It is enough. — E A CARTER

Today I watched The Stanford Prison Experiment. And who did I see in those sadistic guards and dehumanized prisoners? An accurate metaphor of You. And me. That claustrophobic basement corridor, three cells, and isolation closet buried in the depths of Stanford University's Jordan Hall: the boundaries of my brutal, tyrannical marriage to you.

Yesterday, the court ruled on the asset case you dragged up to them, a case you fuelled for over a year with the plain intent to destroy me financially, to ensure I am left with nothing, not even what I am legally entitled to according to Swedish law. Your creative accounting, fabrication of debt I should owe you because you were my husband, of forging my name on fraudulent agreements that never existed to 'chip away' (to borrow one of your most favorite phrases) the assets I should otherwise legally receive. Your intention was glaringly obvious - not content to have everything, you also pushed to leave me in debt to you: A man who earns 50,000 kr a month, drives a 5 series BMW and lives a life of luxury, while I rent a bedroom in my best friend's house, drive her car and survive on my writing.

I grant you this: You kept every word of your many promises to eviscerate me, to leave me with nothing, to ensure I would be nothing and no one without you. For me being the creative one, I applaud the depths of your imagination to make what even the judge stated should have been a simple, straightforward case into a long, complex, and convoluted one.

But that's how you always were. Complex. Convoluted. Dangerous. So really, you are only doing what you have always done. Only this time you pulled the Swedish legal system into it. You lied to the bank, you lied to the court. You lied to me. You lie. That's all you do. Lie. Lie. Lie until you believe it's real. And then you tell people not to deny your reality. Just like you did to me for years.

I don't know if you have already received the court's decision yet. I certainly haven't having been forced to move to another country to ensure my mortal safety. So you will know the answer before me. And soon you will know exactly where I live when you receive the decision. Lucky you. Unlucky me.

You must be feeling vindicated in this, at least. You love control. Power. Leverage. Having it all. And again you have it. If you lose the case, you will be furious. Because the court will have denied your reality. And it will be me who will pay the price for your fury. You can come and get me at any time now. But here's the thing: I have not remained silent as I have recovered from the horror of what you did to me. I am present, loud and clear on social media, on my website, and online. Everywhere. I exist. I matter. I picked myself up from the depths of the darkest hell and got back on my feet. Alone.

You told me hundreds, no, thousands of times no one would ever care about me, or love me after you disposed of me, that I was worthless shit. It seems you were wrong. People do care about me. A lot of them. I have learned what you hated in me, what you made me hate in myself, others love.

You said you would never be happy until I was dead. When you thought I had died in Poland, the house suddenly went up for sale. When you learned I was still alive a month later, the house was pulled from the market, even when there was a buyer. How disappointed you must have been to know I didn't die, that I had kept breathing, and all because someone cared about me, a man, who caught me at the last moment and struggled for two hours to keep me alive. Even when I told him I resented him for interfering with my anguish. Even then. He wouldn't let me go. He held on. And I am glad he did.

Soon you will know where I am, but the police have been informed of my situation. Fortunately for me, the UK is not Sweden, there is much more protection for me here. The authorities will know the second you land on UK soil and will warn me you are here. However, I know painfully well how clever and resourceful you are, and that you have access to considerable funds from your parents. Who knows how far you will go? What you are willing to do to ensure my destruction, to right the inevitable wrong you think I present simply from existing. I have learned not to underestimate you. I may not survive your hate. But I will not fall in silence. My words will follow me on social media, on my website and in my books. In this message that took enormous courage to write...and post.

Know this: You cannot ever silence me. Not even in death. My words will go on. Will speak for me long, long after I am gone. And for me, it is enough.

More than enough.