Hole In The Wall

So one afternoon I’m sitting with Daniel at his psychiatric appointment because apparently he doesn’t lie when I’m in attendance with him. Odd, but true. I’m not really allowed to talk, just sit there. Clearly, I can make eye contact with him. Raise an eyebrow, pointedly stare, which I’m rather good at doing. I couldn’t help myself when I knew he’d be doling crap. Which is why I had been requested to sit in at some of his sessions. Lucky me.

Daniel had always talked to me. One of the reasons I was fascinated by his mind. Knowing he was diagnosed psychopathic, and knowing the psychiatric background of his mother, I knew his mind was a goldmine of information. So was his mothers. And since they didn’t see me as a professional, I wasn’t a threat to them. They could tell me anything. And they did. Much of it horrifying.

This particular afternoon, Daniel was talking about voyeurism. I already knew some of his past stories, beginning with his childhood. How he convinced a little girl when he was 9 years old and she was 7 to prance before him up on a boat rack his father had made behind the garage. He had convinced her to take off her panties and he’d throw mud balls at her vagina.  That was his earliest sexual memory.

Then the bomb hits. He turns to me and says he’s been watching me. He tells me that he had created a hole in the wall of the ceiling of the bathroom so that when I was in the shower or just in the bathroom, he could watch me.  Deal was, I couldn’t say a word. I wasn’t there for therapy, he was.

So there I am, stoic, quiet, blazing eyes, thinking a million thoughts. Feeling humiliated at the time. I knew he had committed this act on others, friends of his. But me? Whoa, the buck stops here. Apparently not. I did not consent, nor did the people he told me about. The little girl that he threw the mud balls at did not understand what she was consenting to. He was violating the law, although the law is sketchy depending on where you live geographically.

According to the DSM, voyeurs may have a background of alcohol and drug abuse, be obsessive-compulsive, have a background of childhood abuse, anti-social behaviors, attention-deficit disorder, personality disorders, bi-polar disorder and more. So no surprise there. My first reaction I believe was justified, and then I realized, it’s not my fault. I didn’t create him. I did not cause these behaviors. If it wasn’t me, it would have been another woman. And probably still is.

Just another rock to step over.

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.

 

Ever See A Fly On A Leash?

Psychopaths are abusive to animals. So they say. And the way they are abusive isn’t always the way you might normally expect.

Daniel had come into my store one day. I was re-dressing the main window. He hopped up on the ledge and began talking to me. I was working with mannequins and set-ups while he was (I’m guessing here) trying to impress me. There was a fly in the window buzzing around. It was summertime and the front door was open.

“Ever see a fly on a leash?” he asked. I just looked at him while I kept myself busy. No, I’d never seen a fly on a leash and I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

Before I realized what he was doing, he reached over and plucked a hair from my head. Yeah, literally, plucked a strand of hair from my head. Lucky for him it was one strand. Altho I did let loose with a string of expletives and was angry at what he had just done. He said he needed the strand of hair to show me something.

He then proceeded to catch the fly. I’m sure by now you know where this is going but I’ll keep on telling the story. His back was to me at this point. I was thinking this guy is a bit off/weird/whatever and kept on working. He suddenly turned around and opened his hand. In it was the “fly on a leash”.  He had wrapped my one strand of hair around the fly, tied it, and it was now tethered.

To some, that may just be a fly. To me, it was a living insect that he had just trapped and was torturing. And to do that so quickly and successfully meant he had done this before. Who actually thinks of leashing flies? Yeah, well, I guess psychopaths and their assorted counterparts do. It takes a uniquely convoluted mind to think of that one.

Oh those Red Flags.

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.

When Is It Going To End? Fighting The Wrongs Of Domestic Abuse.

So when does it all end? That’s the question I asked myself watching an episode of Law and Order the other night. I watched the character of Goren face down a suspect who was pointing a gun at him who wanted to commit suicide. The man wanted to kill Goren first and Goren said to him, “Who’s going to clean up the blood? Your daughter?” As he was saying this to the man to catch him off guard, he then was able to wrestle the gun from him, and take him down. It so reminded me of the time Daniel had held a butcher knife to my neck and I had asked him the same question. “Who’s going to clean the blood from the kitchen floor? Your mother?” That line had given me just enough time to cause him to stumble in his thinking to allow me to get out of his grasp and have him drop the butcher knife. The scene in the tv show was so eerily similar. My episode with Daniel ran fourteen years ago. The Law and Order episode was a repeat from a few years back.

Did I start to shake? A bit. I was more frozen than anything. All I could think was when is it going to end. And I realized then it never really will. I am the victim of a violent crime, the victim of a violent person, the victim of a psychopath, the victim of a person who committed violent and repetitive atrocities against me. No matter what anyone tells me, those things will always be in my head. I can’t stop them from re-appearing at inopportune times.

I can’t stop watching television. I can’t stop reading books or magazines or the newspaper. There will always be reminders. It’s how I deal with these reminders is how my life will turn out.

I have a lot of nightmares. I still do. In the beginning, I used to have nightmares that I didn’t remember. Then, I would have nightmares that I would remember snippets of. Then the nightmares would wake me up and I would remember the parts from just before I had awakened. Now when I awaken from my nightmares, I remember the entire episodes. And they’re not pretty. I still awaken sitting up, clutching my head, breathing hard, my dogs surrounding me. It sucks. My dogs look at me to check if I’m ok, and they stare at me as they watch me settle back down. Animals are sensitive to their owners. They’re protective. Which is good.

But still, in dealing with all that has gone on, there aren’t too many that truly understand. Actually, there are so few that understand, I rarely bother to talk about my past.

I’ve come across some people that believe there are some women that use the term domestic abuse as a way to escape a life they didn’t want. That they really didn’t have it that bad. These people truly believe domestic abuse isn’t a viable, living, breathing animal. Their belief is that it’s something a woman uses as an excuse to move to a new area and begin a new life. That’s simply absurd to think that way. Obviously, they’ve never been in a situation where they’ve been threatened so severely.

Others believe that stories of domestic abuse are fabricated. That such things actually never happen. There is a current train of thought that if one partner is charged in a domestic abuse complaint, then the other partner must be charged. I don’t understand this way of thinking by police departments. Obviously each case is different, but each response to a domestic abuse complaint does not warrant each partner being charged. Facts must be collected without prior beliefs before any charges can be pressed.

When it’s all done, when the victim manages to escape, to move away, to leave and begin a new life, it’s still never over. The victim still has their memories. They still have the torn shreds of their existence that they have to put back together somehow to create a new life. And when they look around them, and try to see value in the lives around them, it isn’t easy. When they see others treated unfairly, when they see the authorities doing the same injustices to other women as were done to them and more, it only serves to push them deeper into their own abyss. When does it all end?

When people around them talk about abuse as if it’s a buzz word, it only serves to lessen the impact of the trauma surrounding actual abuse. Others begin to think of domestic abuse in a lesser light and dismiss it, unless it involves their world or the unthinkable-death. Anything else concerning it could be hyperbole, an exaggeration by a woman who is looking for attention, and the entire matter becomes dismissed. When will our society realize abuse victims do not exaggerate the horrid ill-treatment that their partners inflicted upon them behind closed doors? They have nothing to gain by reporting this treatment in many of the instances. At times, they are putting their own lives on the line. Why do I say they have nothing to gain? They take a chance of repercussive attacks by their partner. They take a chance of their police department not believing them. They take a chance of being vilified by the very people that they should be trusting and going to for help and support. The chance of the victim gaining something from reporting the abuse is simply time away from the abuser. Time when she may be able to get away. And that’s only if the authorities take the abuser away for a period of time. When does it all end?

Cases are backed up in the court systems and abusers information is not privy to the proper authorities. Some of these people are serial abusers, yet this information is not disseminated to the proper channels so judges can make proper decisions. When will this type of backlog be cleaned up and when does it all end?

Real life is not tv. What people watch on their flat-screens at home does not happen in America. At least as far as the judicial system, as far as questioning of suspects, and wrapping up a case in an hour. When you see police departments become aware of an abusers past in a television program, and the detectives talk about all of his other infractions concerning his DUI’s, or his arson’s, his history with fighting, his history with a lack of control with authority, his history of traffic violations such a serially-long list of running red lights and/or speeding constantly throughout his driving career, that should signal a red flag. Unfortunately, to the police, in their minds, depending on the individual officer, it may or may not. Some may simply write it off as the “good old boy syndrome”, or “the bad boy”. But it’s not. It’s breaking the law. Simply put, it is someone who constantly breaks the law, without any conscious desire to stay within the limit of the rules of society. This is a person who obviously sees their life as untouchable where they can do as they please to whomever or whatever they want. You know that, I know it and others that have been affected by this abuser know it. Yet, all of his infractions don’t matter when he is finally brought into court. He is only tried on the one charge that brought him there that day. Although he may be a serial abuser, it doesn’t matter. When does it all end?

As long as the authorities allow these men to behave the way they do and turn the other cheek to them, which in turn, allows these men to raise families with children who see convoluted and twisted parenting on the abusers part, this type of behavior will continue. These children will grow up to allow it. Statistically, the boys will mature into abusers and the girls will mature into women who believe there is a reason that they should be abused. Children accept what they have been raised to accept. Obviously, this is a blanket statement, and not all of these children will grow up to be this way. Some will be able to break the ties that bind them and become functioning adults that live within the confines of our society. They will be damaged tho from what they have seen. Is it fair to them that the authorities have allowed this behavior to perpetuate in their homes? When does it all end?

It’s time for legislators to enact stronger laws that truly penalize abusers. It’s time for our governments to create real programs that place abusers in programs that attempt to re-habilitate them. It’s time that our government support programs for women and children that have been victims of abusers. It’s time for our government to create programs for these children to understand they are victims, too. And it’s time for legislators to make police departments finally understand what domestic abuse truly is about and force them to follow laws in a standard procedure through federal guidelines strictly or they themselves will fined.

There is so much work to be done. Attitudes need to be changed across the board. Fear needs to be taken out of the equation. It can only be taken out if victims know that authorities will be supportive and help them in the best way they can. Victims are being frightened on a daily basis in the most torturous, horrific ways that people can not even imagine. Why must  police departments frighten them even more and not offer them sanctuary from their captors?

Society won’t believe victims either if the victims aren’t privy to the proper help of if the abusers aren’t punished. After all, if a story is told about abuses being carried out, and yet the abuser goes free, how can someone understand that the story is true?

Only in America this happens. The land of the free. Where serial abusers go free to run wild and continue their rampages. Continuing their pillaging of human souls, their deprivation of women, their violent acts against human bodies that may or may not be caught or land them a few months in jail. It’s only when the abuser steps over the line and kills their target, then perhaps, depending on their financial resources, will they spend more time in jail. And while the abusers continue their acts with glee, the victims attempt to report them to their local authorities. And they are grilled to the bone about the how’s and why’s and are you sure he did this and what did you do to provoke him to do this questions while the abuser again goes free to contemplate his next action. Yet the abuser is never questioned in this fashion. He is asked, “Did you do this?”  And this is what children of America see. The officer grilling the mother nastily with disdain, while the household cowers in fear, waiting for the next attack. That’s not protection. That’s another attack. When does it all end?

Teach everyone you can about domestic abuse. Teach your children that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Teach them that there is hope. Stand up for your rights. Be firm about your beliefs. Be passionate  and strong. Carry on and know that you are a good person. Fight back. Learn the appropriate laws and use them as necessary.

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…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.

 

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…Seeing Daniel’s Black Eyes Again…)

“He will choose you, disarm you with his words, and control you with this presence. He will delight you with his wit and his plans. He will show you a good time, but you will always get the bill. He will smile and deceive you, and he will scare you with his eyes.  And when he is through with you, and he will be through with you, he will desert you and take with him your innocence and your pride. You will be left much sadder but not a lot wiser, and for a long time you will wonder what happened and what you did wrong. And if another of his kind comes knocking at your door, will you open it?” —From an essay signed, “A psychopath in prison.”  excerpted from Without Conscience, Robert D. Hare, PhD.

What is the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath and all other clinically diagnosed abhorrent personalities? A psychopath is born the way he is and cannot be changed. A simple premise. Born that way, stays that way, dies that way. Nothing will ever change him. No matter the environmental trappings of a good family, the education, the loving parents, the therapies he will try, the shock treatments. The recidivism rate is nil. He will still have psychopathic thoughts. What he decides to do with those thoughts is another story.

He can be a murderous psychopath or a corporate psychopath. Either way, he will play with fire (your mind-the minds of the masses) and not look back. He doesn’t have the empathy to care. His emotions do not allow him to have real feelings. He can only have pretend feelings that he has learned to parrot back at his victim(s) for their temporary belief that he is normal. His emotions are never real.

His eyes, borne of black glass, cannot change their true color. Imagine a vehicle with windows that are tinted dark black that does not allow others to see into the vehicle. Knock on the window of the car, and the owner hits the switch at will to lower the window to talk to you. At their will only. That’s when you have the opportunity to see the person. Only if they hit that switch do they allow you to see them. Hit the power button and the window closes. Your vision of them is gone again. These are the eyes of the psychopath. The dark, cold, black eyes of a true psychopath.

His image in the looking-glass may be that of a chameleon. He is a man who wears many hats and dons many coats. His purpose in his life is to manipulate his victims and prey that he has chosen. His obsessions.

His lies are his own truths. His truths are his own beliefs. His beliefs, if countered for accuracy and honesty, are often switched for other stories and lies that he can easily manipulate into his life for his audience. He believes his own words as they spew forth from the twisted lobes of his brain.

He is a sycophant. He aims to please his audience, but not for their pleasure…only for his. And ultimately, that pleasure will bring his audience devastating mental, physical and emotional damage. How do I know this? Because I am the victim and the survivor of one. I’m still waiting for the ending.

A psychopath is good at what he does. He fools many. Over and over and over again. The people that he deceives fall into many categories and include not only his victims, i.e. his significant other. He manipulates and lies to law enforcement, to the judicial system, to attorneys and to whomever he pleases. The world is his playing ground for his web of lies that he truly believes. He is convincing when he pitches his case to a new contestant in his game.  If that person is truly unaware of the scope and magnitude of a diagnosed psychopath’s behavior and mental prowess, they will succumb to his lies.

If you have been conned by one, don’t consider yourself weak. Not the first time.  They have had years of practice honing their art. You are new in his game. There is no comparison at who would win the first time.

But there is something to be learned from his game. Don’t walk away from a psychopath without anything gained. As a  famous quote reads, “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me”. Once you have learned the subtle nuances, the quirks and the patterns of the psychopath, remember them. Then remember to apply those thought patterns to people you meet in your future. If certain new people fit the full categories, if there is factual proof or they give you red flags, walk away. Never stay a victim.

Is this hyper-vigilance? Perhaps. Maybe. Yes, it is. Ensconced in the folds of a true psychopath’s brain, twisted and manipulated in ways that you thought were true emotions only later to find are simple lies designed to create a situation for their desires, you never forget the black void of darkness that you struggle so valiantly to climb from every day to escape the horrific memories they have tortuously created for you.

Dr. Robert Hare feels that 1% of the population is comprised of psychopaths. “He calls them “subclinical” psychopaths. They’re the charming predators who, unable to form real emotional bonds, find and use vulnerable women for sex and money (and inevitably abandon them)… A significant proportion of persistent wife beaters, and people who have unprotected sex despite carrying the AIDS virus, are psychopaths. Psychopaths can be found in legislatures, hospitals, and used-car lots. They’re your neighbour, your boss, and your blind date. Because they have no conscience, they’re natural predators…” more information can be found at :  http://www.hare.org/links/saturday.html.

I saw Daniel recently. I stood next to him court. I looked into his black eyes again. This time I saw a myriad of emotions shooting as if they were darts at me. To coin another expression-“If looks could kill”- would be an appropriate one. I saw hatred.

When I originally entered the courtroom and signed in, I turned towards the seating and walked to a row of empty seats, not realizing where he was sitting. There he sat, in the third row, right towards the area where I was walking. His eyes followed me as I walked towards the back of courtroom. He sat slumped in his chair, head on his hand, glaring sideways at me.  Pure hate emanating from his cold eyes.

My luck, the only seats left were right behind him. I sat in the last row, behind him and the woman he brought with him. She turned to look at me, and then to stroke his now shaved head and adjust the collar of his leather Harley jacket. He didn’t move a muscle while she mothered him. He kept his eyes forward and would not address her.

I felt his darkness again. Unfathomable darkness. I saw evil workings behind the darkness. I saw anger sparking. I know Daniel. I know him very well. The longer he sat in the courtroom, the more agitated he became. He couldn’t sit still and left the room several times while waiting for the case number to be called. The woman he brought attempted to calm him, but he consistently shrugged her off, keeping his mind focused it seemed on the matter at hand.

I waited patiently with my daughter, who had driven me so I could review my documents while we talked in the car. My daughter, with a degree in criminal psychology, had accompanied me to be my witness. While I could not look at him and observe him the entire time, my daughter was able to pay close attention to his behaviors along with the behaviors of the woman he had brought. My observations on this post and the next are conclusions from both my daughter and I.

Next, the explosive actions of Daniel in the courtroom.

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