This is one man’s very real story — my nightmare — beginning with my earliest memories, being physically and verbally abused by my alcoholic father, as well as his favorite and first child, my violently hostile, oldest sister, Kathy. Another older sister, Marcia, began her own psychological abuse against me sometime in her mid-to-late teens.

Hers were very calmly delivered, pure psychological degradation. She was very narcissistic, such as entering beauty pageants, taking modeling classes, and becoming a varsity song girl (i.e., cheer leader) in high school. She craved the attention, and would walk past me on campus as if we were complete strangers — no, actually she’d probably smile to a complete stranger.

Sometime between his teens and 20s, my younger brother, Alan, emerged with his own narcissistic and violent, sociopathic characteristics. None of us were close growing up. The only two siblings who maintained an ongoing relationship into adulthood were Kathy, the oldest, and Alan, the youngest. They also shared the similar violent and hostile temperaments, the charming personas, and the complete lack of compassion, morality, integrity and of course, any semblance of honesty. continue reading…

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Synopsis :: The physical injuries throughout my life.

So, why is this part here? This entire site is about how I got to where I am today, and focuses primarily on how I’ve been the victim of sociopaths my entire life, beginning with my oldest sister. The majority of it will continue to focus on members of my family with personality disorders — sibling and ex-wife sociopaths who have teamed up to target me. I know too much.

But I would not be exactly where I am today if not for the physical injuries I’ve endured, and how my two sociopaths have used my injuries and brushes with death, at their will, as additional ways to get at me. I could not tell the complete story without mention of my physical trauma, and in my opinion, a simple mention would not be sufficient.

My life has been plagued with accidents and injuries. Beginning in the very late 1990s, old injuries to my spine began to demand attention, beginning with my back, which was leap-frogged by emergency surgery in my neck, then returning to my back … all under the care of a surgeon with sociopathic characteristics. Even my other specialist expressed a great deal of frustration with him, specifically how he was caring for me … or how he exhibited the lack thereof.

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Besides the evil perpetuated against me by my sister, Kathy, and Julie, my ex-wife, the 2000-2009 decade was also pay-back time for all the physical *fun* I had growing up. I had a passion for life, and that often meant living on the edge to place it all into perspective.

Age: 2-4
Being Grounded

This has to be one of my earliest memories, based on my size and the layout of the house. This also could have ended my race before I ever got out of the gate. continue reading…

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Title Explanation :: Semi-related Parallel Trauma This series covers my other trauma, physical trauma. It runs parallel since pain has been an ongoing aspect of my life, just as the evil dished out by my sociopaths has been. And lastly, it is semi-related because crashing in a motorcycle race had nothing to do with the evil I was dealt, though some physical injury, and ongoing abuse, certainly was. Also, I know for fact that my physical well-being has always been affected by my state-of-mind.

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continued from Part 1 . . .

January 2001

In late January, I began getting muscle spasms in my left shoulder. Within a week, I could no longer lie down, forcing me to sleep in a chair. The pain in my upper back and shoulders was becoming unbearable.

One evening, I was in my daughter’s room when I tossed her comforter onto the bed. That simple action almost took me out, by a new level of intense, acute nerve pain, unlike anything I had ever felt. continue reading…

. . . continued from Part 2
Back Surgery, November 7, 2001, 06:00, Piedmont Hospital.

2001 Nov 7, Wed

Karan, a woman I had met just a few months earlier, had offered to drive me to the hospital. It was not convenient for her in the least, either.

She had to drive an hour to get to my home from her’s, then travel another hour to get to the hospital. When we pulled up, I told Karan she could just drop me off at the entrance.

Her response was a very firm, “No way, I’m walking in with you.”

Karan won that dispute as she drove right to the parking deck and found a convenient spot. As soon as I checked-in, I was told they were ready for me in pre-op, so Karan gave me a hug, and wished me the best.

Within minutes of arriving in pre-op, they had run an IV, and suddenly, I had not one single care in the world. Shortly thereafter, my life was in the hands of an unnamed anesthesiologist.  continue reading…