How could I seemingly love a man who was psychologically abusive to me? How could I be with this man who had held a butcher knife to my neck? As I write this now, I shake my head in disgust. I cannot believe that I was. But, and this is a huge understatement, I understand now why I did. Please let me explain how I survived those years and why I stayed with Daniel. Perhaps I should say, why I seemed forced to stay with Daniel. It was a choice I made and a choice made for me.
As I said in a former post, my body was in no physical condition to just get up and walk away. At that time, I was wheel-chair bound. I was pretty much nonverbal. I was now going through some pretty intense physical therapy. As a matter of fact, the therapy that I was going through was the least resistant because my body was in intense pain. Considered a pain patient then, today I am still a chronic pain patient.
Back then, I went to a very good hospital for pool therapy. Excited at first, I thought it would be comforting to my body. Therapists had tried various ways to help me and had determined that anything else would be too painful for me. Anything else they had tried would leave me hysterically crying. I can take physical pain. I have many tattoos. But the pain that I was feeling was unbearable.
The four accidents that I had been in had taken their toll. I was in my forties and had no idea if I would ever be myself again. I was dependent on Daniel for everything. And here’s the clincher to this thought of being dependent on Daniel. Since he would also seizure when things wouldn’t go his way, or when his mother would begin to stress him, I couldn’t count on him always being there for me. which meant I also had to look to her for help also.
I had no one else. Only these two people. A bipolar psychopath and a histrionic, bipolar, dissociative narcissist determined to have her son for herself and get me out of the picture one way or another. My life was becoming more and more frightening to me and I had no idea on how to get out of it. They kept me away from people, my three children and friends.
On top of all this, I was learning to verbalize again. The words were in my brain. I could see them. But I couldn’t say them. Explaining myself was exceeding difficult for me. When Daniel’s probation officer would visit, he would ask questions. I could barely answer. Any of these people who tried to question me must have thought that I was a very quiet woman. either that, or maybe I was afraid.
Yes, I was in a fearful situation. But I wasn’t aware of it. That’s where Stockholm Syndrome came in. Since I had no one else, and only these two people, I began to look at them as two people who were actually helping me in my time of need. After all, no one else was doing that. I had three children who were adults. They were ignoring the fact that I was horribly injured. But Daniel and his mother were there for me. They took me to the various hospitals and doctors. So in a strange way, I believed they were my helpers. Amongst all the chaos.
This is how deviant my thinking had become. How could I think of them as helpers when their behavior consisted of these things? If Daniel left the house, and his mother felt forced to baby-sit me, she would usually start cleaning. Once I remember I had seizures in my kitchen. She left me on the cold tiles and continued washing dishes and cleaning. She just kept talking and telling me she was leaving me there and asking me how did it feel stuck on the floor with no help at all? I couldn’t get up by myself. Stuck on the floor with no mobility. Wedged between the refrigerator and the kitchen table. Every now and then she would sneak a glance at me and smile. How evil. How black-hearted. As soon as she heard Daniel’s key in the lock and Sabbath (my dog) barking, she rushed to pick me up. She knew I wouldn’t be able to tell him the story. The look in her eyes was pure delight. Pure, dark, black-hearted evil bathed in wicked delight.
At times, Daniel would believe me when I would try to tell him how his mother was acting towards me. If I could keep him away from her long enough in time, and close enough to me, he would start to cater more to me. The minute his mother would get hold of him, he would change. As a matter of fact, when he would come home, if he had visited her without telling me, I knew the second he walked in the door. His look was dark and foreboding. His entire demeanor was breaking apart. It was as if there was someone else in him that was trying to appear and tell me something.
I had already seen his mother seemingly pass out, wake up and turn into another personality. A person very different from the one that I knew. When I or Daniel would encounter these episodes and tell her about them later, she would deny them. She would have no memory at all. Forced to tell her psychiatrist about them, she was having Dissociative Disorder episodes. When she would have her sessions with her psychiatrist, she never reported any of the truly important information about herself that she should have. She only talked nonsensical things to him. It was I that called him to report her behaviors.
Now I was beginning to see other personalities come out in Daniel. Two others. A little boy about the age of 4. And a man, older, who was quite ruthless and angry, very angry. Torn between helping this man who was so screwed up by his parents and twisted. He needed so much help. But his psychiatrist wanted him committed to the state institution for the mentally insane. This was the man I thought I
New roads were opening on the horizon. New twisted frightening forks in the roads.
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- Economic status, genetics together influence psychopathic traits (sciencedaily.com)
- Psychopathic Personality Disorder (helpingpsychology.com)
- Spotting the Psychopaths Among Us (psychologytoday.com)
- The Characteristics of Cluster B Personality Disorders (brighthub.com)
- Economic status, genetics together influence psychopathic traits (esciencenews.com)
- Inside the Mind of a Psychopath (preview) (scientificamerican.com)
- RAPatton: Inside A Psychopath’s Brain: The Sentencing Debate : NPR (npr.org)
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