Chapter 6: Three’s A Trap (Part 2)
Disclaimer: These are some of the hardest, most confusing, traumatizing memories I have. It is extremely upsetting to write and edit this material, so it just is what it is.
Ghislane:
Sean began seeing his then five-year-old son about six months into our relationship, after barely being in his life for 2–3 years. Ghislane’s fourth husband (third baby daddy) had left her, and suddenly the son was available. At the time, the boy was five and didn’t know Sean was his biological father. He called the stepdad “Dad” and referred to Sean by name. I was the one who explained to him that Sean was his actual dad, and the other man had been a stepfather after noticing he didn’t know what to call Sean.
Ghislane originally said we’d have his son every other weekend and some weekdays as was court ordered. That never happened while we were together. Not once. She canceled every single time, always last-minute, with excuses like:
“He threw a tantrum”
“He has a cold”
When we’d go to his sports events, the child would be visibly distressed. At one game, as I was telling him when we’d next see him, Ghislane grabbed his face, hard, yanked it to the side, and scolded him not to count down the days until his next visit. If a coach had touched him like that, they would’ve been fired.
It was so jarring that Sean immediately dissociated, turned 180 degrees, walked away and forgot about it until I brought it up 5 minutes later.
Ghislane would only call and ask us to take him last minute. Usually on weekends or Thursdays, when her other four children were with their respective fathers. The instability was constant and overwhelming.
Even when she did say we’d have him overnight, she often demanded him back partway through the visit. Sometimes, I later found out, it wasn’t even her, it was Sean who sent him back because “he was too much work.” He wasn’t doing the work. I was. Guess what I wasn’t doing while I did that: Sex with Sean.
Beginning his second visit with us (me), Sean’s son, only five years old at the time, began telling me things that were deeply disturbing:
He said his mother and stepdad had gotten into a fight in the car. She opened the door while they were driving and threatened to kill herself unless he did what she wanted.
His mom was arrested and gone for three days.
He regularly swam unsupervised in the backyard pool. I had already noticed he was a weak swimmer.
His 14-year-old brother (the same one who had been involved with pornography at age 9) would steal his toys and force him to fight to get them back. Their mother did nothing.
He said his stepfather “whooped” his “ass.”
He said his mom drank lots of wine and once broke all the glass in the kitchen.
His 8-year-old sister bullied him constantly and called him stupid.
He was responsible for taking care of his younger siblings while his mom worked from home.
He and the 8-year-old sister had both been sobbing because their mother was explaining, in graphic detail, how she was going to get their stepfather put in jail (the man he thought was his dad.)
Sean would not allow me to report these things, and would do nothing to get custody of his son. He’d just get angry at Ghislane, and at me when I asked him to intervene, call me her name and scream at me like I was her.
One time he snapped, saying: “ALLEGEDLY. ALLEGEDLY these things are happening. You have to consider the source. He’s six.” As if kids just make up detailed abuse. I have a feeling this is how she defended herself to Sean about the child abuse. I KNOW the “source” bit is how Ghislane excused things their son said about her husband.
A few months later, I reported everything myself. An investigation was opened.
On top of all that, I found Sean’s loaded, unlocked gun on the nightstand in his son’s room while his son was there. I repeatedly asked him to put it away. He never did. It was always left unattended on some counter. Guns were a problem for that child’s parents. Later, when we were separated, Sean helped Ghislane move, and found a gunshot hole in her floor, obscured by a rug.
I would not be surprised if you are here, reading this on my page, because their family has been shot up by the kids, Sean, or Ghislane and it made headlines.
This was Jan of 2023. I’m not sure of the context, I seem suppressed at the beginning, and the fact that I had my cat tells me I was looking for security. So, my guess is, Sean’s aggressive, son-related sex habit had surfaced and I was super dissociated as a result, but trying to provide activities and stimulation for his son. He was the youngest child in his class, at a spanish immersion school that aimed to have the kids two years ahead of standard grade level. He spoke no spanish, and was not at grade level so I was trying to boost his skills. I wrote out the numbers 1-20 in chalk and had him ride his bike around since he was a kinesthetic learner.
As I started demanding Sean do something about his son’s life, or move out, one time he snapped, saying: “ALLEGEDLY. ALLEGEDLY these things are happening. You have to consider the source. He’s six.” Actual quote. It left me shocked, I never expected he would call his son a liar. As if kids just make up detailed abuse. I have a feeling this is how his ex defended herself to Sean about the child abuse. I KNOW the “consider the source” bit is how Ghislane excused things their son said about her husband.
A few months later, I reported everything myself. An investigation was opened.
On top of all that, I found Sean’s loaded, unlocked gun on the nightstand in his son’s room while his son was there. I repeatedly asked him to put it away. He never did. It was always left unattended on some counter. Later, when we were separated, Sean helped Ghislane move, and found a gunshot hole in her floor, obscured by a rug.
I would not be surprised if you are here, reading this on my page, because their family has been shot up by the kids, Sean, or Ghislane and it made headlines.
These are things Sean would fight with me over. Our fights were literally over me wanting a stable schedule for his sons visits and something to be done about the child abuse. Sean was willing to BEAT me over this. He was willing to do physical and cognitive resets, put me in trance, and use military-grade behavioral entrainment techniques to control how I approached the situation and it took me over a year to figure it out.
I eventually started telling him not to bring his son over. I felt too unstable to be responsible for a child in that environment. During this time I was cutting myself, suicidal, and heavily dissociated. I did not know it at the time, but Sean was purposefully driving me to that state of psychological crisis.
Sean agreed not to bring over his son again, rather than to move out, and then would show up randomly with him, scream at me that he was a dad and his son needed to be there, and disappear into the bathroom forcing me to watch him. I have really high standards for children, so it was draining to try to provide for him while staying within my window of tolerance, and simultaneously being drugged and raped (which I had dissociative amnesia from.)
At one point, after he showed up randomly with his son, I was screaming at Sean that I needed to know how long his son would be there and when he would leave. His son came out later and told me “three days.” I couldn’t believe he could track things better than his dad. He went home in two.
I eventually snapped and screamed at both Sean and his son after he kept playing Ghislane’s phone calls on speakerphone in my home when he’d force me to watch him. There was no schedule, no warning, just whenever she felt like calling, no matter what was going on. And that was also how the visits worked, no schedule, no warning of when he would be there or when he would leave. I was being put in trance, told to repeat that I was this man’s wife, and this child’s mother, raped until I couldn’t move or speak, had no idea when I would see this child, and he was telling me he was being beaten and neglected. It was invasive, chaotic, and felt like a deliberate provocation.
This was July of 2023, three months after I began asking Sean not to bring his son over, and had already suggested he move out if he was unwilling to change the way he coparented. I made another activity to help Sean’s son with academics. It was frustrating as I’d observed him to learn quickly with the right approach, which he clearly was not getting at school or with his mother. Frequently I would not see him for a couple weeks, then he’d come back to me with an attitude that he hated learning, calling himself stupid. It would generally take me 15-20 minutes of focused enthusiasm to get him excited about learning again.
All-the-while, Sean was blackmailing me with information he pulled out of my subconscious while he had me dissociated, in trance, and threatened to “ruin my life” if I left him. By the time this video was taken, my hair had been cut, which was a coping mechanism- me trying to prove to Sean that I wasn’t cheating by making myself “less sexy.” That’s also why I would cut myself on my breasts, hips and butt. I had cuts all over my body, and remember buying new swimsuits so his son wouldn’t see them when I took him to the pool.
Ready for the drug-fueled nightmare?
So, as I mentioned I screamed things at their son. Sean had randomly interrupted my activity with him, took him without explanation, then I heard Ghislane on speakerphone, got triggered, screamed at everyone, and she demanded him back for “safety.”
I thought it was over— that I would finally stop having to deal with everything. She had him and she would not send him back somewhere with Sean and I fighting so much. It was devastating and humiliating, but at least it would be over.
Alas no…
A week later, Sean brought his son over AGAIN, this time while I was sleeping. And the first thing he did was take my pants off and try to engage with me sexually, (unbeknownst to me, his child was downstairs alone, probably remembering that the last time he had been there I had a complete breakdown and screamed that he was a “pussy little bitch” resulting in him peeing his pants). I know that seems extreme, and it is, that’s the level and exact language Sean would scream at me with when we fought.
That’s how he was when I used to spend so much time and energy trying to be patient, trying to tell him he was triggered, remembering how he used to apologize for his PTSD affecting me, and asking him to treat me how he would want his daughters treated by a man.
I’d gone through several months of him insulting me, my family, my parents, my friends, my job, my employers, my furniture, my clothes, my books- absolutely everything. Generally all having to do with me attempting boundaries with his coparenting, which would also trigger him to call me Ghislane and scream at me about cheating details that had nothing to do with my life. Once, I was screamed at about “my” trip to New York. I still have never been to New York.
It would be that and then a “physical reset,” (beating me in ways that left no marks, followed by immediate coercive age-regression tactics) and eventually just physical and sexual abuse. So it was ALL of that flooding out after months of suppression.
So, I woke up, Sean was trying to be sexual. When I rejected him, he claimed he was about to leave to get his son, and I freaked out.
I thought they were trying to make me kill their son.
Explaining what that feels like- I don’t even know how. The moment of complete and utter disbelief that these two adults (who KNEW things were not good) had communicated and agreed to this arrangement AGAIN? Sean had literally gone through the trouble of recording my breakdowns, baiting me into screaming about his son, playing it back for me and blackmailing me, and STILL had made me watch his son against my will. Ghislane knew I didn’t want him there and had screamed at both of them. Like, I literally thought they were trying to make me kill him. It. was. T.E.R.R.I.F.Y.I.N.G
And the simultaneous confusion of WHY are these people doing this to their own son? Or anyone’s child at all?? How could you “protect your child” screaming about my mental illness one week and the next week send that child back? WHAT exactly, do you have going on that you can’t have him with you?
I thought they were trying to make me kill him. I did. I thought “they want me to kill him, they each other so much they want him dead, they want me in jail.” My system went into full flight mode.
I tried to run. Sean blocked me into a corner, hit me, giving me a black eye, and physically restrained me while I screamed, blood-curdling, primal screams. When he finally let go, I bolted. He shouted after me that I was “going to jail for child abuse” because his son was already in our home.
I ran to my car, parked it on the street, shaking and dissociating. From there, I called 911.
And still, no one was protecting that child. Not his mother. Not his father. It was left to me, the person everyone insisted was “crazy,” the one with the mental illness crisis being weaponizing against me. Obviously Sean or Ghislane were not going to start protecting their son. Or me.
So I made Sean move out.
Because who would send a child to the home of a woman in a mental health crisis, who had cut up her own body, had screamed at a child, had ideations, and had demanded not to be his caregiver? And who would bring a child there after he’d been screamed at, terrifyingly-so, until he peed his pants, leave him by himself and then go try to do sex on the aforementioned woman while she slept?
Meth addicts. Meth addicts would send a child there. A meth addict would. Two meth addicts. That is a meth thing. That all makes sense on meth.
Perhaps the most subtle, and cruel, part of it all is that I went all in. Despite being conditioned through behavioral entrainment and trance states to believe I was this child’s mother, I genuinely cared. Deeply. And no one cared how much I tried. No one gave a damn about the effort I put in to help that child.
No one acknowledged the lessons I did with him, the time I spent analyzing his schoolwork, the ways I tried to help him reframe his mother’s breakdowns and neglect. No one cared that I tried to get him out of that situation, or that I even taught him about psychology and the human brain, so he could begin to abstract the abuse and manage it more safely. I told him, “Even if I yell at you, you can tell me you need me to stop.” I tried to model repair. I tried to give him a map out.
What Ghislane and Sean did to both of us was not just wrong, it was calculated harm. I will never forgive them. And I don’t believe anyone should. Including God. I do not support any God who forgives the deliberate creation of hell in people’s lives.