Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…She Must Have Stalked Me, Your Honor)

I’ve taken a break from writing this blog about Daniel. I’ve needed a much-deserved break. Writing about him, writing about his mental illness, writing about his victimization of people is a difficult task. Separating pity from detailing information is my first priority for my readers. There should never be pity, but there always should be compassion and empathy for victims and Survivors of abusers. Abusers, psychopaths, compulsive liars, sociopaths are manipulators and con artists. They will twist and turn the truth to their willing audiences. They will parrot information back to their listeners easily to make the other person their ally. It’s in their nature. It’s one of their personality traits that goes unnoticed very easily by the general public. And it’s one of the most dangerous traits that most people don’t realize is what makes them succumb to the psychopath’s will.

When I appeared in court with Daniel, my daughter accompanied me. I did not know who would accompany Daniel. My daughter, who had been in and out of the Chelsea home, had known Daniel throughout the years that I was with him, and was well qualified to speak to the judge about any concerns that I had should the judge question her as a witness. My daughter also has a degree in criminal psychology. She was my support in the court system and her opinion would have been well-versed.

Daniel brought with him apparently his current girl friend. I can only determine “current girl friend” because of her behavior when she saw me. She fawned over him in the court room, and Daniel kept backing away from her advances. When our names were called, she also followed him to the front tables and stood there. I’m not sure why, but she decided she would be present in front of the judge, although she had no bearing on this case.

My daughter later told me that this woman looked so much like I did, that the resemblance was remarkable. Her height was the same as mine, her coloring, her haircut, her hair color, even her build-she was pretty much identical to me. Other than the way I was dressed for court, my daughter said, this woman could have been me dressed in jeans, boots and a hoodie on a casual day. At the time, all I thought was that he must have the same taste in women. But there was more to her looks than I thought. There apparently was a reason she could have been my twin or my sister. I would find that out later.

The Judge asked me why I wanted a Protection From Abuse. I began to speak, barely beginning with, “Your Honor, I have had three PFA’s in the past against this man. I am now asking you to…” I was interrupted very loudly with “That’s bogus!” by Daniel. I turned to look at him. He began speaking rapidly at the judge. Daniel began telling him that I was a vindictive woman, who was angry with him, because we weren’t together any longer, and that anything that would come out of my mouth would be “bogus”.

I could begin to feel my blood racing. My eyes were opening wider and wider. I was standing no more than two feet away from this man. Now this woman he had brought began to yell at the judge, telling him that yes, indeed, I was a vindictive woman who wanted to make trouble for them. She began pointing fingers at me, and also yelling. My daughter was grasping my elbow, to steady me, and whispering to me to stay calm. The judge is listening to Daniel speak loudly and forcefully, and asking the woman who she is and why is she involved in this matter, then telling her she has no business being involved and to please leave the table area, then he turns back to Daniel and tells him to continue. Leaning on his elbows, quite enraptured with Daniel, the judge listens to him. Quite a commotion he caused, showing the judge how women can be preposterous in a situation. The judge became enamored of Daniel, and literally showed little regard for any females. It was very well organized.

Daniel planned the opening well. He interrupted me one time, caused a scene, had this woman cause a larger scene, which in turn had the judge have her removed from the area. The judge then in turn, returned to Daniel to have him explain himself, thereby excluding me from the original conversation. I’m watching this, as if it’s all in slow motion. I say to the judge, “Excuse me, your Honor, you asked me a question. May I continue?” He tells me only one can talk at a time, and motions to Daniel to resume speaking.

I am now incensed. I’m sure my face reflected this. Daniel goes on to tell the judge that he was sitting peacefully in his living room watching television when the sheriff’s officers knocked on his door. He said he had absolutely no idea what they could want from him when they served the paperwork on him. I could tell you about his string of arrests and court appearances that have continued and still continue to this day as I write this post, but they don’t have any bearing on my business with Daniel.  He conveyed to the judge that he was a parody of a man who was simply living a quiet life that was being vindicated by a woman who could not let go. What he did was reverse the tables for the judge, play him for the fool, and make me appear the despicable person. The Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality was coming out. Daniel was attempting to manipulate the court, the judge and the system again.

He then told the judge what I was waiting to hear. “Your Honor, I don’t even know how she knew my address to serve me with these papers. She must have stalked me.” Words that made my head flip back.

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.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

Sorceress.

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

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Can You Survive A Psychopath?)

Is there life after spending part of your life with a sociopath or a psychopath? Does a human soul have a chance at renewal again? Will they be able to start fresh, breathe easily and walk with a spring to their step? Maybe. I won’t lie. I won’t pepper this answer with sweetness and pretend that the future holds prettiness, either.

Being with a psychopath if they have created traumatic damage most likely will result in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for their victim. The length of time, the severity of the situation and what the psychopath has done to their victim will determine whether you are now encountering PTSD.

Many abused victims do not seek counsel for various reasons and are not aware that they suffer from this disorder. Because they are not aware they suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, they are in limbo-between the abuse that had occurred and the healing that will occur.

Once the victim realizes that they are a victim, they will become a Survivor, and they can move forward. Moving forward is an extremely important step in recovery from a psychopathic personality that will help you to regain your strength and vitality.

I talk about moving forward, but I do not speak of forgetting. I don’t think it’s right when people say victims should forget and move on. Those that tell you those words probably have never experienced a severe traumatic event that has displaced their minds and spirits in a devastating manner. Try as you might to forget, your subconscious will remind you through nightmares and triggers of the horrors that were inflicted upon you.

I said I would not sugarcoat this post. Reality is important in dealing with your own emotions. Although they can be frightening and overwhelming at times, know that you are not alone in your thoughts.

If you have arrived here, you can feel safe in knowing you are not alone. There are many others that have been through agonizing experiences and are climbing the stairwell to their new lives of freedom. Many have succeeded and many others are on their way to success. It is a Journey that only you can make, and you make it yourself.

I say you make it yourself because there were two people involved in the original trauma. One of them is now gone and one of them is now left. The one that is left is trying to distance themselves from the traumas of their past and move forward. Only they truly know what has happened. Only they truly relive what has happened in their minds and nightmares. Only they truly see in the distant corners of their minds when they gaze listlessly out of their windows the terrors that were imposed upon them. And only they can rise above these horrific thoughts.

It may take years. It does take time. If you need professional assistance, seek qualified help. If you feel more comfortable talking to friends, talk to them. If your family is understanding, talk with them. Find someone to talk to about what has happened. Journal your experiences, even if no one will ever read them.

The severity of being with a true psychopath is not something most people can understand. They can listen. They will hear you. They will be astonished. Some won’t believe you.What you try to tell them just doesn’t connect with their realities. Not on a basis with their lives. Not their everyday lives.

Most people will never come across what has happened to you. They have seen these stories on tv, read about them in books, seen them in movies, but they haven’t met the real person. So when they do, the real thing becomes one of several things. You become frightening, incredulous, unreal, intense, a storyteller, a Survivor, a person of strength. It doesn’t matter. You know the truths. That’s what really matters.

Be true to yourself. You should not and can not base yourself on what others think of you and your past. As you slowly evolve, you will find yourself with a new-found strength and will that is stronger and more determined than before. That’s when you know you are succeeding.

I am still surviving one. Daniel is still out there. He is still stalking me. I still find cars watching my home and neighbors tell me about suspicious vehicles parked outside at oddball hours that they have noticed. I have had pictures left for me at my home that only Daniel could own. My dog’s leads in my backyard have been pulled out of the ground, and the chains dissembled into pieces. Pieces of glass have been left in my backyard that my dogs would have been harmed by if I wasn’t vigilant about their safety. I’ve reported the incidents to my police. We can only wait. And we are.

The human mind is a wondrous organ. It is stronger than you may believe. And stronger than the psychopath may believe. Be the Survivor you are.

Peace.

Sorceress

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

Sorceress.

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

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Phishing…Harassment…On And On….)

I visited Doc Holly recently. Physically, I’m doing far better than she ever expected. I thank the higher powers that I believe in for this. I believe firmly in Karma. I believe that what goes around comes around.

For instance, take Sandra. Put in an assistance-living home, she was a woman that always took care of herself and was extremely active. She didn’t like others helping her and having to depend on someone else. If she did have to depend on someone else, then she would want to call the shots and be the center of attention. When a person is in a nursing home, they are but one of many patients, and in a long line of people who are taken care of daily. She would have to wait her turn every day. No longer free to jump into her vehicle at will, stuck in her room, waiting at the mercy of others to care for her. Karma’s a bitch and it will get you every time.

I wonder sometimes why I am spared. Daniel left me for dead in the first motor-vehicle accident. Granted, I sustained injuries and the climb back to walking and talking was exceedingly difficult. But I made it back. I faced down his black cold eyes and the butcher knife in his hands wrapped around my neck. I’m still here.

There is some reason for all of this. After I received the PFA from the courts, Doc Holly kept encouraging me to write my story about them and their abuse of me. She would tell me that although the story was horrific and seemed surreal, it needed to be told. It took me a few years to begin to even think about putting down my thoughts on paper. My nightmares were too intrusive. I couldn’t sleep. Daniel was still stalking me. I was moving every few months when he would find me. Eventually, I felt safe in a home I had in a county that assured me they don’t tolerate abusers like him. That’s when I started to write.

But that wasn’t the end of Daniel. I’ve had one attempted break-in at this home. I’ve had three acts of deliberate vandalism. I won’t move again. Both of these occurrences happened on Mother’s Day week-end the last two years I have lived in this home and reeked of Daniel’s signature. The first attempted break-in happened at about 3:30 a.m. outside my kitchen window. Someone had moved items I had placed in front of the window to gain closer access to it. They then broke the lock on the storm window to open it. My dog instinctively ran downstairs, hackles raised, teeth bared and snarling. She was ready to battle. I never had an opportunity to see who it was, because apparently something frightened them away.

I reported this attempted break-in to the police and they promised to keep an eye on my house constantly. I don’t feel afraid and never have felt frightened. My house is protected should anyone attempt to break-in. Enough said.

Two days later, after a walk with my dog, I went into my backyard. I was with a friend and we both stopped before we actually reached the yard. There are a few steps leading to the yard and I usually let the dogs run before me. This time, I pulled back on their leashes when I saw what someone had dug into the ground and left there for them. An 12″ by 12″ solid plate-glass window sheet was dug into the ground sitting straight up. If I had let the dogs keep walking ahead of me, they would have bounded straight into the piece of glass and cut their faces/snouts/noses on this glass. Luckily for me, I just happened to have my friend over walking the dogs with me for proof of this horrible incident.

I immediately called the police. When the sergeant arrived and took one look at it, he looked up at my roof, back down at the glass and said, “That didn’t fall off the roof. It seems its meant for your dogs. Someone dug it into the ground so they would hurt themselves.”  I agreed with him, telling him if whoever had done this wanted me to hurt myself, they would have left the glass flat, so I would have slipped on it instead. The look on his face was of pure disgust, that someone would attempt to hurt an animal. He knew the story about Daniel.  The department had discussed him apparently that day. Again,the police promised protection.

This year, a few days before Mother’s Day, someone punched in my screen door, reached in and ripped down my wreath. A day later, one of my dog’s tie-outs, which is dug into the ground a few feet, had been pulled out of the ground and thrown close to the house. The lead that used to be on it (a chain) was clipped into four separate pieces. So I reported it to the police again. Again, they’re monitoring the house. They really want to catch whomever is coming here on Mother’s Day each year.

My son told me he feels Daniel would pick Mother’s Day deliberately, knowing that I enjoy spending that day with my children. And if he could cast a shadow over that day by appearing and vandalizing my home in some way, then he’s done his psychopathic job. Personally, at this point, I realize the guy is one sick man. I’ve had so many offers to take care of him it’s laughable. He’ll trip himself soon. The day will be here quicker than he thinks. Another friend down in the area recently told me that Daniel stopped by his place and had this conversation with him:

Daniel: “I got married again. I’m real happy.”

Friend: “That’s great.”

Daniel: “Yeah, real happy. Couldn’t be better with this woman.”

Friend: “Wonderful. I’m glad.”

Daniel: “Hey…you see her(me) around? Do you know where she lives? Do you know what she looks like now?”

Friend: “Why you asking?”

Daniel: “Have you seen her? Has she been around? What does she look like? I know she always stops in to see you.”

Friend: “For someone who says he just got married and is so happy why you asking so many questions about another woman? You didn’t get married. No wedding ring on your finger.”

My friend told me Daniel became angry at being caught in his own lies and took off immediately when he realized his ruse about “getting married” didn’t work to try to elicit information about me from my friend. My friend had protected me and told him that he hadn’t seen me in years and that I don’t come down to those parts anymore. He said he could see right through Daniel’s phishing act and he wasn’t going to give him any information about me. Daniel never had remarried, it turned out.

It’s been over 13 years since I first met Daniel. It’s just short of 6 years that I received the first Protection From Abuse Order to evict him from my home. And just two months ago Daniel resurfaced from his last few years of going underground to hitting me with a lawsuit. And of course, he didn’t reveal the full history to his attorney about the relationship being one of extreme domestic psychological violence with him going to jail or that he is in contempt of his PFA by not fulfilling certain obligations that the original judge ordered on it.

The man sees only what he wants and that is his obsessions. He has vilified my reputation to his attorney for the second time in four years. Again, I’ve told this attorney to bring him to court and let’s argue it there. But Daniel won’t appear in court. Why? Wanted on warrants, the moment he steps foot in the courthouse he will be arrested. So he hires a lawyer to harass me, not telling the lawyer the full story, believing I will be upset at what he is doing. Except I’m not upset. Daniel needs to be accountable for all he has done. And that is what I have told this attorney. Because Daniel needs to not slip through the cracks again.

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…Meeting Sandra)

This wasn’t the first time Sandra was full of grandiose stories. Her son, Daniel, was quite hesitant to have me meet her in the beginning of our relationship. He would say he needed to stop at his parents’ home, but leave me in the car. I told him that was ridiculous, and that I was interested in meeting this woman he called Mother. I now rue that day.

He told me the meeting needed to be arranged, and that his mother was tough. No tougher than I could be, I thought at the time. I had absolutely no idea what I was walking into. Daniel had no idea what his psychiatric problems were and neither did his mother. Those with severe psychiatric problems often are unaware of their behaviors and their impact on others.

Daniel’s father had an idea his son was different in ways he couldn’t understand but was attempting to rationalize in a simple way when Daniel was young. Lester knew Daniel had difficulty in elementary school and would visit his teachers to try to figure ways to help his son, he had told me. Before dsylexia was fully explained and explored in the school systems, many teachers had no idea how to cope with students struggling with this problem.

Lester once told me he knew his son couldn’t read. He felt if he had Daniel re-write stories he might be able to learn to read better. At the time, this seemed a gentler approach than how Sandra  felt her approach to teaching Daniel to read would work. She would sit at the kitchen table with him attempting to teach him at an early age when he couldn’t read words back to her, if he couldn’t perform to her standards she would grab his head and slam it against the kitchen wall, she told me. She said “knocking some sense into him might get him to read, but it never did”. I can say both ways never taught the man to read properly.

Unchecked dysfunctional patterns in households often went unnoticed back then circa 1960’s. If it was noticed, not many decent programs were in place that could help children either. Daniel was in a local Boy’s Club in his city as a child and ironically, one of the men that volunteered at the Boy’s Club later went on to see Daniel as a defendant in a judicial position in the court system. Again, falling through the cracks seemed to be Daniel’s future from a very early start in life.

His parents lived in a late 1950’s cape cod style home with 3 small bedrooms. Furnished on a blue collar workingman’s salary, it was clean and well-kept. The day that Daniel had his mother and I meet for the first time he wanted to make sure that what I would be wearing, in his eyes, what his mother called  “appropriate clothing”.

For anyone that knows me, I dress the way I want, anywhere I want, in the style I want. Pretty much since high school, I have adopted my own style, not necessarily adhering to trends, but rather, adhering to my own eclectic taste. Out of an admiration for the classics, I had grown to appreciate vintage clothing. My aunts had kept most of their clothing in pristine condition in the attic of the home I grew up in and I would scour the racks for pieces to wear from the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s throughout high school and college. My attic was my own personal thrift shop, so to speak, full of well-made, costly clothing and accessories that hung wrapped in garment bags on racks. This had set my personal style from early on.

When Daniel and I first met, I owned a store that amongst other items, sold vintage clothing that dated from into the 1800’s and some new clothing that I would acquire from trade shows at Jacob Javits from New York City every few weeks. I adored fashion and the eccentricity that went with it since I was a teen-ager. Having him tell me to dress in a certain way or to modify my style to meet his mother seemed controlling to me and I was not going to abide to his whims. Apparently, his mother still frightened him in his decisions, I thought. An apparent Momma’s boy, perhaps?

The relationship was still in its beginning stages, and I had no idea what to expect. I hadn’t met Daniel on the internet, I had met him in person. Our relationship and how it was to evolve was based on actual person-to-person interaction, instead of texting and internet messaging as is commonplace today.

Interesting personalities, these psychopaths are. As we try to envision their childhood, and pick it apart, we look for pieces that might fit a puzzle that tells us something went horribly wrong in their environment. We want answers. The scientific mind knows the possibilities that their brain lobes can be damaged.

There have been suggestions that damage to the frontal lobes and behavior in psychopathic individuals is remarkably consistent. See:  http://www.elsevier.com/wps/find/authored_newsitem.cws_home/companynews05_01511.   A more concise, detailed with images and opinions conversation on psychopathy and frontal lobe damage can be found here:  http://www.cerebromente.org.br/n07/doencas/disease_i.htm.

Then there are the environmental factors that psychiatrists and others look into when picking apart the background of these disorganized people. What went wrong in their upbringing? What horrible parent-child interactions went on that might have encouraged this child to grow dark thoughts into even darker, twisted immoral , illegal ideas?

After living with Daniel, after hearing his stories, his own personal nightmares and after listening to Sandra’s immoral interpretations of life, I can tell you that Daniel’s future as an adult was never on solid ground, regardless of whether his brain was damaged or not. His environmental background was not solid, I would soon find out through both first-hand stories of his parents and witnessing the visual impact of the behavior of this mother-son relationship over the years that were to follow.

The stories that he told me of his childhood were typically abusive, typically dysfunctional and of a child that seemed to be encouraged by one parent (Lester) and always thwarted by his other parent (Sandra). As time progresses through chapters of “Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…)”, the nuances and delusions of Daniel’s mind will be discussed in further intricate details and in much deeper thought.

Daniel’s mind seemed always dark to me through the stories he told me, even through his childhood memories. He often told me disturbing stories from his childhood that you know are so dark, so deep, so distraught, so full of angst…you can only take these stories, listen and put them on the bookshelf of your own mind for later reference. You catalogue them into files because they are so unique and you realize you are talking to an individual that is one of a kind. Now, I know I was talking to a true psychopath. I was privy to his mind and the inner workings of it.

On the day he brought me in to his parent’s home, Sandra introduced herself as “Mrs. S” to me, saying that only “friends” were allowed to call her Sandy or Sandra. She showed me her home, focusing on a few pieces of furniture that her father, Daniel’s grandfather had built, and a portrait that hung in the living room circa 1900. The portrait was of her family, except of one woman posed in it, whom she said had married into the family. The odd thing about that portrait, and I always questioned her, was that Daniel was the spitting image of the woman in that photo. Sandra would get an odd look on her face when I mentioned any references to this woman, and tell me she couldn’t remember her name. What she did finally tell me about Daniel’s great-aunt was that she had been married and divorced and this was her second marriage, indicating that she was not a blood relation. Still, I always wondered how Daniel and she could pass for twins. Then again, circa 1900 women didn’t have the opportunity to marry and divorce a few times. Sandra’s stories were just that. Her stories to set her moods and fantasies at the time. She was a Cluster-B personality type and she would say and do what ever pleased her at the moment.

Daniel was walking on eggshells through this first meeting, but by the end of it, “Mrs. S” had me calling her Sandy. I pretty much just listened to her stories about her home and how it ranked in her neighborhood according to her, wondered about what type of mother Daniel had growing up and was happy to leave. The quick impression I left with was of a woman trying to impress another woman with her home, because that’s what she had to work with at the time. She basically knew nothing about me but she kept the conversation wrapped around herself.

Over and done, I thought. I met the woman and wouldn’t have to think too much about her for a while. That was not what was on her mind, I was about to discover the very next morning when I noticed her van lying in wait for me in the parking lot where I would drop Daniel off for work. She was hidden behind a building and drove her van up to my car as soon as I began walking back to mine. She had hidden herself from view so neither Daniel or I could see her.

Like son, like mother, the stalking behavior had begun and I should have jumped in my car then, turned it on and fled. I had never encountered an older woman stalker with these personality disorders before dressed in sheep’s clothing. She fooled me the day I met her, but never again after that, and certainly not the day I discovered her watching me wishing her son a good day at work.

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