Sexual Harassment-Take Down Predators

So in talking about sexual harassment in the workplace, I wanted to talk about the mind sets of women. Women that should know better. Women that accept men talking down to them which in turn, lays a foundation for the acceptance of sexual harassment.

Recently, I had lunch with a woman who was retired from a job as a life-long secretary in New York City. She was an efficient worker, and had worked for professionals in a field for many years. She was good at her job and enjoyed it. She was very pleasant and a knowledgable woman. Except for the idea that women “had their place”.

She told me this story of acquiring her last position. Her new boss was deemed difficult and had acquired many secretaries before her. She was determined to stay with this man, because the money was good and she said, she didn’t think he was all that bad. So I questioned her, “What was considered so bad about him that so many others left after a few weeks? After all, if he couldn’t keep other secretaries, there had to be something about him that was wrong/harassing/too demanding in the workplace…?”

She went on to tell me that he was a boisterous man, and could be rather loud at times, but that didn’t bother her. And then the bomb hit. She said, “Well, you know, he would always call me honey, or dear, or sweetheart. But I didn’t mind. I considered it a name of affection. After all, he was my Boss.” And there you have it. He. Was. My. Boss.

So I asked her, “What if you called him, honey, or dear, or sweetheart?” Her eyes opened up to the size of saucers. She gasped, literally. “Oh my god, no!” she said. “I never could. He was my boss! That was not my place!” I just looked at her with amusement. “But it was his place to call you those terms of endearment? You have a real name.” She was looking at me as if I was the one making a mountain out of a molehill. “What’s the big deal?” she asked. “He didn’t mean anything. That’s what he called the women in the office. They were only secretaries. He was the boss.”  There it was again. He. Was. The. Boss. Giving him the right to demoralize anyone beneath him simply because of his title.

“But did he call the men in the office by anything but their real names?” I asked. “Oh no, always their real names.” she replied succintly. End of that question. As if I was ignorant for even asking the question in the first place.

No matter what I said, how I said it or why I tried to explain that it was wrong for this boss to call her and other women “dear, honey or sweetheart” instead of their real names, she just didn’t get it. Nothing I said could penetrate her armor.

When I look at women that support Trump, even though he has treated women demeaningly,  has been caught on tape talking about women in lewd and lascivious ways including women that have spoken out about his fondling and kissing them against their wills, I cannot understand their admiration of this man and his lack of morals. A predator is a predator. They do not change their coats. They cannot change.

I find this type of acceptance of men that push women down and negate them fully unacceptable. It only encourages them further. Years ago, I felt that surely by this time, our world would have changed. It has not. And apparently, with women still supporting these types of predators, it is not going to change in the near future. This is a deplorable situation for the young women of tomorrow.

I will say this again. You are your own person. You do not have to submit to a predator’s will. You do not have to be their fantasy. If you do, you are allowing them to continue their fantasy at your own expense. And with that comes the degradation of your own character. Stand up for yourself. Be strong and fight back. Take down predators one by one. We should not allow them in our world. If not for yourself, for your daughters, for your granddaughters. No means No.

Peace.

Sorceress

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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.
.

Related articles

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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…They Kill Your Pets, Don’t They?) Part Two

Post #50 spoke of the beginning of the deaths of my pets. It took me 50 posts to pull my courage and strength together to write this series of “They Kill Your Pets, Don’t They?”. The legacies of Hendrix, Berwyn, Shortcake, Sabbath, the dead kittens, the decapitated tabby, Thor and all the others always stay in the back of my mind. The cruelty of Daniel and his mother is unspeakable. My tears are sometimes uncontrollable. I have been damaged by these people, yes. But I have also been strengthened by their ruthlessness and callousness.

Daniel’s cousin raised Samoyed puppies. Years ago, I had a Sammy that was a teddy bear with my own children. Yehnsei was a great dog with the kids when they were just toddlers. They would use her as a pillow when they would watch Sesame Street. She was such a gentle dog. When his mother told me about his cousin and her dogs and suggested we acquire a puppy from her, I agreed to take a ride down to her farm.

We drove down and took a look at her dogs. She had two available. The one that I chose was about six months old and seemed well-trained. We brought him home, and he behaved well with my other dog, Sabbath. I had told his cousin we had cats also, and she said that wouldn’t be a problem. Her dogs had been adjusted to cats, also. The new dog seemed to be happy when we brought him in, and he played happily with the cats in our household, also.

I was in another room when I heard a cat screeching. I ran into the second bedroom and found the new Samoyed cornering Shortcake, one of my cats. I thought this would be typical, a new dog discovering a new cat type of thing. Problem was, it seemed he had injured my cat and I had to rush my cat to my veterinarian.

My vet took my cat immediately, x-rayed him, administered tests, etc., and pronounced him ok. He said Shortcake had been through an upset, would need to be watched overnight, could come home but would be fine. I was nervous and upset now about this dog and wanted to return him, but my main concern was about my cat.

I stayed up all night nursing my cat. He seemed to be fatigued, more frightened than anything and I stayed next to him. At about 6 a.m., I decided to take a shower. Shortcake was now sleeping peacefully and doing better, so I felt I could leave him for a few minutes while I refreshed myself. I regret that decision to this day.

After my shower, I opened the bathroom door to find Daniel standing directly outside of the bathroom door. Standing within inches of the door, waiting for me to open it. Quizzically I looked at him, asking what’s wrong. He blurted out, “Shortcakes dead!” Not again, my whole demeanor just slumped. I ran to my bedroom, pushing him aside. There was my Shortcake, lying in his bed, dead. Another dead animal in my home. I had left my cat alone with this man, never thinking, never realizing that he would kill my pet behind my back. Never did I think these thoughts. Never. But it happened. And I’m sorry that I left my animal behind while I took my shower. I never knew that I was leaving my pet in the hands of a murderer. That thought haunts me and brings haunted tears over and over again. The pain that I feel never seems to lessen itself.

Again, a tearful burial was done in the backyard. Tearful on my part, and false tears on Daniel’s part. I don’t know what went through his mind. I don’t even want to imagine. I won’t give credence to any thought that might have gone through his sick, twisted mind. All I know is that my cat was resting finally, I had gone to take a shower, and he used that opportunity to kill yet another of my pets.

Daniel then called his mother, Sandra to tell her the news. Sandra raced to our home. I’m not sure exactly what Daniel told her on the phone, because she was under the impression that the dog had killed my cat. I tried to explain to her that my vet had told me Shortcake was ok, and wasn’t hurt, that he shouldn’t have died. But Daniel gave her the impression that this dog had done enough damage to the cat that something else had gone terribly wrong and  instead, the cat did die.

Sandra then packed the dog in her van and drove him back to the cousin’s farm. She returned the dog, calling it a “killer”. Little did she know it was her son that was the real killer of the animal that had died. Somehow Daniel had convinced her that the dog was responsible. He had used the opportunity at hand to kill. He had psychopathic urges, saw an opportunity to use them and did. I look at all of this now, and writing about it makes me want to hug my animals and protect them with all my might.

Did I realize Daniel had killed Shortcake? Did I see it in his eyes when I opened the bathroom door? I saw some type of gleam there, yes. I mistook the black gleam in his eyes not for the despair of the death of my cat, but it was really for the excitement and the thrill it must have given him to take the last breaths from my cat.

Daniel was out of breath as he told me Shortcake was dead. His eyes were startling black. He was shaking. He was excited. He was moving back and forth uncontrollably. At the time, I interpreted these signs differently.

How do I know these things now? I can’t forget that look on his face then. I’ve seen blackness where his iris is supposed be. I won’t forget the cajoling way he used on the camcorder calling to my cat that he decapitated. His agitated affectness when Berwyn “died”. I’ve heard his low chuckle when he’s either done something or thought something that is morally or socially unacceptable.  I’ve lived with a diagnosed psychopath. I’ve seen their mannerisms. My bones have been chilled by their ways. Now I know.

The American Psychiatric Association‘s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders incorporated various concepts of psychopathy/sociopathy/antisocial personality in early versions but, starting with the DSM-III in 1980, used instead the term Antisocial Personality Disorder and focused on earlier behavior instead of using personality judgements. The World Health Organization‘s ICD incorporates a similar diagnosis of Dissocial Personality Disorder. Both the DSM and the ICD state that psychopathy (or sociopathy) are synonyms of their diagnosis. For more information please go here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antisocial_personality_disorder.

Education about Antisocial personality disorder helps to understand the complexities involved in their personal judgements as described in my posts about Daniel. I am not making excuses for him. I never will. I’ve said before he is a sick man with a twisted mind that has slipped through the cracks of our judicial systems. I don’t believe he can be rehabilitated. I don’t believe that electro-convulsive therapy worked for him. Nor do I believe that medication helped him, other than putting him in a dream-like state where he was asleep 18 hours of the day.

Peace.

Sorceress.

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Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…They Kill Your Pets, Don’t They?) Part One

I’ve been talking about my pets in my posts. About how Daniel killed some of them. About how Daniel left me dead kittens in my freezer to find when I was living alone in the house we had once shared. How he decapitated my tabby cat. He and his mother Sandra knew pets and animals were my vulnerability and how animals are my love.

I’ve wanted to talk about a statistic that I read about that keeps people in situations that they might normally walk away from if they didn’t have pets. Why women stay in these horrific relationships for unknown reasons that others can’t understand. They don’t want to leave behind innocent creatures that they know will die. Helpless animals that don’t deserve to be abused and killed at the hands of the psychopaths that women live with.

Before I do, I’ll relate my own stories about what happened while I was living with Daniel. While I was in my situation, in the beginning, I didn’t realize that it had been Daniel that had murdered two of my parrots and two of my cats. I never would have imagined that he would leave me dead kittens in my freezer. Never would I have thought that he and his mother would donate large sums of money to the local humane shelter and then anonymously call me in as an animal abuser.

The parrots had died under suspicious circumstances and my son who was fifteen then happened to be in my home at the time. The parrots were kept in their cages, along with their play pens in the family room. It was a brightly lit room, with two walls of glass windows full of streaming light. An ideal room for birds. I had three parrots at the time, an african Congo, a mini-macaw, and a white cockatoo. The african Congo and the cockatoo I had raised from babies and were hand-fed by me and purchased long before I knew Daniel, while the mini-macaw I had adopted well before I met Daniel also.

My parrots were people-socialized, talked and interacted with my other pets in my household. Hendrix, my beloved cockatoo, even “fed” his nuts to my dog, Sabbath. Hendrix was quite the squawker, quite the jinxter and had seven locks on his cage for when I wasn’t in the home. Once, when I had gone out, I had come home to find him leading the pack of other pets around the house in a line, in a “Pied Piper fashion”. He had opened his cage again, and the other pets were following him around the house. He was quite the boss of the animals in the house and very loving. I adored him, but for his safety, had to secure him with seven locks to make sure he couldn’t get out of his cage and create havoc when I wasn’t home again.

All of my birds were fed a mix of hand-picked parrot food, nuts in season and fresh fruits and vegetables. They enjoyed baths in my sinks and sunning outside when the weather was warm. They snuggled with me, and with other friends that would visit. They were well socialized little creatures.

On this particular day, my son came running upstairs to me and very quietly said, “Congo and Buddy are dead in their cages.” I asked him where Daniel was and if he had told him. He said Daniel was out on the back deck, which was just outside of the family room’s door, and no, he hadn’t told him. I ran downstairs, and there were two of my parrots lying on the bottom of their cages. And there was Daniel sitting right outside of the family room, at the picnic table, looking in.

I reached into each cage to check their vitals and look for signs of anything. My birds were dead. I couldn’t tell how they died. Their necks weren’t twisted or out-of-place. They were just lying there. This seemed so surreal. Earlier in the day, when I had watered them, they were fine. Nothing was amiss and they were happy as they usually would be. Hendrix appeared to be fine. Hendrix, by the way, as a white sulfur-crested cockatoo was a larger parrot than Buddy and Congo with a wing span of probably four feet. Congo and Buddy, by comparison, were much smaller parrots, and easier to handle.

Daniel finally came into the family room. He acted with concern, at least I thought, at the time. He said he had gone in and out of the house through the family room and hadn’t noticed anything wrong. My son and I couldn’t understand how this had happened. Suddenly, two out of my three healthy parrots were dead.  As I said earlier, never did I think Daniel had done anything to hurt them. Now I know better. My son and I have discussed this incident now and we both agree that my parrots died at Daniel’s hands. Parrots need constant care, constant nurture, and a healthy home. They had the best care and environment. I hand-picked their food. I fed them a special diet of vegetables, fruits and special parrot food, along with the types of nuts and seed that each could crack with their beaks. They were sheltered from drafts. Their cages were cleaned regularly. I spent quality time talking with,  holding, and caressing each one daily. They had water sprays in my sinks. But I didn’t keep them safe from Daniel. How was I to know? The bastard feigned sadness and sympathy and stood with me as I buried my birds in special boxes. I cried as I wrapped their bodies carefully and placed them in special boxes. Now I know he was feeling nothing.

The next death to happen was Berwyn, an orange tabby cat that was an ornery fellow. Berwyn had a special illness that would shorten his life span by a few years, but he still had many years left. I had adopted him a few years earlier. He was one of those special cats that had a personality that you remember. Berwyn had pressure on his brain, similar to hydrocephalus, and he would push his head into your chest because it felt good to him. That was ok to me, because whatever made him feel better while he was alive, as long as he wasn’t in any pain, was alright. The vet said he could live for years, and he wasn’t in any pain, but he would push his head against you.

In my living room, somehow, Berwyn had climbed into the ceiling. The home was built in 1846, and the ceiling was 11 feet high. Ber had knocked one of the ceiling tiles loose, and these were the old-fashioned ceiling tiles that were about 8 inches in size. He would walk across the wooden rafters and taunt me, as any cat does its owner. Eventually, quite a few tiles were knocked down by Berwyn, but I somehow didn’t care. I knew he was having fun and they were only tiles that could go back up any time. He was a cat that I didn’t know how much longer would be with me. I guess because I knew BerBer was walking on shortened time, I gave him lee-way in doing things I shouldn’t have let him do, like knocking those ceiling tiles down. But the gleam in his eyes, and the swish of his tail when he saw me would make me laugh. Then Berwyn would roll over and jump into my arms and start purring. I figured let him have some happiness and fun before it was his time to go.

One morning, I had awakened and gone into the bathroom. Suddenly, I heard Daniel yell from downstairs. I came around the hallway from upstairs and looked down. There at the bottom of the stairs was Daniel and all he said was, “Berwyn is dead.” At the bottom of the stairs was Berwyn, lying dead on the floor. As I said before, the vet had said Ber could live for a few years. Suddenly, another death had occurred in my home. Daniel was acting strangely.

He said he had gone downstairs and just “found” Berwyn lying there in the living room “dead”. Here was the odd scenario about Berwyn’s death. Daniel was acting erratically and wouldn’t let me look at Berwyn. He said I wouldn’t want to see him this way. I questioned him why. I’ve seen enough death in my time, and said I needed to see him. No matter what I said, Daniel would not let me see Ber. He had wrapped him up in a blanket and said he was going to take care of the burial. So the opportunity to view the body never presented itself. In the back of my mind, somehow, I knew Daniel had killed Berwyn, but I didn’t want to believe it.

I was still disabled from the accident, still a prisoner in this home.  And now, I was privy to the murders of my pets. There were still more deaths to come.

Please see the following links for more information on domestic abuse and abused animals:

1. http://saavprogram.org/media.html.

2. http://www.vachss.com/guest_dispatches/ascione_1.html.

3. http://www.americanhumane.org/interaction/support-the-bond/fact-sheets/animal-abuse-domestic-violence.html.

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 Triad & Exposure To The Truth)

I’m sitting in the peacefulness of my backyard with my two dogs, watching them eat their treats out of their specialty toys. I make them mixes of yogurt, peanut butter, cheese and home-made dog biscuits that I stuff into these containers. They lay in the grass quietly, lapping every last morsel from the crevices of these inventions, oblivious to the sounds of the birds and the neighbor’s cats watching them. It gives them focus, adds some healthy food to their diet and aids their gums and teeth. And what does this have to do with psychopaths and their other disillusioned compadres?

I’ve had a rough few weeks. Animals bring us a peacefulness like no other. They ask for nothing in return for the love they give us. They wait adoring at the door for us. They wag their tails, they purr in our laps, they caw and flap their wings in wild anticipation of their owners interaction. They simply love us for who we are and how we behave towards them. They are dependent upon us for their food and water because they have been domesticated by us. In return, we ask that they love us unconditionally. No hidden agendas, no lies, no secret games. Just love shared among species. We can learn much from our relationships with our pets. They need to be nurtured with love and discipline so they will become the best animals they can be. Non-aggressive, loving, loyal, non-demanding, faithful and hope they will step up to the plate to alert us if danger is ever-present.

Violent, hostile and aggressively sick behavior towards animals seen during childhood is one of the three red flags often seen by psychiatrists that point to future criminal and psychotic behavior as adults. When children act out towards their pets, when pets go missing in a household, it is a cry for help and should never be ignored by the parents. This is a behavior that a child will not grow out of and is not considered as experimenting. It is the beginning of the triad of behaviors known as the “MacDonald Triad” or the “triad of sociopathy”. Two other behaviors that are included in this threesome are fire setting and enuresis, or persistent bedwetting after the age of five. There are conflicting schools of thought as to whether hardened criminals that have committed murder and other horrific crimes do carry this triad in their own mental characteristics. For more information on the triad see:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macdonald_triad.

I can tell you that Daniel succumbed to two of the three characteristics according to the stories told to me by both him and his mother, Sandra. At this point, I don’t remember them discussing his bed-wetting incidents, but then again, most men don’t ever want their mothers relating stories about how long they went on wearing diapers or wetting their beds.

When Daniel was about nine years old, he deliberately set a small brush fire in a field near his home. He then pulled a fire alarm near the field, as the story was told to me, so he “could watch the firemen and fire engines come and put out the fire”. As Sandra was relating the story to me, as usual with great relish, she told me how excited little Daniel was about the firemen, and the big engines racing down the street to put out the “little brush fire” he had started.

When it was finally put out, and it didn’t take long, little Daniel went up to one of the firemen and told him what a “grand” job they had done. Apparently, little Daniel had also told the firemen, in his own excitement, that he was the one that had started the fire. The fireman asked Daniel why he had set it. “Because I like fire engines and fires!” little Daniel told the fireman. The fireman admonished Daniel and explained to him the severity of what he had done. He told him that while they were putting out the little brush fire, there could have been a much more serious fire where people’s lives were at stake and he must never do this again.

He then brought little Daniel home to his parents. The punishment? Daniels’s mother apologized to the fireman, they laughed it off (as she told the story) and little Daniel was smacked around again. No psychiatric involvement. No counseling. No wondering what was wrong with this child. Just laughter. And she topped the story off with how he became a volunteer firefighter as an adult because of his fascination with fire. Twisted thinking raising a twisted son. Bizarre rationale. I sit here now and write these thoughts of my times with these two people and still shake my head at how the system failed in recognizing a budding psychopath. How she fooled and flirted her way through so many bizarre occurrences that should have been recorded  on police records and were not.

As an adult, he killed some of my pets. I’ve written about some of them. I’ve written about the dead kittens in the freezer. I still have the pictures he took from when he decapitated my cat. I have the video he left me on my digital camera of the same cat before he killed her when he was attempting to grab her from where she had climbed high on a shelf away from him and he was calling to her. I never look at these items. I can’t. But my mind has never forgotten them. It can’t forget the horrors. My mind cannot forget the look on my cat’s face on the top of the shelf because I know what happened next to her. He decapitated her. He’s a bastard for killing her. My thoughts go beyond hate, beyond disgust, beyond pity for him for what he has done to my animals. There are no words to describe my feelings.

I do know that as a child he didn’t have any pets, except for one dog and for some reason, that one dog was spoken about very little. I can’t say why Sandra didn’t speak much about the dog. I don’t know why she wouldn’t. I have no idea what happened to it, just that there was a puppy for a short time.

So back to what animals bring us. Peace, joy, wonder, happiness. What do they bring to the criminally and psychiatrically insane? A sense of empowerment, a sense of control and a way to bully and vent their inner rage over what is happening to them. If they are abused at home, often, they will take out their frustrations on a helpless animal. This isn’t to say all abused children behave in this way at all. There should be other factors in place, of course. And Daniel had far too many factors from birth and in his environment in place to set his role in motion from the time he was born. Animals would never hold a place in his heart.

He told me of his “beloved” Akita, who had to be put down when he was an adult. Instead of bringing his dog to the vet, he and a friend took the dog out to the woods, and shot the dog between the eyes. Then he created a burial site for the animal in his backyard. Convoluted thinking? Shoot your dog in the head because you claim you can’t afford to pay to euthanize him, then create a burial site for him in your backyard? Sick, twisted, dark thoughts. These are the stories that Daniel and his mother would tell me and believe them to be rational. These are the stories that haunt my soul. Stories such as these never leave you. When I watch my own pets now, I guard them carefully. They are my precious cargo. I don’t ever want to come home again to a decapitated animal. What Daniel and his mother has done to me cannot be undone completely. Some things I will always carry, no matter how hard I try to forget.

I stopped believing in the good of humanity some time ago. I don’t believe in angels anymore. I don’t even know if I believe if there’s any good out there. The Smiths’ destroyed a lot of my heart and no matter how hard I try, the stories of them re-surface to taint my good days. Time has passed and yet some days, it seems as if it was only yesterday.

There are other pet stories that I haven’t related yet, some too painful to write yet. They’ve hardened my heart irreparably. These people knew exactly where to hit me hard and where my vulnerability lie. My question to myself now is should I ever show a vulnerability again? Do I still have any naiveté or wonder of the world left? Or have I stopped smiling at the stranger I pass on the street as a friendly gesture of good morning?

These tragedies have reached my inner soul, and try as I might when the lights go out…the Monsters come out and play. Do we suffer when our demons are better company than the people we call friends and nights we spend tearing hair out and shedding tears are more comforting than those where we suffocate in darkness and solitude?

Don’t preach to me that it gets better if you’ve never walked a foot in my shoes. Don’t tell me that when you’ve hit bottom the only place to go is up if you’ve never faced the horrors of one of these personalities attempting to murder you. When you’re a victim, the unfairness is your reality. And the unfairness is that you became damaged because of an evil person that is very ill.

I know some of  the damaged survive if their wills are strong. I only wish there was enough wisdom out in our society today to address the victims appropriately with the true compassion and understanding they need instead of society giving its fascination to the criminally insane. Let the public beware of both sides, using real words. Let’s not allow psychopaths and their victimization of others become a buzz word of this decade or far worse, something that others might call a slur on the criminally insane. They are very real people who do very real damage to others and they must be identified. The only people who can truly speak the stories about the damage they do are their victims. Let their victims be heard.

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…They Plot To Murder-Should You Confront Them?)

I am a Survivor, with pain. I am Survivor with torturous mental pain that creeps into my thoughts when I least expect it. Daniel had many diagnoses, and he turned them all loose on me.

I wonder if he would sit and imagine how he would attempt to destroy me with his truly evil, sick, psychologically twisted thoughts. He obviously did. To sit now, and imagine that the man you lived with was plotting to poison you, plotting to hurt you, and yes, plotting to murder you takes your everyday thoughts to a new level of awareness of the human mind and its own brand of humanity and of those that lack the basic tenets of what normal people should have in their command of decency.

In retrospect, Daniel often spoke hauntingly of ways to kill his mother. He would envision his Jeep truck slipping on the ice, while plowing her driveway of the snow, and crashing into her living room picture window. He knew she always watched him through the window while he plowed, as if he couldn’t do the job properly, often coming outside to tell him of “spots” he might have missed or ways that were more efficient in snow plowing. She was always unwilling to cut her apron-strings ties to him and continued to involve herself in any way possible in his life.

He had talked to her cardiologist about her pacemaker and the old myth of how a magnet could stop it. But when he spoke to her doctor, it seemed that he was questioning the myth as a joke, using it as a cover, refuting the story so that it could really be carried to fruition. The cardiologist, didn’t know Daniel’s psychopathic tendencies and hateful, angry thoughts towards Sandra. He didn’t realize that Daniel was on a fishing expedition to learn what type of magnet, what size of magnet, and the method of how this could be done with the exact pacemaker Sandra had inserted in her heart at that time to kill his own mother without being discovered.

I listened in horror as the cardiologist explained to Daniel first jokingly about keeping his mother away from the refrigerator magnets. Then, he went on to explain about the heavier pull of magnets and a more detailed explanation. Daniel absorbed all of this information.  His mother laughed along with the two of them. In retrospect, thinking of her illnesses, I wonder if she realized how sick her son was and that he was plotting to kill her.

Did I attempt to stop Daniel from his thoughts of murder? Of course. He would get this dark, black, empty, vacant look in his eyes. I would tell him that if he murdered his mother, he would be apprehended eventually. I would try to convince him of the fruitlessness of his plan.  Eventually, his thoughts would seem to be distracted.

I didn’t know and still don’t know if his idea was to have me along as an accomplice or witness to what he wanted to do. It would be a very rare occurrence to find me alone in the house. Between the two of them (Sandra and him), I truly was a prisoner. They had me covered so I was never left alone. Perhaps by my constant talking about the negativity of the situation, I was managing to save myself again.

Daniel and his mother had none of those things that I refer to as basic human qualities of goodness to use on a regular basis at free will.  What they did have was the ability to mimic those simple human qualities when they believed they were needed for acceptance in their dealing with their neighbors, friends, public or doctors. These two people were never real. Yes, they stood before me. But everything about their demeanor was a sham concocted by their psychiatric illness, respectively. I only wish they had been fully identified by doctors back then, recognized for who they were and put away for help when opportunity had presented itself to me.

But Sandra’s money spoke volumes in keeping her and her son independent in a system that would keep them free to continue their destruction on unsuspecting people. That’s called justice in America.

Innocent until proven guilty. But the truth of that statement is innocent because you fall through cracks in various systems that don’t recognize signs that will continue to hurt others. That’s what happened to Daniel all his life. A mother to protect him, lie for him, buy his way out of trouble he caused, leaving his mind to become worse in its view of the world, thus creating a far worse scenario than if she had sought help for him as a child.

Sandra once laughingly told me the story of a constable coming to their home looking for Daniel, while she, Lester and Daniel were in the backyard. Sandra quickly told the constable he had just missed him. The constable, apparently a new hire, not having a description of Daniel, asked who the young man was in their yard. Sandra blatantly lied to the law enforcement officer, telling him that the man who stood before him was one of Daniel’s friends from around the block who also come looking for him. “Guess he’s pretty popular today!” Sandra glibly chirped at the constable, to avert attention from Daniel. The constable left and Sandra then investigated what the charges were about for her son before she had him turn himself in to the police station with her present to see if she could smooth whatever the problem was that he had done this time.

When Sandra told me this story, she laughed and had such a delightful gleam in her eyes that she fooled law enforcement. For what reason? Pathological lying? Her histrionic personality? No one can honestly answer the question. But one answer is clear. The mother son team of Daniel and Sandra Smith were one sick, twisted couple. That is a certainty.

When I realize now that I had confronted these two people often and put myself in a dangerous and tenuous position, I can honestly say that confrontation is not something I would recommend to people when they meet or realize they are living with people who have these personality disorders.

Sociopaths and psychopaths are dangerous people and do not react positively to confrontation. They do not react positively to a person that is going to reveal who they are and what they are about. They can be violent people. If you are in a situation where you realize or suspect that the person you are with falls into these categories, or has been diagnosed with these disorders, you might want to reconsider your relationship status with them.

They will deny if you accuse. They will attempt to twist your accusations back at you and make you the accused. They will attempt to frustrate you. They can become violent and attack to get you under their control if they don’t see themselves as succeeding. The best solution to is to walk away and evade this type of person. Stop all contact with them. Change your phone number, your email accounts, your online accounts, and if you must move your residence, you move also. This may sound drastic, but trust me when I say this,  a time may come when you realize it is the only safe thing to do.

You can help yourself. You cannot help them. Remember these words. They cannot be helped. They cannot be rehabilitated. You are the Survivor. Be proud of yourself for walking away and being strong.

I’m delighted I’m no longer with them. I thank the heavens for getting me out alive every day. I just wonder if they will ever get out of my head.

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