Survivors-Climbing Mountains Because The Mountain Is There

Our childhood/other traumas creates/molds our adulthood. Or does it? It paves the way. It creates memories and triggers for us. What it’s supposed to do is create happy memories and lay proper foundations for a person so they can live their life in society with others in a decently normal fashion with happiness.  Honestly, how many people have had absolutely nothing horrible or traumatic occur, events they wouldn’t hesitate to share with someone, really understand or appreciate what Survivors are living with in the aftermath? They read the stories and see events happen to people. How much empathy, compassion and concern is there? Do they feel?

There could be a myriad of emotions on their side. They could have pity. They could be non-believers, thinking the Survivor is simply being dramatic. After all, if their life was so picture-perfect-white-picket-fence how could someone else’s life have been so bad and no one saved that child or woman? Or they think you just write a great story. Or they get angry because they have a vested interest in you and don’t want to hear anymore because they can’t bear to listen to the injustices. It hurts them, too. Or they simply don’t get it. They just don’t understand because it’s too mind-boggling to them. They’re too closed to open up to understand anyone else because they don’t understand themselves.

We as Survivors tell our stories because we have to. Sometimes the stories just spill out at inopportune times. Sometimes we’re asked about  a particular moment in time so we must explain. Other times, there’s a trigger, and again, an explanation is due. The reactions may not always be positive, in fact, they’re sometimes negative or just shocked faces. Oh well. They asked, we tell.

Recently, a newer acquaintance asked me some questions about something in my past. I answered the best I could. I’m an honest person and have nothing to hide. My mantra is if I don’t tell any lies I won’t have to remember them. So we’re having this conversation and I’m attempting to explain to her what she’s asking. Suddenly she tells me that she thinks I obsess too much on the past and that isn’t any good for me. I started to laugh. I told her that wasn’t true at all. I said that she had asked me questions so I was answering them. She had brought up the past, I didn’t. How was that obsessing about the past if she was the one that had initiated the discussion? She couldn’t answer because she knew I was right.

I don’t sit and think about traumas and all that went on before. Believe me, my PTSD does that for me. It brings my memories back as triggers when I least expect them. I have one dear person I do talk with when I want to about things from my past. We share our stories when we’re in the mood in a healthy way trying to sort things out.

But Survivors are damned if you do and damned if you don’t. I do know we understand each other. When you find another, it’s like finding another soul. Another soul who understands we’re people who might like to look out the window at nothing, who has eyes that are deeper than anyone’s you’ve ever known and someone who has more layers than an onion.

Keep those Survivors close when you meet them. They’re special people. The pain they know and have felt is intolerable to most but they’ve survived and surmounted it. They’re people who can climb mountains now simply because the mountain is there.

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…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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

Sorceress.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

Sorceress

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