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
Kathy:
“I had all the power in this relationship except for one thing. He had the power over the relationship itself. I controlled everything he wanted. And after he was gone, I had the power to seriously screw up his life, and still do.”
That’s my situation — to a “T”. I had all the assets. I had the social respect. I had the professional respect. I had friends. Although my family can drive me absolutely bonkers at times, I know I can still count on them.
S had none of that. Oh, S talked a pretty good game. But, in the dark of night, in a prison cell, I think he got his answer about how little he had.
I still have my paranoid moments about what the hell S could possibly do next. I’ve got my credit reports locked down tight. I avoid the places he goes. But, I’m always trying to think 5 steps ahead where he’s involved.
Any issues which arise which adversely affect me, I know I will be able to trace right to S. So, yeah, I”ve got the power to blow him out of the water. And it’s a power that I will use carefully. But, it is a power I”ve got, and I don’t discount that for a minute.
”But his stuff? It was like it was an extension of his body. Not that he took particularly good care of anything, but if anyone else damaged anything, if it was in his power to punish that person, he did. Otherwise he raged, totally out of control.”
Their stuff, their turf. Extreme materialism is one of their major weakness. Unknown sources of urine on the pit bull’s turf drives them bonkers. But the main reason why I quit harassing my ’bowling alley’ sociopath, was being prompted to remember how he’d reacted once to an act of revenge (by some unknown previous victim) on his truck. In hindsight, he may have channeled his rage and frustration onto his targets, with me being one of them. I was unsure of what he’d do to his wife and son.
EMDR: It’s possible to do it yourself. That’s how Shapiro discovered the thing. Using what works for me, I’ll do it in front of my home office computer. Initially I got depressed after reading about the ’brain fry’ of long term extreme stress. But then I learned about the brains ability to rewire and repair itself. I resolved that the bright side of PTSD damage, is the opportunity to rebuild or rewire oneself into a stronger, wiser person.
Betty: Sociopathy is simply the inner control freak unchecked, unbalanced and unleashed. Some sociopathic cats get culled out of the gene pool by coyotes. A lot of sociopathic humans do wind up maimed, addicted, imprisoned, or dead. But the smartest ones adapt. But that doesn’t mean that normal people cannot be smart enough to ’feed them to their own coyote’. And who knows, maybe sometimes God intervenes. C.S. Hyatt died from cancer.
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Student Of Sociopathy
SOS tell me more about doing it “yourself”—I need to get my son for some EMDR but there is no insurnance and I would love to be able to do it for him at low cost. Is there a program you buy? I am a retired mental health professional so have some ideas about how to do it from my own treatment etc. Would be worth a shot.
I am the POSTER CHILD FOR the long term stress “brain fry” as well as the physical ailments and infections from the immune system crapping out….but am working very hard to keep my life as LOW STRESS as possible. I can already see the benefits to my physical and mental health in the last year and a half of DECREASING stress, and few episodes of chaos.
Each day it only gets better and better. A while back I ran into my egg donor at the grocery by accident and it gave me a JOLT of adrenaline and it literally made me sick for about 18 hours. It also made me realize that I used to LIVE LIKE THAT 24/7–365! My emotional reserves are increasing too so that a “stumble” doesn’t knock me down for weeks or months, but I get right back up in a matter of hours, not days.
The improvements came so slowly that it even took me a while to realize HOW MUCH I had improved over the last year and a half. How I AM feeling good, feeling JOY, happiness and accomplishments. How I AM NOT beating up on myself any more, how I can LAUGH at myself again. Set boundaries and not feel guilty, and not take on the responsibility of the entire world on my shoulders.
LIFE CAN BE GOOD—-in fact, I think better than it has ever been!
SOS: Psychopath’s Bible by C.S. Hyatt is one of the books I refuse to read. I’ve never particularly feared any ideas, but there are places it’s best not to go. I think he must have rotted from the inside out. “Sociopathy is simply the inner control freak unchecked, unbalanced and unleashed.” That’s probably Dr. W’s defining characteristics in a nutshell.
OxDrover: You’ve said, “They create the chaos to distract us from the reality we see. It is hard to keep your mind on draining the swamp if there are 1000 little alligators nipping at your knees, ankles and then someone comes up and sets your pants on fire. Chaos is their friend.”
THAT’S IT! It’s like an emotional blitzkrieg : I was overwhelmed, drained of energy, struggling to understand, even as I was sinking in the quicksand of the chaos Dr. Wilma created and orchestrated.
Kathy: So when encountering people we find are exhausting us, that should be a HUGE red flag! Spidey senses tingling and on full alert, we could say, “That doesn’t work for me, ” or even “Bye. NOW.” I realize it can be much more complex than that, but having understanding of sociopathy and the mind set to protect one’s self in place BEFORE encountering someone like that can only be a good thing.
Rune: Thank you for what you’ve said. It is a gift! It’s good to take responsibility for things in one’s life, it’s beyond toxic to try to take responsibility for the chaos a sociopath can create with almost the flick of a wrist. I will keep repeating to myself what you and the others (bless you guys!) have said ’till it sinks all the way in.
The community you’ve made here on LF is a way to reduce the wounding that continues after the sociopath has gone, and friends and family don’t get it. You’ve done more for me in a few days than I even dreamed was possible. I have a long way to go, but for the first time, I’m beginning to believe that with some support and understanding, I am enough to make it through this. I have to test drive it some more, but I feel I’ve turned a corner. I can actually LAUGH that the last time I had to go see Dr. Wilma in her office, she had a huge Chinese paper war dragon suspended over her desk…Talk about a red flag!!
Before I found this site, I was dragging through my days, and now, (thanks Ox for this concept) I know something has sifted because I can feel energy coming back, and I’m doing things to help myself practically (moving forward to get a job and check out attorneys) as well as in my spirit to continue to heal.
BIGhugs,
Betty
Betty,
I just read your post and found it riveting. I have not read all the comments, but knowing this community I have no doubt you have received thoughtful replies and caring support.
When I read the part about your being summoned to Dr. W’s office because you had left a flier in the driveway, all I could think about was the “wire hanger” scene in “Mommie Dearest”. Here is a quote about that scene…….
“Among the incidents that Christina recounts in the book is a tirade that she alleges occurred when her mother was looking in Christina’s closet. Crawford discovered some of Christina’s clothes hanging on wire hangers, instead of higher-quality hangers, and allegedly launched into a tirade that has become known as the infamous “No wire hangers” moment.”
Christina had been instructed to use only a certain kind of hanger.
For some reason, even before reading about the flier incident, your description of Dr. W and her escalating efforts to entangle you in her web made me think of Joan Crawford’s sadistic control and extreme perfectionism as described by her daughter Christina.
Interesting that Dr. W brings her two dogs to the office meeting informing you of your “betrayal”, and she also brings two full-time professors, who were obviously under her control, to the final meeting! I wonder what she had on them!
You can be sure you are neither the first nor will you be the last victim of Dr. Wilma! I hope you can work out a way to pursue this. The whole thing is outrageous and you have suffered a grave injustice at the hands of this bizarre woman. I also wonder what a private investigator might uncover about Dr. W…….her history! I bet there is plenty!
BTW, does Dr. Wilma have any children? They might be writing a book too!
Eye
Betty- thank you for your post. Wow.
I hate all of this you guys. Has anyone– who is better now–
does anyone ever remembering feeling pain so intensely from the betrayal of an S– that you did not think you were going to make it?
akitameg:
By the end with S, I was ready to commit suicide. And I was pretty damned close at the early stage of NC. I actually was going to rewrite my will so my estate would go into a scholarship fund in BOTH our names at HIS alma mater. How sick is that?
Fortunately, I hung on and things got better. Suggestion, rather than focusing on his “ideal” qualitites, try aversion therapy. Think of things he used to do that drove you bonkers. If you can’t think of anything, think of things that revolt you and now think of him doing that. A true turn-off.
Matt– thank you and…
You mean like– ending our relationship once b/c I quit a TAe Kwon Do class?
You mean like– 2 days before his discard he spit in my face during a fight? Why did I not run you guys?
You mean the way he hid me from his mother and family pretty much?
You mean the way he put his five year old on an unhealthy/higher power type pedastal?
You mean how he yelled, “You’re unreliable! I want a reliable gfreind.” at me once b/c I had an engagement to a wedding and could not babysit for him?
You mean how he with held sex from me one gorgeous weekend in the mountains b/c I could not babysit and he said he was getting back at me?
You mean his constant use of pot (every nite), porn and video games? (I thought maybe all guys did that– or lots of them anyway.)
Eye-of-the-Storm: Great name! Dr. Wilma did not have kids…her students were her children…ARRUGH!!!
akitameg:The sociopath was my teacher, not someone I lived or slept with, but I still considered suicide. I still broke. My family didn’t get it (I’m discovering from LF that very often they don’t), and lost most of my friends because I MUST have done something wrong to get in trouble, didn’t manage the situation properly…Honestly, I don’t know if I’d have believed it either if I hadn’t been there. I lost my drive to begin again, I’d been so focused on my goal, achieving well, moving forward…then WHAM! Sociopath-ed.
Nothing was helping me with this issue until I found this site. Be patient with yourself because taking care of yourself is tough when you’re flat out, but try reading the postings and explore the LF site. Let things sink in. It is good medicine. You can tell by how the people here write and how they treat each other that something good (like healing, which always takes time) is going on.
I wish you only the best!
Betty
Akitameg, I was suicidal for a month at least after the break up with the S. I still miss him sometimes, but it’s more the way I felt when I was with him and that pure masculine energy he represented. It may take some time for you but it will pass. Let yourself feel the pure feelings (without the story) and keep breathing. You still need to grieve. There will be a turning point when the pain gets less. The timing is different for everyone.
Hugs to you. I have another song for you to sing when you feel up to it. Have you ever heard Brandi Carlile’s “The Story”?