This site is to inform people about the 4% of our population that are nonviolent-Psychopaths. It will also go into areas of those suffering various and serious mental illness' that share the Earth with all of us. Going into areas of human depression, hopelessness and happiness seen over time. Email me: Socialsniperzzz@gmail.com Or find me as Mark William Darus on FaceBook with questions or concerns.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Defying Gravity
This is the story of Nancy. Native of Boston Mass. You have to love the intrinsic power of music and how it works on the minds processes. I cannot find fault on her personal conclusion for herself at this point in time anymore than i could find fault in someone doing anything against their upbringing. You go with what works for you. We are all more based on what works for us than the greater good.
Go, Nancy.
Defying gravity: This is my story of how I learned to kill my emotions, thus becoming a psychopath. I excelled in life, and never looked back.
My name is Nancy. I live by what most would consider a normal life. I work, pay taxes, (sometimes) and con most into believing I am a nice caring person. I have a dog, two cats and a a few friends who far more often that not, help when all goes wrong. Granted, I help them move, pick them up when they are sad and desparate. Their relationships run bad, a sounding board, a shoulder to cry. I can be there for them.
They tell me of their pain and anguish. I hug them, tell them everything is gonna be alreight and so forth. Yet I cannot feel their grievances except through some trace-memory of decades past. I know how their faces look and how my face and body language should respond, but there is no feeling in me. I just do what I think I should do. I do this to aid them, friends and such.
Frankly, I am not sure why I help anyone that cannot make me advance.
\
For years, I tried to play by the rules my parents, schools and friends taught me.
I went to high school, did band and chess club and though I was top in those, I got no scholarship. Why is this? I asked myself many times….
Did great in college, scoring higher and making top 5% of my grad class. Rose to editor for school newspaper in my sophomore year. Kept up with band, chess and even did well in glee club. Turns out I had a voice that turned heads.
Did these things help?
Nope, not at all.
You must be thinking I am some total dog or horribly obese person. Well, I was not. I was 5’9” and weighed in at 121 lbs. Long red hair over albeit anemic white skin. High cheekbones, slender arms and shapely legs.
I just couldn’t seem to make that oh-so-vital first impression that made those in authority take notice of me.
I even did public service in homeless shelters to aid my resume. I cleaned piss and shit from whores and junkies coming off overdoses and addictions. I fed their kids while they were in detox. I did it all.
No notice, not even the slightest recognition. NOTHING.
When I graduated college: most of my friends who had much lower grades, no extracurricular activities or even any public service backgrounds reached higher on jobs than me, I realized I was doing something wrong.
They lied successfully and I didn’t. They manipulated things that made them look great.
I loved my parents, but my friends must have taught them something better.
Over the first few years after graduation, I worked meaningless jobs that had nothing to do with my degree. Had relationships that left me lifeless over time trying to please and fail.
Then, from a commercial, I heard about an off-Broadway musical.
Wicked.
I related to the lead character like non other.
And this song…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlMBcTGJ4YM
GLINDA
(spoken) Elphaba - why couldn't you have stayed calm for
once, instead of flying off the handle!
(sung) I hope you're happy!
I hope you're happy now
I hope you're happy how you
Hurt your cause forever
I hope you think you're clever!
ELPHABA
I hope you're happy
I hope you're happy, too
I hope you're proud how you
Would grovel in submission
To feed your own ambition
BOTH
So though I can't imagine how
I hope you're happy right now
GLINDA
(spoken) Elphie, listen to me. Just say you're sorry:
(sung) You can still be with the Wizard
What you've worked and waited for
You can have all you ever wanted:
ELPHABA
(spoken) I know:
(sung) But I don't want it -
No - I can't want it
Anymore:
Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap!
It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!
GLINDA
Can't I make you understand?
You're having delusions of grandeur:
ELPHABA
I'm through accepting limits
'Cuz someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well, if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost!
I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I'm defying gravity
And you can't pull me down:
(spoken) Glinda - come with me. Think of what we could
do: together.
(sung) Unlimited
Together we're unlimited
Together we'll be the greatest team
There's ever been
Glinda -
Dreams, the way we planned 'em
GLINDA
If we work in tandem:
BOTH
There's no fight we cannot win
Just you and I
Defying gravity
With you and I
Defying gravity
ELPHABA
They'll never bring us down!
(spoken) Well? Are you coming?
GLINDA
I hope you're happy
Now that you're choosing this
ELPHABA
(spoken) You too
(sung) I hope it brings you bliss
BOTH
I really hope you get it
And you don't live to regret it
I hope you're happy in the end
I hope you're happy, my friend:
ELPHABASo if you care to find me
Look to the western sky!
As someone told me lately:
"Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"
And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free
To those who'd ground me
Take a message back from me
Tell them how I am
Defying gravity
I'm flying high
Defying gravity
And soon I'll match them in renown
And nobody in all of Oz
No Wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!
GLINDA
I hope you're happy!
CITIZENS OF OZ
Look at her, she's wicked!
Get her!
ELPHABA
:Bring me down!
CITIZENS OF OZ
No one mourns the wicked
So we've got to bring her
ELPHABA
Ahhh!
CITIZENS OF OZ
Down
And so, I became, as my shrink would call it, a psychopath. It took many years of friends and loved ones telling me to seek help. Got to love med benefits: they make many rich and seldom do any good.
I like myself this way. I cannot be hurt. I cannot be nailed by trying and failing. I seldom fail these days. I have learned to manipulate and lie convincingly.
I have risen trhough the ranks and currently make just over 500k a year.
I have defied gravity.
Those that would’ve held me down with such things as: just give it time, you’ll make it. Love lost is better than no love at all.
My family and past friends, though with good intentions, had such a little clue to my hearts pain no matter how vividly or intellectually I’d spill it out for them.
I killed my emotions. One by one. And over time, I had to do nothing…
I defied gravity and am so much happier for it.
-Nancy.
Thank you Mark.
You gave me a place to speak my mind and set some thoughts to peace.
So many look at us as being monsters, but we like racist jokes, don’t all fit the profile. I wrote this from your cracker barrel post with the Less than Zero music playing. Great soundtrack there. Inspirational. Sorry to hear how much you have lost from this blog. Sisters not wanting to speak with you must have some impact on you.
Know this: you are reaching a world, and with that, there must be some downsides. I am behind you.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Cracker Barrel killings 04/12/2012
Birthday Massacre: The killings in Brooklyn Ohio. April 12th 2012.
Intro to thoughts most will not tolerate nor consider.
Play this as you read: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q1zTneO46Y
Let me start by saying I am breaking my own rule of engagement with this post. I said I would not go into the realm of violence and killings that seem to permeate the United States unlike most countries that do such human trashing for religion, civil rights or other such acceptable causes. I say acceptable most loosely: We can so easily find justifiable reasons to kill each other on the mass scale and cheer as hundreds, thousands die for “our’ cause.
The killings and wasting of families in other countries is so okay with us, as Americans, we cope with this on an almost daily basis. We have so reduced human life to the least common denominator that collateral damage and the decimated lives in the wake mean less than zero to us.
To any of you with children: What would you do if your innocent kid had their body chopped in half while some country said: WE’VE GOT TO STOP THE EVIL DOERS!
Those wasted lives hadn’t even paid taxes to fund their own comrades in their fight.
We in United States cannot say this. Our taxes make the bombs, bullets and planes possible to make such things happen abroad. We are all guilty for such collateral damage. We are, or so many would like to say, are responsible human beings. We work, we pay our bills and support a welfare system; perhaps giving to charities with what little money is left to us after local, state, federal and county taxes cut us of our real monetary worth.
Bottom line: our funding of the American Military machine is far bellow what we think as a people of the Earth. We seem to be more interested in our IPODS, the latest cell phones, and our single minded greed to further ourselves on and individual basis: fucking all others to advance such things, finding innocent deaths justifiable. Yet many of us head to churches once, twice or maybe three times a week to feel at home with God, Buddha, Christ or the Sacred heart of the Royal Frisbee, to level things out and dispel
guilt unknowing to us, though tugging at our hearts making us feel uneasy from day to day existence knowing something is wrong within us.
Yet we fund the killings, with each dollar we pay.
And to think we left and revolted against taxation without representation.
With the exception of the American Civil war when counties voted, when has the People of the United States of America ever personally voted for a war?
Brooklyn Ohio: April 12th 2012.
Sitting in a sometimes loud, though happy place to talk, eat good food and share the events of our lives. We have great wait staff attend to my wife, friends and I as we go about our stories. Fire burning in the open hearth, whiffs of Yankee Candles joining us and happy children wanting to finish eating and play with the cool toys in the store. My wife and friends almost wanting like our children, to see the things you can’t get from other restaurants.
The waitress, I’ll call her Aimee-Lynn, brings the bread to us. The scents of muffins and cornbread take hold as we imagine the butter and jelly we’ll spread on them and how they will taste.
Content with all around us. Peace after this never ending week. What more could we ask for?
Our children, not so taken by this, ask for more IBC root beer, to which, Aimme says she will oblige them with a genuine smile, short brunette hair dancing on her shoulders, liking her shift.
Looking around at the wall items: The tree saw, old trombone, pictures of stoic men and women from a long age when glass negatives were the norm. The Triangular puzzles which vexed most.
The food arrives.
A family next to us is celebrating a child’s tenth birthday. Such a happy kid, beaming with the light that only the innocent can possess.
We begin to eat. Smiles all around.
The sounds of Dolly Parton shattered by gunfire.
The fantastic smell of fried apples goes horribly afoul when mixed with the smell of fresh gun powder.
Madness takes hold.
The plastic electronic bird in the store, with flapping wings, mimics the gun fire and the shrieks of those close.
A crazed man with eyes filled with desperate hatred and total anger keeps firing. A child, his child, becomes lifeless by his hand on her tenth birthday. His wife, who had said she was leaving him, gets blown away. They youngest child gets nailed, though still carries some air within her tiny lungs, isn’t dead.
Pandemonium sets in, my back toward the shooter. Fearing this nut will keep firing, rather to have myself take a bullet before those I love, I cover them as we head for the kitchen area. We get the to parking lot, hearing a train go by, seeing some bank building behind us, smelling Italian food and the wood fire of Cracker Barrel. We run and keep running.
More gun fire crushes this once gracious night, making my children shake and my loving wife look more pale. And there was nothing more I could do.
We hunker down until the Brooklyn Ohio police give us, and all those around, the All Clear. They have either captured this freak or killed him.
The looks of fright my children displayed, their wide, brimming eyes with tears yet to fall: the horror of my lovely wife’s expression, sweat beginning to descend, long blond hair mussed up as she hunkered over our children as a second barrier over my own body.
We arrive home after giving witness statements. We do this with some sense mixture of shock and relief as our physical lives weren’t connected by bullets that so freely filled our dinner.
My wife calls off her job the next day.
I do the same. We call the kids off from school and daycare.
We think of counselors, knowing full well our kids have seen a horror that so eclipses anything we have ever witnessed.
Where do we go from here? Where do we trust and teach our children to do the same?
We took our children there… There is guilt that goes with this….
>>>Authors note to the above: I was not there. I simply put myself into the restaurant that I have visited many times since it opened. I planted myself in the respects of a man that might save his family, as witness statements would concur.
In my minds eye, I can visualize almost anything. Those closest to me would attest to this. I can do this with a coldness totally devoid of emotion, giving verbal, olfactory or written images to what I see. This more often than not brings out an emotional response that I can see, yet not feel. Call it this: In my Minds Eye.
But I can write about it in a way that may touch others and make them see, think and hopefully do what I cannot: Feel.
My god has not forsaken me. My god and those chosen for me to seek out, got meds to level me out and be whole again.
I kicked the booze via Laurelwood. Got meds to control Manic Depression, as my family and others told me I needed years ago. My 49th year has seen the most medical and mental benefits I have ever used than in 30 years of having such things.
Yet, thinking clearly, writing clearly, so few of those I physically know, comment, and so often change the subject when I bring up this site I have created.
Clamping down roads to be later traveled.
Was the shooter a Psychopath?
I would have to say he wasn’t. Based on all known things; he did have one account of domestic violence some twelve years ago and a few histories of theft.
What he did was not some well planned out event. Unlike Manson, Bundy and Ramirez, who did what they did, calculating what would be gained: and most significantly, giving themselves up to law enforcement without being killed for the sole purpose of bragging rights and the eventual historical accounts for their deeds.
\ Ego plays such an enormous part with psychopaths, both the killing and the Non-violent alike, that running out into a parking, knowing cops were there to kill them, just does not fit.
This fucker acted out in a crime of passion. Nothing more, nothing less.
The children? His Children?
Collateral damage and little more.
And who really gives a shit about collateral damage in the United States of America?
MARK WILLIAM DARUS.
04/16/2012
My humble thanks to those in the US, Germany, Russia, Italy, Ukriane and Canada and Spain. You knew i was close and asked to put thought into word. You shoved me: This is nice to see. Thanks!
Intro to thoughts most will not tolerate nor consider.
Play this as you read: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q1zTneO46Y
Let me start by saying I am breaking my own rule of engagement with this post. I said I would not go into the realm of violence and killings that seem to permeate the United States unlike most countries that do such human trashing for religion, civil rights or other such acceptable causes. I say acceptable most loosely: We can so easily find justifiable reasons to kill each other on the mass scale and cheer as hundreds, thousands die for “our’ cause.
The killings and wasting of families in other countries is so okay with us, as Americans, we cope with this on an almost daily basis. We have so reduced human life to the least common denominator that collateral damage and the decimated lives in the wake mean less than zero to us.
To any of you with children: What would you do if your innocent kid had their body chopped in half while some country said: WE’VE GOT TO STOP THE EVIL DOERS!
Those wasted lives hadn’t even paid taxes to fund their own comrades in their fight.
We in United States cannot say this. Our taxes make the bombs, bullets and planes possible to make such things happen abroad. We are all guilty for such collateral damage. We are, or so many would like to say, are responsible human beings. We work, we pay our bills and support a welfare system; perhaps giving to charities with what little money is left to us after local, state, federal and county taxes cut us of our real monetary worth.
Bottom line: our funding of the American Military machine is far bellow what we think as a people of the Earth. We seem to be more interested in our IPODS, the latest cell phones, and our single minded greed to further ourselves on and individual basis: fucking all others to advance such things, finding innocent deaths justifiable. Yet many of us head to churches once, twice or maybe three times a week to feel at home with God, Buddha, Christ or the Sacred heart of the Royal Frisbee, to level things out and dispel
guilt unknowing to us, though tugging at our hearts making us feel uneasy from day to day existence knowing something is wrong within us.
Yet we fund the killings, with each dollar we pay.
And to think we left and revolted against taxation without representation.
With the exception of the American Civil war when counties voted, when has the People of the United States of America ever personally voted for a war?
Brooklyn Ohio: April 12th 2012.
Sitting in a sometimes loud, though happy place to talk, eat good food and share the events of our lives. We have great wait staff attend to my wife, friends and I as we go about our stories. Fire burning in the open hearth, whiffs of Yankee Candles joining us and happy children wanting to finish eating and play with the cool toys in the store. My wife and friends almost wanting like our children, to see the things you can’t get from other restaurants.
The waitress, I’ll call her Aimee-Lynn, brings the bread to us. The scents of muffins and cornbread take hold as we imagine the butter and jelly we’ll spread on them and how they will taste.
Content with all around us. Peace after this never ending week. What more could we ask for?
Our children, not so taken by this, ask for more IBC root beer, to which, Aimme says she will oblige them with a genuine smile, short brunette hair dancing on her shoulders, liking her shift.
Looking around at the wall items: The tree saw, old trombone, pictures of stoic men and women from a long age when glass negatives were the norm. The Triangular puzzles which vexed most.
The food arrives.
A family next to us is celebrating a child’s tenth birthday. Such a happy kid, beaming with the light that only the innocent can possess.
We begin to eat. Smiles all around.
The sounds of Dolly Parton shattered by gunfire.
The fantastic smell of fried apples goes horribly afoul when mixed with the smell of fresh gun powder.
Madness takes hold.
The plastic electronic bird in the store, with flapping wings, mimics the gun fire and the shrieks of those close.
A crazed man with eyes filled with desperate hatred and total anger keeps firing. A child, his child, becomes lifeless by his hand on her tenth birthday. His wife, who had said she was leaving him, gets blown away. They youngest child gets nailed, though still carries some air within her tiny lungs, isn’t dead.
Pandemonium sets in, my back toward the shooter. Fearing this nut will keep firing, rather to have myself take a bullet before those I love, I cover them as we head for the kitchen area. We get the to parking lot, hearing a train go by, seeing some bank building behind us, smelling Italian food and the wood fire of Cracker Barrel. We run and keep running.
More gun fire crushes this once gracious night, making my children shake and my loving wife look more pale. And there was nothing more I could do.
We hunker down until the Brooklyn Ohio police give us, and all those around, the All Clear. They have either captured this freak or killed him.
The looks of fright my children displayed, their wide, brimming eyes with tears yet to fall: the horror of my lovely wife’s expression, sweat beginning to descend, long blond hair mussed up as she hunkered over our children as a second barrier over my own body.
We arrive home after giving witness statements. We do this with some sense mixture of shock and relief as our physical lives weren’t connected by bullets that so freely filled our dinner.
My wife calls off her job the next day.
I do the same. We call the kids off from school and daycare.
We think of counselors, knowing full well our kids have seen a horror that so eclipses anything we have ever witnessed.
Where do we go from here? Where do we trust and teach our children to do the same?
We took our children there… There is guilt that goes with this….
>>>Authors note to the above: I was not there. I simply put myself into the restaurant that I have visited many times since it opened. I planted myself in the respects of a man that might save his family, as witness statements would concur.
In my minds eye, I can visualize almost anything. Those closest to me would attest to this. I can do this with a coldness totally devoid of emotion, giving verbal, olfactory or written images to what I see. This more often than not brings out an emotional response that I can see, yet not feel. Call it this: In my Minds Eye.
But I can write about it in a way that may touch others and make them see, think and hopefully do what I cannot: Feel.
My god has not forsaken me. My god and those chosen for me to seek out, got meds to level me out and be whole again.
I kicked the booze via Laurelwood. Got meds to control Manic Depression, as my family and others told me I needed years ago. My 49th year has seen the most medical and mental benefits I have ever used than in 30 years of having such things.
Yet, thinking clearly, writing clearly, so few of those I physically know, comment, and so often change the subject when I bring up this site I have created.
Clamping down roads to be later traveled.
Was the shooter a Psychopath?
I would have to say he wasn’t. Based on all known things; he did have one account of domestic violence some twelve years ago and a few histories of theft.
What he did was not some well planned out event. Unlike Manson, Bundy and Ramirez, who did what they did, calculating what would be gained: and most significantly, giving themselves up to law enforcement without being killed for the sole purpose of bragging rights and the eventual historical accounts for their deeds.
\ Ego plays such an enormous part with psychopaths, both the killing and the Non-violent alike, that running out into a parking, knowing cops were there to kill them, just does not fit.
This fucker acted out in a crime of passion. Nothing more, nothing less.
The children? His Children?
Collateral damage and little more.
And who really gives a shit about collateral damage in the United States of America?
MARK WILLIAM DARUS.
04/16/2012
My humble thanks to those in the US, Germany, Russia, Italy, Ukriane and Canada and Spain. You knew i was close and asked to put thought into word. You shoved me: This is nice to see. Thanks!
Vacations outside themselves.
Constants between normal people and the Nonviolent Pyschopaths: Trips outside themselves.
Alcohol can play such a huge factor in what makes one lose themselves for a while and open up to a world of utter mind-boggling possibilities for acceptance. We’ve all been there. Booze in the proper quantity can us open up, lose inhibitions and maybe dance on a table in an attempt to simply be noticed. This area does not stop at sheer heterosexual relationships but can, and will, go into the homosexual as well.
Wanting to be noticed is wanting to be noticed. They will try anything to pull someone toward them. The drunk at the bar will fish, throwing out the hook through an abuse of both alcohol and pent up sexual energy that they hope will snag someone, anyone, to perhaps bed them for a night or last much longer. The morning after is the telltale of things to come.
Wake up and they are still there can tell a few things. Either the prey was too drunk to leave, perhaps passed out, or just simply wanting to be with the fisher-person that captured their wanting soul. The one that so freely put themselves out there, to advertise enticements unabashed, a promise of dreams and desires fulfilled either do this because they desire a mate or simply feel hungry.
The hunger to suck someone in, be the vampire, and make this idiot their puppet. The other that can’t seem to get a partner any other way even for a short time and sell themselves like some cheap hand-me-down item at a thrift store.
This is the oddest parallel in the world of nonviolent Psychopathic relationships.
Booze or drugs live so keenly in both the regular and NV-Psychopathic world that is quite difficult to distinguish which is which. Alcohol and drugs play a huge factor in both realms. Alcohol is so accepted that both the predator and prey eclipse each other for the single want to be desired and conquered, to eat and be eaten.
Though many non- psychopaths get bombed to kill a bad week at work or sad lives in general, they advertise themselves out there with such complete and utter abandoned to be taken advantage of. Hey, look at me! I’m not with any partner. Come and get me!
To feel alive again after hours of being someone else’s subordinate. To cut loose, be free and not give a damn what any thinks or how they carry themselves.
The NV-Psychopaths get wasted for an attempt to feel emotions they had trashed years/decades ago. A glimpse at yesterdays gone by on their quest to feel nothing, no regrets and no remorse for their actions and perhaps, no hurt. To touch what they were, some bastard form of nostalgia as booze/drugs leave them bare and open to the ones they would have devoured yesterday. Looking, perhaps, to be used/abused in humiliating sexual activity or by sheer dominance.
What better arena than a bar, saloon or tavern for both to be relative equals?
This is where the lines get blurred .The predator and prey alike, have no clear clue to what their real motives truly are. And it is almost impossible to distinguish them apart from one another.
Until the next day when they arise. One with a screaming hangover, wondering what they did the night before. Hoping they didn’t offend a friend or hurt someone. The other awakens just fine, perky and ready to go. And very, very hungry. They got what they couldn’t ask their current food source for. Reckless uncontrolled desire for which they would not risk the one they are using, gaining money, or possessions from.
This is when, if having taken a fancy for the lamb, the NV-Psychopath will either stick around for greener pastures (bigger gains) or seek out other eating grounds seeking same.
Of course, they may do neither, and simply return to the current tasty steak they haven’t quite finished yet.
The flaunting exhibitionist the next day will feel totally different. They will not be surprised if the one they spent the night with looking for Mr. Goodbar, if you will, leaves and never calls them again. And damnit! Why do they always use my toothbrush?!? Oh, well, I got fucked real good and the guy/woman even let me piss on him. Wow, that was different!
That’s right. The NV-Psychopath will let such things happen.
Normal people will go on vacations. They’ll travel to places both near and far to experience different things, foods, environments and cultures. They will go to places that have a historical significance they are curious about. They’ll go on cruises to see far away places that contrast their normal surroundings. Perhaps a trip to wine countries in California, Pennsylvania or even Ohio to sample the source and locations of the wonderful beverages they have indulged in over the years. A jaunt to the battlefields of their ancestors; witnessing reenactments with their blasting cannons and muskets popping as men fall, nearby cattle jump and car alarms go off in the reality check as modern technology mocks the witnessed event of old.
They go somewhere with families, by themselves, or with friends, but the bottom line is: They go to someplace different to feel, learn, and explore.
In total contrast, the NV-Psychopath will stay in the general area, maybe venturing by going a city or two away for anonymity’s sake. These are the ones that are living off their prey and what they do the satisfy them.
Some of more affluent circles will even go on ‘work related’ trips to places like Vegas, New York City or even Amsterdam.
The affluent types con their wives/husbands/girlfriends by saying: I’ve got to do this, honey. Sorry, this one I can’t take you on. I need to maintain focus and you know I can’t do that with your sexy self around. This is too sudden to plan for and you know we can’t get a sitter on such short notice. No, hon, we’ve asked far too much of your family already. The company says no this time, sorry, stock holders are watching us for excesses.
These will have their ‘vacations’ planned long in advance. They have the ability to lie so clearly meshed with their spouse that no suspects anything.
Content with their marriages/relationships, these juggernauts of the corporate world seek brief rounds of being abused, controlled and dominated, like the average NV-Psychopath.
A common ground.
Both want the same single thing. To go beyond themselves in areas they have grown too familiar with. Not to learn so much as simply wanting to give up as their heavy workload of manipulation has worn them out. A trip outside themselves where their normal mind tricks of massive imaginations just cannot fulfill them.
They will allow themselves to be humiliated to the point of being beaten, burned, cut or even pissed or shit on to have their ‘vacation’ from the humdrum lives they live. This seems to be what recharges their batteries much like normal humans experience during their vacations.
Vacations, play a part in the relative normalcy of both regular people and NV-P’s.
A trip outside themselves.
Alcohol can play such a huge factor in what makes one lose themselves for a while and open up to a world of utter mind-boggling possibilities for acceptance. We’ve all been there. Booze in the proper quantity can us open up, lose inhibitions and maybe dance on a table in an attempt to simply be noticed. This area does not stop at sheer heterosexual relationships but can, and will, go into the homosexual as well.
Wanting to be noticed is wanting to be noticed. They will try anything to pull someone toward them. The drunk at the bar will fish, throwing out the hook through an abuse of both alcohol and pent up sexual energy that they hope will snag someone, anyone, to perhaps bed them for a night or last much longer. The morning after is the telltale of things to come.
Wake up and they are still there can tell a few things. Either the prey was too drunk to leave, perhaps passed out, or just simply wanting to be with the fisher-person that captured their wanting soul. The one that so freely put themselves out there, to advertise enticements unabashed, a promise of dreams and desires fulfilled either do this because they desire a mate or simply feel hungry.
The hunger to suck someone in, be the vampire, and make this idiot their puppet. The other that can’t seem to get a partner any other way even for a short time and sell themselves like some cheap hand-me-down item at a thrift store.
This is the oddest parallel in the world of nonviolent Psychopathic relationships.
Booze or drugs live so keenly in both the regular and NV-Psychopathic world that is quite difficult to distinguish which is which. Alcohol and drugs play a huge factor in both realms. Alcohol is so accepted that both the predator and prey eclipse each other for the single want to be desired and conquered, to eat and be eaten.
Though many non- psychopaths get bombed to kill a bad week at work or sad lives in general, they advertise themselves out there with such complete and utter abandoned to be taken advantage of. Hey, look at me! I’m not with any partner. Come and get me!
To feel alive again after hours of being someone else’s subordinate. To cut loose, be free and not give a damn what any thinks or how they carry themselves.
The NV-Psychopaths get wasted for an attempt to feel emotions they had trashed years/decades ago. A glimpse at yesterdays gone by on their quest to feel nothing, no regrets and no remorse for their actions and perhaps, no hurt. To touch what they were, some bastard form of nostalgia as booze/drugs leave them bare and open to the ones they would have devoured yesterday. Looking, perhaps, to be used/abused in humiliating sexual activity or by sheer dominance.
What better arena than a bar, saloon or tavern for both to be relative equals?
This is where the lines get blurred .The predator and prey alike, have no clear clue to what their real motives truly are. And it is almost impossible to distinguish them apart from one another.
Until the next day when they arise. One with a screaming hangover, wondering what they did the night before. Hoping they didn’t offend a friend or hurt someone. The other awakens just fine, perky and ready to go. And very, very hungry. They got what they couldn’t ask their current food source for. Reckless uncontrolled desire for which they would not risk the one they are using, gaining money, or possessions from.
This is when, if having taken a fancy for the lamb, the NV-Psychopath will either stick around for greener pastures (bigger gains) or seek out other eating grounds seeking same.
Of course, they may do neither, and simply return to the current tasty steak they haven’t quite finished yet.
The flaunting exhibitionist the next day will feel totally different. They will not be surprised if the one they spent the night with looking for Mr. Goodbar, if you will, leaves and never calls them again. And damnit! Why do they always use my toothbrush?!? Oh, well, I got fucked real good and the guy/woman even let me piss on him. Wow, that was different!
That’s right. The NV-Psychopath will let such things happen.
Normal people will go on vacations. They’ll travel to places both near and far to experience different things, foods, environments and cultures. They will go to places that have a historical significance they are curious about. They’ll go on cruises to see far away places that contrast their normal surroundings. Perhaps a trip to wine countries in California, Pennsylvania or even Ohio to sample the source and locations of the wonderful beverages they have indulged in over the years. A jaunt to the battlefields of their ancestors; witnessing reenactments with their blasting cannons and muskets popping as men fall, nearby cattle jump and car alarms go off in the reality check as modern technology mocks the witnessed event of old.
They go somewhere with families, by themselves, or with friends, but the bottom line is: They go to someplace different to feel, learn, and explore.
In total contrast, the NV-Psychopath will stay in the general area, maybe venturing by going a city or two away for anonymity’s sake. These are the ones that are living off their prey and what they do the satisfy them.
Some of more affluent circles will even go on ‘work related’ trips to places like Vegas, New York City or even Amsterdam.
The affluent types con their wives/husbands/girlfriends by saying: I’ve got to do this, honey. Sorry, this one I can’t take you on. I need to maintain focus and you know I can’t do that with your sexy self around. This is too sudden to plan for and you know we can’t get a sitter on such short notice. No, hon, we’ve asked far too much of your family already. The company says no this time, sorry, stock holders are watching us for excesses.
These will have their ‘vacations’ planned long in advance. They have the ability to lie so clearly meshed with their spouse that no suspects anything.
Content with their marriages/relationships, these juggernauts of the corporate world seek brief rounds of being abused, controlled and dominated, like the average NV-Psychopath.
A common ground.
Both want the same single thing. To go beyond themselves in areas they have grown too familiar with. Not to learn so much as simply wanting to give up as their heavy workload of manipulation has worn them out. A trip outside themselves where their normal mind tricks of massive imaginations just cannot fulfill them.
They will allow themselves to be humiliated to the point of being beaten, burned, cut or even pissed or shit on to have their ‘vacation’ from the humdrum lives they live. This seems to be what recharges their batteries much like normal humans experience during their vacations.
Vacations, play a part in the relative normalcy of both regular people and NV-P’s.
A trip outside themselves.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Just call me Jonathon: Your worst relationship EVER
Just call me Jonathon: Your worst relationship EVER.
Just call me Jonathon. I am a 42 yr old white male from ***** Florida. I was born and raised in Wisconsin. My family moved to Florida the summer I turned 14. I was an only child. We were considered upper class and I wanted for nothing. When I was in high school, my folks got me first Porsche 911. It was black and I hated black, so they had it painted cobalt blue with white racing stripes. They did this for my 16th birthday, they felt so sorry for me after uprooting me from my childhood friends. And yeah, I played that to the hilt. I laugh looking back considering how my grades sucked my first year in high school.
As I said, I wanted for nothing. I had the best clothes, best shoes, money, killer parties and everything I ever asked for. I had everything except some sense of love.
Mom was fairly busy doing the social things that aided dads job. The pool parties she threw had the finest wines, booze and appetizers you could imagine. She’d have the help dole out those gross Russian fish eggs that I seriously think most people hate but eat just not to offend the hostess. I’d always wait to watch as the maid would hand them out and watch the eaters faces when she turned her back, great fun seeing their faces twist. Mom was busy alright. I’d see her get royally shitfaced as she instructed the help to keep the guests glasses full and their stomachs well attended. Man, she’d even have the help aid women in getting on their bikinis when they got too wasted to do it for themselves. Drinking and swimming, not the coolest thing in the world, but hey, there were plenty of doctors around to fix them when they almost drown.
People would laugh when such events occurred, ‘guess ya can’t hold your lick-her, can-ja?’ they’d slur.
When mom wasn’t busy with the bi-weekly drink, eat and pool fests, she attened local fundraisers, lady’s groups and pissload of other things. She was even a major supporter for homeless shelters and AA events. She also spent a great deal of time with dads friends/partners wives watching their weight and a fierce diet regimen. They get together about 3-4 times a week to work on the Pablo Escobar diet of coke abuse. Who cares? That’s how they maintained their girlish figures just to keep their hubbys in check.
Dad, well, he was busy making the long-green. He was a major player in the world of ***********. He made friends everywhere he went. Doctors, lawyers, mayors, architects, fashion designers and their models, golfers, you name it. He’d hook them into deals by being a msooth talker. He’d hook them up with whatever they wanted. Be it drugs, hookers or financing for houses, buildings with unique designs, you name it, he’d get it for them with complete discretion and a guaranty that their wives would never know anything.
Mom and dad made the perfect pair. They’d keep both sides happy. So many times I would hear them say shit like, ‘if we ever decided to blackmail them, they could retire with the millions we could screw them for!”
Shit, man, Rome paled in comparison to the shit I witnessed growing up. Caligula might have even blushed.
Mom and dad had integrity, so they’d never do such a thing.
I had no such integrity. I knew there would come a time when millions could come in awfully handy to me, so I kept a journal with names, pictures and copies of the ‘other books’ that aren’t to seen by authorities.
I was so bored. I wanted better grades than I was getting, knowing college would depend on it, I decided to see how many women I could get in bed in the space of a year.
By 18, I had nailed and blackmailed 10 teachers, 2 assistant principals and the janitors girlfriend who was a major babe! Sure, I knew she couldn’t help me much with grades, but her husband did have the password to the schools computer system. I laugh at how cheap she worked. For the meager sum of 5000 bucks and a few good romps, she got me what I needed. Fuck it, I was simply helping her leave the drunk.
All it took was a few simple extortions when I discovered the teachers fuckbuddies, pics of them leaving motels together, not to mention how they nailed a minor for a few grand.
Yeah, okay, you probably think I could’ve gotten hookers for the sex stuff. I may not have a great deal of my folks integrity, but there is no thrill in screwing a hooker. I like to watch ordinary women twist to my will. I relish watching the looks on their weak, unsuspecting faces when I plant them at ground zero of Hiroshima. I get off on it.
I finished high school with close to a 4-point-oh! The suck-ups I called friends asked me how I did it, seeing me never turn in homework, finish a test or doing anything remotely considered an extracurricular activity. Sorry, fuckwads, I did plenty of extracurricular sex-ed jazz (or jizz, if you will) to get me through just fine. One of the nailed even got knocked up. May not have been mine though.
I even convinced some of them to get checked out by a doc as I seem to be having a discharge issue coming from my cock. I layed the blame on them, and they always caved in. Hey, I got what I wanted, so they could fuck their husbands for nothing or go fuck themselves. I didn’t care which. They got money and a few/many discrete lays with a well endowed, and oh so forbidden, teen. Sadly, they never saw the camcorders.
Fuck or be fucked, whichever you decided. Am I right or what?
At the college level, I decided to change my approach a bit. Being so bored with simple extortion tricks that worked without fail, I’d suck in big time sorority chicks. They’d see me with a Porsche, money and of great/wealthy family stock. (christ how their parents would tell them that crap. They have no idea how much that helped me fuck with their daughters,) I would take them to the best restaurants, best resorts, to further have them fall into my net. Mind you, I never paid for those things as my dad had huge influence.
Then I’d tell them of some tragedy which my family had just had fall on them. My family was hurting and needed help. If someone could just help, my parents would be so generous when things turned around. These girls would do my bidding and prime their parents. They, too, were of affluence and breeding that they would be glad to help. They would also never embarrass one of their own social status with a handout. They’d give to their daughters and their daughters would help me.
So easily, these girls fell for the illusion and take their parents with them.
Come the semesters end, I’d switch schools and go after another in pretty much the same way.
The ones I left behind and their parents never pursue me. They would not face the thought of being taken in as they knew it would make them look like the fools they were. These poor idiots just sucked it and wrote it off.
I did this for my 8 years of college. I took in about 800 large (grand). Not bad for a part time job, eh?
Having enough money to coast me til my parents kicked, I lived the great life. Simply making women think I loved them. I used them for sex like the teenager I never was. Damn, I had it better than a porn star. All it took me was my second Porsche, a 944 time around as a college graduation present, flash some cash at some fuckin highbrow coffee shop with never ending jazz and new age crap playing. Having a half-million buck house didn’t hurt. Ma and pa helped with this house. Dad made it happen, no sweat. He designed such a great home for me. Mom stood firm on one point though: you have one of your women help you decorate it and help you pick out furniture.
When asked, these women of low intelligence and materialistic visions for more then they deserve, would always go to my house and after fucking them would suggest going to pricey furniture stores to teach this ‘poor boy’ in the art of interior decorating. I took such delight in watching them suggest massive hand carved mahogany California king bed. ‘a man like you really needs this! Oh so comfy. Imagine what I could do with you on this…”
Occasionally, being totally bored after being laid by them, I’d split their faces in two with: DUH! I just got blown, had you ride me like some whore going for twenty versus the ten promised, and you took me in your ass. What more could you ‘imagine’ you could do for me?
The women that lasted the longest with me were the ones that suggested kitchen furniture, chests, dining room sets or patio furniture. I cannot say enough for those few that for the ones that aided in landscaping ideas and grills with fireplaces adjacent.
I took more time with the ones that weren’t so eager to bed me. The so few that took actual time to help me lay patio block that was important to them than laying me.
I am currently engaged to a fellow psychopath. There is no lying between us as we can read each other to perfection. Like me, she is very rich, both from dead parents and what gifts we received from others idiocy and their parents bullheaded sense in never admitting they were taken in.
Rebecca is my sun and moon as I am to her.
We happened upon each other at a Star Wars convention in 2010 in New York. I wanted a scotch and soda as she wanted a Jack on the rocks. Fucking sorry how convention halls have such a bad selection of TopShelf booze. “Chivas Regal? Is that a chardonnay or a merlot?” Cunt, what soup kitchen did they hire you from for less than minimum wage?
We, like the animals that we are, were stalking others to eat for a lite snack to pass the time when it happened. When our eyes locked to each other just a few stools apart, we knew our lives were forever changed. We smelled an ‘us’ through our eyes, sensing no fear, stomach full without eating, by a simple glance turned inferno. Being in heat, mating, joining and using, were the furthest things from our combined minds. Meeting one of equality, truly virgin ground that merited a depth of exploration.
We left our stools and slowly, carefully walking toward each other, both sizing the other up. As we met, her and I , appearing totally strange to those around us as they watched, inhaled deeply, taking in the others smell. Scents those in audience could no more smell than that of a tiger or ram smell in one another’s breed. Seeking a worthy mate and cautiously moving toward same. I thought she could devour me as she said she sensed the same from me. We faced each other, senses wide the fuck open and on overload. We talked without opening our mouths. We gently placed our heads on the others shoulder. Apprehensions of having our throats bitten to shreds fading quickly over minutes. Sniffing, feeling each others blood flow from veins within reach, taking in each other in without fear of the others teeth.
We left the convention and started our life together.
We have a loyalty that only instinct can have in the animal world. The lion to a lioness, both equal and utterly incomplete without one another after their joining. A joining of an identical breed before copulation occurs.
It’s been two glorious years with Rebecca. Content with each other and no longer wishing for more from the other breed we have consumed over time. Sure, we still get a kick out of making people in bars fall like dominos by setting a table that drunken fools wish to eat from. “Whoa, man, that chick is giving you the eye, you should go for her.” Soon the boyfriend that left for the john or somewhere pops up and the fun begins.
C’mon, some things cannot be denied those like her and I.
So, boys and girls, was I right in saying I was or could be your worst relationship ever? There are many like myself and Rebecca. Our species can eat you so easily that it gets boring after a time.
After two years, Rebecca and I have not copulated. We’re saving ourselves for each for something we never knew existed. We one of our kind.
-Just call me Jonathon. 04/01/2012
Mark, we will let you know when the wedding is. Most likely this summer. Not sure if we’re going Wiccan or something else. We both think it would be great if you could attend. Rebecca says she’ll email you her story in due time.
As you asked in an email response to me: I found your site from psychology today online.
I give you a ton of credit with this. You must have the only site about NVP’s out there.
We both would like to thank you.
AN: I’d love to attend! I’ve never been to Florida before and I’m sure you’d get me some great resort to crash in. Hell, I’ve never even been on a jet before. It could be great fun!
Thanks for your words/thoughts and your story.
-Mark
Just call me Jonathon. I am a 42 yr old white male from ***** Florida. I was born and raised in Wisconsin. My family moved to Florida the summer I turned 14. I was an only child. We were considered upper class and I wanted for nothing. When I was in high school, my folks got me first Porsche 911. It was black and I hated black, so they had it painted cobalt blue with white racing stripes. They did this for my 16th birthday, they felt so sorry for me after uprooting me from my childhood friends. And yeah, I played that to the hilt. I laugh looking back considering how my grades sucked my first year in high school.
As I said, I wanted for nothing. I had the best clothes, best shoes, money, killer parties and everything I ever asked for. I had everything except some sense of love.
Mom was fairly busy doing the social things that aided dads job. The pool parties she threw had the finest wines, booze and appetizers you could imagine. She’d have the help dole out those gross Russian fish eggs that I seriously think most people hate but eat just not to offend the hostess. I’d always wait to watch as the maid would hand them out and watch the eaters faces when she turned her back, great fun seeing their faces twist. Mom was busy alright. I’d see her get royally shitfaced as she instructed the help to keep the guests glasses full and their stomachs well attended. Man, she’d even have the help aid women in getting on their bikinis when they got too wasted to do it for themselves. Drinking and swimming, not the coolest thing in the world, but hey, there were plenty of doctors around to fix them when they almost drown.
People would laugh when such events occurred, ‘guess ya can’t hold your lick-her, can-ja?’ they’d slur.
When mom wasn’t busy with the bi-weekly drink, eat and pool fests, she attened local fundraisers, lady’s groups and pissload of other things. She was even a major supporter for homeless shelters and AA events. She also spent a great deal of time with dads friends/partners wives watching their weight and a fierce diet regimen. They get together about 3-4 times a week to work on the Pablo Escobar diet of coke abuse. Who cares? That’s how they maintained their girlish figures just to keep their hubbys in check.
Dad, well, he was busy making the long-green. He was a major player in the world of ***********. He made friends everywhere he went. Doctors, lawyers, mayors, architects, fashion designers and their models, golfers, you name it. He’d hook them into deals by being a msooth talker. He’d hook them up with whatever they wanted. Be it drugs, hookers or financing for houses, buildings with unique designs, you name it, he’d get it for them with complete discretion and a guaranty that their wives would never know anything.
Mom and dad made the perfect pair. They’d keep both sides happy. So many times I would hear them say shit like, ‘if we ever decided to blackmail them, they could retire with the millions we could screw them for!”
Shit, man, Rome paled in comparison to the shit I witnessed growing up. Caligula might have even blushed.
Mom and dad had integrity, so they’d never do such a thing.
I had no such integrity. I knew there would come a time when millions could come in awfully handy to me, so I kept a journal with names, pictures and copies of the ‘other books’ that aren’t to seen by authorities.
I was so bored. I wanted better grades than I was getting, knowing college would depend on it, I decided to see how many women I could get in bed in the space of a year.
By 18, I had nailed and blackmailed 10 teachers, 2 assistant principals and the janitors girlfriend who was a major babe! Sure, I knew she couldn’t help me much with grades, but her husband did have the password to the schools computer system. I laugh at how cheap she worked. For the meager sum of 5000 bucks and a few good romps, she got me what I needed. Fuck it, I was simply helping her leave the drunk.
All it took was a few simple extortions when I discovered the teachers fuckbuddies, pics of them leaving motels together, not to mention how they nailed a minor for a few grand.
Yeah, okay, you probably think I could’ve gotten hookers for the sex stuff. I may not have a great deal of my folks integrity, but there is no thrill in screwing a hooker. I like to watch ordinary women twist to my will. I relish watching the looks on their weak, unsuspecting faces when I plant them at ground zero of Hiroshima. I get off on it.
I finished high school with close to a 4-point-oh! The suck-ups I called friends asked me how I did it, seeing me never turn in homework, finish a test or doing anything remotely considered an extracurricular activity. Sorry, fuckwads, I did plenty of extracurricular sex-ed jazz (or jizz, if you will) to get me through just fine. One of the nailed even got knocked up. May not have been mine though.
I even convinced some of them to get checked out by a doc as I seem to be having a discharge issue coming from my cock. I layed the blame on them, and they always caved in. Hey, I got what I wanted, so they could fuck their husbands for nothing or go fuck themselves. I didn’t care which. They got money and a few/many discrete lays with a well endowed, and oh so forbidden, teen. Sadly, they never saw the camcorders.
Fuck or be fucked, whichever you decided. Am I right or what?
At the college level, I decided to change my approach a bit. Being so bored with simple extortion tricks that worked without fail, I’d suck in big time sorority chicks. They’d see me with a Porsche, money and of great/wealthy family stock. (christ how their parents would tell them that crap. They have no idea how much that helped me fuck with their daughters,) I would take them to the best restaurants, best resorts, to further have them fall into my net. Mind you, I never paid for those things as my dad had huge influence.
Then I’d tell them of some tragedy which my family had just had fall on them. My family was hurting and needed help. If someone could just help, my parents would be so generous when things turned around. These girls would do my bidding and prime their parents. They, too, were of affluence and breeding that they would be glad to help. They would also never embarrass one of their own social status with a handout. They’d give to their daughters and their daughters would help me.
So easily, these girls fell for the illusion and take their parents with them.
Come the semesters end, I’d switch schools and go after another in pretty much the same way.
The ones I left behind and their parents never pursue me. They would not face the thought of being taken in as they knew it would make them look like the fools they were. These poor idiots just sucked it and wrote it off.
I did this for my 8 years of college. I took in about 800 large (grand). Not bad for a part time job, eh?
Having enough money to coast me til my parents kicked, I lived the great life. Simply making women think I loved them. I used them for sex like the teenager I never was. Damn, I had it better than a porn star. All it took me was my second Porsche, a 944 time around as a college graduation present, flash some cash at some fuckin highbrow coffee shop with never ending jazz and new age crap playing. Having a half-million buck house didn’t hurt. Ma and pa helped with this house. Dad made it happen, no sweat. He designed such a great home for me. Mom stood firm on one point though: you have one of your women help you decorate it and help you pick out furniture.
When asked, these women of low intelligence and materialistic visions for more then they deserve, would always go to my house and after fucking them would suggest going to pricey furniture stores to teach this ‘poor boy’ in the art of interior decorating. I took such delight in watching them suggest massive hand carved mahogany California king bed. ‘a man like you really needs this! Oh so comfy. Imagine what I could do with you on this…”
Occasionally, being totally bored after being laid by them, I’d split their faces in two with: DUH! I just got blown, had you ride me like some whore going for twenty versus the ten promised, and you took me in your ass. What more could you ‘imagine’ you could do for me?
The women that lasted the longest with me were the ones that suggested kitchen furniture, chests, dining room sets or patio furniture. I cannot say enough for those few that for the ones that aided in landscaping ideas and grills with fireplaces adjacent.
I took more time with the ones that weren’t so eager to bed me. The so few that took actual time to help me lay patio block that was important to them than laying me.
I am currently engaged to a fellow psychopath. There is no lying between us as we can read each other to perfection. Like me, she is very rich, both from dead parents and what gifts we received from others idiocy and their parents bullheaded sense in never admitting they were taken in.
Rebecca is my sun and moon as I am to her.
We happened upon each other at a Star Wars convention in 2010 in New York. I wanted a scotch and soda as she wanted a Jack on the rocks. Fucking sorry how convention halls have such a bad selection of TopShelf booze. “Chivas Regal? Is that a chardonnay or a merlot?” Cunt, what soup kitchen did they hire you from for less than minimum wage?
We, like the animals that we are, were stalking others to eat for a lite snack to pass the time when it happened. When our eyes locked to each other just a few stools apart, we knew our lives were forever changed. We smelled an ‘us’ through our eyes, sensing no fear, stomach full without eating, by a simple glance turned inferno. Being in heat, mating, joining and using, were the furthest things from our combined minds. Meeting one of equality, truly virgin ground that merited a depth of exploration.
We left our stools and slowly, carefully walking toward each other, both sizing the other up. As we met, her and I , appearing totally strange to those around us as they watched, inhaled deeply, taking in the others smell. Scents those in audience could no more smell than that of a tiger or ram smell in one another’s breed. Seeking a worthy mate and cautiously moving toward same. I thought she could devour me as she said she sensed the same from me. We faced each other, senses wide the fuck open and on overload. We talked without opening our mouths. We gently placed our heads on the others shoulder. Apprehensions of having our throats bitten to shreds fading quickly over minutes. Sniffing, feeling each others blood flow from veins within reach, taking in each other in without fear of the others teeth.
We left the convention and started our life together.
We have a loyalty that only instinct can have in the animal world. The lion to a lioness, both equal and utterly incomplete without one another after their joining. A joining of an identical breed before copulation occurs.
It’s been two glorious years with Rebecca. Content with each other and no longer wishing for more from the other breed we have consumed over time. Sure, we still get a kick out of making people in bars fall like dominos by setting a table that drunken fools wish to eat from. “Whoa, man, that chick is giving you the eye, you should go for her.” Soon the boyfriend that left for the john or somewhere pops up and the fun begins.
C’mon, some things cannot be denied those like her and I.
So, boys and girls, was I right in saying I was or could be your worst relationship ever? There are many like myself and Rebecca. Our species can eat you so easily that it gets boring after a time.
After two years, Rebecca and I have not copulated. We’re saving ourselves for each for something we never knew existed. We one of our kind.
-Just call me Jonathon. 04/01/2012
Mark, we will let you know when the wedding is. Most likely this summer. Not sure if we’re going Wiccan or something else. We both think it would be great if you could attend. Rebecca says she’ll email you her story in due time.
As you asked in an email response to me: I found your site from psychology today online.
I give you a ton of credit with this. You must have the only site about NVP’s out there.
We both would like to thank you.
AN: I’d love to attend! I’ve never been to Florida before and I’m sure you’d get me some great resort to crash in. Hell, I’ve never even been on a jet before. It could be great fun!
Thanks for your words/thoughts and your story.
-Mark
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Taking your husband and you so gave him to me.
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Thursday, April 5, 2012
Songs from the Contributors
Songs that helped some put their words and emotions out there.
The Prey and Predator alike: What they played as they put themselves out there.
These songs should be listened to to get a better understanding of their authors feelings or lack there of. To music we go: and those that put music to their words”
MWD: call this unlikely, but I will stand this song as what guides me…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keVPL9HfuJ8
Abigail: to William: may this give you peace as you read the writings of others as you do mine. Yours, always,
_Abigail
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UH1CMCtV4to
William:
Dude, This is Catherine. Don’t cut yourself for anyone. You are above such petty things. Plain and simple truth, Mark.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1ysoohV_zA&ob=av2e
Several from UCLA:
Spirit of House.
We love you, Mark William Darus!
This is YOUR anthem to us at UCLA;
Rock it, baby!
Love: UCLA, CSU, MIT, YALE, and so forth in regards to strippers….
AN: thank you! What can I say? Heterosexual here!
.
`
To you, Mr. Darus; This song held me while I wrote you about being eaten as I cut myself and slashed my inner thighs.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dshpSiyqkTU
Joni, at a Mc’Ds in Chicago, a victim and growing up again in gods eyes. To you:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-H3IJJvDYBk
Dude, you are thist to su, fucker. Jam bitch! Call it as you see it
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HsugyK6zlZM
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Wishing to be Eaten: THE DOOR.
The Door: Wishing to be eaten.
What makes an easy prey for those that are Psychopathic? The hunted ask and more often than not, seek those that would devour them. They do this to gain some sense of worth with the aspect that they are so willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of being noticed, regardless of how shallow it appears to others.
They wish to open a door for acceptance by ‘the one’ that would complete them. They open this door, like the blinders of a thoroughbred, only seeing straight ahead and never looking to the sides. Those side views, so important when taking in a complete picture, they block with an almost reckless abandon. They wish for someone, anyone, to just walk through the door and see them as they wish to looked at.
This door they created.
This door they never should have opened with eyes blinded to all aspects.
The Door.
Be it some lonely person with hungry eyes, seeking acceptance, feeling so alone and isolated from love. Their friends have these ‘great relationships” that they so carelessly flaunt amongst themselves, to further perpetuate a feeling of loneliness and isolation to the one that ‘needs and wants’. The
These are the prey of the nonviolent Psychopath. The needy, the sad, and those with little to no self esteem.
They get up every dull morning with no warm body next to them. They prepare themselves for yet another day; showering, doing their hair and applying make up.
Looking into the mirror, staring at themselves, doing a critique, perhaps thinking: ‘am I too fat, too stress worn, look at my crows feet. Who’d want me? I can barely tolerate looking at myself and all my
obvious flaws. My cellulite, massive thighs, flabby arms, triple chin. My god, look at my stomach! No matter how much I work out, my gut never shrinks. I am ugly.”
They put on their clothes and head out into their world.
They smile at the worker in the coffee shop, exchange words regarding things like the weather, stock market, the price of gas. Most friendly and inviting, just waiting for someone to engage them to further discuss current events, they open themselves. They toss up air-balls in the hopes that they are caught by heterosexuals or homosexuals alike depending on their desires.
They head to work and another day like so many before. When they arrive at work, coworkers ask them how their night was, or worse, how their weekend was. Sometimes, so into the fantasy of romantic novels they use for a human replacement, they answer the questions; it was great! I met this guy/girl that was/is amazing! So nice, they took me out to eat. We went for a walk on the beach and shared a sunset where we kissed.
After several weeks of living this lie, perhaps to save face with coworkers, ashamed of themselves for not having ‘the one’, they may add: I was so surprised! I was taken on a weekend trip to (wherever). And, well, we made love. It was great! This may just be ‘the one’.
After work, they head home to maybe a dog or cat. They may read a book or cruise the Internet: checking out the dating personals with the hopes they may have responded to.
They may talk to neighbors briefly, whom are usually married and seemingly happy with their lives. Sometimes sharing: you guys have no idea how lucky you are to have found each other.
Perhaps having a drink or two with them, they always try to raise the hopes of this desperate person saying: You’ll find that perfect person someday. It took us forever to find each other and wow, what duds we met along the way.
The neighbors usually finish with eyes meeting each other and sharing a kiss. Without knowing, their innocent exchange comes across to this lonely person as almost stating: I’ve got someone, why can’t you?
Going back into their home, maybe hugging their dog, stroking their cat, they make their dinner. Maybe they listen to a favorite CD, watch a movie, they eat as they have for how many months with one single constant: They are alone now. And how they hate this.
They finally go to bed. Masturbation, fantasizing of ’the one’ not with them.
Wanting, hungering, desiring with all their heart and soul to be noticed and wanted. By the one they think will never leave them, accept them and all their flaws. They could love, cherish and take care and expect the same.
It is with this, they so freely open ‘The Door’ with a complete blindness they no longer wish to find a truthful relationship.
A predator will find them in due time.
They have opened The Door
What makes an easy prey for those that are Psychopathic? The hunted ask and more often than not, seek those that would devour them. They do this to gain some sense of worth with the aspect that they are so willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of being noticed, regardless of how shallow it appears to others.
They wish to open a door for acceptance by ‘the one’ that would complete them. They open this door, like the blinders of a thoroughbred, only seeing straight ahead and never looking to the sides. Those side views, so important when taking in a complete picture, they block with an almost reckless abandon. They wish for someone, anyone, to just walk through the door and see them as they wish to looked at.
This door they created.
This door they never should have opened with eyes blinded to all aspects.
The Door.
Be it some lonely person with hungry eyes, seeking acceptance, feeling so alone and isolated from love. Their friends have these ‘great relationships” that they so carelessly flaunt amongst themselves, to further perpetuate a feeling of loneliness and isolation to the one that ‘needs and wants’. The
These are the prey of the nonviolent Psychopath. The needy, the sad, and those with little to no self esteem.
They get up every dull morning with no warm body next to them. They prepare themselves for yet another day; showering, doing their hair and applying make up.
Looking into the mirror, staring at themselves, doing a critique, perhaps thinking: ‘am I too fat, too stress worn, look at my crows feet. Who’d want me? I can barely tolerate looking at myself and all my
obvious flaws. My cellulite, massive thighs, flabby arms, triple chin. My god, look at my stomach! No matter how much I work out, my gut never shrinks. I am ugly.”
They put on their clothes and head out into their world.
They smile at the worker in the coffee shop, exchange words regarding things like the weather, stock market, the price of gas. Most friendly and inviting, just waiting for someone to engage them to further discuss current events, they open themselves. They toss up air-balls in the hopes that they are caught by heterosexuals or homosexuals alike depending on their desires.
They head to work and another day like so many before. When they arrive at work, coworkers ask them how their night was, or worse, how their weekend was. Sometimes, so into the fantasy of romantic novels they use for a human replacement, they answer the questions; it was great! I met this guy/girl that was/is amazing! So nice, they took me out to eat. We went for a walk on the beach and shared a sunset where we kissed.
After several weeks of living this lie, perhaps to save face with coworkers, ashamed of themselves for not having ‘the one’, they may add: I was so surprised! I was taken on a weekend trip to (wherever). And, well, we made love. It was great! This may just be ‘the one’.
After work, they head home to maybe a dog or cat. They may read a book or cruise the Internet: checking out the dating personals with the hopes they may have responded to.
They may talk to neighbors briefly, whom are usually married and seemingly happy with their lives. Sometimes sharing: you guys have no idea how lucky you are to have found each other.
Perhaps having a drink or two with them, they always try to raise the hopes of this desperate person saying: You’ll find that perfect person someday. It took us forever to find each other and wow, what duds we met along the way.
The neighbors usually finish with eyes meeting each other and sharing a kiss. Without knowing, their innocent exchange comes across to this lonely person as almost stating: I’ve got someone, why can’t you?
Going back into their home, maybe hugging their dog, stroking their cat, they make their dinner. Maybe they listen to a favorite CD, watch a movie, they eat as they have for how many months with one single constant: They are alone now. And how they hate this.
They finally go to bed. Masturbation, fantasizing of ’the one’ not with them.
Wanting, hungering, desiring with all their heart and soul to be noticed and wanted. By the one they think will never leave them, accept them and all their flaws. They could love, cherish and take care and expect the same.
It is with this, they so freely open ‘The Door’ with a complete blindness they no longer wish to find a truthful relationship.
A predator will find them in due time.
They have opened The Door
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Reader Comments: The Good, Bad and Truly Ugly
General comments: The Good, Bad and The Fucking Ugly…
And/or: We the People.
Over the last two weeks I’ve received quite a few emails with comments concerning my Blog. These comments, general in subject matter, span a fairly large range of emotions and thoughts. Some quite fiery, some incredibly violent and some just down right depressing.
Some spilt their hearts out while others tossed a nice Word Salad for us to take a bite out of. A few the need to throw religion in it; many did this in a highly unexpected fashion.
More than a few hate my BLOG and had no problems expressing their contempt and loathing completely and whole heartedly. Some were just downright rude (to which I have no problem with this whatsoever. You cannot hurt me, nor can you stop me in my pursuit for further knowledge on the subject of nonviolent Psychopaths.)
I will stand by what I write, regardless of its subject matter, and I really don’t give a shit if you don’t like it.
Admin Note: The comments you are about to read were sent to my email addy. I copied them here and put the email date they were sent. If you follow My BLOG, note those dates versus the corresponding subject dates. On some I put in AN’s <Admin notes with replies>
Enough of my words…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
03/28/2012
WTF! Your glorifying these assholes! They should all be hurded together and killed! Monsters, every last one of them. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should warnings to people? Did it ever occur to you that you should tell people what to watch for?
I guess not, pissbrain. Post more victum stories. Maybe then people will learn something.
-Adam. -Billings Montana
<AN: What was my blog title on march 22nd? Was it not: The Warnings? Hurded? You must’ve meant herded, right? 4% of the population of the USA which accounts for just over 12,750,000 people. You must be going after Hitler’s record. Tell me you’re not a psychopath with a thought like that.>
_____________________________________________________________________________________
A friend I work with found your blog and showed it to me. I am currently a psych student at UCLA and find your writing and the writers that have contributed to be most enlightening. Your blog is the stuff that textbooks just don’t cover. This blog has helped me get into the thought processes from both sides. They do not teach this material in college. I think this will help be get a better understanding in the world of abnormal psych.
Abigail’s and the Prey’s stories are tremendous in their contents. A lot going on there.
Thanks and keep up the good work!
Mary, UCLA
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Katie’s Prayer gave me an insight I couldn’t have thought possible in the aftermath of tragedy. Forgiveness through the strength and beliefs in a higher power. You ROCK, Katie!
Carrie, not sure exactly if you learned your lesson, but I do believe you have good intentions.
About Deadbeat Parents: published 03/25/2012.
Outstanding viewpoint. I never looked at it that way. My dad left me when I was very young, about 5 years old. I never saw him again and wasted many years crying. I seldom let anyone close to me for fear they would leave me and hurt me.
Mr. Darus, you gave a new twist to the term Deadbeat Parents. You are so right, it only publicly matters when it comes to money, and dare I say, how it stresses the Welfare systems.
About The Warnings: published 03/22/2012.
Sound words and well written. I love the way it begins to complete Psychopathic Relationships I: 03/16/2012. Are you using an outline or are you doing this organic? I sense organic, but it doesn’t truly matter. Without saying so, you are giving the reader guidelines to follow and watch for.
As far as Abigail’s and Catherine’s stories are concerned, they also give lessons to be learned about manippulation. They sound as if they are proud of what and how they did what they did. Psychopaths must be that way for them to be psychopaths… yeah, that sounded dumb…
Mr Mark, love what you do and how you put it. No where do you say if you’re psychiatrist or chologist, but I don’t think you are. If you were, you would not post both sides.
Thank you,
Liz, Collins Iowa
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Iloveyourightabouttreesblastingmatterbackandforthcannotseefoerstfromlavekissmekateas neolpleonkillspigsandsucksmybraindrywitheachcarwashfuckshitcuntanusdaddyhatedmomandihateprunesfuckmotherkissbitchcockeaterprickifailedatmathisetachurchonfireinthenameof peteroseandforeskinrobbinsicecream
Emilyfromsacreloscincinatburg
<AN. The above is Word Salad. This is most common with both Dementia and Schizophrenia. <<<scratching head>>> wonder how they could even read, much less respond to my Blog?>
________________________________________________________________________
Walden University. Student
Nice stuff here. Aspects seldom hit on with a unique perspective. Not sure what theory you are trying to prove but I have little doubt you will prove it. You do this without overtly trying, which gives you much credit.
Stay objective in your pursuits, and you have done so.
You give an almost equal balance on the teeter-totter of the mind: the Playground of the darkest recesses of humanity. I will keep watching your blog.
Diane Murphy-***** Walden
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Priests! The fuckin’ priests prey on us. A priets got my little brother in the ass. He fucked my baby brother, gave him shit, lured him in with the promise of being an alter boy. My borhter was 9 years old, man! And the church shot this prick to some country where I couldn’t find him. Go figure, when he got there, they couldn’t find him. Oh, I’ll find him…
Our parents on no better. All bad things happen for a reason ******, it’s just gods will.
GODS WILL? IS IT GODS WILL THAT SOME PSYCHOPATH PRIEST FUCKS MY BROTHER! IF THAT’S GODS WILL, THEN FUCK GOD!
****** Lancaster Ohio
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Your site is an abomination to God's laws! Everyone that posts or comments will meet God's wrath and bathe in a sea of eternal fire!
Anonymous
<AN: Uh, then why did you send a comment to me? Care for a swim in the hot tub you mentioned?
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Being a CEO at a large American company (cough-cough) that has more plants in Mexico than in the US, I can say that being a psychopath has done nothing but bring great things to my family. I single handedly wasted about 10,000 jobs in a country that believes more in popular athletes and stocks than it does themselves. I so love this country and its guidable and so easily tricked people that so meet me and mine halfway. I’ve convinced people to narc on others for mediocre Lakers tickets. Putz.
I signed pieces of paper as casually as one would eat a bologna sandwich, killing thousands of families futures with a pen stroke. I did it with a smile on my face, pats on the back from chairmen, and got bonus’ in the millions. I so went public and said we had no choice. Good of the company and all.
Within two months of closing US plants, we announced plant openings in Mexico, thus making the stock rise.
MWD, in your Beginnings part, you said something to affect of ‘thought just as lethal, the nonviolent psychopath.’ You are so right and clear. The nonviolent psychopath is far worse. Why go with a gun and shoot up a school when you can wipe out a series school systems with a single signature? And get a multi million dollar bonus for it. You have to love capitalism. Where the guilty become richer and all the commoners think about is Pro Sports teams.
You are so right: They do meet us, usually more than halfway.
Stephen (and you cannot trace this email addy)
Ps. I admire your spirit and enthusiasm! The Captains of Industry remark couldn’t have been said better. If you feel like taking flight, making the big bucks, call me. I have made your blog required reading with my execs.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Sex. It’s all about sex and what men like. All the mens stoires here make me sick. They go after women like me, fuck them and leave them. How can you publish such shit? Those flaunting assholes deserve to have their balls cut off.
Betsy, Cleveland Tennessee
<AN. What male predator stories are you talking about? I have not put them on here yet? Are you psychic? We have Abigail’s and Catherine’s stories so far. Keep the faith though. Give me a chance to post those stories and then write.>
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Back to the now.
This is a sampling of the comments I have received. As I went over these, I had to play the music linked below. I sorted them out for this first part of the comments part. This great Jerry Goldsmith music seemed most fitting. Comforting in an eerie way as I went from comment to comment, taking in their thoughts and emotions, reading a paragraph, closing my eyes and seeing what they felt through their words.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xreXeugQjdw
What more can I say?
Next Chapter: Psychopathic Relationships Part II. I can make you do anything I want.
And/or: We the People.
Over the last two weeks I’ve received quite a few emails with comments concerning my Blog. These comments, general in subject matter, span a fairly large range of emotions and thoughts. Some quite fiery, some incredibly violent and some just down right depressing.
Some spilt their hearts out while others tossed a nice Word Salad for us to take a bite out of. A few the need to throw religion in it; many did this in a highly unexpected fashion.
More than a few hate my BLOG and had no problems expressing their contempt and loathing completely and whole heartedly. Some were just downright rude (to which I have no problem with this whatsoever. You cannot hurt me, nor can you stop me in my pursuit for further knowledge on the subject of nonviolent Psychopaths.)
I will stand by what I write, regardless of its subject matter, and I really don’t give a shit if you don’t like it.
Admin Note: The comments you are about to read were sent to my email addy. I copied them here and put the email date they were sent. If you follow My BLOG, note those dates versus the corresponding subject dates. On some I put in AN’s <Admin notes with replies>
Enough of my words…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
03/28/2012
WTF! Your glorifying these assholes! They should all be hurded together and killed! Monsters, every last one of them. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should warnings to people? Did it ever occur to you that you should tell people what to watch for?
I guess not, pissbrain. Post more victum stories. Maybe then people will learn something.
-Adam. -Billings Montana
<AN: What was my blog title on march 22nd? Was it not: The Warnings? Hurded? You must’ve meant herded, right? 4% of the population of the USA which accounts for just over 12,750,000 people. You must be going after Hitler’s record. Tell me you’re not a psychopath with a thought like that.>
_____________________________________________________________________________________
A friend I work with found your blog and showed it to me. I am currently a psych student at UCLA and find your writing and the writers that have contributed to be most enlightening. Your blog is the stuff that textbooks just don’t cover. This blog has helped me get into the thought processes from both sides. They do not teach this material in college. I think this will help be get a better understanding in the world of abnormal psych.
Abigail’s and the Prey’s stories are tremendous in their contents. A lot going on there.
Thanks and keep up the good work!
Mary, UCLA
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Katie’s Prayer gave me an insight I couldn’t have thought possible in the aftermath of tragedy. Forgiveness through the strength and beliefs in a higher power. You ROCK, Katie!
Carrie, not sure exactly if you learned your lesson, but I do believe you have good intentions.
About Deadbeat Parents: published 03/25/2012.
Outstanding viewpoint. I never looked at it that way. My dad left me when I was very young, about 5 years old. I never saw him again and wasted many years crying. I seldom let anyone close to me for fear they would leave me and hurt me.
Mr. Darus, you gave a new twist to the term Deadbeat Parents. You are so right, it only publicly matters when it comes to money, and dare I say, how it stresses the Welfare systems.
About The Warnings: published 03/22/2012.
Sound words and well written. I love the way it begins to complete Psychopathic Relationships I: 03/16/2012. Are you using an outline or are you doing this organic? I sense organic, but it doesn’t truly matter. Without saying so, you are giving the reader guidelines to follow and watch for.
As far as Abigail’s and Catherine’s stories are concerned, they also give lessons to be learned about manippulation. They sound as if they are proud of what and how they did what they did. Psychopaths must be that way for them to be psychopaths… yeah, that sounded dumb…
Mr Mark, love what you do and how you put it. No where do you say if you’re psychiatrist or chologist, but I don’t think you are. If you were, you would not post both sides.
Thank you,
Liz, Collins Iowa
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Iloveyourightabouttreesblastingmatterbackandforthcannotseefoerstfromlavekissmekateas neolpleonkillspigsandsucksmybraindrywitheachcarwashfuckshitcuntanusdaddyhatedmomandihateprunesfuckmotherkissbitchcockeaterprickifailedatmathisetachurchonfireinthenameof peteroseandforeskinrobbinsicecream
Emilyfromsacreloscincinatburg
<AN. The above is Word Salad. This is most common with both Dementia and Schizophrenia. <<<scratching head>>> wonder how they could even read, much less respond to my Blog?>
________________________________________________________________________
Walden University. Student
Nice stuff here. Aspects seldom hit on with a unique perspective. Not sure what theory you are trying to prove but I have little doubt you will prove it. You do this without overtly trying, which gives you much credit.
Stay objective in your pursuits, and you have done so.
You give an almost equal balance on the teeter-totter of the mind: the Playground of the darkest recesses of humanity. I will keep watching your blog.
Diane Murphy-***** Walden
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Priests! The fuckin’ priests prey on us. A priets got my little brother in the ass. He fucked my baby brother, gave him shit, lured him in with the promise of being an alter boy. My borhter was 9 years old, man! And the church shot this prick to some country where I couldn’t find him. Go figure, when he got there, they couldn’t find him. Oh, I’ll find him…
Our parents on no better. All bad things happen for a reason ******, it’s just gods will.
GODS WILL? IS IT GODS WILL THAT SOME PSYCHOPATH PRIEST FUCKS MY BROTHER! IF THAT’S GODS WILL, THEN FUCK GOD!
****** Lancaster Ohio
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Your site is an abomination to God's laws! Everyone that posts or comments will meet God's wrath and bathe in a sea of eternal fire!
Anonymous
<AN: Uh, then why did you send a comment to me? Care for a swim in the hot tub you mentioned?
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Being a CEO at a large American company (cough-cough) that has more plants in Mexico than in the US, I can say that being a psychopath has done nothing but bring great things to my family. I single handedly wasted about 10,000 jobs in a country that believes more in popular athletes and stocks than it does themselves. I so love this country and its guidable and so easily tricked people that so meet me and mine halfway. I’ve convinced people to narc on others for mediocre Lakers tickets. Putz.
I signed pieces of paper as casually as one would eat a bologna sandwich, killing thousands of families futures with a pen stroke. I did it with a smile on my face, pats on the back from chairmen, and got bonus’ in the millions. I so went public and said we had no choice. Good of the company and all.
Within two months of closing US plants, we announced plant openings in Mexico, thus making the stock rise.
MWD, in your Beginnings part, you said something to affect of ‘thought just as lethal, the nonviolent psychopath.’ You are so right and clear. The nonviolent psychopath is far worse. Why go with a gun and shoot up a school when you can wipe out a series school systems with a single signature? And get a multi million dollar bonus for it. You have to love capitalism. Where the guilty become richer and all the commoners think about is Pro Sports teams.
You are so right: They do meet us, usually more than halfway.
Stephen (and you cannot trace this email addy)
Ps. I admire your spirit and enthusiasm! The Captains of Industry remark couldn’t have been said better. If you feel like taking flight, making the big bucks, call me. I have made your blog required reading with my execs.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Sex. It’s all about sex and what men like. All the mens stoires here make me sick. They go after women like me, fuck them and leave them. How can you publish such shit? Those flaunting assholes deserve to have their balls cut off.
Betsy, Cleveland Tennessee
<AN. What male predator stories are you talking about? I have not put them on here yet? Are you psychic? We have Abigail’s and Catherine’s stories so far. Keep the faith though. Give me a chance to post those stories and then write.>
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Back to the now.
This is a sampling of the comments I have received. As I went over these, I had to play the music linked below. I sorted them out for this first part of the comments part. This great Jerry Goldsmith music seemed most fitting. Comforting in an eerie way as I went from comment to comment, taking in their thoughts and emotions, reading a paragraph, closing my eyes and seeing what they felt through their words.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xreXeugQjdw
What more can I say?
Next Chapter: Psychopathic Relationships Part II. I can make you do anything I want.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Prey: part I. Real and the Raw.
The Prey: The Real and Raw. Part I.
These are the stories of The Prey. The victims stories, in their own words, unedited (except for names and locations that take part in their stories). The real and raw. These stories came to me via emails, and with their permissions and requests to post them, I have done so objectively.
Is one persons story better than another’s? Not in my opinion. I believe these stories came from the truths of their authors, written in their own forms and styles.
These are the stories of the scarred, sliced, mentally ruined, the learned and the vengeful. They will never look at love the same way again, and for that, most seemed grateful. These stories will be posted in several parts as I can only do so much with the time I have.
To date: I have received well over 200 emails from The Prey. Over time, I wish to post all of them. Those authors out there took the time to write them and share aspects of their lives with me, I cannot thank them enough. It is their wish to have them read by those that visit the BLOG.
I give them credit for coming forth and sharing the worst parts of their lives. Their hopes, that others may learn from their mistakes from either quick love and total lust.
I so humbly am thankful, to you, The Prey!
a good link, given to me by Suzanne from Dutch Harbour AK.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zs35CBGOxbc
play this link as you read. Thanks for proofing this, Suzanne.
-Mark William Darus
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Patrick’s Story.
I believed in you, you fucking cunt.
So you came into my life, like fresh air in a moldy basement. I was so easily willing to believe anything you would say to me. So beguiled by your smile, the sway of your hips, the way your long dark hair cascaded over your shoulders covering your breasts. Never once did I meet your eyes, and for that I damn myself.
Maybe I would’ve seen what my friends and family did as they told me to bolt away from you. But I was trapped by your words, your confidence, your beauty. Your willingness to bed me. To take me into your mouth and to have me sucked dry.
I lost myself with you. I screwed my family over to be by your side. I fucked over my friends to be with you.. I lost my kids, my life my soul. The cunt that is you and my lack of control. Guess I met you halfway
I gave you most of my life’s savings for a body I should’ve spent 20 bucks on for a crackwhore.
Looking back, after years of therapy, I met you halfway. You preyed on me and I gave myself to you. I must face myself and the things I did.
To think I put a bullet in my head to end myself. For you?
I survived as sometimes god favors the stupid.
I hope you rot in hell.
-Patrick
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alyona’s story. (Ukraine)
I am so worthless. I need you back again.
I would have given anything for you. Do you know that?
I spilled my soul to you, told you my deepest desires. My dreams. I gave you all that I had.
You sucked me in with your eyes, never leaving mine. Your kiss, so soft and passionate, yet fiery that I felt you suck my face into yours.
I so freely gave you my pussy and took you into me. Letting you blast into me.
A thousand douches later, I still feel you there. Your warmth, your wet, you. I so long to be with you again if for no other reason to feel desired again.
I’d rather have your illusion than the truth of my being fat and unwanted by most…
Alyona
_____________________________________________________________________________________
David’s Theme: The Fix.
You came into my life like a freight train, strong and unyielding. You so seemed on the same track as I, and we quickly grew on each other like vines wrapping around a tree. After a very short time I could not imagine a sunrise or sunset without you by my side. I so remember your dark hair and clear, bright blue eyes and a body to die for. I felt so good around you as you read my every thought. When I stumbled for words, you could always tell me what I couldn’t seem to put into words, completing me.
… a body to die for…
A body to kill for.
In no time at all I so freely blew off all my friends, family and work. So scared was I to lose your love that I gave myself to you. Wanting you as a junkie needs a ‘fix’, and like a junkie, needing the ‘fix’ more and more all the time. You completed me to the point that my mind was in yours. A mind-meld of the damned.
Sex with you was more than sex itself. You took it to levels I’d never known could possibly be. Eyes and bodies locked, fixed on each others, moving to rhythms only you and I could hear.
In public places, mens heads would turn to see you. It was as if they could sense a woman so totally different than anything they’d known. I always caught their looks or nods which in my mind said this: You lucky son of a bitch. You took beauty and grace and walked with such confidence, who wouldn’t be jealous of me being by your side?
I cosigned on a car for you, as your credit had been destroyed by past boyfriends that used you. So quietly you asked me not to do this, but I did it anyway. My parents had raised me to help those we love. They taught me to do the right things and to help without being asked.
I opened credit card accounts with you. I paid your past utility bills.
Then we ran into your ex-boyfriend at *** **** **** bar and grill.
He came at you with such anger. He screamed and yelled, calling every name in the book.
I stepped between you and him and he called me a dumbfuck.
I told him to stop bothering you and he said what are you going to do about it?
He shoved me to side.
Rage, fire engine red, filled me with insanity.
I picked up a chair and brought in down on his head. I had cracked his skull wide open. The police arrested me soon after.
You were gone.
Witnesses said I was assaulted first. The police said I used excessive force and I spent a weekend in jail til my family bailed me.
When the trial came, I was sentenced to 1 year probation and biweekly counseling sessions.
Through those sessions I found out that I had become a tasty snack for a hungry lion. I had been toyed with, tasted tested and finally eaten.
My counseling went on for just over two years.
I’m still paying off a car I’ll never drive and paying credit cards I never used.
I also have a Police record that will haunt me.
I learned from this and it cost me more than I ever knew possible.
I will never make the same mistake again.
<this was written for a project my counselor gave me to do. She told me that sometimes we only learn when we take the time and put things into the written word. And read it: over and over and over again. Thank you, Marylyn ******* LISW>
Thanks, Mark. Your blog has given me a chance to maybe do something beyond myself. It is my sincere hope that people learn from this. Even with my background, I do not hate women. I am, however, a hell of lot more cautious with all beginnings and middles.
David (Indiana)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Now Master: Fuck men!
If I were to see you again, I would so willingly drop to my knees , unzip your fly, and take you in my mouth. You would make the noises I so remember well. You’d go into that place I had taken you many times in our brief past, that stupid, near cumming expression on your face.
And I would cut your Achilles tendons with the blade I have named after you.
You’d flop around on the floor like a soon dead fish, and I would take slices on you, out of you. A cut to that back of the head, the inner thigh, wherever you gave me the chance to do so.
You would suffer so. I would laugh harder with each cry and look of pain from you. I will see you to it that yours arms could not lash out at me with a solid shot to the spine. You will be motionless at that point, but quite alive. Though paralyzed, you may not feel any longer, but you will see what you have made me.
Ever heard of Phantom Pain, asshole? We’ll find out, you and I, if there really is such a thing. I so hope there is, and you being its sole benefactor.
Whiter and whiter you grow as your flesh loses the color of the living. Gasp after gasp as you get closer to dying. Oh, how your eyes would look so intense, so angry and so frightened.
I would then remove your pants and cut your balls off. If given the chance before you go the hell, I would feed them to you.
The hunted becomes the hunter. If I have any air in me at all, I will see to it you never maim another women like you did me.
Who’s the Master now, fucker? Who’s the Master?!!!!
-Now Master.
I will never trust another man again.
<<<<Thanks for giving me the chance to vent, Man. Your blog and the internet keep me well hidden. More importantly, waiting for my chance with him.>>>>
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Katie’s Prayer:
Oh Lord, you have given me life after devastation. You repaired me, made me whole again after falling into crack and heroin. You pulled me from the hell of whoring myself out to please the one who ate me. He had me turn my back against you, sweet Jesus. I did all I could to please him and totally forgot about my savior who had only given me love and peace. I did this for a false love, For the lust of the flesh. To the Devil I gave myself and I did burn.
You doused me with your forgiving rain eternal. Baptized me with the love that is you. Loving me unconditionally, closing your gentle arms around me. Comfort forever.
Forgive us our trespasses and those that trespassed against us.
Amen.
Katie from Houston.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Eddies Comatose Dream………..
In the night, when I slept I dreamt of you. The dreams were the same every night, us meeting on a foggy night. You wore a slinky blue dress with nothing under it. Nipples standing out like the Goosebumps they gave me. The moon rode high as did my dick. That blond hair I’d run my fingers through every fucking nite. I’d give you money, pay your bills, give you job leads. The moon shone so bright.
All you asked of me was my time and attention. Such a small price to pay.
This dream happened every night for months.
When I woke up in an ER after an accidental overdose of acid, my family looking scared shitless at me.
I told them with more detail than I have written here about my beautiful dream.
Would you believe they tried telling me it was no dream? That I left them and my friends in the dust to go after such a deader? I had to laugh at them. I could never do such a stupid thing. I am not a stupid fucking idiot. I could never fall for such a bullshit artist that was her.
Sorry, not me.
Eddie, Wilmington NC.
Hey, man. Post this is you wanna. Sorry, bro, that wasn’t me……..
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Stephanie the Donut Bitch:
All I can says is this. Yous left me’s wit da twinz 2 weekes afta they was borns. Yous blows south and lefts us north, nigga! Jesus helps me’s wit dem nows. I hopes god gives yous nazt aids, fucka! Hopes yur balls flls off.
Sissta’s donts youns fall 4 da playyas.
Stephanie the Donut Bitch of NYC
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Carrie (wild eyed and dumb)
You had such a nice car. You had money. You bought me things. Gave flowers and Whitman’s chocolates for no reason. You helped me when you could. You knew my situation after a recent divorce was not as good as yours.
You did this shit for about a month and by that time, you had me suckered lock, stock and barrel.
Then you came on to hard times, a plant closing that got a lot of attention in the news. I let you move in with me as I felt a strong love for you. You loved my body like no man ever did. You made me feel like Prom Queen every night.
When money got tight, and was a snag with your unemployment, you gave me a great idea. ‘Put that body to good use, baby. Be a dancer and the messed up drunks will give you all kinds of money just by shaking what you got. It’s not like they’re gonna touch you or anything. Bouncers will get them real quick if they do. Not like you’d be a whore or anything.
Never once did I think about my two daughters and what may happen when I ran into these ‘messed up drunks’ in a shopping mall. How fucked up is that?
And I gave you all my tip money to hold for me as you knew I had a problem with saving money. You even opened a savings account to hold it ‘for us’.
I was getting about 200 a night dancing. I still paid my bills with my real job and fed you throughout your hard times. You’d ask me for a twenty and hours later you’d suggest taking the kids for ice cream at ***** ****’s. You even paid for it.
How dumb was I? Not like I wasn’t educated as I had a college degree in teaching Art. When the school systems started crashing everywhere, I couldn’t get a position in teaching so I took a job an ******** ********* card shop at the mall. Honest living.
After six months you told me you could no longer handle the kids. You left me a letter while I was away at work. I was so upset by your leaving that I didn’t even think of the obvious. That is, until one of the bouncers said: “look at the Brightside, Carrie! Look at the money you’ve made in the last six months!”
Then it hit me.
I so wanted to die at that point. I began to cry. I cried for my daughters, I cried for my stupidity. I cried and could not stop.
Being educated, I went to the police and reported him. They basically told me that because I gave him the cash and he had put it in his account there really wasn’t much they could do. Sure, they could report him to the IRS, but chances were he was well below the radar. One rookie prick even quipped, what’s it like having a pimp? I slapped him across the face for his comment and his senior partner apologized to me and hauled his ass away.
I got so used and I made it happen.
Think about this: 200 a night, times four nights a week for six months! Just over twenty grand right into his pocket. That was how he shower the ones he chose with forget-me-not gifts and such things that made him look like he really had money.
I learned from this,
I danced 5 nights a week for two years after that. Made a ton of money and made a good life for my daughters and me.
This ended when I ran into a regular at the mall and he hit on me. In front of my kids he told me about the way I moved on the floor drove him nuts…
Learn from this. If I being a grad could fall for such bullshit, anyone could.
Carrie. Enid Oklahoma
{thanks, MWD. If felt good putting it to you. Post away, brother. I found your blog when I visited some online discount pharmaceutical company. Funny how we meet in the realm of the faceless, and sometimes, not thoughtless.)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
NOTE from Mark:
This is merely the beginning of a long journey into the lives of those, that with love, hopes and good intentions, strolled into the beams of a slow moving train. Like deer, they were both hypnotized and captured by something so strong and bright that they felt compelled to venture toward it.
The more of these stories I read I am further propelled to continue into this dark realm of human
relationships. The area where so many forget themselves, all those around them, and develop such pin-sized tunnel vision where all they can see is the beguiling, charming and energetic Predator they met halfway.
Sure, there must be some sick fascination on my part to delve into such an area of human anguish and exploitation. Perhaps there is; those thoughts and ideas I leave to you, dear reader. Do not be afraid to approach me with them though. If it is one thing I can accept and respect, it is straight forward questions regardless of how off-base you may catch me. I will answer your questions with I believe to be the truth as I know it.
As you course your way through the muddy, murky landscapes of the minds of others, keep this single truth known: With psychology, there are no FACTS. Psychology, though grounded in the scientific method, carries with it no absolutes. What grounded facts are there that pertain to every aspect of the human condition and can be proven time and time again? None that I am aware of nor have read about.
Frankly, I love psychology. People encountered are pathways to greater learning and growth. Like precious sea shells, people, no two are the same.
There is nothing more complex than that of the human mind. People, though seemingly very predictable, can quite often exhibit actions that go beyond what their best friends would have believed possible. We’ve all had people in our lives that ‘threw us for a lurch’ with some said thought or movement making us wonder: Do I really know them at all?
There are some that work/study in chemistry, computer science or even medicine that can deal with the complete facts and precision of a mathematician. Cut here and remove the cancerous growth, this chemical mixed with just 2 ml’s per quarter squared will make this reaction, or perhaps a more base level approach, put the flathead screw driving into the ignition and this car is mine.
Psychology does not work in the same places as traditional sciences. To put it simply, a car hit’s a brick wall at seventy miles an hour. An exact same model and year vehicle hit’s the same wall at the same rate of speed and velocity. High speed cameras record the same event that almost always mirror one another with complete repetition.
Physical science versus the science of the mind: no comparison. We might as well try to find similarities between the Columbine killers and the Twin Towers blow ups as they’d compare to the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, not to mention Dresden and Shermans scorched earth policy of the south. History dispends solely on who wins and under what circumstances they did what they did to attain it.
Compare Psychopathic natures from Andersonville in the south to Camp Douglas (Chicago) in the north.
Did you catch that? Think about it and give me your critiques via email.
Sure, we can all make rationalizations for those events. Depending on your side of the bombings, you might actually hit a point with some. But not all.
And that is my point.
Some days you get the bear.
Some days the bear gets you.
-Mark William Darus…
These are the stories of The Prey. The victims stories, in their own words, unedited (except for names and locations that take part in their stories). The real and raw. These stories came to me via emails, and with their permissions and requests to post them, I have done so objectively.
Is one persons story better than another’s? Not in my opinion. I believe these stories came from the truths of their authors, written in their own forms and styles.
These are the stories of the scarred, sliced, mentally ruined, the learned and the vengeful. They will never look at love the same way again, and for that, most seemed grateful. These stories will be posted in several parts as I can only do so much with the time I have.
To date: I have received well over 200 emails from The Prey. Over time, I wish to post all of them. Those authors out there took the time to write them and share aspects of their lives with me, I cannot thank them enough. It is their wish to have them read by those that visit the BLOG.
I give them credit for coming forth and sharing the worst parts of their lives. Their hopes, that others may learn from their mistakes from either quick love and total lust.
I so humbly am thankful, to you, The Prey!
a good link, given to me by Suzanne from Dutch Harbour AK.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zs35CBGOxbc
play this link as you read. Thanks for proofing this, Suzanne.
-Mark William Darus
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Patrick’s Story.
I believed in you, you fucking cunt.
So you came into my life, like fresh air in a moldy basement. I was so easily willing to believe anything you would say to me. So beguiled by your smile, the sway of your hips, the way your long dark hair cascaded over your shoulders covering your breasts. Never once did I meet your eyes, and for that I damn myself.
Maybe I would’ve seen what my friends and family did as they told me to bolt away from you. But I was trapped by your words, your confidence, your beauty. Your willingness to bed me. To take me into your mouth and to have me sucked dry.
I lost myself with you. I screwed my family over to be by your side. I fucked over my friends to be with you.. I lost my kids, my life my soul. The cunt that is you and my lack of control. Guess I met you halfway
I gave you most of my life’s savings for a body I should’ve spent 20 bucks on for a crackwhore.
Looking back, after years of therapy, I met you halfway. You preyed on me and I gave myself to you. I must face myself and the things I did.
To think I put a bullet in my head to end myself. For you?
I survived as sometimes god favors the stupid.
I hope you rot in hell.
-Patrick
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alyona’s story. (Ukraine)
I am so worthless. I need you back again.
I would have given anything for you. Do you know that?
I spilled my soul to you, told you my deepest desires. My dreams. I gave you all that I had.
You sucked me in with your eyes, never leaving mine. Your kiss, so soft and passionate, yet fiery that I felt you suck my face into yours.
I so freely gave you my pussy and took you into me. Letting you blast into me.
A thousand douches later, I still feel you there. Your warmth, your wet, you. I so long to be with you again if for no other reason to feel desired again.
I’d rather have your illusion than the truth of my being fat and unwanted by most…
Alyona
_____________________________________________________________________________________
David’s Theme: The Fix.
You came into my life like a freight train, strong and unyielding. You so seemed on the same track as I, and we quickly grew on each other like vines wrapping around a tree. After a very short time I could not imagine a sunrise or sunset without you by my side. I so remember your dark hair and clear, bright blue eyes and a body to die for. I felt so good around you as you read my every thought. When I stumbled for words, you could always tell me what I couldn’t seem to put into words, completing me.
… a body to die for…
A body to kill for.
In no time at all I so freely blew off all my friends, family and work. So scared was I to lose your love that I gave myself to you. Wanting you as a junkie needs a ‘fix’, and like a junkie, needing the ‘fix’ more and more all the time. You completed me to the point that my mind was in yours. A mind-meld of the damned.
Sex with you was more than sex itself. You took it to levels I’d never known could possibly be. Eyes and bodies locked, fixed on each others, moving to rhythms only you and I could hear.
In public places, mens heads would turn to see you. It was as if they could sense a woman so totally different than anything they’d known. I always caught their looks or nods which in my mind said this: You lucky son of a bitch. You took beauty and grace and walked with such confidence, who wouldn’t be jealous of me being by your side?
I cosigned on a car for you, as your credit had been destroyed by past boyfriends that used you. So quietly you asked me not to do this, but I did it anyway. My parents had raised me to help those we love. They taught me to do the right things and to help without being asked.
I opened credit card accounts with you. I paid your past utility bills.
Then we ran into your ex-boyfriend at *** **** **** bar and grill.
He came at you with such anger. He screamed and yelled, calling every name in the book.
I stepped between you and him and he called me a dumbfuck.
I told him to stop bothering you and he said what are you going to do about it?
He shoved me to side.
Rage, fire engine red, filled me with insanity.
I picked up a chair and brought in down on his head. I had cracked his skull wide open. The police arrested me soon after.
You were gone.
Witnesses said I was assaulted first. The police said I used excessive force and I spent a weekend in jail til my family bailed me.
When the trial came, I was sentenced to 1 year probation and biweekly counseling sessions.
Through those sessions I found out that I had become a tasty snack for a hungry lion. I had been toyed with, tasted tested and finally eaten.
My counseling went on for just over two years.
I’m still paying off a car I’ll never drive and paying credit cards I never used.
I also have a Police record that will haunt me.
I learned from this and it cost me more than I ever knew possible.
I will never make the same mistake again.
<this was written for a project my counselor gave me to do. She told me that sometimes we only learn when we take the time and put things into the written word. And read it: over and over and over again. Thank you, Marylyn ******* LISW>
Thanks, Mark. Your blog has given me a chance to maybe do something beyond myself. It is my sincere hope that people learn from this. Even with my background, I do not hate women. I am, however, a hell of lot more cautious with all beginnings and middles.
David (Indiana)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Now Master: Fuck men!
If I were to see you again, I would so willingly drop to my knees , unzip your fly, and take you in my mouth. You would make the noises I so remember well. You’d go into that place I had taken you many times in our brief past, that stupid, near cumming expression on your face.
And I would cut your Achilles tendons with the blade I have named after you.
You’d flop around on the floor like a soon dead fish, and I would take slices on you, out of you. A cut to that back of the head, the inner thigh, wherever you gave me the chance to do so.
You would suffer so. I would laugh harder with each cry and look of pain from you. I will see you to it that yours arms could not lash out at me with a solid shot to the spine. You will be motionless at that point, but quite alive. Though paralyzed, you may not feel any longer, but you will see what you have made me.
Ever heard of Phantom Pain, asshole? We’ll find out, you and I, if there really is such a thing. I so hope there is, and you being its sole benefactor.
Whiter and whiter you grow as your flesh loses the color of the living. Gasp after gasp as you get closer to dying. Oh, how your eyes would look so intense, so angry and so frightened.
I would then remove your pants and cut your balls off. If given the chance before you go the hell, I would feed them to you.
The hunted becomes the hunter. If I have any air in me at all, I will see to it you never maim another women like you did me.
Who’s the Master now, fucker? Who’s the Master?!!!!
-Now Master.
I will never trust another man again.
<<<<Thanks for giving me the chance to vent, Man. Your blog and the internet keep me well hidden. More importantly, waiting for my chance with him.>>>>
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Katie’s Prayer:
Oh Lord, you have given me life after devastation. You repaired me, made me whole again after falling into crack and heroin. You pulled me from the hell of whoring myself out to please the one who ate me. He had me turn my back against you, sweet Jesus. I did all I could to please him and totally forgot about my savior who had only given me love and peace. I did this for a false love, For the lust of the flesh. To the Devil I gave myself and I did burn.
You doused me with your forgiving rain eternal. Baptized me with the love that is you. Loving me unconditionally, closing your gentle arms around me. Comfort forever.
Forgive us our trespasses and those that trespassed against us.
Amen.
Katie from Houston.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Eddies Comatose Dream………..
In the night, when I slept I dreamt of you. The dreams were the same every night, us meeting on a foggy night. You wore a slinky blue dress with nothing under it. Nipples standing out like the Goosebumps they gave me. The moon rode high as did my dick. That blond hair I’d run my fingers through every fucking nite. I’d give you money, pay your bills, give you job leads. The moon shone so bright.
All you asked of me was my time and attention. Such a small price to pay.
This dream happened every night for months.
When I woke up in an ER after an accidental overdose of acid, my family looking scared shitless at me.
I told them with more detail than I have written here about my beautiful dream.
Would you believe they tried telling me it was no dream? That I left them and my friends in the dust to go after such a deader? I had to laugh at them. I could never do such a stupid thing. I am not a stupid fucking idiot. I could never fall for such a bullshit artist that was her.
Sorry, not me.
Eddie, Wilmington NC.
Hey, man. Post this is you wanna. Sorry, bro, that wasn’t me……..
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Stephanie the Donut Bitch:
All I can says is this. Yous left me’s wit da twinz 2 weekes afta they was borns. Yous blows south and lefts us north, nigga! Jesus helps me’s wit dem nows. I hopes god gives yous nazt aids, fucka! Hopes yur balls flls off.
Sissta’s donts youns fall 4 da playyas.
Stephanie the Donut Bitch of NYC
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Carrie (wild eyed and dumb)
You had such a nice car. You had money. You bought me things. Gave flowers and Whitman’s chocolates for no reason. You helped me when you could. You knew my situation after a recent divorce was not as good as yours.
You did this shit for about a month and by that time, you had me suckered lock, stock and barrel.
Then you came on to hard times, a plant closing that got a lot of attention in the news. I let you move in with me as I felt a strong love for you. You loved my body like no man ever did. You made me feel like Prom Queen every night.
When money got tight, and was a snag with your unemployment, you gave me a great idea. ‘Put that body to good use, baby. Be a dancer and the messed up drunks will give you all kinds of money just by shaking what you got. It’s not like they’re gonna touch you or anything. Bouncers will get them real quick if they do. Not like you’d be a whore or anything.
Never once did I think about my two daughters and what may happen when I ran into these ‘messed up drunks’ in a shopping mall. How fucked up is that?
And I gave you all my tip money to hold for me as you knew I had a problem with saving money. You even opened a savings account to hold it ‘for us’.
I was getting about 200 a night dancing. I still paid my bills with my real job and fed you throughout your hard times. You’d ask me for a twenty and hours later you’d suggest taking the kids for ice cream at ***** ****’s. You even paid for it.
How dumb was I? Not like I wasn’t educated as I had a college degree in teaching Art. When the school systems started crashing everywhere, I couldn’t get a position in teaching so I took a job an ******** ********* card shop at the mall. Honest living.
After six months you told me you could no longer handle the kids. You left me a letter while I was away at work. I was so upset by your leaving that I didn’t even think of the obvious. That is, until one of the bouncers said: “look at the Brightside, Carrie! Look at the money you’ve made in the last six months!”
Then it hit me.
I so wanted to die at that point. I began to cry. I cried for my daughters, I cried for my stupidity. I cried and could not stop.
Being educated, I went to the police and reported him. They basically told me that because I gave him the cash and he had put it in his account there really wasn’t much they could do. Sure, they could report him to the IRS, but chances were he was well below the radar. One rookie prick even quipped, what’s it like having a pimp? I slapped him across the face for his comment and his senior partner apologized to me and hauled his ass away.
I got so used and I made it happen.
Think about this: 200 a night, times four nights a week for six months! Just over twenty grand right into his pocket. That was how he shower the ones he chose with forget-me-not gifts and such things that made him look like he really had money.
I learned from this,
I danced 5 nights a week for two years after that. Made a ton of money and made a good life for my daughters and me.
This ended when I ran into a regular at the mall and he hit on me. In front of my kids he told me about the way I moved on the floor drove him nuts…
Learn from this. If I being a grad could fall for such bullshit, anyone could.
Carrie. Enid Oklahoma
{thanks, MWD. If felt good putting it to you. Post away, brother. I found your blog when I visited some online discount pharmaceutical company. Funny how we meet in the realm of the faceless, and sometimes, not thoughtless.)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
NOTE from Mark:
This is merely the beginning of a long journey into the lives of those, that with love, hopes and good intentions, strolled into the beams of a slow moving train. Like deer, they were both hypnotized and captured by something so strong and bright that they felt compelled to venture toward it.
The more of these stories I read I am further propelled to continue into this dark realm of human
relationships. The area where so many forget themselves, all those around them, and develop such pin-sized tunnel vision where all they can see is the beguiling, charming and energetic Predator they met halfway.
Sure, there must be some sick fascination on my part to delve into such an area of human anguish and exploitation. Perhaps there is; those thoughts and ideas I leave to you, dear reader. Do not be afraid to approach me with them though. If it is one thing I can accept and respect, it is straight forward questions regardless of how off-base you may catch me. I will answer your questions with I believe to be the truth as I know it.
As you course your way through the muddy, murky landscapes of the minds of others, keep this single truth known: With psychology, there are no FACTS. Psychology, though grounded in the scientific method, carries with it no absolutes. What grounded facts are there that pertain to every aspect of the human condition and can be proven time and time again? None that I am aware of nor have read about.
Frankly, I love psychology. People encountered are pathways to greater learning and growth. Like precious sea shells, people, no two are the same.
There is nothing more complex than that of the human mind. People, though seemingly very predictable, can quite often exhibit actions that go beyond what their best friends would have believed possible. We’ve all had people in our lives that ‘threw us for a lurch’ with some said thought or movement making us wonder: Do I really know them at all?
There are some that work/study in chemistry, computer science or even medicine that can deal with the complete facts and precision of a mathematician. Cut here and remove the cancerous growth, this chemical mixed with just 2 ml’s per quarter squared will make this reaction, or perhaps a more base level approach, put the flathead screw driving into the ignition and this car is mine.
Psychology does not work in the same places as traditional sciences. To put it simply, a car hit’s a brick wall at seventy miles an hour. An exact same model and year vehicle hit’s the same wall at the same rate of speed and velocity. High speed cameras record the same event that almost always mirror one another with complete repetition.
Physical science versus the science of the mind: no comparison. We might as well try to find similarities between the Columbine killers and the Twin Towers blow ups as they’d compare to the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, not to mention Dresden and Shermans scorched earth policy of the south. History dispends solely on who wins and under what circumstances they did what they did to attain it.
Compare Psychopathic natures from Andersonville in the south to Camp Douglas (Chicago) in the north.
Did you catch that? Think about it and give me your critiques via email.
Sure, we can all make rationalizations for those events. Depending on your side of the bombings, you might actually hit a point with some. But not all.
And that is my point.
Some days you get the bear.
Some days the bear gets you.
-Mark William Darus…
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