In the preceding post of “Dead Kittens In The Freezer and PTSD”, I alluded to something horrific with the title of “Dead Kittens”. I began the post by talking about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and giving my readers a variety of background resources to read and cull information about PTSD so they could familiarize themselves about this relentless enigma that haunts many people.
The good psychologists, counselors, doctors and psychiatrists of today that realize PTSD afflicts women that have been in domestic situations that have been abusive in some way are walking angels in my opinion. They give credibility to those people who have suffered at the hands of psychopaths, sociopaths, narcissists, Cluster B personalities and the likes of these types of disorganized people.
I’ve spoken about who places the guilt on people in these types of relationships in a former post, called ”
Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Abuse Of Power Results In Guilt For Whom?)”.
It seems many people still turn a blind eye to the truly guilty party in these relationships, blaming the victim for just being in these types of relationships. Blaming the victims, as if she or he would actually want to languish as a prisoner would in a cell . That type of thinking is not preposterous, it is ignorant. For those types of believers, that is one of the reasons I have decided to tell my story in as much detail as I can.
Some of my stories are not very pretty. They are downright ugly. They are the workings of an evil mind called Daniel and his mother, Sandra. If I had not lived with these two people, I would have thought this story to be the work of a good fictional writer. But they are not.
As I say often enough to people, I am here telling you this story for a reason. So others may find hope. So others may learn about psychopaths and the assorted twisted personalities I talk about. So others may realize that they too, are Survivors or can be Survivors. It is not easy remembering these events to put on paper. It is exhausting. But they are a story to tell.
On with the story of the dead kittens…
I awakened one morning quickly, sitting straight up, breathing heavily, eyes wide open, staring at my dogs who were ever faithfully watching and protecting me. Fifteen minutes later, I was able to finally begin to breathe at a normal rate and take a few deep breaths. I wiped the sweat off my forehead, brushed my damp hair back, and backed myself up against the headboard. How long will this go on? How many times will I nightmare the horrendous occurrences of time spent with Daniel and/or his mother Sandra?
This time the nightmare was about time spent after the judge had ordered him out. Daniel ate meat and I did not, so I was giving it to a friend’s son who had just moved into a new apartment with his girlfriend. My friend’s son came over to help me clean out my freezer of the meat. I figured it would be better for him to have it since he was just starting out and young in his twenties.
As we were emptying the shelves, we finally reached the top one at the back of the freezer. I saw these two bags that resembled mailing type bags stacked in the back. I knew they didn’t belong in there and suddenly my stomach lurched.
Call it premonition, say it was an educated guess, as I said, postal mailing bags didn’t belong in the freezer section of my refrigerator and I had not put them in there. The only other person with access where I wouldn’t see them putting something in there was Daniel. So many unnatural occurrences had happened already, and I just knew this was going to be one of his disgusting, twisted thoughts left for me.
Billy must have seen the look on my face and said to me that the two bags don’t belong there, do they? No, I responded, very uneasily. He said he would grab one and I could take another but don’t open them, rather, to wait. His mother had told him of my situation with Daniel so he was aware of the strange happenings in the house already.
The bags were about 11″ by 14″. We were each holding one but hadn’t opened them yet. Somehow we knew whatever was in these two bags wasn’t good. Billy peeked in his bag, and quickly grabbed mine. “You don’t need to see”, he told me as he took my bag out of my hands, “Daniel obviously wanted to leave you something to freak you out”.
I did want to see tho and asked what was in the bags. Reluctantly, Billy opened the bags for me.
Each bag contained two dead kittens, about 8 weeks old. Where Daniel got these kittens, I have no idea. He probably conned an unsuspecting person that was advertising free kittens and told them he was going to give them as a gift. Somehow he managed to collect four. Knowing that he killed them disgusts and horrifies me. The image is indelibly etched in my mind forever of Billy and I standing in the kitchen of the Chelsea Avenue home holding two manila envelopes containing 4 dead kittens that Daniel had planted in the freezer for me to later find at some point when he thought I would be alone.
I can still see those little babies, white with little flecks of black in their fur. At least that was one of them in one of the bags that Billy allowed me to see quickly before I collapsed in a chair. I’m sure my face said it all to him. How he killed them, I don’t know. But the number of animals found dead in my home was growing. Daniel had killed my parrots, decapitated a cat, and two other cats mysteriously died in his presence.
The police, of course, in their reports, listed the deaths as circumstantial, even tho another person who did not live in the household discovered them with me. Since I did not see Daniel actually put these kittens in the freezer, they were considered circumstantial evidence. Everyone who heard the story knew Daniel had killed these defenseless animals.
Upon interviewing me, my reactions were obvious to law enforcement. I was distraught, horrified and disgusted. Daniel, in comparison, had already been diagnosed a psychopath with borderline tendencies, with antisocial disorder and bipolar. He was sneaky and cunning and hard to catch. He was also usually MIA when the police would go looking for him. If found, his reactions were usually flat and emotionless as if they were practiced.
Billy, an animal lover also, took the kittens home and buried them. He was as horrified as I. We never mentioned the kittens to each other again.
What pleasure did Daniel derive in killing these defenseless animals? Where did he get them? I won’t even guess. But animal torture is an indicator in the personality traits of the psychopath and those afflicted with some of the disorders mentioned above. So that particular day, Daniel not only derived personal pleasure in killing defenseless creatures but also in mentally torturing me.
Yet the judicial system would tell me if I didn’t actually see him kill the animal, then there was nothing they could do. Circumstantial evidence. The psychopath cunningly does his pleasures for his own needs, yet slips through the cracks of our own society. These are only markers for Daniel, signatures of his. And animal abuse is one of the signatures of a psychopath.
Other signatures of a psychopath along with generalized information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychopathy.
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