This wasn’t the first time Sandra was full of grandiose stories. Her son, Daniel, was quite hesitant to have me meet her in the beginning of our relationship. He would say he needed to stop at his parents’ home, but leave me in the car. I told him that was ridiculous, and that I was interested in meeting this woman he called Mother. I now rue that day.
He told me the meeting needed to be arranged, and that his mother was tough. No tougher than I could be, I thought at the time. I had absolutely no idea what I was walking into. Daniel had no idea what his psychiatric problems were and neither did his mother. Those with severe psychiatric problems often are unaware of their behaviors and their impact on others.
Daniel’s father had an idea his son was different in ways he couldn’t understand but was attempting to rationalize in a simple way when Daniel was young. Lester knew Daniel had difficulty in elementary school and would visit his teachers to try to figure ways to help his son, he had told me. Before dsylexia was fully explained and explored in the school systems, many teachers had no idea how to cope with students struggling with this problem.
Lester once told me he knew his son couldn’t read. He felt if he had Daniel re-write stories he might be able to learn to read better. At the time, this seemed a gentler approach than how Sandra felt her approach to teaching Daniel to read would work. She would sit at the kitchen table with him attempting to teach him at an early age when he couldn’t read words back to her, if he couldn’t perform to her standards she would grab his head and slam it against the kitchen wall, she told me. She said “knocking some sense into him might get him to read, but it never did”. I can say both ways never taught the man to read properly.
Unchecked dysfunctional patterns in households often went unnoticed back then circa 1960’s. If it was noticed, not many decent programs were in place that could help children either. Daniel was in a local Boy’s Club in his city as a child and ironically, one of the men that volunteered at the Boy’s Club later went on to see Daniel as a defendant in a judicial position in the court system. Again, falling through the cracks seemed to be Daniel’s future from a very early start in life.
His parents lived in a late 1950’s cape cod style home with 3 small bedrooms. Furnished on a blue collar workingman’s salary, it was clean and well-kept. The day that Daniel had his mother and I meet for the first time he wanted to make sure that what I would be wearing, in his eyes, what his mother called “appropriate clothing”.
For anyone that knows me, I dress the way I want, anywhere I want, in the style I want. Pretty much since high school, I have adopted my own style, not necessarily adhering to trends, but rather, adhering to my own eclectic taste. Out of an admiration for the classics, I had grown to appreciate vintage clothing. My aunts had kept most of their clothing in pristine condition in the attic of the home I grew up in and I would scour the racks for pieces to wear from the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s throughout high school and college. My attic was my own personal thrift shop, so to speak, full of well-made, costly clothing and accessories that hung wrapped in garment bags on racks. This had set my personal style from early on.
When Daniel and I first met, I owned a store that amongst other items, sold vintage clothing that dated from into the 1800’s and some new clothing that I would acquire from trade shows at Jacob Javits from New York City every few weeks. I adored fashion and the eccentricity that went with it since I was a teen-ager. Having him tell me to dress in a certain way or to modify my style to meet his mother seemed controlling to me and I was not going to abide to his whims. Apparently, his mother still frightened him in his decisions, I thought. An apparent Momma’s boy, perhaps?
The relationship was still in its beginning stages, and I had no idea what to expect. I hadn’t met Daniel on the internet, I had met him in person. Our relationship and how it was to evolve was based on actual person-to-person interaction, instead of texting and internet messaging as is commonplace today.
Interesting personalities, these psychopaths are. As we try to envision their childhood, and pick it apart, we look for pieces that might fit a puzzle that tells us something went horribly wrong in their environment. We want answers. The scientific mind knows the possibilities that their brain lobes can be damaged.
There have been suggestions that damage to the frontal lobes and behavior in psychopathic individuals is remarkably consistent. See: http://www.elsevier.com/wps/find/authored_newsitem.cws_home/companynews05_01511. A more concise, detailed with images and opinions conversation on psychopathy and frontal lobe damage can be found here: http://www.cerebromente.org.br/n07/doencas/disease_i.htm.
Then there are the environmental factors that psychiatrists and others look into when picking apart the background of these disorganized people. What went wrong in their upbringing? What horrible parent-child interactions went on that might have encouraged this child to grow dark thoughts into even darker, twisted immoral , illegal ideas?
After living with Daniel, after hearing his stories, his own personal nightmares and after listening to Sandra’s immoral interpretations of life, I can tell you that Daniel’s future as an adult was never on solid ground, regardless of whether his brain was damaged or not. His environmental background was not solid, I would soon find out through both first-hand stories of his parents and witnessing the visual impact of the behavior of this mother-son relationship over the years that were to follow.
The stories that he told me of his childhood were typically abusive, typically dysfunctional and of a child that seemed to be encouraged by one parent (Lester) and always thwarted by his other parent (Sandra). As time progresses through chapters of “Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…)”, the nuances and delusions of Daniel’s mind will be discussed in further intricate details and in much deeper thought.
Daniel’s mind seemed always dark to me through the stories he told me, even through his childhood memories. He often told me disturbing stories from his childhood that you know are so dark, so deep, so distraught, so full of angst…you can only take these stories, listen and put them on the bookshelf of your own mind for later reference. You catalogue them into files because they are so unique and you realize you are talking to an individual that is one of a kind. Now, I know I was talking to a true psychopath. I was privy to his mind and the inner workings of it.
On the day he brought me in to his parent’s home, Sandra introduced herself as “Mrs. S” to me, saying that only “friends” were allowed to call her Sandy or Sandra. She showed me her home, focusing on a few pieces of furniture that her father, Daniel’s grandfather had built, and a portrait that hung in the living room circa 1900. The portrait was of her family, except of one woman posed in it, whom she said had married into the family. The odd thing about that portrait, and I always questioned her, was that Daniel was the spitting image of the woman in that photo. Sandra would get an odd look on her face when I mentioned any references to this woman, and tell me she couldn’t remember her name. What she did finally tell me about Daniel’s great-aunt was that she had been married and divorced and this was her second marriage, indicating that she was not a blood relation. Still, I always wondered how Daniel and she could pass for twins. Then again, circa 1900 women didn’t have the opportunity to marry and divorce a few times. Sandra’s stories were just that. Her stories to set her moods and fantasies at the time. She was a Cluster-B personality type and she would say and do what ever pleased her at the moment.
Daniel was walking on eggshells through this first meeting, but by the end of it, “Mrs. S” had me calling her Sandy. I pretty much just listened to her stories about her home and how it ranked in her neighborhood according to her, wondered about what type of mother Daniel had growing up and was happy to leave. The quick impression I left with was of a woman trying to impress another woman with her home, because that’s what she had to work with at the time. She basically knew nothing about me but she kept the conversation wrapped around herself.
Over and done, I thought. I met the woman and wouldn’t have to think too much about her for a while. That was not what was on her mind, I was about to discover the very next morning when I noticed her van lying in wait for me in the parking lot where I would drop Daniel off for work. She was hidden behind a building and drove her van up to my car as soon as I began walking back to mine. She had hidden herself from view so neither Daniel or I could see her.
Like son, like mother, the stalking behavior had begun and I should have jumped in my car then, turned it on and fled. I had never encountered an older woman stalker with these personality disorders before dressed in sheep’s clothing. She fooled me the day I met her, but never again after that, and certainly not the day I discovered her watching me wishing her son a good day at work.
- Monsters (part 2) (everydayredflags.wordpress.com)
- The psychopathic brain (psychopathresistance.wordpress.com)
- Personality Disorders – Psychopath vs Sociopath (hottallblonde.wordpress.com)
- Psychopaths are Inconsistent and Contradictory (phoenixsphere.wordpress.com)
- Exposing Online Predators & Cyberpaths (lifebegins45.wordpress.com)
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