The Gauntlet With My Son, The Sociopath
I have 2 sons with my ex-husband. I have two stepchildren with my current husband. I enjoy great relationships with these children, and they all bring me a great deal of happiness. My life is better because they are in my life. Then I have my first child …the spawn from hell…. The child I had at age 21 when I was not married, when I was on my own…the child I tried desperately to keep until I realized there was no feasible way for me to support this child without going on welfare…an option I would not consider having been a welfare child myself…and so I gave him up for adoption after carefully screening several families. He was given to the new family at 3 days old.
I had been following Matthew silently on the internet for several years. I found him one day by chance on MySpace while he was at college at Emory University. I felt proud that he was smart enough to get into Emory. I was exhilarated to see the dynamic looking, handsome, exuberant young man he had grown into. I inhaled all of the pictures. I poured over his descriptions of himself … his likes, the movies and books he likes and found so many similarities in our tastes for the misbegotten, the offbeat; I especially liked his remark that he enjoyed intellectual gymnastics. I continued to try to follow him in coming years and found that he had moved on to Brooklyn Law School. During this time, I did not intrude in his life which had been my intention since giving him up at birth. I feel it would be selfish. I foolishly registered at a website where I could be located by a child looking for his birth mom IN NEW JERSEY which is where I live – but Matthew lives in and was born in New York. Wtf. What was I thinking? Time passes. I still watch. I see Matthew has gotten a job at a law firm in Manhattan and has foregone his college look for a slicked-back hair, suit and tie business look. I’m happy for him. I look for him on LinkedIn. I find him. I know his full name. The court made a mistake and did not black out the adoptive parents names in all the places that it appeared, and I saw it. So I send Matthew a request to connect. Yes, I dive in the pool. Matthew doesn’t answer. After all, who is this person? He does not know my name. But does he? When Matthew was born I left a letter in the swaddling blanket addressed to the adoptive parents asking them to explain to the baby when they felt the time was right that the reason I gave him up for adoption was that I wanted him to have a better life than I could give him but that I loved him and that I wanted him to be clear on that fact that he was always loved. Why did I write this letter? Because when the social worker researched the potential families, the family stated that they intended to tell Matthew he was adopted. So, I thought, perhaps he might know my name, after all, I signed my name to the letter.
In any event, Matthew did not connect with me. Over the course of several months to a year I sent him 4-5 requests to connect. In January of 2014 Matthew accepted my connection. I was stunned. He did not send a message of any kind but just accepted the connection. I wrote back. “Hi Matthew, I’m Kathleen. I am your biological mother. I will not interfere with your life. I will not intrude on your life. However, you are welcome into my life. I was afraid and joyous when you were born. You were so young and so was I. You were/are brilliant and so was/am I. We are kindred spirits. Perhaps we are the same in many ways 🙂 It might be fun to find out. I have two sons now ages 23 and 21 but you are my first born. You are my star. You rose to the galaxy just as your birth father and I thought we could create. Absolutely brilliant and beautiful. You look like my other son – so much! Same smile! I wish you happiness. I am well. I am a good person. I am not crazy, on drugs, on welfare, on assistance, etc….when you were born, I was at a time when I was young and lost…I tried to do a good thing because I came from welfare and didn’t want that for you…. I have a good life now … a very, very good life … if you want to find me call me at xxxxx. My heart and home are open to you. “Matthew didn’t answer for several days. I was going to find out that this was his typical behavior but at the current moment I was checking LinkedIn several times a day.
I sent Matthew a message on LinkedIn two weeks later…. “Do you want to have anything to do with me?” Three days later a message came back to me from Matthew …”MOM!, I’ve been looking for you and hoping to find you. You don’t know how much this means to me to find you!” And so the fall began.
Meeting Matthew was the beginning of my demise. From the outset he baited me; he constantly one-upped me, taunting me with questions or references to obscure books or using difficult words to see if I understood them – which I did. He boasted of his sexual conquests, his incredible dancing and taste in music. Actually, he boasted about everything. Foolish, foolish, silly girl. I took the bait and played the game. I immediately time-warped myself into my 20’s, as if I were dealing with his low-life father who was likely dead now due to his promiscuity. Matthew’s biological father and I had sex once but that was all it took – geez. Matthew’s biological father, Ralph, was gay, and we were best friends when I was 20. I had had a terrible crush on Ralph and spent all of my money on him. Ralph used and abused me and our friendship. When Ralph met an older man who lived on the much-desired corner of Christopher and Bleecker in NYC in 1981, the older man demanded Ralph no longer be friends with me…the man felt threatened by me and the friendship I had with Ralph. So Ralph cut off our friendship…just when I found out I was pregnant, so I didn’t tell the son-of-a-bitch I was pregnant. He never knew. When I gave up Matthew for adoption I said I didn’t know who the father was.
The night I went to meet Matthew at his apartment in January 2014 I was excited and anxious. I brought Matthew’s adoption papers with me which included the photo taken at birth in the hospital. I brought along the court documents; documents that showed Matthew’s adoptive parents’ last names. I was ready to share with Matthew anything he wanted to know. I was surprised when Matthew opened his apartment door. Here he was meeting his biological mother for the first time; someone he had expressed excitement to meet, but he was disheveled, unshaven and in torn clothing although he was strikingly handsome. The harbinger of things to come…. the first he said to me was “damn, you are hot! I knew you would be beautiful and classy….I can’t let you meet any of my friends, they would want to fuck you.” Now, many woman, MOTHERS, would be speechless at this but I am a carnal human…I am female…I was instantly a girl complimented by a very handsome man…I completely forgot for seconds here and there that he was my son and I was the mother because he constantly flirted and talked about my body and face. I was Alice falling into hole.
In the days, weeks and months that I continued to try to grow a relationship with Matthew I had a skewed mindset. I was a woman in her 50’s trying to connect with a young man she had given birth to, and I was a 20-something year old playing mind games with a sociopath. Matthew enjoyed telling me stories of his crimes and exploits, always raising the bar. Bicycles that he had stolen, money he had stolen, how many girls he had juggled at one time, people he had beat up, countless varied drugs that he had used.
It was sometime just after New Year’s that I invited Matthew to lunch at a restaurant, and he agreed. I fancied myself up in a pretty dress and drove to the lower east side where he lived. When I got to the apartment Matthew answered the door in his underwear having just gotten out of bed, telling me to be quiet because his girl of the moment was still sleeping. He made no comment about my appearance, to which I had given much care, and I already felt dejected. I had made a lunch reservation at Balthazar in Soho for 1pm and it was 12 noon. Matthew was unfazed by the time. I tried to be relaxed and patient knowing that any comment or confrontation or seeming confrontation would send Matthew into a temper tantrum. He was always volatile. I saw a black granite dish on his coffee table with white powder on it and asked him what that was. It’s molly Mom. Matthew was always very open with me about his drug use, his sexual extremes and proclivities and crimes. I asked what molly was. He said it was similar to coke…cocaine. Oh. Stupid girl….I asked, can I try it? Sure he said. I licked my finger and put it on the powder and then put my finger in my mouth…I did it twice consecutively. As insurance to my anxiety, I popped a Xanax, for which I have a prescription. Oh boy. Now I was a talkative little bee. Now I was antsy…so, are you going to get ready Matthew? Matthew puttered around the apartment….here at age 34, walking around in his underwear and nothing else …. and did not answer me. Matthew often did not respond at all when spoken to. Soon his girl of the moment, Megan came out of the bedroom and immediately went to get some molly. We made introductions. It was now 1pm. Clearly, we were not going out for lunch. I would come to find that Matthew NEVER went out to restaurants anymore but was a hermit. Instead, Megan left in a short time and Matthew’s offer to me, instead of lunch, was to take a drive with him to deliver money to a client he owed money to. He always owed money to clients; he would take money from them and then not perform the work. So we took a drive to Long Island, all the while Matthew boasting about this, that or the other thing. It was not conversational at all. He was just manic. It was a very unpleasant day.
I visited Matthew about once a week in his apartment. I came to find that he was a night owl. He slept all day and was awake all night. I have no idea how he paid any of his bills….and later came to find that he, in fact, never paid his bills but instead stole money from his clients. He was an independent forensic litigator with several clients, but he never seemed to have any money. During the course of one visit, he told me he was in financial straits. He said he had no medical insurance and that he had fallen off his bicycle and incurred a bad injury in the last year, thereby running up big medical bills and was now receiving dunning notices. I said I could give him $7,000 to help pay his medical bills. I later learned that he did not in fact pay his medical bills with that money but instead used the money to pay back a client from whom he took money but did not deliver the work. This, I found, was a pattern for Matthew – taking client’s money, not delivering the work and being sued in court. He had had – I later found – many sanctions placed on him by the court, for bad behavior in court, misappropriation of funds and other unethical misdeeds in several jurisdictions. Things were not looking good. I continued to be optimistic because Matthew is a liar, a conniver and the spawn from hell that I deeply wanted to find a bond with. He beguiled me and I believed him.
I had been visiting Matthew for about 6-7 weeks on a weekly basis when in mid-February I suggested to him that perhaps we might get to know each other better if we spent a few full days together on a getaway. Matthew liked the idea. Matthew always liked when someone else spent money on him. I told him to pick the dates that worked for him and gave him the following criteria: a $5,000 budget, 3-4 days and anywhere he would like! I suggested fun places like the Ritz Carlton in Cancun, Key West and Mediterranean spots. Matthew was unfazed. “I’ve been to all of those places.” Ah yes, the entitled one. I forgot. “Okay Matthew, you have a budget, whatever you can find is fine with me.” He called me a few days later. “Are you willing to go away for a bit longer?” Yes I said, as long as it is in the budget. Again, several days later he called; “are you willing to far away?” Yes I said, again, as long as it is in the budget. What was he cooking up? And then the bomb dropped. Matthew called a week later. Supposedly…yes, supposedly because it turned out to be a big lie …. he found a fantastic trip for 12 days to THAILAND (omg!) for $8,000 for both of us flying business class. Okay, it was over budget, but Thailand? That sounded amazing, and the more he described the trip, Bangkok, Koh Samui, the various islands, the small jets from island to island; I was hooked. Yes, yes, yes Matthew! Let’s go! Matthew’s grandmother Myra, with whom I had become very friendly and liked very much, called me and said “aren’t you afraid to be so far away and alone with him and his temper?” “No, Myra, not at all. He’s always nice to me.” (Discounting the ignored responses and absence of emotion.) And, generally, up until that time, he had always been nice to me. But Myra knew Matthew well. Myra was Matthew’s adoptive mother’s mother and had raised him. Matthew’s adoptive mother died from breast cancer when he was 7. Matthew’s adoptive parents knew she had breast cancer when they applied for the adoption but did not disclose that to the social worker who interviewed the family before the adoption. A history of lies. Myra raised Matthew in an atmosphere of permissive passivity and his adoptive father turned a blind eye to all of Matthew’s misdeeds and misbehavior during childhood – tales I would learn of through Myra. And so, as the weeks passed Matthew and I talked with excitement about our upcoming trip as the bills started coming in even before we left, and I was to find that this trip was in fact costing $12,000. Yes, more of Matthew’s self-serving sociopathic behavior. And yet, I said nothing but sold some stock and forged forward with hope.
I should have known when I got to his apartment at 8am, the time we were supposed to be at the airport, and he answered the door in his underwear, unshaven, barely awake, disheveled, confused and frazzled that this was a red flag. Nevertheless, I carried forward. “Mom, can you help me”, and, of course my answer was sure. What do you need? Meanwhile, we were in Manhattan, needing to be at JFK in ½ an hour for a flight to Japan where we would continue on to Thailand. We were late. Matthew asked me to help him with his luggage. Of course. I entered his bedroom, passing by his trashed living room showing remnants of some sort of good time/times left unkempt. Piles of trash in the kitchen to be left to fester for 12 days. No time for me to clean this up. I found Matthew’s luggage in his bedroom, laid open on the bedroom floor, empty…empty. Oh my god. There was nothing in the luggage. Matthew was in the bathroom, just now cleaning up. My ever-on-time husband was downstairs in his truck waiting for us, surely expecting us to walk out any minute. “Matthew, Matthew, Matthew! What am I supposed to do?” He told me to just start throwing clothes in there. ?????? He told me to grab the bag on the floor, it was filled with his dirty clothes, he said, and to pack those, to pack his sneakers, his ripped jeans, and then he came in and began just throwing some things in the luggage without much care as to what they were. I asked him if he had toiletries, a bathing suit but he cut me off and said it was fine. We summarily left the apartment and went to the truck. I sat in the back and Matthew met Chris for the first time. It was an awkward meeting. They were both friendly with each other. They talked about the law; something they both had in common. Chris got us to the airport in good time. As soon as Chris dropped us off, Matthew became silent. The young man, the boy, who had been talkative to me in hours and hours, days, weeks, months in conversations, emails, texts with me suddenly had nothing at all to say and became a sullen child. I went to the ticket counter and checked our bags. We went to the seating area and waited for our plane. Matthew lay down across three seats, pulled his hoodie over his head for 2 hours while we waited to board and said nothing to me. When the steward called for boarding I had to wake him and tell him it was time to board. It was an embarrassment. He pulled his headphones over his head, sat down in business class next to me and did not speak a word to me for the 12 hour flight to Japan.
Matthew is 34 years old. He has an IQ of 200. He is a genius; he also has no common sense and is barely functional. Having a conversation with him is like trying to follow a bouncing ball around the room. His ADD is awful. When I’m with him, I’m always wondering if he’s on drugs or is that just him? So, like a child, Matthew left his passport on the plane. We are in the airport in Japan ready to board our connecting flight to Bangkok when Matthew realizes he doesn’t have his passport. I tell him to hold our backpacks. Fucking idiot. Just useless. Yes, the bloom has come off the rose. I find a stewardess. I tell her our previous flight info and tell her his passport is on the plane. She tells me where to go and I run, run, run! Through the airport to the plane…which is locked up and beg and plead to get on the plane to look for the passport. Of course, people are looking at this white, frazzled woman running through the Tokyo airport. A steward goes on the plane, and thankfully retrieves the passport. I run, run, run back to Matthew who is sitting with the backpacks, head down and sleepy….relaxed. I feel empowered. Saved the day. I hope to get an Atta Girl. I get nothing. We board the plane.
Matthew sleeps for the entire 20 hours of flight time. We take a taxi to our luxurious hotel. Our hotel is incredible. We have a suite with a huge living room, two bedrooms, three bathrooms, a dining room and a kitchen. Matthew is amazed and finally speaks. “Wow Mom ….this is gorgeous…I love it.” He picks his room – as I have asked him to make first choice. He goes to his bed and lies down. Matthew goes to sleep. Matthew sleeps for 15 more hours. I assume this a combination of time change and because he mentioned that he had been so busy clearing up work matters before the trip in order to be ready for the trip that he is just exhausted. He wakes late on the first night, comes into the living room and says “hey”. I ask him if he’s hungry and he says yes. I order him a burger and fries. The hotel has plenty of American food. He watches American TV with me while he eats but says nothing. He finishes his food, leaves the plate on the table and returns to bed….saying nothing to me. Matthew sleeps until late afternoon the next day. We are only in Bangkok for 5 days until we are scheduled to begin traveling to the islands of Thailand. We’ve lost two days. I sit in the hotel room while Matthew is asleep waiting for him to wake so that we can do activities together. His clothes are still in the luggage. His dirty clothes are still in the luggage. When he wakes on day 2, I ask him if he’s hungry and he says yes. Again, I order him food and again, he watches TV and says nothing. I ask him if I can send out his dirty laundry for cleaning. He says, “Yeah, I guess so.” Matthew eats and goes back to bed. He hasn’t showered or changed from the clothes we flew in. Matthew sleeps until Day 3. Day 3 I’m losing my mind in the hotel room, sitting and waiting on Matthew…with this wonderful, unexplored world waiting for me outside. I decide to leave Matthew a note that I am going to the pool on the 60th floor of the hotel overlooking Bangkok for an hour. I put down the time that I am leaving. I go up to the 60th floor and I am amazed. It’s hot outside and glorious. It’s over 100 degrees in March. I sit next to a thin blonde beautiful 30-something woman and make small talk when she puts her book down. She tells me she is from Germany and is waiting for her husband who is on a business trip in South Africa and is going to join her in two days. I look to my left and make small talk with an interesting looking couple. A very fair-skinned chubby 50-something woman and a 50-something Rastafarian man with very long dreadlocks. They are so lovely. They tell me they are from Idaho and on vacation. He runs an independent boys camp for disadvantaged boys in his retirement, and tells me a story about his first student who came back to visit him after graduating college to tell him how much the camp helped him in his life. Yes! This is what I travelled overseas for – to meet people, for international flair, for stories. I return to the hotel room with wind back in my sail.
Alas, Matthew is still asleep. I watch TV and play with my iPad for the rest of Day 3. Day 4 Myra calls to see how the trip is going. Myra had taken Matthew on many vacations. Myra had been shut out and mistreated by Matthew before. However, she was alarmed and had no idea why he was sleeping now day after day after day, not washing, not talking….just hibernating in this glorious city to which he asked to come. What had I done? Myra assured me nothing and that I must leave him figure himself out and get out a bit, at least for an hour a day. I took her advice later that day and left Matthew another note – noting the time, that I was taking a walk into the city for an hour or so and would be back. Oh the city was wonderful. Small food markets everywhere, people cooking on the street, tiny alcoves, markets, markets, markets and so much fresh food. Smiling faces. Armed policeman. The railroad. The retail stores. I soaked it in. I soaked in as much as I could in that hour. I walked and walked nomad-like. I returned to the room feeling full. Matthew was on the couch. “Where did you go”? I told him about my walk with excitement. He didn’t respond but got up and went back to bed.
Day 5…..our last day….we leave tomorrow morning for a flight to one of the first of the three islands we are scheduled to visit over for the next 7 days. This is awful. I am lonely. Matthew is asleep and it’s 11 am. I decide to take one of the river boat rides I’ve heard about. I leave Matthew the usual note. I take a taxi to the pier. I hire a boat for $30 U.S. dollars. I have this longboat with many seats to myself and a captain with checkerboard teeth though he smiles a lot. The water is beyond filthy. This where the “real” people of Bangkok live … along the river in tiny shanties made of tin and cardboard and some cement yet they all have satellite dishes … and they wash their clothes and vegetables in this filthy water….leaving remnants of vegetable leaves floating in the river along with other debris. Dropped in between these shanties perplexingly are immense, beautiful, ornate temples. We stop at one. I walk the grounds. I am not permitted to enter the temple because I am wearing shorts – I did not know we would be visiting a temple. Later, we pass a woman in a floating market and I purchase some trinkets from her….she rewards me for purchasing from her by giving me a cold beer. We only communicate in hand signals. I give the beer to the captain. This makes him hungry and he flags down a food long boat. He asks me, in hand signals, if I mind making this food stop – and I do not – so he orders something barbeque and the cook’s longboat pulls parallel to us and cooks something in an upside trash can in his own longboat in seconds, puts it in a baggie and gives it to the captain. It was a great cultural experience. Again, I returned to the hotel room with no one to share my experience with my people at home via Facebook. Matthew was asleep.
It was at about 6 or 7pm on Day 5 that I decided to wake Matthew and ask him if he wanted to see anything at all in Bangkok because we were leaving in the morning. I stood in the doorway to his hotel bedroom and just started to talk even though Matthew was ever lying in his bed with his eyes closed. “Matthew, this is our last day in Bangkok, tomorrow morning we have an 8am flight to Phuket, do you want go out tonight and see the city or see anything in Bangkok because this is our last chance.” I stood there and waited a minute or so for a response and finally he uttered…”so what.”
I’m an alpha female. I had decidedly put my alpha status in check for this trip, and essentially, put my alpha status in check whenever I was with Matthew so as to not scare him off. His utterance of “so what” after 4 days of sitting in an exquisite hotel room alone, in an exotic country doing nothing having spent $12,000 just boiled over and my alpha female just went into over drive and came out of the closet. ‘SO WHAT??!!!! , I’ve been sitting in this hotel room for 4 days by myself Matthew, you’re the one who wanted to come here, you haven’t spoken to me at all and you’ve spent the entire time sleeping?” Matthew sat up in bed…4 days later, still in wearing the clothes he had worn on the plane departing JFK…”if you don’t like then leave”. Holy shit…did that motherfucker just say that to me? You bet your sweet ass I’m out of here…and with that, without another word to Matthew I began to pack up to leave, got on my phone immediately and changed my return flight to New York to the next morning, called the front desk and checked out of the room immediately assuring that no charges could be made to the room, went to the dining room table where I placed the two cartons of cigarettes that I had purchased in the lobby for Matthew ….took the cigarettes to the kitchen and began to stab each box with a knife and run it under water. Fuck him. “Hey!!!” Matthew yelled “don’t touch my shit”; I turned around to face him, still sitting in the bed, and roared at him “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” – Matthew jumped back in the bed with a wide-eyed expression and said “holy shit.” Matthew has never seen me angry; he has only seen me in placate him and acquiesce. I finished ruining the cigarettes, finished packing and called the front desk to get a taxi for me to the airport. All swept up summarily. Matthew got out of bed and sat on the couch. Ah, he sees I’m actually leaving. Yep! Asshole. I approach Matthew on the couch ….”Here, here is your plane ticket home, your flights to the islands are all pre-paid as are the hotels, here is $1,000 for food and expenses so you can’t say I left you here with nothing, goodbye.” I turned to leave and Matthew said “I’m sorry” to which I did not respond. I just left.
I was blessed to have a great seat mate for my travel home. I booked Business/First. From Tokyo to San Francisco I sat next to gentlemen who was born in Idaho and has lived in at least 7 states, now living in Sarasota. He was about 68. He looked just like Robert Redford does today. Conversation starts routinely on planes in ways like …where did you originate from, were you on vacation, did have a good time, was it business, what do you do?, etc. And so, we follow the routine. “Bob” was coming from China and the plane picked me up in Bangkok – oh, did I have a good time – so, of course I tell him my story – which is only hours old. Bob is, to my eye, immediately wise, deep, and careful with his words. He is very concerned for me, which for the first time makes me wonder if I should be concerned about myself. Bob tells me to take care of myself; “Kathleen, he’s still too young and immature. He’ll come around one day. But take care of yourself now.” He proceeded to give me a lecture about getting a job or an interest or going to school – telling me I was clearly too smart ….but it gets better … this is a 14 hour flight …. He now tells me about himself …. Bob is right out of a Tom Clancy novel. He started as a kid dating a girl whose dad was a cop and suggested he try out for the academy direct from high school (no college needed then), he went from there to the FBI. He loved all the adrenaline and kept moving up. He worked up to special affairs and even told me of a job he did on-watch duty for the children of VIP envoys during terrorist attacks. Moreover, he had also been a customs agent, and so he filled out my form – showed me what line to get on at San Francisco – “no, don’t go to that agent, he’s a pain in the ass”, got me on the best line, gave me a hug and left. The trip home was wonderful.
A month or so passed and Matthew sent me a text. Communicating with Matthew was a nightmare. He responds to email, telephone calls and texts whenever he likes, if he responds at all. He wrote something like “I’m still processing what happened in Thailand but hope we can talk and see each other soon.” Ugh. Never responsible for anything and never, ever and apology. $12,000 down the tubes and HE’S STILL PROCESSING???!!!! But I forgave him. I thought to myself….maybe he was overwhelmed, maybe this, maybe that. And I forgave him. I started visiting him again. Once a week I would go to his apartment and take his dog Stella for a long walk because he said he was so busy he never got to walk her…instead, he let her poop and pee on his balcony always. Stella loved me and I loved her too. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome and was intentionally walking on eggshells now around Matthew, truly mistrusting him, so I’d walk Stella and leave. Often, I’d bring food I had cooked at home and bring him meals.
Then Matthew pushed the limits of my kindness, forgiveness and generosity…and my naiveté. I had asked Matthew to incorporate a small business for me and my husband which required filing fees. I gave Matthew our joint credit card number to pay the filing fees. In June my husband called me at home and asked me why I had given $2500 cash advance to Matthew on our credit card. I told him I knew nothing about this! I called Matthew. He did not answer. I texted, emailed. Nothing. I started with pleasant messages…Matthew, if you are in need of money or having problems please let us know because we don’t understand why you took a cash advance against our card without speaking to us first. No response. Chris called me all day….did you hear from Matthew? No. I’m getting pressure to find out what the hell is going on. As the day progresses and I cannot make contact with Matthew, I am losing patience. Chris is getting angry. Not a single one of our other children would take as much as a dime from us without asking first. This is mind-blowing. I’m getting pumped with adrenaline as the day goes on, and my anger is climbing. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
And then it blows! So motherfucker….you thought you could play me? You just drew your last straw. It was now midnight. My husband was fast asleep in bed, and I began my covert mission. Fortunately, the owner of the company happened to be driving that night and picked me up. Joseph and I had become very friendly as I used the taxi service often. I told him what my creepo son had done, that I was about to go into Matthew’s apartment and retrieve the many, many EXPENSIVE, UNDESERVED gifts I had given him and that Joseph should wait out front for me in the car. Joseph was incredulous at the story and said “if I see fire coming out of window I’m coming in to get you.” I entered the building easily without announcement, the doorman knew me well, and went up to his apartment. Matthew never locked his apartment door so I just entered. The apartment was pitch black. Stella came to the door and I whispered to her, “hi baby girl, it’s Mommy” and pet her….she started to cry and wag her tail thinking I was going to take her for a walk. I moved about in the dark with a small flashlight. Matthew was asleep on the couch. I took one of the barstools he had illegally purchased with my credit card and propped open the apartment door. Then I began to collect items and toss them into the hall. Among the things I tossed into the hall….all 4 barstools, $400 worth of bathroom towels and rugs, a $600 piece of artwork, a $200 collector’s art book, another $500 piece of art….and then he woke up. He said “who is that.” I didn’t answer. He said, Mom what are you doing? I answered, why should I answer you? You didn’t answer me all day. I continued tossing things into the hall. Matthew said, while still lying down, “get out of my apartment before I stab you.” Holy shit….are you kidding me? Did he really say that? He had a collection of knives, swords and other weapons just a few feet from his hands. He sat up. Get out he said. I’m leaving Matthew….I’m done. But I guess I wasn’t done. With everything collected in the hall, with the door open to the hallway and me standing in the doorway, the institutional light of the hall glaring behind me, I dug into my purse and took out my small pocketknife. “C’mon you fucking coward, get up and stab me….cause I’ll tell you what, you’re going to get one chance. You’re going to stick some knife in me and I’m going to grab it and hold it there and hold it in with one hand and with the other hand take this scalpel-sharp pocketknife and stick it in your jugular. I’m fearless, you cowardly, thieving motherfucker, so get the fuck up.” He lay back down. “That’s what I thought!” I yelled. I slammed the door shut. I dragged all that stuff down to Joseph in the taxi….all of it in excellent condition and said “Happy Birthday Joseph!” ….would you like this or I’ll put it in the garbage. Joseph took it. The next day I sent Matthew a text and an email….DO NOT EVER CONTACT ME AGAIN IN ANY FORM WHATSOEVER!
Matthew did not have enough pestering me. We didn’t even go after him for the money. I wanted to go after him with the American Bar Association and make him lose his law license for credit card theft and fraud but my husband said no. Chris said just move on with your life. Don’t take away his livelihood. I said ok. I didn’t want to act out of anger or ruin someone’s life. But no, Matthew still had to bother me. A few weeks later he texted me when I was in NYC at a party. He knew I was at this party because I had invited a girl to the party that I had introduced him to and they had dated a short time. She had told him she was going to the party. While I was at the party, Matthew sends me a text. “Hi Mom, hope you’re having a great time at the party. I’m sure you look great.” This incensed me. I texted back…”I told you not to text me…go away”…his response…”ha ha ha ha”. Ok….here goes Kathleen….pissed off! Well, I know that Matthew grows his own marijuana. So, you want to be an asshole? I left the party, went to the lower east side, went to Rite Aid and bought two big bottles of Clorox. I then went to Matthew’s building, once again passing through security easily. Of course, Matthew now locks his apartment door. Knock, knock. He just opens it. “What do you want?” “Nothing” just to talk, he lets me in, I immediately walk to his weed closet with about 10 nicely growing plants with their special lights and paraphernalia. Fast as a flash I open the Clorox and pour, pour, pour. Matthew grabs my arm but it’s too late. The plants will die. I dash out the door and leave. I run down the stairs and into a yellow taxi fast as I can. I text Matthew. “Like I said, DO NOT TEXT ME OR CONTACT ME ANYMORE!”
It was just fucked up. It’s a fucking psychiatrist’s nightmare. It’s my nightmare. And like everything else I do, I eventually became manic about it. At least in my head. It’s not healthy. He reminded me too much of his biological father. He turned out to be a cold-hearted, brilliant thief like his biological father. He reminded me too much of me. Anyway, it’s best we stay away from each other. I’ve never made so many mistakes in such a short period of time of such great magnitude.