Editor’s note: A Lovefraud reader, we’ll call her Betty, sent her story. It’s a tale of a run-in with a female psychopath who likes to destroy people for the fun of it.
I got divorced and moved from Texas to California. I was 45 years old, and was hoping to transition from my career as an RN. I’d worked in the newborn nursery and the increasing numbers of drug dependent newborns were breaking my heart — I was experiencing burnout. I tried physical rehabilitation for adults, but that too brought me in contact with awful suffering, and I didn’t have enough to give my patients. I had a painful divorce and a painful career, and made the decision to pull myself together and start over. That’s when I met the person I think is a female psychopath.
I interviewed in the art history department of a large university, with the then-graduate adviser, Dr. Wilma (not her real name). I didn’t understand then how fragile I was, but I feel certain she knew in an instant. The fixed stare was there — I thought at the time, “What an intent, alert, person with so much energy!” I felt flattered that she seemed so interested in me. Writing that, I still feel a creepiness, sense of shame at being taken in, and a curling fear in the pit of my stomach.
Perfect victim
I craved attention, though I would have denied it. Looking back at my life, I can see how I trained over the course of it to be a perfect victim for abuse. My dad was an alcoholic, the mean drunk kind, and my mom was so gently needy. The overall feeling in our house was one of walking on eggshells, and the message to me was, “try hard and fail” because my older brother was the “successful, responsible child” so that left me with the “failure” role. My first husband was emotionally distant, and so was my second — I poured myself into those relationships, and of course, I cared deeply while each of them did not, and the colder they were, the harder I tried, and tried. And I found a job just as destructive and abusive as those personal relationships. So when I interviewed for the art history department, I badly needed some confidence and a sense of achievement. I’d also had a couple of bouts of situational depression, following the death of my parents, and after getting divorced.
Dr. Wilma seemed drawn to me at once: She’d call me to come in early to her office, heap praise on me to other teachers, strategize with me over my academic future (she felt I should get a doctorate and teach at university, “Just like me”) — she acted like a close friend and benefactor, and we’d only just met. Deep down inside, I was uncomfortable. I was making straight “A’s” but I’d done that routinely as an adult, and I genuinely loved art history, and found tremendous pleasure in studying it and discussing it — but still, I was a beginner in the field, and I couldn’t get over the fact that she was talking to me as though I was a peer. The other feeling was slower to surface: She seemed to be looking at me in a calculating, almost predatory way, and it seemed strangely almost sexual and at the same time, had the stamp of ownership. I can’t express it any better than that. She’d compliment me, but then say things like, “You walked into my office with interest, but no real academic talent, but I thought, why not? I’ll give her a class! See how far you’ve come!” Not an insult based in reality, but not a compliment based in reality, either, because I was a solidly good student, and I had achieved a nursing education and professional license, and a bachelor’s in psychology after that.
My mentor
Soon she invited me to walk her dogs with her in the mornings, and I slowly began to see how controlling she was. The animals were hyper and had to be constantly engaged or they’d get into trouble. I’m a cat person, so I didn’t understand you have to constantly stimulate and over stimulate most dogs to get them to be that hyperactive. She’d ask my opinions, but then she’d make “suggestions,” which meant “do it or else.” Over the next few years, I committed to specializing in art history, on her appraisal of me as an “excellent student who’s going to make a wonderful teacher,” I took on the burden of student loans — and I put my Texas nursing license on retirement, and didn’t activate it in California or take continuing education in that area to keep the license active. Dr. Wilma let me know that nursing wasn’t really a profession, and with a bright future as an academic, I didn’t need it. I had a “mentor” now to take me over the road of thesis writing and guide me into a wonderful teaching career.
I was really so stupidly, inexcusably naive! She told me what I wanted to hear — that I’d have a new career if I continued to work hard, and that I had a mentor I could depend on to help guide me through the intricacies of academia. Exam after exam came back marked “A,” with praise written in the margins for my “fine work.” Papers, too, received “A’s,” and the criticism lead me to believe my writing skills were well up to standard, and constantly improving, as I was striving to do. She wanted me to visit her office almost daily, wrote long and frequent emails, she’d phone me at home for lengthy calls — and one day, I began to feel (though I shoved that down quickly as well) that I was almost being courted in a creepy way…and it felt weird, off and not right somehow. But how could I complain? She was charming, so eager to “help” me find my way, I felt at a disadvantage academically and I worked frequently twelve hours a day writing and reading, trying to master my chosen field of study. I didn’t want other students to know she “favored” me so extensively because I’ve always earned my way. I felt ashamed at possibly taking advantage.
Always a home
She invited me to her house, and told me, “You’ll always have a home here,” and again, it felt off… it was too much, too soon. In addition, there was something there in that the words didn’t match the lack of emotion in her voice and in her expression — her words seemed somehow rehearsed. But how could I be so ungracious? I so longed for kindness, and I so appreciated it…my eyes welled up with tears … and she smiled. It was not a kind smile, but a one-sided curl of a lip, a cruel smile that didn’t reach her eyes. As I mentioned, I have a bachelor’s in psychology, but even at that lower level without clinical study except in nursing, how could I not have known?
She wanted me to house sit and watch her dogs for a week while she and her husband went on holiday. She’d pay me $300, and having put every penny into school, I needed the job. By this time, I’d finished all the bachelor’s level courses and was well into graduate level work — I only had a year and a half left before I could get my Master’s and could begin my dream of teaching art history in community college. I was also $40,000 in debt with student loans.
The dogs were a nightmare to care for and had to be watched every minute because they were so hyper they’d tear up the house and garden. Now I understand they’d been trained this way in response to their owner. I didn’t get much sleep because they required so much attention, but they were fed, watered, exercised, groomed — in response to the 10 pages of instructions she issued, and her house was cleaned, laundry done, and everything left as found. I’d been instructed not to wait for the them to arrive home, but to leave the evening of their arrival, two hours before they returned.
Flier in the driveway
Three days later, I got a phone call from Dr. Wilma. I was instructed to come to her office very early the first day of school following break. I went into her office, and she asked me to wait there while she went to her car and brought her dogs in (she always brought her dogs to school in spite of rules of no dogs on campus). She brought the dogs in, she looked at her watch, she closed the door and I can only say that she transformed entirely right before my eyes. I’ve worked in psychiatric lock up wards in the course of my nurse’s training, and I thought I’d seen pretty much everything, but I saw a self-possessed, controlled and controlling, smooth, charming, poised academic turn into a snarling, spitting monster within literally a second. I feared for my life, sat in a chair backed into a corner, the dogs now cowering and whining at my feet. She advanced on me, screaming at the top of her lungs, “You betrayed me! I can’t believe I brought that (meaning me) from my university into my house!” It seems I had left a newspaper, one of the little local fliers, in her driveway and not collected it and placed it on her kitchen table with the rest of the mail. She went on for a full fifteen minutes, screaming that I was “crazy” (I had confided to her about my instances of depression), and more abuse that I’ve frankly and thankfully blocked out, because what I remember of what she shrieked at me was horrible and I’ll never repeat most of it to anyone. My hand shook, but I wrote out a check for the $300 and returned every bit of her money. It was only my training, and probably experience as an abused child, that allowed me to remain calm, size up the room, locate something that could be utilized as a defensive weapon should the need arise, and calculate that I could fit though the window. She was physically blocking the door. I heard my own voice from far away say absolutely calmly, “I AM leaving now,” and I will never know how I got up on shaking legs and made it through the door.
Swore to ruin me
She swore to ruin me, and she did. Her co-workers and underlings (the department is small and only had two other full-time professors) were so under her thumb and so like her that there was no place to go in the department. I couldn’t get an appointment with the dean to state my case or make a complaint or appeal — I was told I could only see her with Dr. Wilma’s approval, “She’s a very nice lady,” the dean’s secretary said, “I’m certain she’ll help you sort out whatever it is.” Camping out in the dean’s office didn’t yield an appointment, either. The Ombudsman promised help — only to reveal straight away in the meeting that, “I have no real power here and all records of this meeting are the property of the university.” I had taken my qualifying examination, the last step before thesis writing, and waited for 8 weeks to get my results, and still couldn’t find out if I’d passed or failed. Appointments weren’t kept, then they were rescheduled and not kept again. Finally, around the tenth week, the Ombudsman called me for a meeting with faculty. Dr.Wilma had brought the other two full-time professors with her, and they were all in attack mode. For two and a half hours, I was soundly verbally abused and called names — the Ombudsman gave up trying to control or run the meeting, and exhibited shaking hands. “You can’t just pay for a degree — you have to earn it. We owe you nothing — it’s 100 percent all on you now…What do you want from us?” Dr. Wilma demanded. “I want to know the status of my qualifying examination,” I replied, “No one will tell me.” “Well I’ve just decided right now, this minute: you fail!”
After they left, and I could finally cry, the Ombudsman said she’d only done counseling of sexual abuse patients, and this was her first case in an academic setting, and she said she’d never seen anything like it. It left me bereft of my belief in the virtues of the university, of learning, and to a very great extent, in human goodness. I felt my insides crumble that day. I was flat out. I broke.
I tried going to another university, driving three hours to another school. I did well in my classes and applied for acceptance in their graduate program. I was told it looked good because my transcript and submitted paper and interview had all been promising. But I’d told them the basics of the truth when the committee chair asked why I left the previous university. They phoned, spoke to Dr. Wilma, and you can guess the rest. After what I was told by a professor was the longest meeting in their history of considering a candidate (three hours), they decided not to believe my performance, the evidence of my character, my skills, or interest in art history and love of education — they believed Dr. Wilma when she told them I was crazy.
Crushed
That happened two years ago. I’ve been deeply depressed and felt worthless and hollow since. It truly crushed me, though I wish it hadn’t. I’m broke, and it left me $45,000 in student debts and no degree, so I cannot teach and have nothing to show for a tremendous amount of work. There was no appeal at the school, and lawyers apparently don’t take cases like this, especially on contingency. Reactivating my RN license and bringing it current in California would be tremendously expensive. I began to come out of shock very slowly, and began to meditate, face and recognize the pattern of being a victim — not that I ever deserved this situation, but how I was in fact an ideal candidate for it. I processed the pain of being the child of an alcoholic, an abused spouse, and having survived burnout from a tough profession. I grieved for my lost financial security, my almost new career and how much I truly loved teaching, I grieved for the good will that died in my soul when those three women worked me over in the Ombudsman’s office while the Ombudsman (a certified counselor) stood by and let it happen. I grieved for myself that I didn’t stand up more and tell them off! That I wanted something so badly that I allowed myself to be demeaned by three ethically deficit “teachers.”
I began Tibetan Buddhist meditation, and sought to learn to forgive. I believe in the healing power of forgiveness, but I’m stumped because I’ve seen something evil. I can only forgive as an intellectual act — my spirit is stuck and it’s very painful. I’ve cried buckets of tears and “LET GO” over and over, and I will do until I have healed. I now trust myself to build a new life, but at 55 years, it’s going to be hard to get a job where I’ve no experience, especially in this economy. I could have taught for a good 20 years, paid my student debt, and provided for myself, but things look bleak now.
Armed with knowledge
I know that there are so many people who have lost so much more than I have. I know it, reading these posts, I realize it I’m actually lucky because it could have been so much worse. If nothing else, I am now armed with knowledge, and can hopefully walk on by the next ruinous person I encounter without letting them into my life. But I will always be shaken by this devastation — not by a lover or a spouse, but by a trusted, respected, and admired teacher. And I still feel ashamed, and like it was somehow my fault — until I read your posts.
Thanks you, Donna, for listening to my story. It’s healing somehow, and it helps me to know that I will recover from this. It has given me understanding and compassion for those who live with this these fundamentally lacking individuals. I so admire their strength and courage to survive and rebuild their lives, and also the genuine love and support evidenced on your site.
Learn more: Comprehensive 7-part recovery series presented by Mandy Friedman, LPCC-S
Lovefraud originally posted this article on March 4, 2009.
How knowing the truth about sociopaths changes everything
Git yer trucks! HA HA. Maybe the family and friends don’t understand because they are like I always was, I believed in the basic goodness of people, I didn’t realize there were predators out there that just used us. I thought S/P’s were restricted to a Ted Bundy type, or I didn’t really think about it much at all. I still feel like a target.
Is opn:
Thank God I never married mine, although I often think that no matter how good the prenup was it would have cost me big to get rid of S. Thing is, I was assuming I would be alive if I decided to get divorced. I suspect I may very well have ended up dead.
And then I wonder exactly he would have accomplished. I have a very nice co-op apartment. Even if my life insurance paid off the mortage, he couldn’t even cover the monthly maintenance charges. As you put it, my income would be gone.
Hell, he couldn’t even pay the rent on the tenement he was living in. I paid the first 3 months of 2008, he paid the next month, didn’t pay the next 7 months until the landlord changed the locks, and then his boss fronted him 10 grand to save his sorry ass.
The better part of his life he has had somebody else paying his freight — from his parents, then his first long-term partner, then his second long-term partner, and then the criminal justice system (prison term). Except for our first date where he paid for dinner, I paid for it all. So, how the hell couldn’t he come up with the rent?
He was like a little kid, indulging in whatever trinket (or drug) that caught his attention. Worry about a roof over his head? You must be kidding.
Thing is, he had lots of expensive trinkets. But, I think on some fundamental level sociopaths are consumed with jealousy over what their victims have accomplished. The fact that we have worked hard to get what we have escapes them.
I think by destroying our possessions, in their minds, they are destroying us. The problem is, unlike them, we are not defined by our possessions.
So, they are defined by the toys the scam out of their victims. Time goes by, the charms fade and their looks go, and the supply of toys dries up. Of course, as time goes by, their old toys fall apart. I think at the end when the last toy vanishes, in their minds, so do they.
S O S:
“I’m curious as to why these two things happens:
1. The victim “breaks”.
2. The victims family gets tired of listening, and/or cannot understand.
Are those two things related?”
They’re related. I think the majority of our friends and family do get tired of listening because they CANNOT understand.
You hit the nail on the head — unless you’ve been involved with a sociopath, you cannot concieve of the havoc they can wreak in your life. I thought I had seen it all as a criminal defense but nothing prepared me for S
The thing is, be it professional or personal involvement, sociopaths attack a part of our lives that are important to us. And because we approach things from integrity and honesty, and, in the case of personal relationships, loyalty, love and commitment, we cannot conceive of people not coming from a similar place.
Sociopaths are so insidious in the way they destroy us, and generally present such a favorable impression to the world, that outsiders can’t but help think we’re all making it up or it wasn’t as bad as we say.
Which, now that I think about it, is almost crazy-making by proxy. They’re no longer around to do their dirty-work, but they’re still destroying our lives, because the people we’re looking to for affirmation and support — our familes and friends — by telling us we’re making it up and/or to get over it — are essentially casting their lot with the sociopath.
Betty: I’ve experienced the same reaction with family and any friends that remained after the initial S/P’s rampage.
I’m starting to believe that it’s like this: We learn how to interact with each other in relationship from our earliest efforts to watch and mimic those around us. Mother smiles at us as babies, we smile back, the brain and body have a feedback loop, and we feel certain ways when we read other people’s expressions and watch their behavior. This is fundamental to all social interaction, regardless of culture. And mostly our expressions and behaviors are understood by other humans, even if we don’t speak the same language or come from the same part of the world.
So our absolute core ability to understand those around us and make decisions in relationships — who to trust, who to shy away from — comes from our innate ability to “read” others. And then, along comes a S/P who can mimic all the expressions and behaviors, and we read those behaviors as being authentic. OF COURSE WE DO! WE’RE NORMAL!! But they are not!
Until now, we didn’t even know that people existed who can be like this. If we hadn’t had the experience, we wouldn’t believe it ourselves. And we’re busy trying to pick up the pieces and figure out how to feel safe as we move forward in our lives. THIS WHOLE CONCEPT IS TERRIFYING — it undermines our fundamental sense of safety.
Now, we think we’re going to explain this to reasonable, normal people around us? Not only did they NOT have the experience, THEY REALLY DON’T WANT TO BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE — BECAUSE IT”S TOO SCARY!! So, you must be the crazy person. You must just not have handled the situation properly, and blah, blah, blah.
Our friends and family probably have never suffered this sort of shock, this “cognitive dissonance.” I believe that some S/Ps live for the thrill of creating as big a shock to their target’s system as possible.
I know that it has affected me so that sometimes I feel like I have a cattle prod stuck in my brain when I have some event come up that brings a jolt of anxiety. I start to stutter. I have a “whiteout” in my thought processes. I believe this is deep neurological trauma that reveals itself in the emotional, psychological, physical and spiritual planes. We can’t just “get over it” when the trauma reaches a certain level. But we’re walking around looking normal, when we have the equivalent of a brutal concussion — a “closed head injury.”
These relationships are so much more than just “toxic.” They steal our life force — in a catastrophic event, or over time. We have to remember that THERE IS NOTHING WE COULD HAVE DONE TO “MAKE IT BETTER.” Their “game” is to cause disruption and pain and “win” in ways that only they can understand in their twisted minds.
Yes, Matt, you’ve got it! I believe that some of these “long con” guys are trophy hunters, opportunistically using everything that comes along to undermine us, while pretending that it ain’t so. As you say, even if your insurance paid off the mortgage on the coop, the S still wouldn’t be able to pay the monthly fees. This is why I really don’t see that it’s about greed or exploitation in the usual sense.
So, my lawyer friend, if you read my above post, how can we nail these sobs for assault and battery, since that is what it is, on a neurological level? Not to mention the damage by proxy as we lose our friends and family as well. I really do think that needs to be a component. Certainly Dr. Wilma assaulted Betty on every level except the romantic/physical, and the fallout is huge.
Rune:
Excellent post. I never put the pieces together on the socialization process and a sociopathy’s ability to mimic. Now that I think about it, it makes such sense — they’re mimes, without conscience.
I also agree with your comment regarding the “long cont” guys being trophy hunters. What is so bizarre is that they’re undermining us when from a common sense perspective it would be in their own best FINANCIAL interest to do the opposite.
The wierd thing about these guys is that, the Madoffs of this world notwithstanding, it’s almost like these guys have a financial self-destruct button in themselves. Counting me, my S has been involved with 3 men who were in a position to offer him the life he supposedly wanted. Yet, he managed to drive all 3 of us into getting rid of him.
I’m at a loss on how you can nail these creatures legally. Going after them for theft by deceit or fraud is tough. If they drive a person to suicide, that’s a tough case to make. With the number of sociopaths in society rising steadily, the law sure has to be amended to take into account the carnage they cause — especially since they meet the first criteria of the majority of crimes — they have the requisite intent to commit it.
Rune says:I know that it has affected me so that sometimes I feel like I have a cattle prod stuck in my brain when I have some event come up that brings a jolt of anxiety. I start to stutter. I have a “whiteout” in my thought processes. I believe this is deep neurological trauma that reveals itself in the emotional, psychological, physical and spiritual planes. We can’t just “get over it” when the trauma reaches a certain level. But we’re walking around looking normal, when we have the equivalent of a brutal concussion a “closed head injury.”
Exactly, exactly. This has affected concentration with doing things mentally, memory at times, just feeling sick in the past, and there was nothing concretely wrong with me. People would say you are looking good, meaning I was bouncing back. But internally and emotionally I was showing memory and concentration problems. I realized this after the S was gone 10 months ago for good.
Initially I had to concentrate really hard to stay on task. My Dr. suggested maybe it was PTSD. I would speak and lose train of thought, the thought sometimes would not have another thought to be taken away to. So weird. It has gotten better with time. The high anxiety I experienced was when I was still with S. It was like the bomb was going to go off anytime. I was always full of high anxiety and panic. My anxiety and panic was fear of the S and what he may be capable of. I no longer have anxiety and panic, knock on wood. Therapy and talking about it has helped.
Betty and Rune: Potential Charges
Matt: an opinion of these
-Denied An Equal Opportunity To An Education
-Harassment
-Invasion Of Personal/Civil Liberties
-Slander
-Freedom Of Speech Denied (and not acknowledged)
Betty and Rune: Potential Charges
Matt: an opinion of these
– Misconduct
The “non-romatic” con or persecution, because in order to be a P you MUST HAVE A VICTIM. You can’t BE one without a victim, so they must always have a VICTIM in order to be complete.
Family members will do, but non family members will function as well…they will DESTROY something/someone on a regular basis or they “wither” much like a mythical vampire MUST have a blood meal,, they MUST HAVE A BLOOD MEAL even if it is only emotional “blood.” I think they FEED on this energy that we use to try to placate them or to try to outsmart them when we figure out what they are doing.
ENERGY is necessary in order for there to be life…emotional energy is not separate from physical or mental energy…we have a FINITE quanity of both. If we are not resplenishing our energy as we use it, we become TIRED, and can’t function up to par.
The CHAOS, the “crazymaking” that they keep us in, just trying to keep our “balance” and stand upright consumes so MUCH OF OUR ENERGY, and walking on egg shells, all takes energy. WHEN WE ARE AT OUR LOWEST EBB they go for the throat and for their final “kill.”
They WORK us just like a wolf pack works a herd of deer, or like my Border Collie works the goats when he herds them. He keeps them off balance, running in one direction, then he reverses himself and goes in the other. It is all VERY PURPOSEFULL behavior on the part of the dog. The dog does it instinctively and I think in many ways the P does too. S/He doesn’t even have to “think” it is just instinctive for CONTROL of the prey.
If a goat becomes testy and fights back, the dog will bite her and get her back into line. When we disagree or resist the control, they “bite” us to get us back in control, back doing their bidding, going where they direct us.
The “romantic” involvement with a P hits us more deeply than just a “business partner” P, although the partner may do more financial damage, the family-member P I think hurts us in proportion to how deeply we love that person and are connected to them. Yet ALL P relationships are “worse” than just an “ordinary” bad relationship with someone of that same type of relationship.
I think I have had at least ONE example of almost every kind of P relationship from my father, to my son, to a BF, business partners, a couple of bosses, quite a few co-workers, some employees, and friends…and patients. Until only a few years ago I really didn’t know what the heck was the similarities between these people…the common thread…I only knew that to one extent or another, association with these people damaged me, that what they were doing didn’t make any sense to me (for some of it there just didn’t seem to be a rational motive) etc. Most of them, thank goodness, didn’t totally devestate me because the emotional relationship was superfiscial or non-existent. They have made me change jobs, closed down businesses, and destroyed programs I worked hard to develop. A group of them financially devestated my husband’s business (we were not married at the time). I have observed them here in our local politics and see the victims of their crooked schemes destroyed and beaten down, even sent to jail for political activities that were perfectly legal.
Without the Ps our society would still be “the garden of Eden” without the serpent!
The ignorance of most people who think that “there is good in everyone” and trust the instinctive goodness of people helps the Ps “get away” with the things they do in many cases.
The people who are the first-person victims of these monsters (like us) may feel like we are “John the Baptist” crying “in the wilderness” and no one listens to our sermons. In fact, they ridicule us for being “too sensitive” or for “imagining” we were persecuted, and for “not getting over it” etc etc. They devalue us again after we have already been DEVALUED to the point of almost ceasing to breathe!
Even the people we trust and turn to in our pain don’t always believe us. Our local sheriff was one wonderful man simply because he BELIEVED ME. He LISTENED. He did all he could and stay within the law. My son D believed me, listened and did all he could. A couple of other friends believed and listened. I was fortunate in that I had ANYONE who believed and listened. I know many of you have had no one who believed or listened. I can’t even imagine having NO one to listen or belive or validate.
You guys are awesome folks! STRONG, COURAGEOUS and I admire you all for standing strong—even if we are on our knees, we will stand up for what we know is our truth!
I watched the movie the other night, the Last Samurai with To Cruise, and the scene where the man ordered him to drop the wooden sword and he kept holding on to it, the guy beat him to the ground and even when he couldn’t get up any more, he held on to it. The guy kept beating him but he was beaten unconscious but he didn’t give in.
We have all been beaten down, but like the Golden Phoenix, we have risen from our ashes!!!! TOWANDA!!! TOWANDA forever!!! We win simply by living, by living well, and taking back our power for them to hurt us any more!!!! My prayers and hugs for you all. You are a great group—and my THANKS as well.
Matt and Rune,
“I believe that some S/Ps live for the thrill of creating as big a shock to their target’s system as possible.”
“…our familes and friends by telling us we’re making it up and/or to get over it are essentially casting their lot with the sociopath.”
My sister understood a bit better when her son saw another kid whack a school crossing patrol over the head with his skateboard, to then tell my dumbfounded nephew “…because I wanted to see what would happen.” According to my nephew and sister, that little S then sweet talked his way out of major repercussions. That’s when I walked her through a lesson about sociopathy.
Sometimes it’s a slow process: Plant seed. Wait. Wait some more. A sprout! Move in quickly with fertilizer to help the knowledge grow.