Sexual Harassment-Circa 1977

Bill O’Reilly’s exit from Fox has me thinking of sexual harassment in the workplace and how it has not changed in the last forty decades. Except for money. I have to think that the almighty dollar bill has something to do with people coming forward to talk about their experiences with high-profile people and their discomfort with what they say has been said to them. Forgive me if I sound disgruntled, or jealous, because I’m not at all. I admire Wendy Walsh for not asking for money and simply telling her story. That’s what this should be all about.

This is about sexual harassment and how it makes a woman feel. It is about disempowering a woman, about taking your stature, your power in the workplace and using it against an employee. It is about using your lack of morals and grinding them against who you suppose might be vulnerable and might not fight back. That’s the key. It’s a sickness that the perpetrator cannot stop. They calculatedly pick people who they think might not turn around and tell them they’re dicks and go back to Human Resources or whomever is at the head of the office. It just takes one person to speak up. In Bill O’Reilly’s case it only took one until the cup spilled over and then the story broke. Fox News had been paying how many women to keep their stories quiet. But this type of sexual harassment has been going on forever and women have not been talking about it. I did. Back in 1977. Here’s my story.

I was fresh out of college and had acquired a temp job at Dutch Boy Paints. The same day I was hired, my boss asked me if I wanted to go full-time and not permanent.  How lucky, I thought. First day in on a new job and I was being hired full-time. Little did I know of the harassment to come.

Next to my desk was another man who I’ll always remember as a gentleman. He was a few years older than I, and he came to be my protector. I have no idea why, but he took it upon himself to keep my boss away from me. He was the liason of sorts between that boss, myself and I. It was a strange situation that the boss had no idea his underling was trying to stop.

My boss was married. That didn’t stop him from inviting me out to lunch on a daily basis. I would bring in my own lunch as an excuse, but since everyone went out to lunch, I didn’t like being alone in the building. K (the protector) always went to lunch with him. They would take long lunches at fancy restaurants and clubs. K would tell me how during the lunches the boss would talk about me. He didn’t like it as much as I didn’t. I had only been married about 6 months at the time.

On occasion, when K would invite me to lunch, I would go. The boss would interject himself along, but I would pay my own way. I would be careful not to sit next to him. K would always watch him. The boss would drink heavily during his lunches too, which would antagonize him to harass me more. I always stood my ground. I threatened to tell his wife when she called. He would threaten to fire me. I would say I would go to HR with this conversation. I was 22 years old on my first job that I knew I was not going to stay in.

At times, the boss would go to a bar across the street from the plant and extend his lunch/drinking hours. He would call my line and beg me to come to the bar. Since I had to answer my phone at the office, I would have no idea it was him. I would hang up once I knew it was him on the line, drunk and his tirades. K called one time. He told me to pack my things and go home. He said the boss was that drunk and didn’t want to tell me what he was saying, but that it wasn’t good. He said for my safety I needed to get out of there Now, and before anything happened, and he could only contain him for so long. He begged me to leave. I listened carefully to what he wasn’t telling me and I knew. I picked up my things and left before anything could happen. To this day, I always thank K for being a Protector. For knowing what was wrong.

But that wasn’t the only harassment going on at Dutch Boy Paints. As I said, I was young. I didn’t dress provocatively. As a matter of fact, I wore suits most of the time. I hated dresses. It was a plant with offices and at times, I had to go down to the industrial part, so suits were the better option.

I was delivering copy to another office one day, when a particular executive passed by me. As he did, he brushed up against me, and grabbed my derriere.  That’s the politest way to say it. Then he quickly walked away. I was stunned. What? I thought. This man just grabbed my body. Ok, I’m pissed. I wasn’t sure who he was, but if I ever saw this dude again, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but not smile, keep away, and certainly say something.

Sure enough, next time I see him, he manages to grab me again and disappear quickly. The executive does it again. Now I am Seething. I go to another woman in the office that I know who does payroll and ask her who he is to get a name. She tells me. So now I have his name and what position he holds. I have the dates he harassed me physically. I’m thinking what to do with this information. It’s 1977. Men could care less back then and women’s attitudes …. well, if you were a feminist back then you were considered a radical. I think I was always a feminist since the day I was born. I was not going to be a pincushion for this man’s hands.

Sure enough, the third time he sees me, he gropes me. And I turn to him, blocking his way, and I tell him, that’s sexual harassment, and I’m reporting you. He laughs. And walks away. Which drove my anger and determination more. I immediately went to the office of the General Manager of Dutch Boy Paints and made an appointment for the next day.

I had all of my dates ready when I went in to talk to him. I calmly explained to the GM when and how this executive sexually harassed me. I told him the workplace was not a place for this type of behavior. I told him that I was not going to stand for this. My body was my own. The GM leaned back in his leather chair, wrapped his arms around his head, smiled at me and said, “Do you really want to ruin this guy’s career? He’s a nice guy. He didn’t mean any harm. He was just being friendly. Besides, he has kids.” I’ll never forget those words and the condescending tone of the GM that day.

I looked at him levelly and with a very cold voice, I said. “He should be thinking about his own career before he places his hands on a woman in the workplace. He is a sick man who cannot keep his hands to himself. Either you bring him in here, you dictate the law to him and slap penalties on him or I will hire an attorney. The choice is yours.”  The smile left his face quite quickly and his chair snapped back into sitting position. “You’re serious?” he said. “I am.” I responded.  “I won’t wait for days, either. Today.”

The executive was suspended for 30 days from the workplace. So I was told. I did ask for proof, which I received. I also asked for a letter of apology, also received.  I also knew that my boss would get wind from this story. And that it would have an immediate impact on him. I thought that I would be able to kill two birds with one stone. Basically, I did. He started ignoring me and office life settled down. I’m sure the few other women in that plant were harassed but no one had ever stood up. It just takes one.

Be That Voice. Find your inner strength and stand up for yourself. No means no.  Never allow yourself to be a victim of someone else. The law for sexual harassment has been in place since 1964. Use it. Do not allow predators to circumvent the law and use you for their pleasure.

If you or anyone you know is a victim of sexual harassment, you may find this document helpful: https://www.eeoc.gov/eeoc/publications/fs-sex.cfm.

Peace.

Sorceress.

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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

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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

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…The Son Of A Narcissist Mother)

The tales of the narcissistic mother. How she throws situations at her child. How she deliberately twists and turns her words to make her child feel as if everything is their fault. She’s good at it. She’s had a lifetime at practicing.

For some of the adult children of her, I do have pity. They have never been able to outgrow the horrible feelings of inadequateness that this mother has bestowed upon them. The hidden belittling towards the child she chooses forever to desecrate. The narcissistic mother never stops. She just goes on and on and on.

For the others that have been able to crawl out of the hole that this mother has dug for them, I salute you.  You earned much in the way of salutations. You first had to live through the belittling and torturous psychological abuse,  you had to identify it, and you had to move away from it. And if you decided to stay in contact with your narcissistic mother, for whatever reason, (and I make no judgements here because many do stick around),  but you do it on your own terms, you my friend, without a doubt, deserve a medal to wear proudly.

I talk about narcissism with a mother, but it is a psychiatric condition found in women and men alike. It can be found in a partner both female and male alike. It can be found in a child, also. An adult child.  For clarification, here is a classic definition of narcissism:

“Traits and signs:

Thomas suggests that narcissists typically display most, sometimes all, of the following traits:[5]

Hotchkiss’ seven deadly sins of narcissism

Hotchkiss identified what she called the seven deadly sins of narcissism:[6]

  1. Shamelessness: Shame is the feeling that lurks beneath all unhealthy narcissism, and the inability to process shame in healthy ways.
  2. Magical thinking: Narcissists see themselves as perfect, using distortion and illusion known as magical thinking. They also use projection to dump shame onto others.
  3. Arrogance: A narcissist who is feeling deflated may reinflate by diminishing, debasing, or degrading somebody else.
  4. Envy: A narcissist may secure a sense of superiority in the face of another person’s ability by using contempt to minimize the other person.
  5. Entitlement: Narcissists hold unreasonable expectations of particularly favorable treatment and automatic compliance because they consider themselves special. Failure to comply is considered an attack on their superiority, and the perpetrator is considered an “awkward” or “difficult” person. Defiance of their will is a narcissistic injury that can trigger narcissistic rage.
  6. Exploitation: Can take many forms but always involves the exploitation of others without regard for their feelings or interests. Often the other is in a subservient position where resistance would be difficult or even impossible. Sometimes the subservience is not so much real as assumed.
  7. Bad boundaries: Narcissists do not recognize that they have boundaries and that others are separate and are not extensions of themselves. Others either exist to meet their needs or may as well not exist at all. Those who provide narcissistic supply to the narcissist are treated as if they are part of the narcissist and are expected to live up to those expectations. In the mind of a narcissist there is no boundary between self and other.”

Taken from :  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcissism. Read more at the link provided.

Another description of narcissism:

The DSM IV describes narcissism as:

“DSM IV definition: Someone who suffers from Narcissistic Personality disorder (NPD) has at least 5 of the following characteristics:

  1. has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements)
  2. is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love
  3. believes that he or she is “special” and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions)
  4. requires excessive admiration
  5. has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations
  6. is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends
  7. lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others
  8. is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her
  9. shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes

Associated Features: Depressed Mood Dramatic or Erratic or Antisocial Personality

Differential Diagnosis Some disorders have similar or even the same symptom.

Histrionic Personality Disorder;
Antisocial Personality Disorder;
Borderline Personality Disorder;
Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder;
Schizotypal Personality Disorder;
Paranoid Personality Disorder;
Manic Episodes;
Hypomanic Episodes;
Personality Change Due to a General Medical Condition;
Symptoms that may develop in association with chronic substance use.”

The DSM IV is considered controversial by some for its opinions expressed in its manual.

“The DSM has attracted praise for standardizing psychiatric diagnostic categories and criteria. It has also attracted controversy and criticism. Some critics argue that the DSM represents anunscientific system that enshrines the opinions of a few powerful psychiatrists. There are ongoing issues concerning the validity and reliability of the diagnostic categories; the reliance on superficial symptoms; the use of artificial dividing lines between categories and from ‘normality‘; possible cultural bias; medicalization of human distress and financial conflicts of interest, including with the practice of psychiatrists and with the pharmaceutical industry; political controversies about the inclusion or exclusion of diagnoses from the manual, in general or in regard to specific issues; and the experience of those who are most directly affected by the manual by being diagnosed, including the consumer/survivor movement. The publication of the DSM, with tightly guarded copyrights, now makes APA over $5 million a year, historically adding up to over $100 million.” See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diagnostic_and_Statistical_Manual_of_Mental_Disorders for more information.

A very easy layman’s guide to personality disorders can be found here:  http://www.halcyon.com/jmashmun/npd/dsm-iv.html. Written with excerpts from the DSM-IV, this piece takes apart disorders and puts them into easily understood terms for the layperson.

Narcissism as described from halcyon.com:

“1. An exaggerated sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements). Translation:  Grandiosity is the hallmark of narcissism.

2. Preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love.  Translation: Narcissists cultivate solipsistic or “autistic” fantasies, which is to say that they live in their own little worlds (and react with affront when reality dares to intrude).

3. Believes he is “special” and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions).  Translation: Narcissists think that everyone who is not special and superior is worthless. By definition, normal, ordinary, and average aren’t special and superior, and so, to narcissists, they are worthless.

4. Requires excessive admiration.  Translation: Excessive in two ways: they want praise, compliments, deference, and expressions of envy all the time, and they want to be told that everything they do is better than what others can do. Sincerity is not an issue here; all that matter are frequency and volume.

5. Has a sense of entitlement.  Translation: They expect automatic compliance with their wishes or especially favorable treatment, such as thinking that they should always be able to go first and that other people should stop whatever they’re doing to do what the narcissists want, and may react with hurt or rage when these expectations are frustrated.

6. Selfishly takes advantage of others to achieve his own ends.  Translation: Narcissists use other people to get what they want without caring about the cost to the other people.

7. Lacks empathy. Translation: They are unwilling to recognize or sympathize with other people’s feelings and needs. They “tune out” when other people want to talk about their own problems.

8. Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him.  Translation: No translation needed.

9. Shows arrogant, haughty, patronizing, or contemptuous behaviors or attitudes.  Translation: They treat other people like dirt.”

I’ve chosen three presentations of narcissism simply because each human mind digests material differently. We all have different learning styles and I want those who have come here to truly understand the narcissist.

I lived with a psychopath and his narcissistic, histrionic mother for a number of years. Dealing with these two people led to an incredible journey of becoming a Survivor with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The thought processes of both Daniel and his mother Sandra were unlike any other people I had ever encountered.

Daniel’s mother was classified as a narcissist. Her tales to me often spoke of the ways she used people in her different jobs. She would often laugh at her intricate ways to use people without their knowing. She would build her stories to a crescendo and then sit back to her audience and demand respect, praise and attention . I questioned her methods of arrogance. I often found her repulsive in her attention-seeking methods at the expense of others. In the end of our relationship, her despising me eventually became built on my honest appraisal of her spoken truths that were thinly disguised lies for others in her mission to always manipulate people.

Daniel had blocked many memories of his childhood and with good reason. He often talked of his abuse during childhood. At times, he would question Sandra openly of her parental tactics in front of me, often putting her on the defensive/offensive. If she couldn’t blame someone else for her abusiveness as a parent, she would walk away from the conversation and ignore him. Nothing was ever her fault, unless in her eyes, the outcome would have been well-received.

Sandra admitted to me she drank heavily during her pregnancy and during the earlier years of his childhood. She blamed her drinking first on her obstetrician’s recommendation for her pregnancy. She told me that she couldn’t keep any food in and was constantly vomiting during her pregnancy with Daniel.

Queasiness is  quite common for the beginning of a pregnancy. In her words, she told me that her doctor told her that she should “drink beer and eat saltines” for her pregnancy if “that was all she could keep down”.  I have no way of proving or disproving what this woman told me. I do find it difficult to believe that a medical doctor would recommend his pregnant patient to drink alcohol. Medical advice has changed through the decades, of course.

I will offer that any child whose mother drank throughout the nine months of development has a definitive opportunity for a host of problems in their physical and mental capacities after they are born. As she continued to drink, she offered the excuse that she did “continue to drink for the sake of her marriage”. She never took ownership of her problems and the problems they might have caused for her son.

Environmentally and genetically, he never had an opportunity to thrive with his narcissistic mother. That is not an excuse for any of his behaviors. Many people go on to surpass abuses and victimization. Others do not. Does a narcissistic mother create a psychopath? I have no answer for that. I don’t think anyone does. There are many views and reasons on how a psychopath is created. I had the opportunity to live with one. I still suffer to this day from the experience.

Peace.

Sorceress.
.

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Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Sandra’s Credit Card Scam…)

Daniel had been reprimanded for breaking the PFA. But because his mother Sandra had shrouded his contempt of the court order with an alleged credit card scam attack on me, all hell was breaking loose and again, her son was falling through the cracks instead of being remonstrated for his behaviors. The woman was an amazing con artist who was good at turning the tables to her advantage when she saw the need. With her histrionic needs, she would not allow me to simply adhere to the rules of the Protection From Abuse Order I had obtained against her son through the court system and attempt to live my life quietly. In full force now, Sandra’s determination was geared towards destruction of the woman her son had formerly been living with.

All of her efforts were now directed at destroying my life while casting herself to be the lonely elderly widow who appeared disabled. I say “appear disabled” because while I was still using a walker from my accident and learning to walk with Canadian crutches, Sandra had bought a used walker and a used cane from the flea market where she sold Avon to use as her props. When she would appear by her son’s side in court for the PFA’s hearings, she would use this walker deliberately, walking very slowly in front of the judge to garner sympathy for herself. The walker she used had never been sanctioned by a physician, nor had a script been given to her by a physician for any physical disability either. She was simply using one because I had graduated to one from my wheelchair, and she wanted to be on an even playing field in her mind when she appeared before certain magisterial powers or police authorities. Because she was histrionic and narcississtic, she felt she must have the upper hand in a group of people and needed to be the center of attention. If that meant buying a walker and canes from a flea market and pretending to use them for sympathy, then she would do it. And she did.

I can honestly say that I know the woman didn’t need these appliances, but simply used them for sympathy at various times. I had seen her many times driving around my home and standing on my property without the walker or cane in sight. When I caught her rummaging through my garbage cans she was standing on her own two feet with no assistance of any aids. She was perfectly capable of running to her car when she saw me in my yard telling her to leave my property. With her narcissistic personality traits, being the center of attention meant doing whatever she felt necessary to get the attention she needed to satisfy her sick psychiatric urges.

Now looking back, I wonder what the judges thought looking at two women walking into their courtrooms, both with physical aids. Sandra was a good actress, she had years of experience. I wasn’t acting. Many times I was in dire physical pain and I’m sure the agony showed on my face. I’m sure my disgust and astonishment of her lies also showed on my face too. The woman never ceased to amaze me with her lies and deceit. She fooled many people, but not all.

Doc Holly dismissed her as her patient when I received the PFA to evict Daniel. She knew the horrors that this family had put me through and also, their psychiatric background. She also knew I was a victim of these two people and probably felt it better if this family found another doctor so that I would never be around them again. When she discovered Daniel was doing street drugs through a routine blood test, he denied it. She told him she had sent the blood work for a triple-check to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the results had all come back the same. She gave him one month to prove to her that he wasn’t doing drugs. He had to go to her office weekly and give her a urine test. At the end of the month, he failed all of the tests and he was dismissed as a patient. She told him she didn’t treat drug addicts. This was also at the time of his eviction by the judge. And because of Sandra’s interference and disbeliefs about her son, and also, about her own psychiatric problems that she wouldn’t address, she was dismissed as a patient. I don’t fault her for letting certain patients go. You can only help some. And those that lie to you shouldn’t waste your time.

One of city’s finest caught her in her web of deceit and lies when she was attempting to anonymously call the police department about me and he tracked the calls back to her home. And naturally, her psychiatrist knew all along what her true disposition was, had been prescribing medication and could only attempt to help her but a doctor can only do so much. And of course, the truths always revealed that she was lying about me when she would be investigated. That is, only when and if someone bothered to investigate this woman who stood on a façade of being a lonely, withered senior citizen widow that was ailing when in reality, none of that was true at all. She played people like Clapton plays his guitar or Armstrong played his trumpet. And she never looked back.

So the truths were finally coming out about the Smith family, or so it seemed. But there was still a Journey to be traveled with them. It wasn’t over yet, not by any means.

Next, the detectives interrogation.

Peace.

Sorceress.

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

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…The Beginning Of Daniel’s Many PFA Violations & The Fight For Truth)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

Sorceress

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

 

Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…How To Keep A Psychopath Down…)

Apparently putting him in a dream-like state was the idea of a good psychiatrist. The doctors that administered the medications to Daniel while I was with  him would give him strong medicinal cocktails that made Daniel sleep a good 18 hours a day, nod in and out for the rest of the 6 hours and dribble from the corners of his mouth while he was seemingly awake. I now believe the idea behind this was to keep a psychopath down. It was a good idea and they knew it.

Why was it a good idea? Because these doctors knew what Daniel was about. They had heard his stories. They had heard my stories. They knew I was trapped in a situation that I was unable to escape  from at that time. As unbelievable as it may sound, these doctors knew I was trapped in a home because I was temporarily disabled and feverishly watched over by a woman who was just as seriously ill as her son. Even if I had left the home to go to a shelter, I would not have been accepted because of my then current medical condition. It was a no-win situation for me.

In retrospect, I see that psychiatrists and psychologists were attempting to aid me by heavily dosing Daniel. It all makes sense now. I truly believe they were protecting me. Just as some of the psychiatrists wanted to commit him to a State Hospital, others aided me in obtaining PFA’s (Protection From Abuse Order’s), others kept him locked in the psychiatric units of the local hospitals when he would commit suicide for as long as they could hope to be able to obtain orders to further commit him for longer durations.

I would imagine having Daniel as a patient was a challenge. He probably was viewed as the patient that a doctor could write abstracts on.  A patient that a doctor could talk about at seminars. Daniel was the ideal delusional patient complete with a dysfunctional childhood and a psychiatrically ill overbearing mother that was very much an overbearing presence in his everyday life. What more could a doctor ask for? Paint the picture more with a woman who somehow became involved, now disabled, constantly being rushed to the ER for sometimes unknown reasons, later suspected poisonings,  and perhaps, just perhaps this woman was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

Someone needed to be helped, and doctors were looking for answers. They knew conclusively that Daniel was a diagnosed psychopath. That was a given. He had been diagnosed by a psychiatrist when he attempted to murder me and had been arrested and placed in jail. He had a background of breaking the law since the age of 18, there were police reports of prior domestic violence in a former relationship and he had been in drug-rehabilitation centers.

When I first met Daniel, I was unaware of his background. His mother kept all of it hidden from me, as he did. Slowly, his past was revealed to me, but not in everyday conversation. I became aware of his past during the times he was arrested because of his suicide attempts and the murder attempt. He would also reveal parts of his past during conversations with psychologists and psychiatrists. Since I would always be present during sessions to keep him on track, I would learn of his past digressions and of his current thoughts.

Listening to Daniel tell the doctors his stories would make me cringe inwardly. Other times, I would be astounded at his descriptions of his childhood abuses. I never knew what would pour forth from Daniel’s mouth, but I knew it would always surprise me.

When I tell you at times I wanted to run as far as I could and never look back, that is my earnest truth. If only I could back then. I believed I had no other choice. Living in a wheelchair at first from the original accident, then graduating to a walker, eventually to Canadian crutches took a total of over 6 years.  In the beginning, I had seizures up to 15 times a day. I couldn’t verbalize, but my mind could think. I was trapped in a hell that I couldn’t talk about to anyone. I was attending physical therapy and crying through it because the pain was intense, but determined.

Daniel would take me to the physical therapy hospital and wait for me. He would then drive me home, dutifully help me out of the car with my wheelchair, and help me up the stairs to the porch and into the house. As I said earlier, I would be in tears from the pain. When I first began physical therapy, because it was too painful for my body after the accident, a tens unit was used instead for relief before any attempt at using my limbs was started.

Daniel, in his twisted thinking, asked the doctor for a tens unit to use at home. He explained to the doctor that it would be beneficial to ease my pain. One was acquired for home use. However, easing my pain wasn’t Daniel’s intention. There are other uses for tens units, I found out. They aren’t what the machines are intended to be used for but Daniel used them in a sadistic manner on my body instead. I still shudder at the sight or mention of these machines and they turn my stomach.

I know he was solicitous in helping me in front of the neighbors. Very often a neighbor would come over when they would see me getting out of the car to offer their sympathy. They would tell me how amazed they were at what I was attempting to accomplish. It had taken me months just to walk the length of my porch, that is, when I finally was able to get out of my wheelchair and use my walker. Of course, they would then turn to Daniel and sympathize with him. What they didn’t know is that he was responsible for the accident that had put me in the wheelchair that they were looking at.

But the psychiatrists did. They were the ones that wanted to get Daniel away from me. They knew how seriously ill he was and the damage he was causing to me. The problem is they couldn’t physically remove me from my home and put me somewhere else. They could temporarily remove Daniel and advise me to leave the state, but in reality, with no one to aid me, I didn’t know how to do this. I felt very helpless in the physical condition I was in.

I had a home. I had pets. My adult children were in college. I felt very alone. I was being “watched” by Sandra. All I could do was plan to physically repair myself to the best of my ability and then work on rewiring my brain to create new neural pathways. I didn’t tell anyone about my plan. I knew if I did, it wouldn’t succeed.

The only person that knew was Doc Holly. She encouraged me to continue on. It is because of her that I am here today writing this story. Walking, talking, driving, doing everything I could do before the accident. It took me over 6 years to put down the Canadian crutches and walk without any aids. It took 4 years before I was able to rewire my brain and be successful in creating new pathways. Daniel and his mother had no idea I was working feverishly behind their backs, while they were constantly aiming to destroy me.

Four years later, my day of recognition was August 26, 2006 when I went to a judge and told him my story and asked for a PFA against Daniel again, for the second time. The judge approved it, and evicted Daniel from the home immediately. Although I had the PFA, it only served to antagonize the Smiths further. Now I should have been free of them, but they were concocting more troubles than I ever believed possible for me.

Now that Daniel was out of the house and under his mother’s roof, he was no longer medicated. He was in full bloom of his illness and now using drugs. And his mother was still protecting him from the police when I would report him for violating the PFA. Now Sandra felt she had to fight back because a judge had her son evicted from the home through a domestic violence PFA and she would stop at nothing to get her way.

Although before I was a prisoner in my home and held captive by these people, and now I was free, this time I was being held captive by what her money bought through lies. Gone were the pharmaceutical cocktails that the doctors had prescribed for her son the psychopath that would keep him down and out. Sandra didn’t have the mental strength and capabilities to force Daniel to take his medicines, thus encouraging her little boy to come out and play with her once more.

And together, fueled by obsessive furies, these two now started to play an even more dangerous near-deadly game in their compulsive preoccupations with me. Forced to leave the Chelsea home, Daniel’s last words to me were “I won’t stop until you’re crying on the curb, without a roof over your head, without any food to eat, and penniless.”

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