a form of child abuse - Bob Levine was the criminal behind the destruction of a bond that was to never break.  

A mother without children, I look back at 30 years with many learned lessons.  I didn't know then that a father should be there when a child is born - if it were a choice to be made.  I didn't know then that a spouse should be there for you, put you and your health first, care about you before themselves.....I didn't know much of anything back then - except about being a victim.

Thank G-d, JR survived. I did not cry today.  My son is not in a wheelchair, not hooked up to a respirator, not undergoing chemotherapy, and not battling any known life-threatening diseases.  My son is alive.

And for that I am grateful.  No one thought he was going to make it - 30 years ago.  When his size was compared to a stick of butter. In order to get through the hurt of missing so much in my now 6'2" son's life, I must remember....

when I was there. 

No, I did not cry tonight.  My eyes watered up as I made a toast to my son - a son who was not in my company tonight. I raised my glass to JR tonight at a celebratory dinner...
you see, he survived 30 years ago.
And so did I.

Jason Levine