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.

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

 

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…

View original post 10,089 more words

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.

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 Beginning Of Daniel’s Many PFA Violations & The Fight For Truth)

I was upstairs in my bathroom washing my hair when the phone rang. My dog, Sabbath, curled on the bathroom rug, at my feet. She was a Belgian Malinois, a beautiful dog that I had raised from about three months old. She was my dog, faithful to me, always trotting after my feet, guarding the homestead, herding the cats playfully, and taking nuts from Hendrix, my cockatoo. As dogs go, she will always rank up there in the top. I miss her greatly.

Daniel was calling, one day after the judge had evicted him from the home. He was telling me he was about to break the front door down to get inside. I told him he wasn’t allowed anywhere near 300 feet of my home, my business, or me. With my hair dripping wet, phone in hand, and ready to hit 911, I heard the wood frame around the front door cracking under pressure from some sort of tool downstairs.

I ran downstairs quickly, Sabbath following. Any cat in existence had long vanished. The front door was standing on its hinges ajar, and there was Daniel on the front porch, about to enter my home. I had just called 911. So much for a Protection From Abuse Order.

“You aren’t allowed in the home, Daniel.” I quietly said. I knew the police were on their way, and there was no point in screaming. He told me he had returned to acquire some of his things. “There was no reason to take the door off its hinges and ruin it, Daniel.”, I said. “Get back out on the porch,” I said, as I saw he was beginning to cross the threshold of the front door. He did back up as I stepped forward.

He looked me in the eye and told me he was going in and taking what he wanted. Just like that. Screw the PFA. Screw what the judge had explained to him yesterday. Forget the idea that he could go to jail for six months for breaking the terms of the PFA. I looked beyond the porch and saw who else was with him. His mother. Sandra stood there on the ground also with a wicked smile and a gleam in her eyes and said nothing but this: “Is she not letting you in Dear? Then let’s call the police. She has to let you in. You are entitled to whatever you want. I’ll call them now for you, Daniel.”

He started to cross the threshold again, and I grabbed his elbow, two fingers on either side. I should mention that Daniel had surgery on his elbow a few years back because he had fallen from a roof when he was a roofer years back. Doctors couldn’t repair the elbow properly, and at times, he would be in much pain. I knew the vulnerable points and I squeezed just ever so delicately. He winced and I said simply, “Don’t go any further.” He again stepped back and decided to sit on the opposite side of the porch.

I then sat on the other end with Sabby. A patrol car arrived within minutes. The officer quickly ran up on the porch and began yelling at Daniel. “Do you live here? Do you belong here? As I understand it, there is a PFA against you Mr. S. What makes you think you can blatantly walk onto this woman’s porch?”  Daniel wouldn’t answer the officer. I don’t know why he wouldn’t answer. His mother was still on the ground in front of the house.

The officer walked up to me and quietly asked me if I had changed the locks. I told him I hadn’t yet, I had just received the PFA less than 8 hours ago, and was in the process that day of having someone change the locks and secure my home. I also told him it didn’t matter for the front door now, because of what he had now broken, and how the door stood half off its hinges. The officer took one look, and told Daniel he was going in to be arrested.

Daniel then yelled that he wanted “his dog”. The officer walked over to me and asked me again, quietly, who was the true owner of the dog. I explained to him that I had purchased the dog from Daniel, before I knew him, back in 1999, and had paperwork to verify my purchase. Sabbath belonged to me. That satisfied the officer. The officer then took Daniel off the porch and put him in his car telling him he could tell the judge why he felt it necessary to come to my home and damage the door. The officer told him to explain to the judge why he needed to break the PFA one day after it was issued.

I now had a front door to be repaired, locks to be recast, and a house to be secured. I knew I had a number of chores to do before the day was over. Never did I think the next question would be asked of me by this officer.

Sandra had pulled the officer aside after her son was being arrested for breaking the PFA. In the last post, I explained that Sandra was not adamant in giving Daniel his medicines for his diagnoses. She herself had visited psychiatrists and had been given psychiatric medicines that she wouldn’t take because she felt they weren’t necessary. She already knew her son was a drug addict and was back hitting the streets for his drugs of choice, and she was about to cover any story for him that she could dream possible.

When I saw her talking with this officer, I figured he was explaining what would happen to Daniel, where he would go, and what the terms of the PFA were. I was wrong. Sandra was now concocting another lie about me. Suddenly, the officer walks back to me, and asks me this question, “When was the last time you visited Sandra in the hospital?”

What an odd question. What does this have to do with what just happened at my home? Nothing, that I can put together. “That’s an easy question,” I told the officer. “October 31st, 2004. We had a gathering at this home. She feigned a heart attack again. Jonathan, the paramedic, was here, and he administered first aid to her. She had been brought to a hospital in the city. The doctors at this hospital wanted to admit her to the psychiatric unit there, realized she hadn’t had any medical problems and thought she would be a good candidate for their mental health unit. But she discharged herself at 4 a.m. AMA (against medical advice), called us at 4 a.m. to tell us, and took a cab home. She hasn’t been in the hospital since.”

He looked at me for only a moment. “She’s been in the hospital since then. Apparently, some January. And she’s saying that you escorted her to the hospital, and while there, stole her credit cards and used them. She wants me to bring you in for credit card theft.” Then he looked me directly in the eye, frowned a bit, and a very small laugh escaped his lips. My face must have surprised him. The myriad of expressions also must have told him that I had no idea what he was talking about and this woman was fabricating a story on the spot because her son was now in trouble. He knew it but had to prove it.

“What do I do now?” I asked. “Our detectives will call you to get to the bottom of this.” he said. “In the meantime, you’ll be going to court for the PFA violation.” “You realize what she’s trying to do,” I said. “She’s trying to deflect the situation. This woman is just as ill as her son. I never knew she was hospitalized some January.”  His hands were tied as he had two situations to handle. He didn’t know either of us, and he had been called to a home to handle a PFA, and then given information about a credit card theft. By the law and his badge, he needed to report and investigate both. I understood.

How the officers handled the situation and how the city came to handle me next was suspect at best, pathetic and showed a lack of understanding of truly psychiatrically ill people. Now a domestic abuse victim was becoming an accused suspect in a bogus credit card theft.  And the police department was allowing this bogus story of theft to override the fact that I was a victim of two very ill people.

What this family’ did next in the continuing web of lies against me took me months to clear. But the truth always stands clear and cannot be broken. No matter how shrouded with darkness and deceit truth still shines like a beacon of light at the end of a tunnel. Through my ordeal of perpetuated lies by them, I always looked for that pharos to show me hope and security. Try as they might to charge me, they couldn’t. Try as they might to harass me, they did their best job.

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…Bad Boys…Why We Love Them & Why We Shouldn’t…)

"Hollywood Bad Boys"

“Hollywood Bad Boys”.

Bad Boys. You know one. You’ve seen them. Maybe you’ve lusted after one or two. Why are women so attracted to them? What is the illusion that they carry? I’ve used photos of Hollywood badboys and badgirls because they are easy to identify and associate their particular traits of manipulating and how they treat their romantic partners. Their lifestyles are well-publicized and society feeds on their behaviors. In and out of jails for the wrongs they have commited, it doesn’t seem to matter. Hollywood still pays for them to work and society pays to watch them perform. And why?

Why are they considered “eye candy”, when in reality, their colors and flavors are as sour as rotten apples and they aren’t sweet at all. They are an illusion. Good-looking, sexy, well-dressed, slick-talkers, manipulative, promiscuous, in and out of  jail…they resemble psychopaths, don’t they? Perhaps. Maybe some of the bad boys harbor some of the attributes of the psychopathic personality.

"Hollywood Bad Boys We Love".

“Hollywood Bad Boys We Love”.

Some women will tell you that their “bad boys” are really “teddy bears” if you knew them. They tell you that underneath their “big bad” exterior is a softie.  But behind closed doors is always another story.

I can tell you this. Every woman who has uttered that statement to me has also cried about his behavior to her and how he has treated her behind her back unfairly. How he  a) has affairs; b) is married or is linked exclusively with another woman also; c) uses her for sex exclusively as in a “friends with benefits” type relationship but not necessarily calling the relationship in those terms; d) uses her for her money; e) uses her for some purpose,  for example-he currently doesn’t have a license but needs transportation; f) is playing her in some way that she just can’t figure out exactly because he doesn’t give her all the pieces of his life so she can know him well enough.

The list that bad boys use their victims for is endless. They have their own personal agendas. That’s one of the reasons they have been given the moniker “bad boys”.

So why the strong attraction to these losers? Are these women short on egos themselves? Do they need someone who attracts attention, albeit negative attention to give them their own ego boosts?

Have these women been so hurt in their pasts that they deliberately choose these types of men to use for themselves? Just as these men have the cavalier attitude of “love them and leave them”, many women also use this attitude as a shield to protect their emotions from being hurt anymore. It’s a defense mechanism.

Here’s the catch in many of these relationships. In turn, they will equally destroy this type of relationship while destroying their own sanity. While seeking these types of men to use, they are only quick patches to what they need to fix in their own lives. Quick and easy fixes instead of focusing on long-term goals of self-improvement and ego boosting work that would skillfully aid them in attaining healthy relationships.

Working on yourself is a difficult process. It involves self-introspection to find both your own qualities and your own faults. Addressing both, finding solutions to your faults and building on your attributes is not an easy quick process. The time factor is long, but well worth it. The person that evolves after the time spent is a person that is more confident, independent and ready to tackle the world with new eyes on a daily basis. Not an easy goal, but one that is definitely attainable.

Can these women who stay in these abusive relationship cycles see the damages? Do they want to see the damages? Can they see the damages?

These are questions asked by everyday and professional people who look at these types of relationships whether they are counselors,  neighbors, friends, involved with the situation or not. So often, others look at these women and give up on them with the attitude that the situation is hopeless and the woman is only getting what “she deserved”. The situation these women find themselves in is far more complex and deserves much more insight than a mere shake of the head and a flippant response than this.

These types of relationships are always in a downward spiraling motion. For as many years as it took the person to get involved with that type of negative individual, it will take  many years of inward reflection to remove themselves from that type of negative wanting.

"Hollywood Bad Girls".

“Hollywood Bad Girls”.

Why do people want that elusive “bad boy/girl”? Yes, there are women that are bad girls too. Not as many as the bad boys, and you don’t see them as often, but they are out there. The interesting phenomena is that the women that are considered bad girls are very often looked at with other monikers such as whores, sleazy women, trash, etc. Gender inequality is prevalent when describing these types of personalities. Not fair in today’s world, but that would be another post I could write.

"Hollywood Bad Girls Again.

“Hollywood Bad Girls Again”.

The reasons are many, but here are just a few:

1. They are different. They represent something that is out of the ordinary to you. They offer something that is in a word-naughty, bad, sexy…something against what you have brought up to believe you should be with. They go against your inner moral beliefs and satisfy the part of you that wants to do an action that might be considered wrong. You yourself aren’t doing anything wrong, but by associating with that person you are assuming the guilt.Why do people want that elusive bad boy/girl?

2. They aren’t the settling down type. If you have this type of person on your arm, what does it say about you? That you’ve cornered them? That you have captured them? Think twice about this. Look long into your future with them and look just as deep into their past relationships. There is a pattern with this type of personality and you are not the one that is going to break it, no matter what they tell you.

3. They are different. You know what a good boy is like. A good boy is predictable. A bad boy isn’t. A bad boy is exciting because you never know what might happen and what he might do. The problem here? You also don’t know what he might do with your emotions, your feelings, and your relationship. You just might become old to him as quickly as you were new to him because that’s what he’s about. Bring in the new and get rid of the old quickly.

4. You can’t figure him out. He’s a conundrum. He’s frustrating but you believe he’s all worth that to you. And a relationship that is frustrating, makes you wonder whether he’s faithful to you and makes you feel as if you’re not his only one is really what you’re looking for? Really?

5. You are rebelling and want a partner that is against all that you have always been attracted to and told you should be involved with. You’ve led a cookie-cutter life, a perfect life, you need excitement and you look to the bad boy to fill this void in your life. What he will bring to you is excitement and heartbreak, frustration and pain, and perhaps more. The choice is always yours.

6. He’s a challenge. Good boys want the picket fence in their lives. Bad boys don’t want to be tied down. They want the motorcycles, fast cars and faster lives. Remember this next time you are considering one. The key word is stability. Do you want stability in your life or do you want a roller-coaster?

7. You honestly believe you can reform this bad boy to stay with you forever. He has told you that you are his soul-mate, his one and only, etc. His pathological lies have begun to hook you into his web of deceit so he can use you for his wants and needs. When he’s finished, you’re gone. Not because you want to be gone, because he’s finished with you. It’s called the Red Flags to look for. See:  https://sorceressofthedark.wordpress.com/2011/07/14/survivor-of-a-psychopathwith-borderline-tendencies-red-flags-to-look-for/.

You always have choices in your life. Being with anyone is a new gateway to a new experience, a new vista. Life is a Journey to be experienced and enjoyed even if you make mistakes. It’s when we learn from our mistakes that we go forward.

You also have choices to look inward and find yourself. Because your self  is a special being and should be taken care of with kid gloves. Find ways to see what your qualities are, where your special talents lie and use them. Develop hobbies. Find out what’s fun in your life for you and not anyone else.

Becoming #1 is an important step to boosting your ego. It may sound too simple but put stickies up telling yourself how wonderful you are. Because you are. Smile at yourself in the mirror. Tell yourself everyday you are worth it. Again, because you are.

Focus on how important you are and soon you will find others will see you in a new light. Relationships will open where you become more confident, more self-assured and more in control. It does happen when you begin to work on yourself. But you have to make the first step in choosing yourself first. You can do it. Finding yourself takes time but when you do you’ll find the person inside of yourself pretty amazing.

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…What Are Their Agendas?)

It’s so very easy to sit here and tell my readers how simple it is to spot the psychopath at a distance now. How thin and shallow their veneer is I can see right through them.

If only we were all born with the gift to do this immediately on sight. No one is. If they tell you they are, they are lying, or better yet, they are a psychopathic personality trying to get in your better graces.

I still commiserate with my Survivor Sisters, the hardy bunch they are. (Insert wry smile and crinkling eyes here…) I won’t preach at you and tell you I never fell from grace myself. I did. I fell for one.

In the last post I told you in the first meeting with Daniel’s mother, I didn’t see her oddities. By the next morning, I saw her creepiness and stalking a mile away. (no pun intended). Her behavior was highly unusual the next day and I think anyone would have found it to be as such.

Think about this situation. You have an early breakfast with your new boyfriend, you drop him off at his workplace, where you spend a few minutes in your car canoodling, his friends wave at his new girlfriend and blow a few whistles at him, and you’re both smiling. You think to yourself, this is good. You’re in the beginning stages of a relationship, the sky is blue, and both of you are smiling.

Until…until you see this van parked half a block away in the parking lot and it drives up to you. And its Daniel’s mother behind the wheel. She lowers the window and says, “Get in. Let’s chat for a moment.” (Insert eerie music here.) She’s dressed up as if to go to a luncheon, makeup and hair done at 5:30 a.m. and I’m still in my jeans, tee shirt and boots. My store doesn’t open until 1 p.m. so I get to go home for some more zzz’s.

What could this woman want to talk about? And why is she here? Why was she watching her son and I from across the parking lot like a stalker would? I know the answer now, but back then, I never would have imagined the scenerio that was to unfold. Back then, I wouldn’t say I was naive to disorganized personalities, but I wouldn’t have suspected her to be as bizarre as she turned out to be.

What I’ve learned from Sandra is that the old saying “you can’t judge a book by its cover” works both ways. There are sheep in wolves clothing, but there are also wolves in sheeps clothing, too.

A quick aside about wolves in sheep clothing and what I mean by that. When my daughter was younger, I ran a girl scout troop from Brownie level to Junior level. The girls were always collecting aluminum cans and we would bring the collection of cans down to the recyclying center once a month to collect the money and then donate it monthly to a special cause.

One time at the collection, there was a man that wasn’t dressed very neatly, his clothes were very soiled from his line of work, ill-fitting and he was rather large. He frightened the girls by his looks. I told the girls not to judge him, he was the caretaker of the facility. After he told the girls what a wonderful job they were doing recycling, he said his daughter was a baker and she would love to help out our troop. To make a long story short, his daughter went on to bake these amazing cakes whenever our service unit for girl scouts in our area needed them as her way of volunteering  just because she wanted to and just because her dad had met my girls and he was so taken aback at their sincerity. That’s a sheep in wolves clothing.

Sandra dressed the part of a woman going to an annual flower show at the time of the morning. She must have been up since 3 a.m. getting ready for this meeting.

Spotting them, I believe, is the easier part once you have lived through the experience of one of these personalities. Spotting the rest of the emotions is tough, and it does get easier, but not by a long shot does this job-spotting go away quickly, I won’t lie. It can make you feel paranoid at times and it shouldn’t. You are always looking out for your own human decency rights.

Their emotions are not so so easy to discern from ours. Ours are real and full of meanings, emotions, inflections in our speech and feelings. We feel. Simply put, psychopaths and their Cluster-B personality disorders don’t.

What they feel are emotions that we can only imagine in the dark recesses of our minds. We see these emotions in the darkness of their eyes. In the hollowness of their faces. In the slight curvatures of their smiles when they think they have won someone as their prize. In the absurdities of their laughs when they cackle at the inappropriate. In the cold fingertips of their hands. Or in the delusional stories they create to confuse their victims. I witnessed all of these in Daniel and his mother as time progressed.

From Sandra imagining my daughter and I speaking in tongue to one another as a secret language to ourselves to deliberately exclude her to the dark, hollow, vacant pit of Daniel’s eyes the night he held a butcher knife to my neck and the day he deliberately ran a red light causing another vehicle to slam into the passenger’s side of my car where I was sitting enabling the accident that would place me in a wheelchair for the next two years and cause me to become non-verbal.

That morning I saw a determined look in Sandra’s eyes as she watched me from the seat of her van. She had questions for me. Questions she hadn’t wanted asked in front of her son the day before. I opened the door but hesitated getting into her van. “Why are you here”? I asked her.

There was a gleam in her eyes that morning I would like to call evil, but I know now was simply a part of her demeanor when she was orchestrating her plans. Her question to me that morning that she could not ask in front of her son?

“Are you able to bear children?” She asked me point blank. This was her agenda that morning.I explained to her, in a placating tone, that I was the mother of three children already. I was a proud parent of two sons and a daughter. Two were attending college and I was home-schooling the third.

But would I be interested in having Daniel’s children was her question,dismissing the facts that I had just explained to her. Her histrionic mind cared less of of what I had accomplished. Her agenda was focused solely on her needs and wants.

Furthest idea from either of our minds, I told her, exactly why is this your concern and what are you doing here anyway? Now my anger was starting to rise at the the thought of this woman’s interference in my life.

As Sandra saw my anger begin to show, she realized she needed to placate me quickly, since I apparently was an “approved choice” now for her son in her eyes. “Oh Goody”, she actually said as she clapped her hands together. “Three grandchildren!”

I needed to vacate the van as soon as possible. My children had a grandmother they lved dearly. This woman did not show any of the endearing qualities that a typical, loving grandmother would show.

Sandra was beginning to frighten me at that very point in time. Not frighten in any usual sense of the word, but frighten as in she’s not based in reality frighten. I did excuse myself from her, left the van, and walked back to my car.

I decided to stop for breakfast on my home in the event she was following me. I didn’t want this woman to know where I lived.

My preliminary thoughts were that she was a lonely woman, without any direct descendant grandchildchildren to call her own. Odd in her behaviors, yes, but frankly, I was unconcerned at that point. She meant nothing more to me than Daniel’smother. Besides that, Danel and I were not in any type of relationship yet. Apparently, she felt differently.

People with disorganized personalities have agendas. People with normal personalities have agendas. The difference is that there are issues that you can’t see with psychiatrically ill people. You cannot see pschotic breaks in their personalities about to happen. You cannot hear their demons. Only they can. There are subtle signs in their behaviors that reflect their shortcomings in normal decency.

What I can say now is when the hair on the back of your neck stands up, there is a reason. Pay attention to it. Go with your gut feelings, but not your emotions.  Their little green men keep chasing them and haunt them. That’s something Daniel always told me.

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