Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Bumps In The Night…)

Waiting to hear my name called was hard as hell. I felt confident. I felt secure with my knowledge in my hands. I had procured my documentation and delivered it beforehand to the courts.

My local police department had previously requested that I ask my county court system to issue another Protection From Abuse Order against Daniel. Too many oddball things were going on around my home that couldn’t be attributed to local vandals. I live in a sleepy town that pulls up the sidewalks at 8 p.m. anyway. What was happening reeked with his signature. And it was for these reasons that they wanted me to get the PFA.  Their reasoning was if I had one in place, it might keep him away and if it didn’t, they would have ammunition to hold him if they apprehended him.

In the past, Daniel would always break in at a certain time during the middle of the night. Attribute it to his OCD, or just to his quirks, I could count on him coming around at precisely a certain time. One night, I was lying in bed awake, as usual, the dogs asleep on the floor. I lived in a two-story home. I had an old wheelbarrow set up against the kitchen window, which was the only accessible area to break in.

Suddenly, I heard this scraping noise against the siding of the house and aluminum. I knew it was the wheelbarrow being moved. One of my dogs immediately awakened and ran down the stairs barking and growling madly. I stood up, turned on a light, cell phone in hand and stood at the top of the stairs. My dog raced back up the stairs with her hackles raised, still growling incessantly. I turned on more lights. As my luck would have it, suddenly I heard police sirens nearby. I hadn’t called the police. They just happened to have a call near me. Which, in turn, frightened my intruder away.

The intruder also had broken the storm window lock. They had to do this to open the window to enter my home. If they had gained access, my dogs would have also gained access to them. And of course, police response time is exceedingly quick in my town. So far, what I am describing sounds like a typical intrusion. Read on.

I waited until dawn to look out. When I looked out my bedroom window, which overlooks the same kitchen window, laying out on my grass in the middle of my yard was my welcome mat. It was facing up staring at me. My welcome mat that belongs in front of my storm door in front of my home that says “Welcome”.  It had been taken from my door and placed out in the middle of  the back yard now directly facing my bedroom window deliberately for me to see. The wheelbarrow was moved and the storm window was broken. I called the police and reported the situation.

The intrusive person came back again the next night. But silently. And quickly enough to get in and out of my yard for no one to see them do what they did until a friend and I walked my dogs the following day after that. As I was about to let my dogs walk into my yard ahead of me, I always keep an eye on the ground, since I’ve never trusted Daniel for fear of my pets being poisoned or hurt again. This time there was a plate of glass dug into the ground, standing straight up. It was about two feet by two feet. Just standing straight up in the ground. When I enter my back yard, I walk up some concrete stairs to it, and that’s exactly where this plate of glass had been set. Had I allowed my dogs free rein and let them loose, they would have run their snouts directly into the glass and shattered it.  Their faces would have been a bloody mess. We were horrified.

Again, a return call from the police department. This time, the Sergeant arrived. He took one look at the glass dug into my yard, looked up at my roof, back at the glass, and said, “That didn’t fall off the roof. You had the attempted break-in the other night. That was left for your dogs.” I was astounded that he actually said that to me. When I called this in, I just reported vandalism.  This Sergeant put together the eeriness of the situation. He was disgusted that someone would attempt to hurt animals. He realized that if someone wanted to hurt me they could have left a plate of glass lying face down so I would slip. This was an outward display left to show me a sign.

He took the report and left with his assurances. I felt comfortable knowing that my police Sergeant had an understanding of a disheveled mind.

I have screen doors on both of my entrances. I keep my doors locked. It’s a habit. Not from Daniel, but from childhood. It’s how I grew up. I grew up in a city. That’s how we lived. We always locked our doors. I used to put a wreath on my front door. Used to.

Until someone punched in my screen door at the base and reached up inside to tear down the wreath on my main door. On the second anniversary of the week-end they attempted to break in. My dogs bark when they hear someone, of course. It doesn’t take a person long to cut a piece of a screen door, punch a large hole in the base of it to destroy the bottom, reach in and tear down a wreath. It wrecks the screen. It looks nasty afterwards. And since I tie my wreaths to the hook, they couldn’t rip the entire wreath down. They tried. It was in pieces. The quick job they attempted just didn’t happen.

There’s also the my dog’s leashes that I have out in my yard. In the nice weather I sit out back with them. I never tie them out alone. As a matter of fact, before they’re tied out, I make a sweep of the yard. You can see where this is going. We sit and they have very long leads to enjoy the warm weather.  Except for one time we went out back. My larger dog’s lead wasn’t as large as usual. It was cut into pieces. Four pieces. And left in a pile. She could no longer use that tie-out. I imagine the symbolism had been targeted at my larger dog because it was her lead. The threat was to her.

One of my male friends and I were out one day when his cell phone rang. A male voice asked for me. A male voice he didn’t know. On his personal cell phone number. And they asked for me in my nickname. My friend knew of my childhood nickname and this story. His eyes signaled mine and he leaned in to me with his cell phone. He played along on the phone and said I wasn’t there but tried to keep the man on the phone. He managed to for a short bit but not enough for me to hear the voice well enough. We were driving and it was noisy. The date of the phone call? The first anniversary month I moved into my home.

How do phones tie in? Daniel’s tapped both my cell and home phones previously. When I lived on Chelsea, he had the assistance of his buddy Michael who worked for Verizon. I had found the new wires tapped into my home and reported it to Verizon. He managed attempts to tap into three of my cell phone carriers, all reported and verified by the companies. I once found audio recordings on my cell phone that I didn’t recognize. When I played them I realized they were recordings that he had made of my personal conversations with other male friends and then placed snippets of them on my phone.

I’ve had pictures left in envelopes for me. Cut-up pictures that I later put back together as if they were jig-saw puzzles. They turned out to be photos of Daniel’s deceased mother’s pets. Do I report this to my police? Yes. My children insist that I do. They feel it’s important I keep a record of all this activity. So do I.  It’s creepy. It’s bizarre. I know it’s the thinking of a fragmented mind.

How do I know? Because he used to tell me stories. His stories.  Of his former life before me. I know how he thinks. It’s chilling. I’ve heard too many bumps in the night that turned out to be Daniel breaking into my home.

Too many police officers have accosted him near my home with his excuse “I’m just driving home from a party.”, and they’ve had to let him go. It’s the law in America. Even at 4 a.m., on a side street directly behind my home, no matter how coincidental, there is nothing a police officer can do if they catch him outside the perimeters of a PFA.  I cannot say how many officers have repeated this to me, to keep calling whenever there is suspicious activity. They will keep attempting to apprehend him. They want to catch him.

Too many violations have occurred. Too many violations of the mind, the spirit, and the soul. Not only do I want it to stop, everyone wants it to stop. My family, my friends, law enforcement. He is a psychopath. I live my life without daily thoughts of him. I have better things to do. I have moved on to a better life and have built myself a new platform on which to stand again. His words of his never being happy until I was devastated and ” living without a roof over my head penniless” are not going to happen. In just a few years I have created a home again from nothing. I am not giving this up.

All I could do was appeal to a judge that I have suspicious activity that is bizarre and is documented around my home. I could tell the judge my history from the time Daniel put a butcher knife to my neck to the present and why I feel he is a danger to me. I had presented docket numbers and police records before in the court paperwork. I had my daughter with me as a witness and if need be, as one schooled in the behaviors of psychopaths. The idea was simply to get a PFA so if he was caught by the police harassing me, stalking me, damaging my property, he could be picked up and let the courts decide what to do with him at that present time.

The secretary called our names. We all walked to the front.

Peace.

Sorceress.

All works past, present and future are protected under a CCC. Creative Common License, Kaarie Blake Musings by Kaarie Blake is licensed under a Creative Common Attribution-Noncommercial-Noderivs-3.0-Unported License.

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Are You Dating A Psychopath?)

Are you dating a psychopath? The term psychopath seems to bandied around a lot lately. Not a common question, but for it seems to be a catch-all phrase for people who loosely fit a description of a person that seems darker than most and flies many of those red flags I often talk about.

One of the problems with dating a true psychopath is that you don’t know if they are one, unless they diagnosed by a professional and you are aware of that information. One human being cannot just label another a psychopath because of some behaviors they find distasteful. The word “psychopath” is not a word to be used lightly.

I hear it used as a joke often though in conversations with others. I listen to women talk about men they are dating and their “psychopathic behavior”. How “he’s a stalker…stay away from him…such a psycho!” And listening to people speak this way using words so frivolously makes me very uneasy.

Because it’s not fair to others. It’s not fair to just label people with words. That’s ignorance. That’s what our social media, television and movies have brought us to do. They have presented us with characters that have shown us bizarre behaviors of obsession. People, mostly the male gender but not always.  Remember Fatal Attraction with Michael Douglas and Glenn Close from 1987? I’ll never forget the wife stirring the pot in the kitchen when the dead rabbit parts came up from the bottom. Sleeping With The Enemy with Julia Roberts and Patrick Bergin from 1991 details a wife attempting to go underground when her husband becomes violent and his stalking her. Bergin’s portrayal of how a stalker appears to be a  “nice man” to others who are uninformed and how his behaviors affect who he is stalking are right on the mark.

So our society believes we know who these stalkers and psychopaths really are because we have watched these movies and programs. Television has spewed forth programs like Criminal Minds that although good in their attempt at showing and talking about who these people are have a very serious flaw in them along with movies.

The problematic psychopath cannot be “fixed” in an hour or two. He or she doesn’t go away that easily and law enforcement doesn’t find them and lock them up in a matter of a week or a few weeks as depicted on the huge screen you are watching the program.

Following what I’m saying? That’s called entertainment. It’s where people live vicariously through others. They experience an event second-hand because they are watching it, not actually experiencing it.

And they enjoy what they are watching because they are not feeling the emotions that the characters go through. The audience can walk away and talk about the psychopath which leads back to the problem of people not really understanding what a true psychopath is about. They only know what they have seen and been told.

And that information can be dangerous to those that take it and apply it without truly knowing the full spectrum of knowledge or understanding of obsession, stalking and how a psychopath destroys another’s life. Labeling people can lead to destruction of character if you truly don’t know the person. Thus it is important to know the true personality signs of a person and what they really mean before you make a decision as to whether you are dating a truly diagnosed psychopath.

I knew there was something wrong with Daniel within weeks of dating him.  Within the month of dating him, I realized something was amiss between the relationship with his mother and him. I felt it. I brought a psychiatrist in on his case that I knew was excellent  in the field of bi-polar after  the original psychologist I brought Daniel to for consultations. One of Daniel’s first attempts of suicide involved using his mother’s bear gun in our living room.  Sitting alone with him, the gun and his rambling thoughts while only knowing him a few weeks brought realization to my involvement with a very sick man.

I had no way of knowing that he had access to this gun. I didn’t know about this gun at all. Sandra apparently had stored it, along with a few others in her home in a cabinet in Daniel’s old bedroom. Unlocked, and unsecured, the weapons were available to him. She knew the volatility of her son. She had raised him and had been through his criminal past, his violence and other suicide attempts. The idea of keeping these guns available no longer makes me wonder why she did. On the day he had attempted suicide on my couch with pills and she watched him beginning to go into a deep sleep, she nonchalantly asked me to go shopping with her and not call 911. To her that day, it seemed easier to allow him to die. To her way of thinking, his demise by suicide was a blessing. For me, it was tantamount to murder. And Sandra and I fought for my phone. See:  https://sorceressofthedark.wordpress.com/2011/05/06/survivor-of-a-psychopathwith-borderline-tendencies-should-i-have-allowed-him-to-die/.

Signs. Attempting suicide is a diagnostic sign of a person that is ill. Does it fit a psychopath? It fits into many criteria of people. One of them could be a psychopath with other disorders. True assessments of a psychopath can only be determined by a doctor.

I will ascertain certain points throughout my writings about this family. They are factual. I was an attendant and privy to many sessions that both Daniel and his mother had with psychiatrists and psychologists. I lived with them. More than one doctor advised me to leave my situation. More than one doctor asked me if I had any way to leave my situation. Many asked if there was any opportunity for me to exit my situation quietly without telling anyone. I was advised to leave the state.

Doctors knew at times their hands would be tied when they could only commit him for 72 hours. Doctors also knew my situation with my physical health at that time and how exiting my situation was near to impossible. An unraveling mystery was appearing before them of a situation where some knew a predator was at hand living with prey that needed to be removed somehow. Add to their unraveling mystery a mother that would act surreptitiously. I imagine for some they perhaps hoped that a miracle would happen to separate me from this nightmare. That miracle eventually did happen and I survived, but not without lasting memories.

The July 2012 issue of the FBI’s Law Enforcement Bulletin (Federal Bureau of Investigation in the United States) is dedicated to psychopathy and the study of psychopaths. http://www.fbi.gov/stats-services/publications/law-enforcement-bulletin/july-2012/psychopathy-an-important-forensic-concept-for-the-21st-century. As others write of their statistical findings from their interactions from their visits with psychopaths, I write of my life with a psychopath.

As those who watch stories that are wrapped in an hour for entertainment can walk away, I cannot. The people who dedicate their lives to unraveling the threads of the lives of a psychopath are dedicated to a mystery that haunts and mystifies them. It is a search to determine what drives these convoluted minds to work as they do. And once caught, what does our society do with them?

So the word “psychopath” isn’t a laughing matter. It isn’t a joke. It isn’t a term to be used lightly in describing your boyfriend or girlfriend. These are true personalities that manipulate people, lie deliberately, do not feel emotion, have no cursory thought for the law, have deliberate agendas and ruin other’s lives. That’s the short version. They aren’t just “bad boys” or “bad girls”. They aren’t people who you can rehabilitate. Their illness is rooted in infancy, signs are seen in childhood and develops over a course of time in adulthood.

They are out there. They are very seriously sick people who others need to isolate themselves from. They will attempt to destroy you if you don’t set precautionary measures for yourself with a supportive network. That network includes(if available and trusted) your neighbors, friends, family and local law enforcement. Articulate your concerns when you are absolutely sure of your facts. Make your plans silently, answer to no one and then get out. Keep a journal of activities that have occurred, keep a running document of any activities with your local law enforcement that you are aware the person has committed for future reference. Retain your paperwork in a hidden safe place with copies. The day may come when you are asked to present a history of their behaviors and actions towards you.

Law enforcement officials will take you seriously if you are serious and have a factual, documented history. Although some may take your words lightly and pass you off as a disgruntled girlfriend, be polite. Try the next shift of officers. Talk to the police chief in your town. Schedule an interview with your District Attorney of your county. Bring the documentation you have accumulated. Pictures, police reports, years of interactions with a person that interferes with your life deliberately after you have told them not to is called stalking and harassment. It is illegal. Obsession with the psychopath can go hand-in-hand. I know. I’m still waiting for mine to end.

Peace.

Sorceress.

All works past, present and future are protected under a CCC. Creative Common License, Kaarie Blake Musings by Kaarie Blake is licensed under a Creative Common Attribution-Noncommercial-Noderivs-3.0-Unported License

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Attempted Murder By MVA, Butcher Knife…Part 2.)

One cold day in November, a late Saturday evening, he appeared at the bedroom door.  Daniel had formerly been growing his hair longer, past his shoulders. He had now shaven his head, completely clean. He had stripped down to just his jeans, and was in his bare feet. His eyes were as dark as the black of night on a new moon.

He stood in the doorway to the bedroom for a moment, leveled eyes with me as I lie on the bed reading, and I knew. I saw the look in those black eyes, and I knew what was about to happen. I had seen that look before, just a few months earlier.

Daniel lunged at me. He grabbed a pillow, jumped on top of me, and tried to asphyxiate me. With all my might, and whatever my adrenaline would allow me to do, I fought with all my strength. I began kicking and clawing at him. I had clogs on my feet, the type nurses wear and I was using them against him. While he was fighting to get them off of me, I managed to break free from him and off the bed.

My father was a Sheriff’s Officer. From the time I was a small girl, he had always taught me little tricks should someone try to attack me. When I was a young woman, I learned martial arts defense. It was now, these thoughts came back to me. I couldn’t scream,  non-vocal and non-verbal from the accidents.

I managed to fight Daniel off and push him away. As I recount this story I know that adrenaline pumps through a person when fear for your safety is occurring. I started to run as best I could out of the bedroom and down the second-floor hallway. He ran after me and caught up to me. He grabbed me by the neck and began to strangle me.

The hallway wasn’t very long and he had me cornered in the bathroom, the end room facing the front of the home. Three times, he had his fingers and hands around my neck. Three times, I remembered to put my fingers between his. But he did have me down on the floor. This was a fight for my life.

When I managed to get up again, and started to move away from him, he caught me. He threw me against a solid oak door that led to the attic in the home. I hit my head, and started to slide down. I saw stars for the first time in my life. I knew I needed to focus. But here was the key to how I did manage to focus. Daniel spit on me as I slid to the floor.

He spit on me. Where I grew up, spitting on someone is the ultimate insult. For some reason, altho I knew he was trying to kill me, that he spit on me was humiliating and angering me. He then turned and ran down the stairs. I sat there for a moment, and remembered I needed to focus.

I stood up shakily, thought about the phone downstairs, and went quickly down the flight of stairs. As I picked up the phone, I hit 911. Luckily, in this county, 911 patches into the home address from where the call is made on a landline. I managed to mumble that a man is trying to murder me. As soon as I said that, Daniel grabbed me from behind, and dragged me into the kitchen. I held the portable phone but Daniel had no idea that I was holding it.

He had me around the waist, and in his right hand brandished a butcher knife. He held it to my neck and asked me if I wanted it to my neck or to my abdomen. I had brought the phone with me, and placed it down on the table as he was dragging me into the kitchen. I wanted 911 to hear my death recorded. That’s what I thought was going to happen.

There’s more to what happened in my kitchen that late November night as Daniel held me by my waist with his left arm and brandished a butcher knife in his right hand against my neck. I knew I needed to convey to 911 that an emergency was at hand and Daniel was not of sound mind. 911 also needed to know that Daniel had weapons and he had used them in his attacks on me.

My mind was racing and I’m sure this only took seconds but I yelled to Daniel, “Where did you get that butcher knife?” He answered back loudly, still holding me around the waist, with the butcher knife at neck height, “I got this butcher knife to mother-fucking kill you…”. That’s what I had hoped he would answer. I prayed that 911 heard what Daniel was screaming in my ears. All I could think about were my three children and I wanted them to know  that if Daniel murdered me he was the one responsible and how he did it. I needed him to admit his intent for 911 if I was going to die.

I knew if he answered that one comment perhaps I could say one more and distract him. At this point, in this position, a person will say and try anything to save their lives. This is what I said to him. “Who is going to clean my blood from our white kitchen floor? Your Mother?”  From the back of my mind I was able to focus and I used my resources to send the knife flying one way, have his left arm open to release me and have his body semi-slump all at the same time.

I flew around the table, grabbed the phone and headed for the front of the house. The 911 operator was still on the line. He asked me if I was ok. I told them Daniel now was holding a belt and he was attempting to strangle me with it. The operator told me there were five patrol cars out in front of my home, the officers were about to break in and he was letting them know I was at the front door attempting to get out now.

The rest seems surrealistic to me as the front door opened and I seemed to be lifted out and taken to safety by an officer. The lights of the patrol cars were focused on the front of the porch and the house was now brightly lit. Officers were in position with guns ready. Daniel appeared at the door of the home, saw the officers, the cars, the guns pointed, and dropped the belt. He raised his hands up in the air and said, “Arrest me…I’m trying to kill my wife.” He was never married to me. He was delusional in his thought process.

I’m here today. 911 sent officers speeding to my home. They did break in. Daniel,arrested on straight $30,000 bail, did attempt suicide in jail that night. He spent 5 months in jail,  his mother hired an attorney, Daniel was released with this sentence: time spent, an anger management course and 364 days of probation.

The day he was released, when his victim should have been notified ahead of time, the warden called me after Daniel was released, apologizing, saying he come into work and didn’t know Daniel had been released earlier. I found out just as Daniel and his mother were walking up the flight of stairs to my bedroom. Sandra had kept a key to my home.

Life with the psychopath and his mother. The mother that always thought her son was perfect. That her son could do no wrong.  I know she brought him back into my home after his release from prison to torment me. She didn’t want him in her home.  Now, she knew what he was capable of performing.

He never should have been allowed back into my life. Without being able to speak, without being able to verbalize fully my rights should have been guarded more carefully by the law. But as a victim, they weren’t.

Very few were schooled in Daniel’s psychotic behaviours back then. The prison psychiatrist accurately diagnosed him as a psychopath. But Sandra and her son had originally eluded me. They fooled the neighbors. They fooled all those around them. It’s what people with these illnesses do. It was only Sandra Smith’s word against mine. And my word wasn’t there then. It was only hers and his.

And then my own personal prison-time began with Daniel and his mother.

Peace.

Sorceress

All works past, present and future are protected under a CCC. Creative Common License, Kaarie Blake Musings by Kaarie Blake is licensed under a Creative Common Attribution-Noncommercial-Noderivs-3.0-Unported License

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…The Son Of A Narcissist Mother)

The tales of the narcissistic mother. How she throws situations at her child. How she deliberately twists and turns her words to make her child feel as if everything is their fault. She’s good at it. She’s had a lifetime at practicing.

For some of the adult children of her, I do have pity. They have never been able to outgrow the horrible feelings of inadequateness that this mother has bestowed upon them. The hidden belittling towards the child she chooses forever to desecrate. The narcissistic mother never stops. She just goes on and on and on.

For the others that have been able to crawl out of the hole that this mother has dug for them, I salute you.  You earned much in the way of salutations. You first had to live through the belittling and torturous psychological abuse,  you had to identify it, and you had to move away from it. And if you decided to stay in contact with your narcissistic mother, for whatever reason, (and I make no judgements here because many do stick around),  but you do it on your own terms, you my friend, without a doubt, deserve a medal to wear proudly.

I talk about narcissism with a mother, but it is a psychiatric condition found in women and men alike. It can be found in a partner both female and male alike. It can be found in a child, also. An adult child.  For clarification, here is a classic definition of narcissism:

“Traits and signs:

Thomas suggests that narcissists typically display most, sometimes all, of the following traits:[5]

Hotchkiss’ seven deadly sins of narcissism

Hotchkiss identified what she called the seven deadly sins of narcissism:[6]

  1. Shamelessness: Shame is the feeling that lurks beneath all unhealthy narcissism, and the inability to process shame in healthy ways.
  2. Magical thinking: Narcissists see themselves as perfect, using distortion and illusion known as magical thinking. They also use projection to dump shame onto others.
  3. Arrogance: A narcissist who is feeling deflated may reinflate by diminishing, debasing, or degrading somebody else.
  4. Envy: A narcissist may secure a sense of superiority in the face of another person’s ability by using contempt to minimize the other person.
  5. Entitlement: Narcissists hold unreasonable expectations of particularly favorable treatment and automatic compliance because they consider themselves special. Failure to comply is considered an attack on their superiority, and the perpetrator is considered an “awkward” or “difficult” person. Defiance of their will is a narcissistic injury that can trigger narcissistic rage.
  6. Exploitation: Can take many forms but always involves the exploitation of others without regard for their feelings or interests. Often the other is in a subservient position where resistance would be difficult or even impossible. Sometimes the subservience is not so much real as assumed.
  7. Bad boundaries: Narcissists do not recognize that they have boundaries and that others are separate and are not extensions of themselves. Others either exist to meet their needs or may as well not exist at all. Those who provide narcissistic supply to the narcissist are treated as if they are part of the narcissist and are expected to live up to those expectations. In the mind of a narcissist there is no boundary between self and other.”

Taken from :  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcissism. Read more at the link provided.

Another description of narcissism:

The DSM IV describes narcissism as:

“DSM IV definition: Someone who suffers from Narcissistic Personality disorder (NPD) has at least 5 of the following characteristics:

  1. has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements)
  2. is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love
  3. believes that he or she is “special” and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions)
  4. requires excessive admiration
  5. has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations
  6. is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends
  7. lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others
  8. is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her
  9. shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes

Associated Features: Depressed Mood Dramatic or Erratic or Antisocial Personality

Differential Diagnosis Some disorders have similar or even the same symptom.

Histrionic Personality Disorder;
Antisocial Personality Disorder;
Borderline Personality Disorder;
Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder;
Schizotypal Personality Disorder;
Paranoid Personality Disorder;
Manic Episodes;
Hypomanic Episodes;
Personality Change Due to a General Medical Condition;
Symptoms that may develop in association with chronic substance use.”

The DSM IV is considered controversial by some for its opinions expressed in its manual.

“The DSM has attracted praise for standardizing psychiatric diagnostic categories and criteria. It has also attracted controversy and criticism. Some critics argue that the DSM represents anunscientific system that enshrines the opinions of a few powerful psychiatrists. There are ongoing issues concerning the validity and reliability of the diagnostic categories; the reliance on superficial symptoms; the use of artificial dividing lines between categories and from ‘normality‘; possible cultural bias; medicalization of human distress and financial conflicts of interest, including with the practice of psychiatrists and with the pharmaceutical industry; political controversies about the inclusion or exclusion of diagnoses from the manual, in general or in regard to specific issues; and the experience of those who are most directly affected by the manual by being diagnosed, including the consumer/survivor movement. The publication of the DSM, with tightly guarded copyrights, now makes APA over $5 million a year, historically adding up to over $100 million.” See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diagnostic_and_Statistical_Manual_of_Mental_Disorders for more information.

A very easy layman’s guide to personality disorders can be found here:  http://www.halcyon.com/jmashmun/npd/dsm-iv.html. Written with excerpts from the DSM-IV, this piece takes apart disorders and puts them into easily understood terms for the layperson.

Narcissism as described from halcyon.com:

“1. An exaggerated sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements). Translation:  Grandiosity is the hallmark of narcissism.

2. Preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love.  Translation: Narcissists cultivate solipsistic or “autistic” fantasies, which is to say that they live in their own little worlds (and react with affront when reality dares to intrude).

3. Believes he is “special” and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions).  Translation: Narcissists think that everyone who is not special and superior is worthless. By definition, normal, ordinary, and average aren’t special and superior, and so, to narcissists, they are worthless.

4. Requires excessive admiration.  Translation: Excessive in two ways: they want praise, compliments, deference, and expressions of envy all the time, and they want to be told that everything they do is better than what others can do. Sincerity is not an issue here; all that matter are frequency and volume.

5. Has a sense of entitlement.  Translation: They expect automatic compliance with their wishes or especially favorable treatment, such as thinking that they should always be able to go first and that other people should stop whatever they’re doing to do what the narcissists want, and may react with hurt or rage when these expectations are frustrated.

6. Selfishly takes advantage of others to achieve his own ends.  Translation: Narcissists use other people to get what they want without caring about the cost to the other people.

7. Lacks empathy. Translation: They are unwilling to recognize or sympathize with other people’s feelings and needs. They “tune out” when other people want to talk about their own problems.

8. Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him.  Translation: No translation needed.

9. Shows arrogant, haughty, patronizing, or contemptuous behaviors or attitudes.  Translation: They treat other people like dirt.”

I’ve chosen three presentations of narcissism simply because each human mind digests material differently. We all have different learning styles and I want those who have come here to truly understand the narcissist.

I lived with a psychopath and his narcissistic, histrionic mother for a number of years. Dealing with these two people led to an incredible journey of becoming a Survivor with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The thought processes of both Daniel and his mother Sandra were unlike any other people I had ever encountered.

Daniel’s mother was classified as a narcissist. Her tales to me often spoke of the ways she used people in her different jobs. She would often laugh at her intricate ways to use people without their knowing. She would build her stories to a crescendo and then sit back to her audience and demand respect, praise and attention . I questioned her methods of arrogance. I often found her repulsive in her attention-seeking methods at the expense of others. In the end of our relationship, her despising me eventually became built on my honest appraisal of her spoken truths that were thinly disguised lies for others in her mission to always manipulate people.

Daniel had blocked many memories of his childhood and with good reason. He often talked of his abuse during childhood. At times, he would question Sandra openly of her parental tactics in front of me, often putting her on the defensive/offensive. If she couldn’t blame someone else for her abusiveness as a parent, she would walk away from the conversation and ignore him. Nothing was ever her fault, unless in her eyes, the outcome would have been well-received.

Sandra admitted to me she drank heavily during her pregnancy and during the earlier years of his childhood. She blamed her drinking first on her obstetrician’s recommendation for her pregnancy. She told me that she couldn’t keep any food in and was constantly vomiting during her pregnancy with Daniel.

Queasiness is  quite common for the beginning of a pregnancy. In her words, she told me that her doctor told her that she should “drink beer and eat saltines” for her pregnancy if “that was all she could keep down”.  I have no way of proving or disproving what this woman told me. I do find it difficult to believe that a medical doctor would recommend his pregnant patient to drink alcohol. Medical advice has changed through the decades, of course.

I will offer that any child whose mother drank throughout the nine months of development has a definitive opportunity for a host of problems in their physical and mental capacities after they are born. As she continued to drink, she offered the excuse that she did “continue to drink for the sake of her marriage”. She never took ownership of her problems and the problems they might have caused for her son.

Environmentally and genetically, he never had an opportunity to thrive with his narcissistic mother. That is not an excuse for any of his behaviors. Many people go on to surpass abuses and victimization. Others do not. Does a narcissistic mother create a psychopath? I have no answer for that. I don’t think anyone does. There are many views and reasons on how a psychopath is created. I had the opportunity to live with one. I still suffer to this day from the experience.

Peace.

Sorceress.
.

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Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Characteristics of Narcissistic Mothers by Chris (Reblog)

I could not stop reading this about children of the narcissistic personality. This is an incredible dissertation on what a narcissistic mother does to her child and how that child is disempowered. Anyone dealing with this type of personality can relate to the frustrations the human mind feels when they are in close proximity to this destructive force.

This is a piece for those to understand the hell the narcissist creates and for those that have gone through that hell and have survived a narcissist.

I found it incredibly empowering to read.

Peace.

Sorceress.

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My Health Quest

The Harpy‘s Child

The page for the children of the narcissistic     http://www.narzissmus.org/eigenschaften-narzisstischer-mutter.php
 The Destructive Narcissistic Parent creates a child that only exists to be an extension of her self. It’s about secret things. It’s about body language. It’s about disapproving glances. It’s about vocal tone. It’s very intimate. And it’s very powerful. It’s part of who the child is.  -Chris Characteristics of Narcissistic Mothers 1. Everything she does is deniable. There is always a facile excuse or an explanation. Cruelties are couched in loving terms. Aggressive and hostile acts are paraded as thoughtfulness. Selfish manipulations are presented as gifts. Criticism and slander is slyly disguised as concern. She only wants what is best for you. She only wants to help you.She rarely says right out that she thinks you’re inadequate. Instead, any time that you tell her you’ve done something good…

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Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Sandra’s Credit Card Scam…Part Two.)

The police department did ask me to come in and speak to one of their detectives about this alleged credit card theft of Sandra’s.The lead detective began by first leaving me messages on my phone that sounded almost undecipherable. My daughter decided to attend with me as my witness and also, my interpreter.

I had decided that I didn’t need my attorney to attend since I knew I was innocent of all charges. I did, however, have one on retainer through this time period of their constant barrage of attacks on my home, my person and my reputation. At that time, since I was slowly learning to verbalize again, I needed an aide in helping to clarify my thoughts when speaking with someone else. My mind was clear and I could see the words but I had difficult pronouncing them and actually verbalizing them.

I was still walking at times with the aid of my walker, but if not needing the walker, always using my Canadian crutches. My body was still in physical healing mode from the horrific motor vehicle accident where Daniel had first tried to murder me and also, from his second attempt to murder me at home.

I went in voluntarily to the department along with my daughter. The detective was curt and asked why I had brought her with me. She explained and produced a doctor’s letter of verification about why her presence was needed at the interview. The detective threw the letter back at her and in a loud voice said, “Do you speak English? Then you don’t need an interpreter.” He then took me by the elbow (I was using Canadian crutches) and led me to the back of the station). I turned back to look at my daughter with anger in my eyes at this officer, knowing my rights were being violated. My daughter knew my strength and my determination. She told me she’d be there waiting for me.

When the officer had me back in his interrogation room, I noted that he was alone, without any other officer present. He began talking to me in a loud, abusive voice, more of a yelling tone. He began by making derogatory comments about my condition and telling me that I didn’t need the crutches. Then he continued about this story of Sandra being in the hospital and her credit cards being stolen by me. I wouldn’t talk to him and I wouldn’t say one word. I’m sure my face showed pure anger at this man.

Finally, after a barrage of insults from him, after him repeating the story again, after him asking me repeatedly when was the last time I escorted Sandra  to the hospital, I finally decided to talk. And this is what I said to this officer. “There’s something wrong here. You’re playing good cop-bad cop. Only there’s one of you here. So where’s the good one?”

This only infuriated him more. But I knew Sandra’s story of me stealing her credit cards was fabricated and he had absolutely no facts to back it up. I knew he wasn’t going to arrest me because I had done nothing wrong and he could not prove anything about Sandra’s story. Her story had simply been a lie to attempt to deflect the original officer from focusing on the damage to my home Daniel had created when he attempted to break in the day after the PFA had been issued, along with the fact that her son had been in violation of the PFA within 24 hours. She had created a story to try to make me look as bad as her son in the eyes of the law. It couldn’t work because there was no truth to it.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked. “Are you holding me?” This officer was getting more and more furious with me. I was not answering any questions of his. His questions to me were of no validity. “What was charged?” he was asking. “Where were the credit cards used?” All of the questions this man was asking really weren’t for me. I quickly realized when he turned the questioning to where and what the charges were that Sandra’s cards may have been used by someone else, but certainly not by me. Sandra, in her convoluted thinking again, was going to try to blame me for someone else using her credit cards.

The flaw in her plan was that I was still recuperating from my motor vehicle accident. I hardly drove my vehicle and if I did, it was only a few blocks to the local store. I was speculating that whomever used her cards used them somewhere at a distance that I could not have physically been. Now I decided to say a few more words to this arrogant police officer.

“I will tell you just a few more thoughts, and then I’m done. The last time I knew Sandra to be admitted to the hospital was on October 31st of 2004 when she feigned a heart attack at my home on Chelsea. All three of my children were at my home and can verify this story. A man named J was also there who is a paramedic and he gave her emergency treatment until the paramedics arrived on scene. She was taken to the hospital, where doctors there deemed her physical health perfectly normal but her psychiatric health to be of doubt. They wanted to admit her to the psychiatric ward. She left the hospital AMA(against medical advice) at approximately 4 a.m. when she called my home and took a cab to her home. It’s the same story I told the original officer when asked, it’s what I told you on the telephone when you first inquired, and the story hasn’t changed. There’s a reason for that. Because it’s the truth. I’m done talking to you.” There was a fire in my eyes, I remember. And I’m sure he saw it.

The man looked at me levelly, rather coldly. I just stared evenly back. I was tired, but disgusted with the Police Department’s Detective Division and their way of handling cases. This was getting ridiculous and my rights had been violated. I was innocent. But I knew at this point someone else was guilty of stealing her cards and using them. Sandra had the police convinced I had taken them. She was surreptitiously using the fact that there were charges on her cards not made by her and attempting to blame me for them when in reality, she knew who had used the cards.

All of a sudden, the officer began talking in a normal voice. “I knew you didn’t steal her cards. It was her son, Danny, all along. I always figured it had to be him. We had to check out her story, though. She blamed you and said you took the cards and made the charges. But we knew it was him that took her to the hospital in January of 2006, alone. You weren’t present. We knew from hospital records you weren’t present at her admission. He was the one that had access to her purse, her wallet, her cards. He was the one that stole the cards and used them. You’re free to go.”

Just like that. “You’re free to go.” Friggin’ free to go. After the harassment. After the blame of being called a credit card thief. After being left arrogant, obnoxious messages by this detective on the phone repeatedly and then in person. After being objectionably interrogated by this officer when all along he knew I was innocent but because it is his “job”, he had to investigate her finger-pointing at me. He turned and left the room, leaving me there. Just leaving me there by myself. I slowly walked out on my own with my crutches to my daughter, who was waiting outside. She was anxious to find out what had transpired. All I could say to her was, “Let’s get out of here. It was Daniel that stole his mother’s credit cards and used them. Sandra tried to twist it on me.”

I don’t know that I could make these stories up. Sandra’s thinking was bizarre and twisted and she would use her fury on anyone that she perceived to get in her path. Because she was so ill, so perverse, no one really knew what she was thinking and concocting in her mind. Now I know why her daughter escaped her, never looking back and refusing to talk to her. Her husband hated her and had planned to escape her, too. Lester died before he could leave her. The woman was pure evil and spawn a demon. That demon is Daniel.

Peace.

Sorceress.

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Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Sandra’s Credit Card Scam…)

Daniel had been reprimanded for breaking the PFA. But because his mother Sandra had shrouded his contempt of the court order with an alleged credit card scam attack on me, all hell was breaking loose and again, her son was falling through the cracks instead of being remonstrated for his behaviors. The woman was an amazing con artist who was good at turning the tables to her advantage when she saw the need. With her histrionic needs, she would not allow me to simply adhere to the rules of the Protection From Abuse Order I had obtained against her son through the court system and attempt to live my life quietly. In full force now, Sandra’s determination was geared towards destruction of the woman her son had formerly been living with.

All of her efforts were now directed at destroying my life while casting herself to be the lonely elderly widow who appeared disabled. I say “appear disabled” because while I was still using a walker from my accident and learning to walk with Canadian crutches, Sandra had bought a used walker and a used cane from the flea market where she sold Avon to use as her props. When she would appear by her son’s side in court for the PFA’s hearings, she would use this walker deliberately, walking very slowly in front of the judge to garner sympathy for herself. The walker she used had never been sanctioned by a physician, nor had a script been given to her by a physician for any physical disability either. She was simply using one because I had graduated to one from my wheelchair, and she wanted to be on an even playing field in her mind when she appeared before certain magisterial powers or police authorities. Because she was histrionic and narcississtic, she felt she must have the upper hand in a group of people and needed to be the center of attention. If that meant buying a walker and canes from a flea market and pretending to use them for sympathy, then she would do it. And she did.

I can honestly say that I know the woman didn’t need these appliances, but simply used them for sympathy at various times. I had seen her many times driving around my home and standing on my property without the walker or cane in sight. When I caught her rummaging through my garbage cans she was standing on her own two feet with no assistance of any aids. She was perfectly capable of running to her car when she saw me in my yard telling her to leave my property. With her narcissistic personality traits, being the center of attention meant doing whatever she felt necessary to get the attention she needed to satisfy her sick psychiatric urges.

Now looking back, I wonder what the judges thought looking at two women walking into their courtrooms, both with physical aids. Sandra was a good actress, she had years of experience. I wasn’t acting. Many times I was in dire physical pain and I’m sure the agony showed on my face. I’m sure my disgust and astonishment of her lies also showed on my face too. The woman never ceased to amaze me with her lies and deceit. She fooled many people, but not all.

Doc Holly dismissed her as her patient when I received the PFA to evict Daniel. She knew the horrors that this family had put me through and also, their psychiatric background. She also knew I was a victim of these two people and probably felt it better if this family found another doctor so that I would never be around them again. When she discovered Daniel was doing street drugs through a routine blood test, he denied it. She told him she had sent the blood work for a triple-check to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the results had all come back the same. She gave him one month to prove to her that he wasn’t doing drugs. He had to go to her office weekly and give her a urine test. At the end of the month, he failed all of the tests and he was dismissed as a patient. She told him she didn’t treat drug addicts. This was also at the time of his eviction by the judge. And because of Sandra’s interference and disbeliefs about her son, and also, about her own psychiatric problems that she wouldn’t address, she was dismissed as a patient. I don’t fault her for letting certain patients go. You can only help some. And those that lie to you shouldn’t waste your time.

One of city’s finest caught her in her web of deceit and lies when she was attempting to anonymously call the police department about me and he tracked the calls back to her home. And naturally, her psychiatrist knew all along what her true disposition was, had been prescribing medication and could only attempt to help her but a doctor can only do so much. And of course, the truths always revealed that she was lying about me when she would be investigated. That is, only when and if someone bothered to investigate this woman who stood on a façade of being a lonely, withered senior citizen widow that was ailing when in reality, none of that was true at all. She played people like Clapton plays his guitar or Armstrong played his trumpet. And she never looked back.

So the truths were finally coming out about the Smith family, or so it seemed. But there was still a Journey to be traveled with them. It wasn’t over yet, not by any means.

Next, the detectives interrogation.

Peace.

Sorceress.

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