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LETTERS TO LOVEFRAUD: Lured and caught by a sociopath

Editor’s note: Lovefraud received the following article from a reader called “Makemenew2012.”

The Lure

I met my second husband, an African immigrant, on a social media site in early January of this year. Mr. C (as I’ll refer to him) connected with me through a mutual acquaintance and began sending me e-mails every day. At first, his messages seemed rather innocent— Mr. C asked how my day was going, what the weather was like, etc. But after a few days, he began fishing for information, inquiring about my husband and children. The first time, I ignored his question and responded on my own behalf. The next time, I replied that I didn’t have a husband or children. And that was his cue to start reeling me in ”¦ Later, Mr. C would confess that he’d read through my profile many times, trying to learn as much as he could about me.

The Bait

Although I suspected Mr. C was coming on a bit too strong, tried to ignore his e-mails, and contemplated ending our budding friendship, I wanted to see just how far he would go. What I didn’t know is that I was playing with fire. After only two weeks, Mr. C told me that he loved me, was my soul mate and wanted to marry me. He sent messages full of beautiful prose to pique my interest. His efforts were successful, because we soon began to chat online during the day. Since I work from home, I was able to log in and chat with him just about all day, every day. If I wasn’t online, Mr. C would be waiting for me when I got on and he would even question me about what I had been doing. It seemed like he wanted to chat with me as much as possible, and I was flattered by all of the compliments and attention I received from him.

The Catch

Mr. C told me that he is from a royal family in his home country; one of his uncles is a tribal chief. I didn’t believe it, but then he gave me a name and asked me to search online. I did, and to my amazement, I found that it was true— the man is a chief. But he and his “uncle” do not have the same surname, so there was no way to verify their kinship. Nonetheless, I was impressed and intrigued, even fascinated, with my new beau. We talked extensively about our newfound love and our shared dreams of marriage, family, travel, etc. I told Mr. C that I was divorced, but he was undeterred. In fact, he’d had his own experiences with failed relationships. And what I wanted, coincidentally, was also what he wanted. I longed for two kids and a lasting marriage, and so did he. I was smitten ”¦

The Stand

Throughout the course of our relationship, I had received a few warning flags about Mr. C, but he was always able to easily explain them away or divert the blame onto someone else (including me). For example, shortly after I announced that we were in a relationship, I received an e-mail from our mutual online acquaintance. She asked if Mr. C was my boyfriend, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, she provided her phone number and asked me to call her as soon as possible. When we spoke, she openly questioned my boyfriend’s integrity, insinuating that he tried to woo her with a compliment and even requested her phone number. Then, she asked me to visit his profile page and scroll down to a few entries from last year. Apparently, at one time, Mr. C declared he was in a relationship. And a few weeks later, he announced that he was engaged to be married. I was taken aback by this information, but unconvinced by her assertions. Plus, it didn’t help that she espoused some particularly discriminatory beliefs about African men— they’re liars, cheaters, etc.

I rationalized that the phone number request was for his cousin (she was also a friend of Mr. C’s cousin) and the compliment was completely innocent. After all, I had received similar compliments from married and attached male acquaintances. Ending our conversation, I assured her that I would speak with Mr. C and clarify the declarations he’d made on his profile. Surely, he had a good explanation. Indeed, after a tearful discussion with my best friend, I confessed to Mr. C that I had spoken with our mutual acquaintance and I revealed the details of our conversation.

As anticipated, he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything. He wasn’t interested in her at all; he only wanted her phone number for his cousin. And the relationship announcements on his profile were only there as a discouragement for a woman who liked him although he didn’t feel the same way. And when I mentioned the more negative aspects of our acquaintance’s beliefs about African men, Mr. C was totally appalled. He countered, dismissing her as a “hater” who was questioning and destroying his integrity. I was inclined to agree, and so I stood by my man ”¦ In the following months, I would receive e-mails from at least two other women, warning me about my husband (e.g., he has a son back in his home country and his family is a bunch of gold-diggers, etc.). But he vehemently denied their criticisms, swiftly dismissing their claims.

The Sob Story

When we first spoke on the phone, I was overcome with emotion upon hearing the story of how Mr. C came to America. It was a classic tale of survival against all odds. He won the green card lottery, flew to the States and landed in New York, only to be stranded by his sponsor. He called the only phone number he had and it was disconnected. So, Mr. C wandered around the airport, trying not to seem lost and bewildered, protecting himself from would-be thieves. And he had only a two-liter bottle of soda to drink— no food. He was hesitant to spend any of his cash, fearing that he wouldn’t have enough left over to survive. And although he had a round-trip ticket and could return to his native country, Mr. C did not want to miss out on the American dream and he didn’t want to admit failure to his family and friends. No, he decided instead to tough it out.

After speaking with a customer service agent, Mr. C walked to the bus terminal and met a man who was driving back home to Florida. The stranger kindly offered him a ride and Mr. C accepted. Hours later, they arrived in Florida and Mr. C lived with the man and his wife for 9 months until he decided to look for employment. He moved into the city and encountered challenges with finding a job. Unemployed and unwilling to go back to the generous couple’s house, Mr. C moved into a homeless shelter. Three or four months later, he found a part-time job, bought a used car and moved into a furnished apartment with a roommate.

The Courtship

Having bought into Mr. C’s hardship story, I was completely open to his advances— with no reservations. We continued our online chats and phone conversations (although chatting was easier because his heavy accent made him difficult to understand). Then, we started making Skype “dates” because we just had to see each other. We dressed up, blew kisses and hugged ourselves. It was as if I’d been transported in time back to high school. I was 17 years old again. And things really picked up speed ”¦ Mr. C and I discussed our wedding plans and even named our children. We just couldn’t stand to be without each other, so we planned our first in-person meeting.

Since he worked only part-time at a hardware store and had little disposable income, I would fly down to Florida and visit with him. My original plan was to get my own hotel room, but Mr. C assured me that he’d be a perfect gentleman— we would wait until after marriage to have sex, so there was no pressure. Over time, that changed, though. Our conversations took on a sexual undertone and then became overtly sexual. He promised to please me in the bedroom and even talked about getting me pregnant right away. I was hooked.

The Big Move

As the trip date got closer, I became convinced that Mr. C was truly the one for me. We seemed so compatible. So, when he talked about moving up to Maryland (my home state) to be closer to me, I was really excited by the prospect. He began searching online and applying for jobs but then we agreed that it would be easier for him to interview for opportunities if he moved in with me. It was surreal— I could hardly sleep or eat, thinking about spending all of my time with him. God had sent me the love of my life and everything was perfect ”¦

So, Mr. C and I decided that he would try to transfer his part-time job (an insane notion) and he would also give his landlord notice to vacate (an even more insane notion). He requested a transfer from his employer, but it was denied and Mr. C was forced to quit.

Of course, I was there to soothe his fears— no problem, I would take care of everything. My plan was to fly down to Florida, help him pack his belongings and then we would drive back to Maryland together. Despite some last-minute jitters and second thoughts, I was determined to honor my commitment to him and follow through with the plan. I broke my promise to my best friend to wait at least six months before committing to anything serious. And when I spoke with my friends about the trip, I lied to avoid their questions.

The Meet & Greet

In early February, I flew to Florida and Mr. C met me at the airport. At six feet and six inches tall, he was not hard to spot. When he saw me, he began jumping up and down like a child, not someone in his mid-thirties. I was a bit embarrassed, but I figured that he was elated to meet me finally. He walked me to his car— it was very old, but clean— and we drove into the city. We stopped for a quick lunch and a walk around the local college campus, and then headed to his apartment so I could change clothing.

Mr. C told me that he lived in modest, low-income housing, but I was unprepared to see his living conditions. He lived in a subsidized public housing unit. Basically, it was the projects with palm trees. Mr. C’s neighbors sat outside, playing loud music, smoking, cursing and drinking. His one-room efficiency was sparsely furnished and he had virtually no food in the refrigerator. After a tour of the homeless shelter where he once resided (a staff member greeted him) and the main public library where he volunteered while homeless (he introduced me to an old buddy there), we returned to Mr. C’s apartment.

The Real Hook

Upon returning to his place, Mr. C and I had sex for the first time. It was a pleasurable experience and lasted over an hour. Now, I was really hooked. We went out for dinner afterwards and I helped pay the check, since he didn’t have enough money. I had paid for lunch earlier that day, as I knew his income was limited. Once more, we headed back to his place and there was more sex. I woke up the next morning feeling bonded to my boyfriend. It was me and him against the world.

We spent the next few days sightseeing, visiting the generous couple who helped him out, and walking around in a daze, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Nevermind that he didn’t have any money for entertainment (I sprung for a trip to the botanical gardens), for food (I purchased all of our meals and cooked a big pot of chili, too) or gas for his car (and I bought that). He donated plasma and sold his mountain bike to raise funds for our trip, but that yielded a paltry sum of $60. It’s as if he knew that I had it all under control. Thinking back, I realize most men wouldn’t dare to embark on a road trip with no money.

The Roach Motel

Four days after I arrived in Florida, we hit the road and began driving to Maryland. As soon as the road trip started, we experienced problems with Mr. C’s car. According to him, he took it in for preventative maintenance before I arrived and everything was fine. But the car couldn’t accelerate beyond 60 miles per hour and it overheated every 20 minutes or so. We kept pulling off the road onto the shoulder, where Mr. C would pop the hood and pour antifreeze into the engine (or so I thought). After two hours only a quarter of the distance we needed to travel— we drove into a rest stop and the car wouldn’t start up again. I felt somewhat panicked, but Mr. C was very calm and called roadside assistance. A tow truck arrived after 15 minutes and the truck driver checked the car, diagnosing engine failure. The 14 year-old car would cost more to fix than what it was worth. Instead of using antifreeze, Mr. C had been pouring a mixture of oil and water into the car engine, and it simply blew up.

So, we were stranded in South Carolina, 400 miles away from my home in Maryland. And we had barely enough money for lunch, much less to rent a car. Quickly moving in to save the day, I applied for an online payday loan and reserved a room at the cheapest hotel around. The tow truck driver dropped us off at the hotel with all of our belongings, taking Mr. C’s junker car back to the auto shop with him. We stayed at the hotel for two nights until my payday rolled around, eating pizza and fast food, killing time and the many roaches that inhabited the place. Having convinced Mr. C to off-load his excess stuff and pare it down to two pieces of luggage, I awoke at 4 AM to verify my payroll check had posted to my bank account and I bought two airplane tickets. We took a cab to the airport and flew home to Maryland.

The Sweet Life

Ah, home, sweet, home! We arrived at my house in Maryland (Mr. C had already looked it up online and knew what my home’s exterior looks like). I surprised my new love interest by showing him his open closet space, dresser drawers and framed pictures of his family. Before I departed for Florida, I cleared half of my closet and drawers for him. I also cleaned out my garage, donating and discarding the things that my first husband left behind when he moved out. Mr. C and I unpacked and situated all of his clothing and personal belongings, settling into connubial bliss.

After setting up and playing house, complete with a shopping spree (courtesy of yours truly) and lots of sex, we agreed to get married on Valentine’s Day. Why not? There was no reason to delay— we were only wasting time, since we knew we were perfect for each other. I didn’t want to “shack up” and he wanted to impregnate me as soon as possible, so we could start our family. So, exactly one week after he moved in with me, Mr. C and I dressed up— he in a brand new suit and I in a new white dress— and said our own vows at the county courthouse. And then we went to a photo studio at the local shopping center and took plenty of pictures. The day ended with a romantic dinner at a historic inn (although I worried about paying the bill) and a somewhat passionate evening at home.

The Girlfriend

Well, it didn’t take long for the sweet scent of love and romance to begin fading. ”¦ Two weeks after we married, I received an e-mail from my Mr. C’s ex-girlfriend in Florida. Ironically, I was at the gym, speaking with the manager and defending the institution of marriage— he doesn’t believe in commitment of any kind, including children. I checked my smartphone for messages and, lo and behold, there was this e-mail with my husband’s full legal name in the subject line.

I read on in disbelief and discovered the first of many lies that he had told me. When I asked Mr. C if he’d ever had a girlfriend during his year and a half here in the U.S., he said, “No”. But here was this message from an African woman, claiming they had dated for five months, discussed marriage and children, and gotten tested for HIV and STD together. She even mentioned a pregnancy scare.

After a shortened workout, I went home and confronted Mr. C with my newfound knowledge. “Who is this woman to you?” I asked. He denied that they were ever in a relationship, asserting that he and the woman were only friends. I grudgingly accepted his version of the truth. But there was another matter to resolve— he owed her money (he said $600, but it turned out to be $850). Because the woman was angry with my husband and requested to deal with me only, I made payment arrangements with her and proceeded to send her money bi-weekly until the debt was repaid.

The Good Wife

Meanwhile, playing the role of the selfless wife, I brought home the bacon and fried it up in a pan ”¦ My salary paid all of the bills (I had always been self-supporting). After we got to Maryland, Mr. C obtained a full-time job with his former employer. But his paycheck did not even cover his expenses— paying off the ex-girlfriend, supporting his extended family in Africa (his mother’s rent, utilities, food and his half-brother’s school tuition), cell phone bill and long-distance calling plan. So, needless to say, our budget was really tight. I cooked most of our meals, scrimping wherever I could, and postponed my visits to the salon. I also cleaned the entire house, washed and folded our clothing and transported Mr. C to and from work. I had the only operational vehicle in the household.

It was during this time that Mr. C began to experience major health problems. Little did I know that this was a pre-existing condition diagnosed months before ”¦ When I visited him in Florida, my then-boyfriend told me he’d had a bicycle accident late last year and suffered a minor injury— a cut to his ankle. After some seemingly unnecessary doctor’s visits and multiple medical tests (including ultrasounds), he was sent home with a topical medicine and bandages. A month or so after our nuptials, Mr. C woke up one morning and complained of pain in his leg. I took him to my physician, who referred us to a vein specialist. After six months, five procedures and over $15,000 in insurance claims under my policy, Mr. C is most likely pain-free and fully functional, thanks to my employer’s medical insurance.

The Letter

Yet another wrinkle appeared in the fabric of our perfect love affair when I searched the file cabinet in my home office one day and found a notebook belonging to Mr. C. As I flipped through the pages, I noticed he’d outlined his goals and objectives, including marriage. Then, I perused further and came across what appeared to be a series of draft letters to family members. There was a letter to a cousin whom he referred to as “sister,” a letter to his father apologizing for some embarrassing situation, and a letter to one of his younger brothers. As I reached the end of the letter to my brother-in-law, I read the words “”¦ and get in touch with my daughter’s mother.” I was totally shocked and sat with my mouth gaping for a few minutes. I couldn’t believe it! When I’d asked Mr. C if he’d ever been married or fathered any children, he told me he was single and childless. He had lied to me once again!

Suddenly feeling empowered to seek out the truth, I phoned his “friend” in Florida and spoke with her. She confirmed my suspicions and even guessed that I had footed the bill for our wedding. It was uncanny. How could she know all of this? As it turns out, she had rescued Mr. C, too, paying some of his bills and accompanying him to his doctor’s visits. And she knew about his medical condition, as well. I didn’t have to supply any information— she just filled in the blanks.

Later that evening, I picked Mr. C up from work. But I didn’t confront him about what I read in the draft letter until the next morning. Upon learning what I knew, he had a ready explanation. Mr. C isn’t sure if the child is actually his daughter (although he calls her his daughter and knows her exact birth date, including the year). He went on to explain that the girl’s mother refuses to cooperate with paternity testing and in the past, sometimes claimed that another man is the father. I encouraged Mr. C to continue his efforts to determine paternity by contacting the child’s mother and he seemed to agree, but he never did so.

The Visit

For the Easter holiday, we decided to travel up to Michigan to visit with my side of the family. Our whirlwind romance had transpired so quickly that my parents, sister, brother and my other relatives had never met Mr. C. In fact, although I had told them about my betrothed, I didn’t tell them about our marriage until after the wedding. Even then, I struggled with sharing the news.

I was worried about what my parents would think, especially since they each had expressed concerns about Mr. C and his foreign national status. My father pointed out that since Mr. C is from another country, I may not be able to verify his marital status and paternity of any children. And my mother, basing her opinions on an uncle of mine, was afraid that Mr. C might kidnap our children and take them to his home country, never to be seen again. But I managed to overcome my fears and tell my parents anyway. My mother acquiesced, stating that I am an adult and can do whatever I want. But when I called my father, who was in the midst of his own marital troubles, he offered a sarcastic “good luck” and practically hung up the phone.

Despite some minor damage to my car’s rear bumper cover (we tied it on with a bungee cord), we drove over 500 miles to my mother’s house. We proceeded to spend our visit bouncing between the different factions of my family— my parents are divorced and my father remarried— and sightseeing. It was fun— we cooked some traditional dishes from Mr. C’s home country, and my husband regaled my family with tales of growing up in Africa and his people’s customs. But the strain of our financial struggles and relationship difficulties was beginning to show.

One morning, towards the end of the visit, my mother and I had a conversation that I’ll never forget. Through her tears, my mom pleaded with me to examine my new marriage, asserting that she only had my best interest at heart. She also reminded me that I had devoted myself in the same way to my first husband, neglecting my own needs and desires. To her, it was clear that Mr. C was doing nothing for me, while I was doing everything for him. Afterwards, I started thinking about my mother’s advice and I confronted Mr. C, only to be met with indifference and apathy. I even began to cry, but he looked at me with disgust and tried to pacify me with false promises of self-improvement.

The Last Straw

The month of May rolled around and my allergies got the best of me. I felt absolutely miserable as I battled a runny nose, sore throat and continual headaches. The weird thing was I felt some relief from my headaches during the day, but they got worse at night when I went to bed. I openly complained about my ailments, but got no sympathy from my husband. He simply ignored me, failing to acknowledge my complaints, or just changed the subject to another topic (usually revolving around him).

After a few days, I couldn’t take the headache pain and sinus pressure anymore, so I decided that I needed to see a doctor. I mentioned this to Mr. C, yet once again he didn’t respond. Feeling angry and disappointed, I gathered my things and drove myself to the local urgent care clinic. I must’ve been gone for an hour and a half. During this time, Mr. C did not text or call me to inquire into my whereabouts. I returned home with medications in hand, growing angrier by the minute. I stormed into the house, demanding to know why he hadn’t tried to contact me. Did he even care that I was gone? Was my safety even a priority? He calmly replied that he thought I’d stepped out to do some grocery shopping and he figured I was okay.

At that moment, I was inconsolable. I felt abandoned and unloved, doubting what I thought I knew about this man I’d married. I sat down at the kitchen table, beckoning Mr. C. It was time for a serious talk ”¦ I began to unload my thoughts and feelings, revealing my unhappiness with our marriage and my desire to reclaim my sanity and personal freedom. Previously, I had suggested marriage counseling, and Mr. C volunteered to find a counselor for us, but he didn’t. I was beyond frustrated and a possible separation seemed to be the only solution. I broached the subject and he started to cry, imploring me to give him another chance to improve because he didn’t have the resources to move out on his own.

The Big News

A few weeks later, our situation came to a climax. When he wasn’t at work, Mr. C spent the bulk of his free time studying for his GED. According to him, he graduated from high school in his home country, but invariably could not find his diploma or it was not recognized as equivalent to a U.S. high school diploma. So, after prodding him to register, I drove Mr. C to his second day of exams (he drove himself on the first day). Despite a traffic detour due to construction, I managed to get him there a few minutes late. I headed back home, stopping at a nearby drug store for a pregnancy test. My period was late that month and I had other early symptoms of pregnancy: swollen breasts, bloating, frequent urination, weird pelvic pains and rampant moodiness (worse than PMS). I drove home and took a series of tests to confirm my suspicions. After three positive tests, I was sure about my pregnancy.

Feeling a bit excited, but uncertain about the future of our marriage since we had been discussing separation, I tried to nap. Unable to sleep, I later left the house and drove back to the local community college where I had deposited Mr. C earlier. He was waiting outside of the building for me and I pulled up to the curb. Mr. C jumped in the car and I began to drive off, deciding to share the news at that moment.

After I nervously announced that we were having a baby, my husband did not address the topic at all. Instead, he complained that both his head and chest hurt. Feeling shock and utter disappointment, I asked if his pain was related to the news I had just delivered. He said it was not, but adding nothing more. During the rest of the trip home, I talked about the state of our relationship and how the baby would change things, while he remained silent.

The Thrill Is Gone

When we got home, I happily chattered about the baby and looked at nursery furniture on the internet, trying to get Mr. C excited. After showing some mild interest, he indicated that he was hungry and we ate dinner. After mealtime, we agreed to watch a movie but never did, because he wouldn’t stop texting and put his smartphone down. For hours, my husband texted someone unknown to me, and every time I looked in his direction, he laid the phone against his stomach to prevent me from seeing the screen. He barely conversed with me, although I tried to talk with him about fairly non-controversial topics. He just seemed distracted and sneaky. I didn’t know what to do, so I retreated to the master bedroom.

He soon followed, but I was in no mood for his company. Once he entered the bedroom, I pounced on him with my questions. What did he really think about the pregnancy? What was in our future? Were we going to stay together and try to work things out? Or were we going to separate? His reply was, “I don’t know.” This bothered me. I had finally achieved my dream— I was married and in a family way. And now, my fantasy was crashing down around me. What did he mean, “I don’t know?” I didn’t like his reponse at all. I pushed him to explain himself and we talked for 30 minutes or so, arriving at a compromise. We would try marriage counseling, and this time, I’d find the counselor. (Somehow, I always had the feeling that I’d have to do it).

The Final Blow

We probably could’ve gone to sleep at that point, but Mr. C mentioned that he wanted to revisit an African charismatic church once again. That bothered me even more because I didn’t enjoy our first visit to the church and I couldn’t understand why he’d want to go there again after the pastor ignored his request for marriage counseling. Feeling angry, I tried to talk him out of going, but he insisted on showing his face in an attempt to make the pastor feel guilty somehow.

I stormed off to the guest room, slamming the door. Then, I came back and told Mr. C that he wasn’t going to drive my car to that church and I wanted my keys. He told me that he’d get a ride there. That just left me feeling more irritated and I begged him to stay up a bit longer so we could talk about it. Mr. C refused, saying that he needed to go to sleep because he was going to church in the morning.

Now, I was on the edge, growing more impatient and desperate. I asked again and gave him an ultimatum: either he stayed up and talked with me, or he was going to leave my house. Although I had promised not to threaten him like that anymore, I found myself breaking my promise. Mr. C stood his ground, asserting that he was going to church (later, he claimed that he said he was “foregoing church” but I still don’t believe that because I know what I heard). Then, I repeated my ultimatum, we shouted at each other and he began packing his belongings.

It was 1:45 AM, so I tried to convince him to stop but he was determined to go. He packed everything— clothing, shoes, paperwork, electronics, mementos and pictures. Less than 30 minutes later, he was gone. I closed the door and stayed on the phone with my best friend until 6:30 AM. I did go to our bank’s ATM, though, to withdraw as much cash as possible. I didn’t trust him and I suspected he might try to compromise our joint accounts. I needed to pay the mortgage and other essential bills.

The Exchange

The night that Mr. C left, he texted me about one thing- his kente cloth. Apparently, I didn’t realize how valuable hand-woven kente is on the open market. I texted my best friend about it and she directed me to eBay. I did a keyword search and discovered its worth ranges from $300 to $800 on average. Wow, so I had something that Mr. C really wanted ”¦ So, I quickly drafted a Marital Separation Agreement and arranged a meeting with him to get it signed and notarized. Meanwhile, I found a Christian counseling service and made an appointment for us. (But later, I canceled that appointment and scheduled another one just for myself).

Eight days after he left, I met up with Mr. C at a restaurant next a few doors down from a mail service center. I arrived on time and he was almost an hour and a half late. It was 84 degrees outside, and I was sweating and nauseous due to morning sickness. When he finally arrived, he was wearing a wool fedora hat, a long-sleeve oxford shirt and wool slacks. He casually asked how I was doing. I said, “fine” and he proceeded to tell me that he hadn’t eaten in days. I couldn’t understand why. There was money in our joint account. Also, he was working full-time and could’ve gotten a payday loan or borrowed a few bucks from someone.

I just wanted to get it over with so, we walked over to the mail center, we signed the agreement and got it notarized. We walked outside and waited until his co-worker drove up. Then, we strolled to my car; he was futilely trying to hold my hand while we crossed the parking lot. I proceeded to give him his kente cloth, along with every other item he had left behind. We spoke briefly about my pregnancy— I shared a few potential baby names and he agreed to attend the baby’s birth the following February. I told him that I’d keep him posted on my health status and progress. He also said he’d be in touch.

Within four days of leaving, Mr. C had managed to rent a room in a house only 20 minutes from his job. Then, he did something that I’ll always remember. After we had unloaded all of his things from my car, he handed me a dirty, second-hand, broken stuffed cupid pig. That was his gift to our unborn child. I numbly accepted it, stunned that he’d be so selfish and thoughtless. Instead of giving me a kente cloth—which holds great sentimental, cultural, historical and monetary value—for the baby, he wanted our son or daughter to hold on to that nasty stuffed animal. I drove off, fuming, and threw it in a garbage dumpster on the way home.

The Loss

That evening, I felt quite fatigued and ordered a pizza for delivery. I spent the rest of the evening talking to my best friend on the phone, recounting the events of the day, blow-by-blow. At some point, I began to feel strong pelvic cramps and began spotting blood. Earlier in the day, I’d noticed very light pink spotting but I read that it’s normal for women to experience some light spotting in early pregnancy— nothing to worry about. I told my best friend about it and she advised me to call my doctor. I hung up with her and phone my doctor’s after-hour number. I received a call-back within 15 minutes, ironically from an OB-GYN I had visited a few years ago regarding another issue. She told me not to worry and reassured me the spotting was normal and to wait until the morning to call my doctor’s office.

I got my heating pad and went to sleep, tossing and turning. The next morning, I woke up early and caught up on some episodes of one of my favorite reality TV shows. Meanwhile, my pelvic cramps became more intense and painful. I went to the bathroom and checked- I was passing large blood clots, as if I were menstruating. Now, I was really frightened. When my doctor’s office opened at 9 AM, I called and spoke with the receptionist. I told her that I thought I was having a miscarriage— I was crying and I pleaded to see a doctor as soon as possible. The earliest appointment time I could get was 11 AM, two hours later.

I was alone, in great pain and practically scared to death when I miscarried my six week-old baby. I sneezed, felt a whoosh down below. I retrieved the embryo, still in its sac, put it in a plastic sandwich bag and took it to the OB-GYN with me. Once more, I was dazed— but not in romantic way— and confused.

Only God knows how I even made it to that appointment in one piece. The entire way there, I kept crying in the car and praying for extra strength. I felt like I was totally falling apart, but I maintained my composure and I didn’t start crying again until I left the waiting room and saw the doctor. All the while, my best friend kept texting me to make sure I was okay. I love that woman! Afterwards, I texted Mr. C and told him that we had lost the baby. His only response was that it was unfair. When I summoned the strength and courage to meet up with him again the next day so we could sign an amended Marital Separation Agreement, he repeated the same complaint.

The Future is Bright

After the sudden separation and my miscarriage, I began to reflect over what had happened and I started journaling. As I wrote down my thoughts and feelings, I discovered a pattern of negative, destructive relationships with men. In fact, I learned that I have never had a healthy relationship with a man, starting with my father. He was the first man I ever loved and with whom I fell in love. And he was the first man to break my heart.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I knew that I needed professional help to identify the source of my behavior and learn new ways of meeting my own needs and relating to to other people from a state of wholeness. I found two wonderful counselors, the first of whom diagnosed me as a love addict. With her guidance, I began attending 12 Step meetings. Now, I’m working with a different therapist to address my codependence issues and addictions to sex and love. For the next year (or few years), I’m focused on living a celibate, sober life and enjoying getting to know myself. I will love and care for myself, learn from my mistakes and break the cycle. I don’t want to be the target of another sociopath, con man or other emotionally unavailable man again. I deserve much better than that.

The Unanswered Questions

I’m grateful to be healing and on the path to recovery, but I still wonder about so many things ”¦ How old is Mr. C? His 10-year green card states that he is 32 years old (and consequently so do all of his other forms of government-issued identification, including our marriage license), but he claims to be 34 years old. When I asked, he told me there was a mix-up with birth date on the birth certificate issued by his home country. Did Mr. C really win the green card lottery? And is his documentation fake? Who knows ”¦

Does Mr. C have accomplices and is his online acquaintance from Maryland one of them? This is a good question, because according to his ex-girlfriend, this acquaintance knew he was in a relationship already but she advised me to reciprocate his interest. Although she’s Caucasian, she’s got an African-sounding surname and this lady did tell me that Mr. C wanted to come to Maryland. After we got married, we tried to set up a meeting with her but she was always unavailable. Plus, Mr. C was trying to set her up with his cousin in Africa, in hopes of bringing him to America. Hmm ”¦

And what if he and his African ex-girlfriend in Florida never parted? What if they were still in communication after we got married? And what if they concocted that story about him owing her money just to make a quick $850? That’s quite a conspiracy theory, though.

Has he ever been married? Does he have any more children here or in Africa? Is the Police Service in his home country looking for him because he committed fraud and went on paid medical leave, based on a phony medical diagnosis of prostate cancer?

Well, the truth is that I’ll never learn the answers to these questions, because I’m maintaining no contact with Mr. C (no e-mails, no letters, no phone calls, no texts, no meetings, etc.). I haven’t contacted him since early July and I have no intentions of doing so. The next time he hears from me, it will be via a process server with divorce papers.

On Labor Day, he texted about sending me his wedding ring, saying I deserved it since I’m still paying for it. That’s a price I’m willing to pay for some good lessons learned. I deleted the text and never replied to him. He can keep that ring, sell it, give it away— I don’t care. I recognized his contact for what it was— an attempt to pull me back into his web and get something from me. God willing, I never want to see that man again in my life! And despite my curiosity and previous inquiries, I am not spending hundreds of dollars to send a private investigator to his home country for a background investigation. I choose to let this sleeping dog lie and keep his fleas with him. No thank you and no more drama!


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92 Comments on "LETTERS TO LOVEFRAUD: Lured and caught by a sociopath"

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Makemenew, thank you SO much for posting your horrific experiences. In many ways, the exspath employed the same tactics, but he wasn’t international and he couldn’t invent grandiose history about his family roots.

I’m very sorry that you miscarried, and I cannot imagine that loss. In some small way, that was the final tie that bound you to that creature, and I am grateful that you’re recovering and maintaining NC. I am appreciative of your desire to never lay eyes upon that man for the rest of your life. I feel the same way. Good for you for keeping your own finances instead of frittering them away on a background investigation of the worm. It won’t change what he’s done to you (and, others).

Your story is one of loss and recovery, and I thank you, again, for writing out your experiences with such detail and raw truth.

Brightest blessings to you

Dear Makemenew,

Great telling of your story, sorry it was a tough lesson, but I think you are one sharp cookie….and staying NC— no matter WHAT lure he holds out–is indeed one of the biggest things you can do to speed your healing.

Thanks for sharing your story in such detail that it makes it plain to others who may be in the early stages of such a relationship.

It is unfortunate that so many people who are in other parts of the world will take advantage of some woman or man who is caring, and use the internet as a trolling ground. I know several people who have been lured into such scams as your African immigrant. Not all from Africa. There are psychopaths in every country in the world who will try to marry an American or UK subject to get residency and/or money. I think you may be right about the woman that said he owed her money….I think she was part of the scam.

You are probably fortunate that he did not try to take more in the divorce than he did.

Glad he is gone out of your life, and glad you found LF, you have a lot of good advice to share.

Donna, I noticed that you live in or near the New Jersey shore. I hope you and yours are safe and sound. God bless. SisterSister

Wow. Amazing the lengths these people will go.

I’m currently in conversations with a “friend” on Facebook who seems pretty interesting. We seem to think alike, but I’m trying to check that by checking his page and making sure he says the same things to others. Consistency. So far, so good. He could be legit.

But still . . . I’ll take my time. At least, this one has no tall tales about royal families or interesting histories. The best he can do is claim he’s worked on at least one fascinating projects as a journalist. I can verify things like that. And I will.

I finished reading the thing now. Wow. I mean, WOW.

And all I can come up with lately is the comically entertaining tale of the Arab guy at the Detroit-area bar who shows red flags from the first drink he buys me.

No prejudice against Arabs — I actually like them, they like me, and I almost married one in the ’80s and he’s a respectable member of the community he moved to after that — but honestly, what a stereotype of a stereotype! Everything but the gold chains . . . but cute.

Red flag: He buys me a drink after I’ve already had one, just motions to the bartender for another glass of white wine. And then he says he’ll meet me upstairs in the dance club as he’s talking to another friend. Okey-dokey.

I’m dancing away upstairs, and still no sign of him. Until one handsome guy smiles at me, calls me over. It’s the BARTENDER. Saying I walked out on my bill downstairs! It’s for two drinks. I cheerfully pay it.

THEN, only after that, the guy shows up upstairs. What was that all about? Oh, he only bought me one drink, he says. Hello? He couldn’t take the hit for seven bucks on that little misunderstanding?

He obviously told the bartender he wasn’t buying the drinks, AFTER I left.

Red Flag: He talks to this beautiful, statuesque Arab woman named Shareen or something, at the bar, and he doesn’t introduce us. Not a problem that he knows her. She’s sweet. Then she stops by again upstairs when I’m sitting with her, and sits on the other side of him on the couch and acts all cuddly.

Now there’s a problem. Because I just asked him if he knew Shareen from coming here a lot, and he said he didn’t know Shareen at all, just met her. Only she’s acting like an old friend. Again. (I assume it’s OK for men to have women friends, but still . . . .)

Red flag: He throws me all these compliments, like, “I like your style.” And he texts me a couple of days later, using the word “baby.”

OK. I get it. I’m outta there.

And I think if I didn’t get it by now, I’m outta my mind.

Just FUNNY. The only reason I ever fall for acts like this is that they’re so amateurish they can’t be scams. No, actually, they ARE scams. This dude is a pro — at acting like an amateur.

SisterSister, please do both of us a favor and stay out of bars. Better men are to be found elsewhere. Seriously. Anywhere else.

Makemenew, I am sorry for what happened to you. Your story gave me the strength I need to stay NO CONTACT tonight. Thanks, and welcome to LF.

Makemenew2012

May I suggest that you go get tested for STDs? Your spath has slept around, alot, and you have had a lot of unprotected sex.

Also, since he is from Africa, you are at high risk of being exposed to HIV-2. Be sure you get tested for that.

Mostly in the USA people only get tested for HIV-1.

You have health insurance, right? Please go ask your doctor to run these tests. Doctors really hate talking about sexual health and they are not transparent about it and they are not always thorough.

PLEASE ask your doc to test you for every single one of these:
chlamydia,
gonorrhea
syphilis
Herpes 1, Herpes 2,
HIV-1
HIV-2,
Hepatitis A,
Hep B,
Hep C,
trichomoniasis (called “trick”)
HPV.

I made the mistake of going to my doctor of a decade, and I was too ashamedd to tell her the whole story, so I just said “please test me for stds, because you never really know”.
She said OK…but…She didn’t tell me what she tested for, and she never did a blood draw, so she coudn’t have tested for some of them, and
she just called me a few weeks later and said “you’re clean”.
Well, I am still wondering, clean for WHAT. And I am too embarassed to call and ask.

So please write these down and be specific about your request.

Athena

Athena, most states you can go to the STATE HEALTH DEPARTMENT and ask for an STD check and they will check you for free and no name.. go get it done. Some of these diseases can lie dominant for months or years and can cause everything from cancer to insanity to death. Don’t let embarasment keep you from getting tested.

I suggest that ANY person who has had any kind of unprotected sex GET TESTED ASAP….and consider too that there are many diseases that condoms do not protect against. That’s why they call people who use condoms for birth control “PARENTS.”

Meeting people on line and meeting people in bars are two of the more risky ways to meet folks. I suggest that it would be wiser we all tried to find less risky ways to do it, BUT we are all adults here and each of us has to make our own decisions based on our level of knowledge and our own choices.

Having unprotected sex with strangers in dark alleys is pretty risky too…but each of us must make the decisions about what we are willing to do. But we also get the CONSEQUENCES of those higher risk choices.

LOL, Callmeathena. I mostly do stay out of bars, having (actually) grown up in one. The main reason I ever end up at a club is to dance.

This guy refused to dance. In a Latin dance club. Red flag! Red flag!

Number one thing I do in red flag situations: make no waves. Less said, the better.

I hang out here because of all the people I know, I attract the most spaths on a routine basis. Quantity, not quality. No all-out war stories like some here.

As for those STDs, Dear Poster, just relax. If you haven’t seen any symptoms yet, you’re probably OK. Get the usuals, the chlamydias, the herpes. Lots of needless hysteria over Africans carrying diseases. And the kind of “promiscuity” they’re talking about for these things is way off the charts. (I’m a writer/speaker who has studied this contamination-hysteria phenom for 20 years. It’s 80% racism, 20% old zombie movies.)

By the way, while we’re on the subject of mysterious foreigners: What is the deal with a guy transferring $28 million for a client on the mobile phone e-mail while getting coffee together? Typical Wall Street? Or one heck of a show for my benefit?

Sister-sister, not to get into a “war” with you about “if you aren’t showing symptoms” then you are not carrying an STD…there are MANY STDs that are NOT “symptomatic” until it is too late to treat it, or the symptoms come and then quickly “resolve,” and yet the disease creeps through the system…HIV is only ONE of those STDs that may not show any symptoms for a long time. HPV can cause cancer without any other “symptoms” and syphilis can cause insanity because the symptoms come then quickly leave…Hep A, B and C can cause liver failure or cancer months or years later.

Getting tested for STDs if you are sexually active is to me a no brainer….unless you are 100% sure you are in a relationship with someone who never had sex with anyone else before you and you are 100% sure they are not cheating on you. LOL I’m not sure I would EVER be that 100% sure again. LOL

Funny thing is about us “old geezers” is that one of the groups wit the FASTEST rate of STD growth is us old folks because we were never pounded on the head about condom use as kids and since more old geezers are sexually active now it seems, the STD rate is growing in my age group.

Having spent several years studying STDs and trying to teach college kids that there is only safe-ER sex, not “safe” sex, by using condoms, dental dams etc. and unfortunately I think my teaching mostly fell upon deaf ears! LOL I would never let anyone into my bed unless he had had a complete STD check and I would do the same.

A male friend (my age) and I were discussing this a while back as he had contracted an STD and I told him to ALWAYS wear a condom and he said “Well,I don’t like them, and I don’t go out with women I don’t know well enough to NOT use a condom with” and I used the Dr. Phil line of ‘AND HOW IS ThAT WORKING OUT FOR YOU?” LOL I’m not sure my friend thought my comment was all that funny or even got the point.

I told him That I would not sleep with anyone unless they would agree to a complete STD check first. He looked at me confused and said “well, what if they said NO?”

DUH????? I said “well, then I would not sleep with them that’s what if they said no.”

My health is important to me and I guess it is the “nurse Joycie” coming out in me but I am not going to exchange body fluids with just anyone without knowing the LAB RESULTS FIRST. I wouldn’t use a bull or a stud horse to breed my livestock without knowing if it was healthy so why should I show less respect for myself and my own health?

Yes, she should be careful. In more ways than one.

The manufacturers of some of these tests have put it in writing that they don’t diagnose anything. So you can’t sue them. These companies and hospital departments are run by spaths the likes of which make this guy look like Prince Charming. They are known criminals in some cases. They hesitate not at all to put bogus results on patients’ records.

This woman’s horrific episode should not be capped with a further episode of medical fraud.

But often people choose this, even when they could do further research to prevent it. I’ve never understood it myself, but I accept it.

I am alive today because I researched a medical test and found no data behind it. I am grateful to God. Deliriously grateful.

I’m going to stop talking about this because it might blow my identity as someone closely associated with some investigators in this field, one of them a professional private investigator. I’m anonymous. I’m just the woman with the sister problem in my personal life, and personal details can be used against a person.

The basic problem that makes spaths take over even our conversation about them is that we live in a culture of fear, not love.

There are only two basic emotions. Fear and love. There is the darkness, and there is the light.

It’s really quite simple.

Carrying out a response is not simple at all. It’s hard, and it feels crazy. Because the culture is totally against you on this one.

Sister,

I have CRS (can’t remember stuff) right now and I can’t think of the doctor’.s name who “invented” a vaccine for Measles and he tried to discredit the current vaccine by saying it caused autisim and e did a PHONY STUDY and many people believed it and stopped vaccinating their kids…later it was proven his study was phony and that he did it to try to get HIS VACCINE as the one that is sold all over the world, and he ended up losing his license in the UK and then in the US and he was exposed as the fraud and huckster that he is/was.

Since the dawn of time phony doctors and medical practitioners have sold “snake oil” to enrich themselves. And today it is phony medical equipment and tests.

When I had my leg surgery the PT department of the hospital brought me a walker to my room. I told them I did not want it, OR NEED IT, but they charged my insurance $156 for this walker frame, AND charged my insurance $115 for 5 minutes of showing me how to hop on the walker, which is NOT a reasonable way for me to get around after the surgery. I HAD all the equipment I needed, and the RIGHT equipment, not the walker frame. I had prepared BEFORE I went to the hospital by buying the equipment I knew as a medical practitioner I would need, at estate auctions and other places used for PENNIES…but good equipment hardly used. I am furious that my insurance was charged such an outrageous amount for something I did not need.

Yep…..STD tests, immediately. That was the first thing that I did, once I was able to process the separation event.

And, I’m in the same camp with you Nurse Joycie – NO unprotected sex without STD test results. And….condoms. Not that I ever anticipating having sex, again. But, in the event that I did, no amount of “passion” or “urgency” is worth the risk of a disease.

Brightest blessings

Truthy,

With all the STDs out there these days that can kill you and that there is no really successful treatment for or cure–herpes, Hep A, B and C, just to name a few–I will pass on unprotected sex with someone that won’t have a medical screening done.

There are several STDs in cattle that I know about and recently, the government started mandating that all adult bulls be tested for one of them. I had used only virgin bulls for 20 years for that very reason and had avoided that disease in my herd (along with other diseases etc) but because this disease can wipe out an entire cow herd from an infected bull it is finally being recognized and tested for at least.

But I am going to be at LEAST as careful with my own health as I was with my animal’s health.

Oxy,
virgin studs? sounds like a plan.
😆

Skylar, only the best for my girl cows!

OxD, I once worked at a huge breeding barn and helped to build an international equine quarrantine area. It was some pain in the backside, I must say. The quarrantine ran for some three months (I think), and there were daily tests on the mares and the stallions.

I’m all about using “quarrantine” with regard to STD’s. Some communicable diseases have nothing to do with sex and still can kill a person deader than a doornail (like MRSA).

You must have happy cows, OxD! I have a relationship with happy chickens! One buff orpington is my new, best pal. LOL!!

Brightest blessings…..

Truty, my cows, there are only 3 old previous show heifers left now, and one grown heifer and one baby calf just a week or two old, and a young bull that was last year’s one calf….born of an incestuous relationship with his Aunt. I no longer register them so the few calves born of incest are no problem. LOL But back in the day when I had a herd full and brought in “new blood” there was always quarrantine for weeks or months and all kinds of tests.

But in the long run, I think it was worth it for a healthy herd and no problems there.

Yea, MRSA in hospitals, (it was “developed” in hospitals!) was from staff NOT WASHING THEIR HANDS MAINLY….I am a fanatic about hand washing in hospitals….when I was in the hospital in August I noticed that EVERY person washed their hands before they touched anything. and before they left the room as well.

I’m glad to see that precaution. over one third of the infections seen in out patient clinics now are MRSA and public places are rife with it. Train and bus seats, air plane seats, shopping cart handles, you name it. So wash your hands!

STD disclosure, particularly HIV, is a controversial subject. I take the position that individuals have a moral obligation to disclose such, both prior to any sexual contact and once any serious dating occurs. Anything less is a best, manipulative.

While I am not HIV+, I once had a serious HIV scare due to a combination of Shingles, weight loss and other health problems. At the time, there was no rapid HIV test and doctors at the hospital were seriously concerned that I might be HIV+. Without hesitation, I told the person I was seeing — the x-spath. In fact, it was he who brought me to the hospital. Of course, the next day he dumped me…

At the time, I was still thinking in accordance to his mask of being “reserved and sorted.” Given such, I essentially felt I deserved being dumped. I took a couple of weeks for me to figure out what have should been obvious too me, but his mask was that good.

I feel I made a big mistake my not confronting him. Doing so would not have changed anything except that there would not be any “unanswered questions.”

Given that “unanswered questions” seems to be very common among sociopathic relationships, I now feel that no matter how painful, if possible the sociopath must be confronted, as doing so will prevent lingering thoughts on these unanswered questions and speed recovery.

World AIDS day is approaching and I still think about that one big unanswered question — why didn’t he tell me he is HIV+, even when I had the courage to tell him what the doctors feared…

BBE, he didn’t say anything because to do so would indicate that he is just as “human” as the next person. Same reason that the exspath never disclosed his aberrant sexual interests/activities – it might mean that there was “something amiss” and that he wasn’t the perfect image that he presented.

Brightest blessings

BBE, he didn’t say anything for the same reason that IV+ man in Texas who was finally charged and sent to prison for KNOWINGLY INFECTING 6 (i think that was the number) women by not disclosing what he KNEW WAS A FACT. Each of those women thought that they were in an exclusive relationship with him.

HE DID NOT CARE. He wanted the sex and to disclose would probably have meant he didn’t get the sex from all these adoring women, so he LIED to them all. I am glad that he was charged and sent to prison. That is where someone deserves to be who knowing infects someone else with an STD that could ruin their health and lives. HIV or any other disease.

In the meantime we must be cautious ourselves in who we exchange body fluids with. PERIOD because there ARE those out there who have NO conscience and who will LIE. So we must be honest ourselves, but we must also expect and demand honesty from others.

If someone is not willing to take a STD check prior to having sex with me, then They are NOT SOMEONE I WANT TO GO TO BED WITH. Not that there is a line of men outside my door…just that I respect myself enough to require that and to also be willing to give that consideration.

ps BBE, “confronting” them isn’;t going to give you any more answers than you have now. They will just lie.

I think, we must learn to MAKE OUR OWN CLOSURE and let go of the “unanswered” questions we might have about the relationships. That’s the difficult part. They are not capable of giving us closure, but we ARE capable of having that closure anyway.

BBE,
you are anthropomorphizing the spath. I wish people would stop doing that, because it’s hard to spell!

You assume that if you confront him he would tell you the truth?

On the contrary. The REASON he didn’t tell you the truth is because that is contrary to his way of BEING. In the spath’s mind there is a method to their madness. The truth is a vulnerability to them. That is the reason they lie all the time, about everything and even when the truth would serve them better.

For example, the spath might like chocolate ice cream. One day, in his paranoia, it will occur to him that if you find out his favorite flavor is chocolate, then you will have a “hook” into him. You might poison his chocolate ice cream. Or you might always take the chocolate ice cream so he can’t have any. Or who the heck knows what else you might do with this vital information!

They think this way because that is how they hook us. They find out everything we are, everything we want, everything we have. They learn about us inside and out so they can use, abuse, manipulate and destroy us. Even the little things, that they learn about us are used against us.

So it goes to reason that they feel the need to lie about EVERYTHING. They assume we would do the same to them. Spaths are all paranoid. That’s why they lie.

This is such a good thread, but I have to go to an orientation for hospice volunteering. I have some things to say about closure.

Yea, it is hard to spell, Skylar, and as I get CRS more and more I will use 2 or 3 little words I CAN spell instead of such a big long word I can’t remember how to spell. LOL ROTFLMAO

On the subject of them thinking that we are just like they are, therefore they need to get us before we get them….once when I went to visit Patrick and took son D with me, while I was gone to the BR Patrick looked at son D and said “I KNOW YOU! YOU ARE JUST LIKE ME” with that evil Charlie Manson stare that he gets when the mask slips down. He wanted Son D to be his minion in controlling mama….well, it didn’t work. If anything it made son D more determined to stand and fight. But Patrick really does think that son D is just like him, and has moved into his (Patrick’s) territory and taken over what is “rightfully” Patrick’s. D took over “favorite son status” from my husband while Patrick was in prison, now he is going to take over inheritance unless Patrick can stop it by killing me.

Son D has BEEN a son to me, he cares about me, he has been here when NO ONE of my blood stood behind me. He literally “had my back.” Patrick has only been a predator, so ladies and gents, tell me just which one of my “sons” is the REAL SON? I bet you can get it in one guess.

This is all about Patrick’s sense of entitlement. It is all about greed. He doesn’t get it that “family” is not DNA or entitlement, family is all about LOVE. Caring and responsibility.

Patrick wrote a letter to a minister who goes to the prisons and told him how “unchristian” his family was because they did not give him “unconditional” love (translation: send money) during the time that egg donor wasn’t writing or sending money either. He asked the minister to chastise us for being so UN christian and see if he could get us back in line (Translation: sending money) LOL

There are some very good points here. I guess I was being naive thinking that a sociopath would be honest when confronted.

Skylar — your “spot on” observations always amaze me. In some ways, like you know the guy, which at least attests to the manipulative and mirroring traits of a sociopath. Yes, they do find out about us, who we are, what we want and they become that.

Thruthspeak — another given of sociopaths is that they all have sexual aberrations. Mine actively hid those too and continues to do so online…

BBE I suggest that you read the article about how research shows that following them even on FB (or other sites) is counterproductive to our healing. NO Contact means no “back door” contact either. It keeps us from reaching that NIRVANA OF INDIFFERENCE.

BBE,
yes they are all sexually aberrant. But can you think of ANY part of them that ISN’T aberrant? I mean, it really blows my mind when I consider that EVERYTHING about them is backward.

What kind of aberration responds to love with hate?
What kind of aberration responds to kindness with a knife in the back?
And of course, there are the lies. If their mouths are moving, they are deceiving.

It is so unbelievable, that’s why nobody believes us.

The reason I figured out about the paranoia is because I observed one who was very high in that trait. I saw him try to protect himself from me –with a lie– when I was doing him a kindness. I almost burst out laughing. Then when I told him I already knew the truth, his face just fell apart. Then I DID burst out laughing.

I had absolutely no ill intent toward him. Yet he was convinced that I might. Why? because he had bad intent toward me. But of course I knew he was a spath because there were red flags everywhere.

Ox

That comment was in the past sense…

skylar;

Way back I said this but nowhere is the x-spath honest. For example, I visually saw the real person, but his persona was a creation intended for me. Online, he is visually (and descriptionaly) not the real person, but in many ways his persona is honest, at least more so than I ever saw…

Interesting topic,

Confronting a spath? Never works. At best you get silence, if you got them truly cornered and no twisting the thruth by them makes you go on the wrong path. But most likely they’ll come up with this breaking-off version that sounds totally reasonable for them to have broken it off, and that they even tried to do good by you.

When the spath had written me that threat letter last easter, I told him I would only consider doing what he wanted from me (getting rid of the public warning profile on him) if he asked me politely and was honest about him being a people user. And he would have only one chance to ask me in that way, because I’d block his email address either way.

I got a polite letter alright, but aside from that, the long polite letter contained nada on what I asked.

a) he denied he ever used me for money. Since I didn’t accuse him for using me for money, but just a user in general, this specific denial fits in the Egyptian Dead Book recital confession.
b) then he went on how we had drifted apart, and that I switched back and forth between breaking it off with him and wanting to try, and he only wanted to please me. So basically he was twisting it into a version of me being unstable, and he being so caring (which is total bull since I know how extensively he cheated on me and had been trying to hook several women in a row as a new OW). When I read that, I felt like puking, and then very coldly thought… I didn’t ask you about the break-up, but about being a user from the start till the end. I didn’t seek closure from him at all. I didn’t want apologies. I wanted him to know that I knew what he was and that no denial, no twisting of the events and timing and thruth would change my opinion about him.

So I gave him one line reply: “That’s a better mask. I did it. People can believe your lies if they want to.”

With spaths you must decide for yourself what the thruth is to find closure, based on what you know about spaths, the bad stuff they did, how they fooled you, the tells, and info from others… but you won’t get it from them. You have to figure it out by yourself.

“Confronting a spath? Never works. At best you get silence, if you got them truly cornered and no twisting the thruth by them makes you go on the wrong path. But most likely they’ll come up with this breaking-off version that sounds totally reasonable for them to have broken it off, and that they even tried to do good by you.”

I forgot — that is exactly what happened to me, when I did sort of confront the x-spath. Blame shifting, silence. Then, when I resumed contact several days later, it was like nothing happened.

Confronting a spath. That could be an article of its own! lol.
Darwinsmom, you got what I got: projections.
“YOU have no limits.”
“It isn’t good for YOU to enjoy other people’s pain so much.”
“It’s like YOU had a place to go to, ready beforehand.”

So BBE, if you want the truth, see what he says and flip it.
Likely, his answer to you would have been, “I don’t have HIV, YOU do.”

BBE, when I think about your ex-spaths behavior, I really do think he has HIV because when you were afraid that you had it, he abandoned you. Abandonment is a shaming technique. And they will usually try to shame you with THEIR shame.

My spath wasn’t HIV+ but he had friends die of it, and of cancer. He didn’t abandon them, because he didn’t have it. Instead he spent a lot of time with them before their deaths, trying to understand their emotions and what they think about death. He is very obsessed with death and dying.

I wanted to also say BBE, that I anthropomorphized the spath today too, when I wrote the example of a spath whose favorite ice cream is chocolate. Spaths DON’T have a favorite flavor. Their favorite is whatever YOU want. Then they can take it away.

That’s why, when I was just a teenager, I got my spath to take sleeping pills by putting the powder on MY strawberry. When he saw me appear to be enjoying a big red juicy strawberry (with a bite taken out of it and a smaller one already in my mouth), he grabbed me by the wrist and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. Didn’t even say a word. Edit: oh yes, he did, he said, “That strawberry had pesticides on it.” lol.

So again, when you say, “the real persona or the real him”, I have to remind you that there is no real him.

My spath liked to get lots of guys together to drug and rape women. They all thought this was really cool. So you would think that he was showing them his true face right? nope.
The REASON he liked to gang rape women was so that he could dupe these straight skinny blonde guys into pulling down their pants and he could look at THEM having sex.

And his gay blonde sex partners were told that he was gay, but he’s not. He’ll do anyone or anything. They only show a small piece of a mask. And it’s always a lie because they don’t want anyone to really know the true spath.

Oh BTW, one thing I did notice is that he DOES like skinny blonde guys but he thinks nobody has noticed.

Regarding confronting the spath and getting that “Who, me?” response:

I’m still not sure the ex-boyfriend who told me this is a spath, but I’m pretty darned 100% absolutely positively sure it’s not the kind of conversation I want to have with anyone, ever again. (I went NC on him anyway.)

He said, “I’m your only friend who cares enough about you to point out that you offend people all the time.”

The reverse intervention!

sister,
I say: spath!
my closet-gay frienemy (closet gay is his mask), said, “I’m the only one who loves you. Your sister doesn’t love you, your parents don’t love you. I’m the only one who cares about you.”

Of course, he didn’t say that he was having sex with my spath and in on the plan to make me commit suicide.

Anyway, getting back to the post . . . What I noticed about this story was the element of the exotic in the spath. Spaths can’t just be ordinary people from boring trailer parks, can they? They are cast-off royalty, or millionaires or billionaires, or globetrotting entrepreneurs. They always have some fascinating story to tell about how they left the old country to avoid Communism or how they had a really eccentric family. Those years in English boarding schools were tough, too, and maybe you might understand what he really needs.

Sigh . . . maybe that’s the biggest red flag of all. Our own romanticism as women.

LOL! My downfall was ice cream! Chocolate ice cream. Yes. I am a nurturing person. I like doing little favors that add quality to life. It’s one reason why he chose me over whats-her-name. B/c he hooked me by letting me take care of him. And then, in the end, he made it clear that NOTHING I did was of any real value to him. My farmhouse cooking? As he informed me, “A can of soup was as good a substitute.”

My divorce was final 31 Dec. In Jan… I contacted him to tell him the bank account number for him to make alimony deposits. And he lamented that he “always thought we’d reconcile”. HA! After the NIGHTMARE of him, I’d moved on to nurture someone else with chocolate ice cream (well, coffee ice cream really, and not very often b/c my immune system is shot and dairy is now a poison to me. ironic considering we were dairy farmers! HA!)

And no, I never warned the last ‘girlfriend’ but thought I should have sent her a thank you card. While he was busy with her, I got free! Wheeeeee…..

sorry. chocolate ice cream flipped my memory switch. it was SO RIGHT ON. they want us b/c we have such caring hearts, and then they don’t want us to know how to please them b/c they think we’ll use it against them! OKAY! Put the ice cream down…. reallll slooowww… and no one will get hurt. ‘Cause now I know, CHOCOLATE! And yer mine sucker! So funny, so absolutely true about choc ice cream that it makes me cry. wtf.

Yeah, Skylar. Y’know, anyone who would claim something as stupid as being the “only” one who loves you deserves to be thrown out in the snow immediately, spath or not. Everyone has more than one person who loves them.

KatyDid, you sick puppy. Get HELP for your chocolate addiction. . . . I demand that you hand over your chocolate ice cream to me, right now, before you use it as a tool of seduction one more time.

I once had a guy start doing what I called “closing the file on me,” acting disinterested to prepare for the dump. And then he claimed that his therapist — his therapist! — said he should break up with me. Not him, mind you, but his therapist.

I was already breaking up with him when he said that!

oh katydid,
I go to bed every night with two wiener dog’s and a bowl of chocolate icecream…l am all about self nuturing..

sistersister
not just any chocolate ice cream. hagen daz. in a special slightly heated bowl, scooped with just the desired size. and a real ice cream spoon that matches my dinnerware. now, sleep on it and see if you dream chocolate…. !!! (am I wicked? only if choc means as much to you as it does ME!)

so glad that guy had a therapist who told him he should break up with you… b/c we know that’s what therapists do. (although i was lucky and mine said RUN!)

skylars ex likes to drug women and have his minions rape them. give him power and jollys. i say just proves his minions were likeminded, spaths too. b/c i don’t believe a man could rape a drugged victim and not be spath. no conscience. how can a person LIVE with themself? i was raped once and later wondered how he could do it with me screaming and begging the whole time.

i feel so bad b/c my rescue dog goes and lays in her crate when i am on the computer too long. it makes me feel like a bad mommy. she cages herself. how do you purposely harm someone and live with yourself? Answer, they are more than minions, they are spaths too.

hens, wish i could clone ya. but no choc ice cream for doggies, i think vanilla might be okay??

night..
don’t forget to vote ya’ll. it’s the only way ya earn the right to b*.

sistersister,
I agree and that spath frienemy was gone right after that. Even before I knew what spaths were.

I have a policy. No second chances. If someone were to come to me with an apology, contrite and admitting to all their transgressions, then I would consider forgiveness. Then would come a long period of proving their sincerity.

But a spath isn’t likely to go the mile. So I don’t even bother asking why. I just thank my stars I’m not that way, turn my back and walk away.

Sky,
The BEST indicator of future behavior is past behavior.

Apologies that are COMPLETE which include

Acknowledgment of the wrong they did
That they realize it hurt you
They are sincerely sorry
They promise never to do it again
They make some form of restitution or amends (if that is possible)

I realize I have never received such an apology from my egg donor EVER over ANYthing.

I have received such apologies from son C, but he repeated the lying a couple of years ago (gosh can’t believe it has been that long ago, time flies when you are having fun!) and that was when I finally went essentially NC with him.

“Forgiveness” to me is getting the bitterness against the person who wronged you out of your heart, but that does NOT include trusting them again and believe me, I do NOT trust son C not to lie to me if he felt it was convenient to do so. So, not having a relationship with him, except were it concerns our MUTUAL INTEREST of keeping his brother in prison, I no longer have hard feelings toward him, or desire his company either. He is more like “someone I used to know” but not part of my life now. There is just not any pain associated with thinking about him now, more indifference than anything.

If he were to come to me with a SINCERE SOUNDING apology I might actually consider giving him another chance, but it would be like the one were Joseph tested his brothers in the Biblical story, a YEARS-LONG AND TOUGH PROCESS before I might BEGIN trust him again.

Oxy:

Good point! My ex spath did say he was sorry, but that is all he said. He never promised to not do it again and actually turned around after apologizing and did the exact same thing again! He never tried to make amends and I don’t think he truly realizes how much he really hurt me and that’s because he doesn’t really care. So there you have it.

My one also apologised, several times, with tears in his eyes and the promise to never do it again. BUT, since he never understood what he really apologised for (his own words) he never corrected his behaviour. It was only empty words and when he realized how much it really hurt me, he used it to his advantage to be more cruel, vicious and cunning. I agree with Oxy, only a complete apology will do it for me, regardless who says it.

“BBE, when I think about your ex-spaths behavior, I really do think he has HIV because when you were afraid that you had it, he abandoned you. Abandonment is a shaming technique. And they will usually try to shame you with THEIR shame.”

Very good point Skylar. Of course, other than saying that he agreed with the doctors and that I should get tested ASAP, he never talked about HIV again.

He asked about my Shingles but said nothing about the HIV. Which do you think was of a bigger concern? It was nearly a week before I was able to get a test and the results back, not once did the x-spath ask about the results. Nor did he try to comfort me.

Yes, he was projecting his shame on me. A double shame, not only his being HIV+, but not having the courage and honesty I showed.

But their mask is so good, I missed the obvious. Even when I had some other visual clues that stuck in my mind (he had some manifestations of lipodystrophy), they did not register. I did have concerns these were from his drinking…

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