• Which branch has the most power? Judicial.
• Which is over all three, including policing itself? Judicial.
• Potentially, where does the biggest problem lie? Judicial.

The Judicial branch is our system of courts. A courtroom is where the common man is likely going to get closest to one of the three branches of the federal government. The top court in the country, the Supreme Court, is potentially as political as the other two branches of the government.

Justices are appointed by the then-sitting president, for life — unless the Legislative branch has a big problem with the president’s appointee. Are they ever required to prove their competency, like years down the road? No. What about genetic conditions that occur later in life? Dementia? Alzheimer’s? Just keep your eyes on the person moving their mouth — you’ll do fine.

I’m one who believes that no one deserves a life-time appointment at anything. Not long ago, we the people, made sure that the president could only hold two terms — eight years. Yet the president does not hold near the power as the Supreme Court.

Case in point — December, 2000. The Supreme Court stepped in during our election process, and in closed session, with no requirement to divulge their reasoning, handed the presidency to G.W. Bush. The following day, everyone continued their lives as usual. Is it just me?

Frankly, I believe the country would have been in much better shape in 2008 — at the end of those two terms — if the Supreme Court had handed the presidency to me. At least we wouldn’t have had a sociopath running the country for eight years.

Closer to Home

I know of one Superior Court Judge (who I’ll refer to as Judge Jones), who I have witnessed on numerous occasions, bring his own disrespect and arrogance, and potentially even racism, out into his open court room. I fully believe that he is so into the power of the bench that it has truly gone to his head. And, potentially worse, he may suffer from NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder; i.e, a sociopath).

That also brings up a question: during our last elections, I noticed that every single incumbent Superior Court Judge ran unopposed. What’s with that? Instinct tells me that’s more than just a coincidence. I would assume that many in Law would aspire to sit on the bench — especially sociopaths.

I was in Judge Jones’ courtroom one morning as the calendar was being called. Two hispanic men stood up, evidently the one involved in the case spoke little English, so the other was there to translate.

In probably less than 20 seconds, the impatient Judge completely lost his temper, and in a very loud voice, began by saying, “You people come to this country …”  and that was enough to stun me. As Judge Jones did not appear to be native American, his own people (i.e., his ancestors) would have come to this country, too.

Judge Jones told him not to return until he had proper representation. To me, that man looked like a farm laborer. How was he to get, let alone afford, proper (i.e., bi-lingual) representation? In this area, a typical civil retainer begins at around $3000.

Where’s the equality in our justice system?

At Home

Julie hated paying child support. Whenever she filed a suit against me regarding child support payments (wanting to stop paying them), or custody (another way of wanting to stop paying them) — three times total — we faced Judge Jones each time. For two kids, Julie was paying $460 total per month ($230 each).

The first two times, Julie had her divorce attorney representing her, and I had my divorce attorney representing me. She lost both times, something that most people would have predicted. But without defending myself, they could have taken advantage of it, and as an example, taken custody.

So, I did what I needed to do, and won — but at a huge cost. Not including the divorce, the first support suit cost me about $4000 to defend, and the second cost me about $6000. That was money I dearly needed.

The third time Julie filed a suit against me was actually for a very different reason — fear of exposure. Yes, fear that her public persona could be exposed. I’ve used the term “offensive revenge” often, and that’s what this was all about. It was 11 years after our divorce, when Julie discovered I knew way more than she thought I did.

In less than a week, Julie had my world turned upside down — a pathological liar with ability to manipulate the Law to be on her side.

I’ve come to believe that if you need to go to court, being a sociopath may play in your favor.

… the story truly begins when this continues …

People working for me had to work really hard to lose their job. When I identified someone as losing focus, passion, or ambition, I’d climb aboard. I wanted to find out what was causing the change. Generally, one doesn’t go from a valued employee to a questionable employee just as a whim.

It may not be something they wanted to talk about at first, and that’s OK, as it was not the most important aspect. I respected their privacy, and they knew that. But after they realized I was truly concerned about them, and my focus was on their well-being, they virtually always opened up. When we got to that point, I felt fairly sure that I saved a good employee.

There’s usually something at the base of it all, something responsible for the trauma — potentially outside the office environment — and that “something” can usually be fixed. Usually.  But what if it’s an excellent employee who became ineffective, virtually overnight, as well losing his ability to keep his high performance and work-quality ratings? This is someone who’s been with the company a long time.

Since all he knows for sure is that he has been shunned and made an outcast by those he used to call friends, how can he possibly explain “what the problem is” to his supervisor or the HR department?

He’s been made to believe that everything is of his own doing. He is unable to discuss it, since even he doesn’t know what “it” is. What if this person has become the victim of a sociopath — a co-worker he barely knows?

In today’s corporate environment, he doesn’t have a chance.

Any Companies Trained to Deal with Sociopath Employees?

I’ve not heard of even one company that has realized the need to become sociopath-aware and proactive. Not one. So in the scenario above, that “excellent employee” will be deemed ineffective and unnecessary to the company, and likely given his pink slip. The company successfully rid itself of an “excellent” employee who was only temporarily marginal — he needed trained help.

As far as that goes, the company — representing most companies — is in the stone age. Feeling a previously-unknown level of grave, dark despair, as well as like a complete outcast, the company provides the frosting and tells him he’s not even good enough for his job.

But just on the other side of the floor, the sociopath is feeling extremely high, as he just chalked-up another success. By manipulating his followers (company co-workers), the sociopath got them to do most of the dirty work of spreading his malicious character assassination against the unsuspecting and innocent man.

The results of such action are so truly heinous, as it would tear deeply at the man’s soul, leaving him to question his own being. By the time the man became aware of the way he was being treated by everyone, he was doomed. It was too late. There was nothing he could do.

The company’s management may have even interviewed others about this employee, and since management heard the same things from everyone, they were confident they were making the right decision. All based on the flawed Majority Rules, where everyone repeats the same hearsay — 100 lies do not equal even one truth. In the end, the sociopath created an environment where he got the management to fire someone who “bothered” him. Does that seem far-fetched? If it does, trust me: not even the Law will get in their way.

Hello?! You just phuqued-up and told the wrong guy to walk.
What does this mean going forward?

Short Term
The Ex-Employee:  Devastated, not just by losing his job, but by the sociopath-induced, character assassination. Currently looking for a new job, but feels great despair due to believing it was all of his doing.
The Company:  A positive feeling … got rid of “obvious” dead-weight. Not much more thought given to it.
The Sociopath:  Another Win … chalked-up an additional, well-planned and executed success. No plans for retirement any time soon.

Long Term
The Ex-Employee:  Doing much better. New job, positive environment, making new friends, likely works for a competitor. Big loss and oversight by the previous employer.
The Company:  Long-since forgotten employee #1, though now dealing with more, and strikingly similar employee problems (“strikingly” to them if they just opened their eyes). Still unaware of the spreading “cancer” within.
The Sociopath:  Continued successes. Has built a large following. Anyone — even just due to the sociopath’s paranoia — appearing to have the ability to expose the sociopath, or complicate his plans, is systematically added to the target list.

Longer Term
The Ex-Employee:  Doing great. His new employer saw his potential and promoted him accordingly.
The Company:  Never got a clue. Stock price did a major drop as many top-execs left. Employee moral at an all-time low. Lay-offs continued.
The Sociopath:  He manipulated the company with precision, and was considered an excellent employee. Due to the problems he sees with the company, especially the lay-offs of his followers, he is planning a move to another company.

First and foremost, that person is a life with lots going on … secondly, that person has a job. The job is to support that life. If that life is having marital problems, as an example, coming down on that person hard, giving them warnings, or simply firing them, can contribute so much pain to their already difficult situation, that it could just about send them over the edge.

Take this from one who’s experienced both: marital problems can be devastating, but are usually no where near the grief in becoming a sociopath’s victim. Being a sociopath’s victim while having marital problems at the same time, though, really sucks — and yes, that comes from my own personal experience. I’m a sociopath magnet.

So, for my struggling employees, I’d greet them each morning with an encouraging look of an outlook … the one they’d come to realize that really said I did care about them. And since nothing lasts forever, once their “situation” got resolved, and they got back to their pre-stressed life, part of them would never be the same.

The most accurate analogy (though maybe not the best) I can think of is if you’ve ever rescued an abused dog, and spent the time teaching it to trust humans again. Just as in the canine, you know which part of that employee will never be the same again (and trust me on this, as I was a dog in a previous life). I wish more people were like dogs.

When I Changed Jobs

When I would get recruited by another company, and I told my staff I’d be leaving, I’d most assuredly have a stack of updated résumés on my desk the next morning. When I had openings, I never needed to advertise. I just made-the-day for one of my previous staff members by asking them if they happened to be looking for a change.

Some of my previous employers got very pissed-off since within 4-5 months after I left, half the department had followed me. What’s it feel like to have your staff follow you? It’s one of the most humbling and gratifying experiences I ever had.

The Hiring Challenge

When I needed to fill a position, but I didn’t have any more on my list to draw from, I reverted to Plan B — referrals. I’d ask my staff if they knew of anyone who was in the market for a new job, and possessed the required qualifications. By the next morning, I most assuredly had a stack of new résumés on my desk.

That was when my challenge began, because I figured my staff would have only contacted the best candidates they knew, so I could feasibly pull a résumé from the middle and make a good addition to our group. But I never saw it as that simple.

At that point, my responsibility was to my current staff. I needed to make sure that whoever I hired to join our team, would not turn out to be a bad apple … a sociopath would be a bad apple. I discovered long ago it’s relatively easy to find qualified candidates, but the difficult part is selecting harmonious candidates.

Hiring one bad apple can destroy an entire team in no time at all. Once I got it down to the group finalists, the final interview included each member of my staff interviewing the candidate alone, and then as a group.

I stressed to them that some very talented candidates may become unnerved by the large number of individual interviews, as well as the horrifying group interview. I said it was incumbent upon them to make the candidate feel at ease, as this was not about the job skills — this was about working together. The concept wasn’t perfect, but I believe our success rate spoke for itself.

The Next Challenge:
How do you Eliminate the Sociopath Candidates?

The very last thing you want is to let a sociopath sneak in with a job … the little faux pas could bring down a company, though that probably would not be the sociopath’s goal. If the success of your company, though, is based on valued, long-time dedicated staff, the damage a sociopath can do is enough to disrupt the balance of the glue that holds it all together.

###

Therefore, it would seem to infer that those who are genuinely opposite to the above — individuals with true human emotions, and are content with a few good friends over a mass of gullible followers — are less likely to be sociopaths. Maybe not just less likely, but most likely.

The Process of Elimination

Maybe the process of elimination would be an accurate determination of not only who isn’t but who may well be.

The Shy-Types

In very general terms, how about people who have a quiet disposition, generally stick to themselves, those who may be considered shy. At work, they actually spend their time doing their job instead of schmoozing with whoever happens to be in the lunchroom. Sociopath? I would bet not.

Volunteers

How about those who volunteer their free time to help others who are in need. And not those who do it on occasion because they know they’ll receive recognition for it, but those who do it all the time, because it’s compassion that drives them. Think of those who volunteer in hospices to help and just offer solace to those with terminal illnesses. Sociopath? No, but maybe saintly.

Dog Owners

How about someone’s relationship with our canine companions? Sure, people also have felines for companionship, but for this, I will focus on canines because of personal experience.

Can we assume that a dog-owner is probably not a sociopath? No. That would be a bad assumption.

My oldest sister, Kathy, my most evil sibling sociopath, has almost always had a dog or two. But since she and her family lived in Alaska from the 1970s, there were only a couple times I visited. In 2002, they decided to move to Arizona, and because her husband was going to drive their motorhome from Alaska to Arizona, I volunteered to join him for the road trip.

After I arrived in Alaska, I spent a couple days simply hanging out around their house before we left in the motorhome. They had two handsome dogs at the time, a Golden Retriever and an Alaskan Malamute. They kept the Malamute on a chain outside because he would apparently wander off. I believe the Golden also stayed outside, but he was not chained.

One day, as Kathy and I walked toward the Malamute, he got up to greet us. He seemed very mellow, since even though he didn’t know me, he showed no concern or aggression. Other than needing to be brushed, he was a very healthy-looking canine.

That’s when Kathy said,  “We’re not taking him to Arizona … I’m having him put to sleep.” My initial shock came from the tone in her voice — it was cold. It was simply matter-of-fact, as if to say she was taking out the garbage.

My response sort of blurted out,  “Why?!”

And with the compassion of a rock, Kathy said,  “He’s old.”

Not that he was suffering from anything, not like going blind, has arthritis, cancer, etc., … but simply “old.” (Hmm, Kathy’s old).

To me, he looked to be suffering from nothing more than loneliness. Even after he got up to greet us, Kathy got no closer than ten feet. Never once did I see either dog get any affection. Sociopath? Let’s see: No remorse. No guilt. No compassion. Cold-blooded. Unethical.

Less than a year later, in April of 2003, I was in Arizona and visited Kathy in her new home. Arizona was experiencing an early summer heat wave, as it was already 104° in the shade. As Kathy and I stood in their nice, cool family room, looking out over the back yard, I spotted their Golden Retriever, Cody. Cody was lying in some of the only shade available. For those not familiar with the breed, Golden Retrievers have a very long coat, i.e., lots of hair.

Considering how cool we were in the house, and how miserable Cody must have been in the 104° shade, I asked Kathy how Cody was doing.

“He hates the heat. He hardly moves. He’ll get used to it, though.”

Since I was pretty sure she would not let him in the house, I made my next best suggestion,  “Why don’t you give him a haircut?”

“Oh, no … are you kidding?! Cody’s a pure-bred … their long hair is what makes them a Golden Retriever. I’ve never seen any Golden Retriever with a haircut. No one does that.”

I knew there was no sense to continue the subject. Some individuals get dogs so they can use the dog as part of their public persona. Her response was purely self-serving, as she cared more about how the dog looked for her, than how comfortable the dog was himself.

I think her most ignorant remark was that she’d never seen a Golden with a haircut. That’s because a Golden Retriever with a haircut looks like a Yellow Labrador Retriever. Even though one’s called Golden and the other Yellow, they are about the same color.

Also, due to the fact that they are both Retrievers, they have the same basic head shape, ears and tail. I know from personal experience that a Golden Retriever loves getting a haircut in a warm environment. By autumn, most of a Golden Retriever’s hair has grown back in. I bet Kathy thinks she sees a lot of Yellow Labs in Arizona.

My other sister has had two dogs that I’m aware of. Both times, she searched out the oddest, most rare and expensive breed she could find. And even though those dogs lived most of their days in a crate inside her home, she would talk on-and-on about how utterly cool they were. And how expensive.

In all the times I was with either sister, never did I experience affection between them and their dogs. That’s because they did not get a dog for companionship.

What’s that make me? I currently have two dogs.

I used to believe that I had something in common with virtually anyone who also had a dog. I guess I believed that anyone with a dog had a relationship with canines similar to mine. I don’t believe that any longer. What I have come to believe, though, is: “I wish more people were like dogs.”

I also grew to realize that I have a unique relationship with canines, so unique that I often would jokingly state: “I must have been a dog in a previous life.”

I’m able to communicate with dogs that most other people would be intimidated by. Dogs that growl if you get too close. Dogs that growl viciously if they are made to feel cornered. Dogs that cower and back away if you attempt to touch them. Dogs who would prefer to avoid people.

Dogs are made to be this way because of their owners … very cruel humans who abused them. Those are the dogs destined to be destroyed because they are considered un-adoptable. Those are the dogs who need me.

My Most Recent Rescue

The most recent dog I rescued was in 2006 from a sign I found hand-written at a grocery store. No photo, but it stated a German Shepherd, about five years old, needed a home, and that if they weren’t able to find one, they’d be forced to destroy him. I already had two dogs at home, but this certainly seemed to be a dog in need of rescuing. I called the number before I left the store.

We agreed to meet on neutral ground since I had a male, too, and it’s difficult to have two males get along. My other male (WD), also a rescue, is now deceased. After rescuing him sight-unseen in 1996, he became the most amazing canine I ever knew. I saved him, but he also saved me.

My son held WD’s leash, and knew to pull him out of harms way if any aggression developed when the GSD arrived. After a short time, the people with the Shepherd drove up and parked right next to my car. When their dog climbed out, my heart sank.

I had never seen such a defeated, depressed, or lost-looking German Shepherd in all my years. An extremely proud breed without showing even an ounce of that pride. There was no bounce in his step, his head hung down, as did his tail.

We let the dogs stand face-to-face, while I squatted between them at their eye-level. WD was wearing a huge smile and wagging his tail, while the GSD’s head and tail remained down. As I spoke to the couple, I continually had equal hand contact with both dogs’ heads, and would continually stop and whisper to each of them. Primarily by the man’s statements, I could tell that I needed to rescue that dog right then, so he would not have to go back with them.

For safety, I had originally told them I would not be taking their dog without at least one night to think about it, so I needed to back-pedal and ask them if I could try him at our house that night. They agreed.

With both dogs still on leashes, we walked back to the cars, only to experience an event that none of us were even remotely prepared for. As we both opened our car doors, their dog immediately jumped into my car and had no intention of getting out. They expressed a lot of surprise, but to me, I felt relieved that he and I had already made our first connection.

Over the next 4-5 months, he was the biggest challenge of any dog I had ever adopted. He was surely the most abused canine I had ever known. What is the “challenge” with an abused rescue? The challenge is to assure the dog that he no longer needs to fear humans. And that no human will ever abuse him again.

He growled at me often, especially when I would lean up against him, so I leaned more. But whenever he growled at me, I growled back louder. It takes a lot of patience and consistency, but the rewards are immeasurable.

He has become the most mellow dog one would ever want. When I have taken him out into public areas, he loves the attention strangers give him. He smiles all the time, his tail wags constantly, all without an ounce of aggression. He never even barks.

And from our months of growling at each other, he’s become my first talking dog. He will actually communicate with sounds.

###

Age: 2-4
Being Grounded

This has nothing to do with being placed on restriction, as that would be a bit odd for a toddler. This is about that other ground, the ground that electricity always looks for. Based on my size and the layout of the house, this has to be one of my earliest memories … which also could have ended my race before I ever got out of the gate.

I was crawling on the floor in our family room, and I happened to squeeze in behind an overstuffed chair. There, in front of me, were two things that seemed to go together, at least based on my limited-life experience.

On the floor was a metal bobby pin and on the wall was a small, rectangular plastic covering with two slots on top, and two on the bottom. I know my mom stuck things in there. So, I recall seeing no reason, whatsoever, that the two sides of the bobby pin should not go in the two little slots on the wall outlet.

Hence, while sitting comfortably at eye-level with the outlet, I proceeded to spread the bobby pin open, and slide it in.

From what I know now, that was my first time cheating death. An electrician once told me that more people die from standard 110 than the higher 220. With 220, the jolt is so powerful that it will literally throw someone across the room, thus breaking the connection. On the other hand, he said, 110 locks you on. He described it just as I remembered it.

I remember how the situation went from just playing to very painful panic.

The entire right side of my body had completely locked up … I was holding on to the pin tighter without the ability to let go, open my hand, move my arm, or make a sound. I cannot even guess how long it was before the connection somehow broke, but the bobby pin was red hot when it hit the floor, and I badly burned two fingers and my thumb.

I figured anything that hurt that bad was not something I should have been messing with, so to avoid the trouble that I would surely get in, I kept this ordeal to myself, as I learned to do with most things that hurt.

Increasing my Pain Threshold

I have suffered with physical pain as long as I can remember. Even before my injuries, I often got headaches, which I just assumed were like everyone else’s headaches. But I realized that other people were able to walk around and complain about their headache, yet I couldn’t even move with mine … unless I became nauseous, which then forced me to move.

They were migraines. The light-sensitive, sound-sensitive, nauseating, with the feeling of a nail-driven-in-just-above-my-eye kind of migraines. I could get them often, too, which I guess were cluster headaches … sometimes 3-4 in one week. Occasionally, I’d go a month without one.

At that early age, I began to question the true knowledge of many medical practitioners, i.e., doctors. For years, I was told I was not getting migraines, because I did not get the aura (don’t ask me, I never got one).

I was told an aura can manifest itself in different ways, and one friend told me she would get a big spot right in the very center of her vision, blocking the majority of her vision. I’ve also heard of tunnel vision, floaters, and all before the pain begins. I just get the pain.

In my mid-20s, I came across a medical research team’s white papers on migraine research that concluded … get this:  not everyone with migraines gets auras first.  Oh, really?

I was fairly young when I accepted that no one would be as tuned-in, aware, or as interested in my health and wellbeing as I was. So, I began studying anything affecting me, even diagnosing what was ailing me, so when I went to the doctor, I would ask for the medicine I determined would be best. Never once was I refused.

I’ve known my migraine triggers, and they’ve changed over the years: bright light, loud noise, certain foods (of course, all my favorites) as well as food additives, such as MSG. And when I was a kid, there was a product — and still may be — in a red shaker, called Accent. Pure, powered MSG to sprinkle on anything, and not knowing anything else at the time, we sprinkled.

But I wonder if my migraines have also been affected by some of the following injuries.

NOTE: it seemed as if I was always recovering from at least one bicycle or skate board crash, resulting in nasty road-rash. Now road-rash wasn’t usually life-threatening, but even so, road-rash hurt like hell. That’s where you slide on the pavement and end up with raw meat where skin used to be.

So, to keep this to a minimum, I’ll avoid the majority of injuries and include only the few which contributed to my skirts with death, and my condition today.

Age: 7-8
First Concussion

I remember being with friends at the top of a long, steep driveway, and waiting for my turn to ride the Flexi down the hill (a Flexi is similar to a snow sled you’d lie on, but with wheels).

The next thing I recall is regaining consciousness, lying on a sofa, in a strange house, with a woman frantically placing ice packs on my head. I was not crying, but I was very confused. I only stayed conscious for what must have been less than a minute.

The next thing I remember is that same woman helping me out of a car, and when I looked up, we were in front of my house. My grandmother was standing on the porch, as if she was expecting us. The lady helped me up to the house, where my grandmother told me just to go lie down in my room, which I did. My folks were on vacation and my grandmother was babysitting. The most pronounced memory of the event was how confused I remained … it was as if I was in a thick fog even at my house.

Days later, I remember asking friends what had happened to me that day. Apparently, I went down the hill on the Flexi, turned sharply uphill, which caused it to flip into the air, with me still holding on.

Our initial impact with the asphalt was completely inverted, meaning the Flexi was on top of me, resulting in the initial blow to my head. I was told I flipped a few times, came to a stop, and didn’t move. And of course, with my grandmother there, I received no medical attention.

Age: 12
Unconscious Again.

My pal, Randy, and I were out riding bikes, as we always did. It was summertime. We had ridden up into Woodland Acres where there was a fairly large, dry creek bed, with a very high and long rope swing. Just to get to it, we would need to climb onto another tree, pull a smaller rope to get the big rope, so as to begin a swing. The velocity was truly exhilarating. And even then, I was drawn to those two words.

For some reason, Randy got bored and wandered away to explore, probably no more than 40-50m. I remember I was able to see him when I was on the tree, and just before stepping off to begin a swing.

There was a piece of wood, a 2-by-4, on the bottom of the rope. I remember grabbing it differently than I had (which provided me the impending crash-course on the importance of thumbs — pun intended). I stepped off the tree, and began another, fast exhilarating decent. But as soon as I got to the bottom of the swing, and began the ascent up the other side, where the G-forces would be greatest, I remember the exact moment when I was no longer holding on to that 2×4.

Time plays strange tricks. First, I felt no fear, and that could have been because I felt as if I was floating, not falling. Thinking back to everything that went through my head, it would seem that I hovered for 5-10 seconds, though it could not have been more than a fraction. Floating was my last memory, as I have no recollection of the impact.

Rejoining the Real World

I was lying on my back when I opened my eyes to see Randy’s red face staring within arm’s reach of mine. His expression hit me as humorous, and I recall that it made me want to laugh. The look on his face was from panic, though, as he knew what I was about to discover — I wasn’t breathing. The beginning of my laugh was replaced instantly with overwhelming panic and intense pain. Nothing like I had ever experienced.

The harder I tried to take in a breath, the more intense my chest pain got, and as the seconds passed, I truly thought I would not be able to get a breath in time. It seemed like an eternity, which makes it very difficult to know how long it was before I got my first very shallow bit of air. But after the first small inhale, they slowly became larger.

From Randy’s Perspective

From what Randy said, it could have been anywhere from 1.25 to 2 minutes before he got to me. He said he heard a dull thud, but not a sound he thought I had made. But he looked over, and couldn’t see me. He said he called out a few times, and with no answer, he decided to get up and walk over — that 40-50m. He, of course, had no idea what he was about to face.

Due to all the oak trees, he did not see me on the ground until he was almost on top of me. He remembered clearly he saw no movement, my eyes were partly open, and then he realized there was no indication I was breathing. Right then, Randy said the panic paralyzed him, since at that point, he thought was I was dead.

My best guess is that this took place before the public awareness of CPR, so additionally, he felt completely helpless. He did the only thing that came natural: he yelled my name but got no response, he yelled it again, and again nothing. And as he was beginning to truly fall apart himself, bordering on shock, he screamed my name with everything he had, almost with anger … and with that, he said my eyes opened, my head slowly turned and looked at him, and with a brief hint of a smile, it disappeared instantly into a struggle for my life.

It was his third yell that I responded to, though I don’t recall hearing him yell anything. As kids, we didn’t think about it — just another day out playing, just another injury with very little loss of blood, hence, another successful day of play — but in hindsight, it was almost my very last.

Randy saved my life that day. I do not recall anything else after we rode our bicycles off to another exploration. By the time I got home that evening, it was probably not even on my mind. So, once again, I received no medical attention.

Age: 14  
2 years after the long-forgotten fall.

My freshman year at a Jesuit prep school. I was on the Judo team. After arriving home from a Judo practice one day, I began experiencing very acute muscle spasms throughout my back.

In a short time, the spasms became so intense that taking anything more than a shallow breath was quite painful. Within the hour, both my mom and dad took me to the hospital.

I easily recall how much I was struggling with the pain, I sort of remember having the x-rays taken. But from the time we were called back by the radiologist to view the x-rays, my memory is very clear.

As we entered the room, the light boxes were mounted on the wall to our right, and there were four or five films on display. But my focus didn’t get past the first film, since on that film, one vertebrae was obviously different than the others. Instead of having that squarish look, this one angled down on one side, so the right face was shorter than the left. It had been crushed. I recall being baffled as to what could have caused that in Judo. I noticed all that in the first couple seconds, before the doctor had even said anything. I did not take my eyes off that vertebrae.

The first thing the doctor did say was “I know you’re looking at that (pointing at the vertebrae we were staring at), and I’ll get to that in a moment, but I need to draw your attention to this.”

“Your son broke his back. Look here and you can see the fracture. But this fracture is not new … it has been healing for some time. None of this was caused by a recent injury.

I still laugh when I think about what happened next. Both my parents, in a simultaneous, choreographic move, rotated and looked down at me almost as if I were to make a statement. I was completely bewildered … as well as speechless, so all I was able to do was smile back.

It must have taken me days, if not longer, to place the rope-swing event, from over two-years earlier, as the cause for the damage to my spine. Two years, for a kid, is a lifetime … that rope-swing event had long become a non-event. But undoubtedly, that was all it could have been

I was referred to a orthopedic surgeon, and was under his care for the next 5-6 years. I try to see something positive in everything, and with this, I saw a 4F status that would keep me from being shipped off to Vietnam.

Teens and Twenties

As a life-long bicyclist, when it was time for us to get a driver’s license and a car, I got my license and a motorcycle. I began racing motorcycles by the time I was 20, and once during a race, I was hit by another competitor, immediately found myself sliding down the asphalt at about 70-80mph, and while I was sliding, I rotated around and saw what was happening behind me.

To my terror, someone else’s motorcycle was cartwheeling — front wheel over rear wheel over front wheel, etc., — in the exact same line I was sliding in, but moving much faster and gaining on me. My attempt to stand-up and simply get out of the way failed miserably since I was likely still sliding along at 40-50 MPH — but I remember feeling as if I would be able to do it. The motorcycle did land on top of me, but I was able to absorb some of the bike’s weight and velocity with my legs. That certainly was not the only time I crashed.

I also joined a speed-skating team, and probably did more damage to my back on skates than bicycles and motorcycles combined. From my teen years, I have never been without back pain, as it only got worse as I got older. No one told me I wasn’t indestructible, but I was told you only live once.

1986

Sitting at a stop light in Los Angeles on a nice sunny Saturday, I was taking my future ex-wife’s car in for a tune-up. I glanced into my rearview mirror just in time to see the car coming up behind me, but unable to see the driver’s face.

He was looking down at something on the passenger seat, and completely unaware that cars were stopped in front of him. He drove into me at around 40mph. To add insult to true injury, he fled the scene. And if I was ever able to focus on a small object disappearing in the distance, it was his tag … and somehow, with nothing to write it on, I remembered it.

Every time I got into my ex-wife’s car as a passenger, I would always have to raise the headrests up, since she said they messed her hair or something. Unfortunately, I did not notice that day from the driver’s side that the headrests were again lowered all the way down, which was at my shoulder level. The way my head snapped back, I thought it was going to rip off. If it were a cartoon, my neck would have been an accordion.

January 2001

Fifteen years had slipped by, when out of nowhere, my 1986 whiplash came back with an extremely dangerous and nasty attitiude …

continued in Part 2 …

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.

At least in my experience, pain caused by a pinched nerve all happens in a split second, just like getting shocked, but the residual effect of that much pain lasts for quite some time.

The best I can describe what happened in my daughter’s room was that a bolt of lightning originating in my shoulder, shot down my left arm with such force that I remember thinking my fingers were going to explode from the pressure. I yelled and cradled my left arm as I left the room.

I visited my PCP who took some film of my neck, then promptly referred me to a neurosurgeon at Piedmont Hospital. Dale R., MD, was the head of the Neuroscience Department at the hospital, as well as having his own surgical practice. He saw me the next day, primarily to take MRIs.

My next appointment with Dr. Dale was first thing the following morning for him to review the film. He told me he rarely sees anything quite as bad to highly suggest emergency surgery on a first visit.

He said he would always be candid with me, and at that point, he told me that worst case scenario, I was at risk for paralysis — with, or without the surgery — best case would be some permanent nerve damage. What he pointed out and explained was I had a severely herniated and ruptured disk that was compressing my spinal cord, and it could literally paralyze me if it got much worse. I had already lost most of the feeling in my left hand.

I stood with him as he and his secretary moved previously scheduled surgeries around to make an opening for me. His regular current wait time was three-to-four weeks.

My surgery was scheduled for two days later — Valentine’s Day, 2001.

Of My Five Senses, Hearing Wakes First

When I’ve come out of surgery, my hearing wakes-up first. My other senses do not exist. I cannot see, which is not like closing your eyes, it’s more like you don’t have them. Nor can I feel, which does not mean pins and needles, it means no body. Luckily my brain puts everything into perspective, as I know where I am and what I’m doing. But still, I feel as if I’m just a big ear floating in space, and listening to everything around me.

Lesson to Learn: Never talk in front of someone “sleeping” in a hospital bed, because you think they cannot hear you. You may end up being very surprised. After my surgeries, I would be able to hear and process everything I heard as normal. The one big thing not normal was that only my sense of hearing had returned — I could not see, move or make a sound.

Initially, I considered the surgery successful for a few reasons:

1  I was able to wiggle my toes;
2  I awoke in a horizontal position, and didn’t feel that pain;
3  the spasms were gone, and so was the lightning.

I did acquire nerve damage, as not all the feeling returned to my left hand. But time would be needed to confirm how successful it was overall, and unfortunately, time never provided the answer I hoped for.

My neck never healed correctly, and here, nine years later, my neck is providing me a constant level of pain, both chronic and acute, that I never had before the surgery. Also, I often hear grinding when I turn my head, which is accompanied with arthritic-type pain. My neck is held together by six titanium screws, and two titanium rods.

Since the surgery, I also need to be very careful while eating. Food lodges easily in my throat, as if they left a poorly marked detour in there. Even swallowing one typical sized pill will usually get caught, and more often than not, I need to bring it up, before I attempt to send it back down again. I’ve had a few fairly frightening experiences, moving beyond lodging to borderline-choking … the worst time it happened, I was alone and on the floor before it cleared.

What’s Changed

Even though my neck never gave me chronic pain, in just two weeks, it became the reason I would have surgery on my spine, like it or not. I doubt I would have ever had back surgery if not for my emergency neck surgery.

I figured my back would not be as difficult as my neck, not an emergency, and I’d be able to finish my life closer to pain-free. About a month after I recovered from my neck surgery, I went back to Dr. Dale, where he promptly had MRIs shot of my lower back.

He showed me where four vertebrae were virtually missing the three disks that were supposed to cushion them and protect the nerves … they were now, and had been for some time, virtually bone-on-bone.

I asked him about other treatments, and he explained them, but provided little hope they would offer any relief. I tried the only ones with any hope — both were epidural-steroid treatments, one administered in a simple office setting, and the second more surgically but with a much higher chance for success

In July, I had the simple office procedure, and it did exactly nothing, just as the pain specialist predicted.

In August, I showed up for the more invasive procedure. That pain specialist predicted the same outcome … little-to-no relief. My pain relief had vanished by the next afternoon … just over 24 hours. For the right candidate, epidural-steroid treatments can provide pain relief for six months and longer.

In September, I had planned to schedule my surgery, but time stopped and the world changed — I was watching CNN live when the second plane hit. I had been in those buildings, even at the top. That moment had a very lasting effect on me. It would be another month before I returned to “thinking surgery” and scheduling my back procedure.
 
continued in Part 3 . . .

###

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.

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. 

Once again, my hearing woke before my other senses, and to my immediate astonishment, I recognized Karan’s voice talking to the nurses.

Right after that, I listened as Karan called my parents and gave them a great prognosis … once again, be careful with what you say in the presence of a “sleeping” hospital patient. Luckily, I heard nothing but good stuff.

Karan, a widow who lost her husband to skin cancer a decade earlier, waited there for over six hours just so she knew I was OK. A woman I knew for only a short time became one of the champions in my life.

My own siblings never even called.
 

2001 Nov 8, Thu

Waking up this morning was my first real complete consciousness since the beginning of my surgery yesterday morning.

I had little bits of memory in recovery, and being moved to my room when I heard Karan. But then I believe they kept me sedated for the night, which was fine, except for one thing …

A pseudo-umbilical cord?! The first thing I noticed when I awoke was that my catheter was still in, which meant I was going to experience something I was hoping not to: someone yanking my catheter out while I was awake. Big bummer.

Morning Rounds: Dr. Dale R. appears in my room, but seems surprisingly serious. He said, “You bled too much.”  I first thought he must be kidding.

“The surgery took a lot longer than it should have.”  But he wasn’t kidding, as he was angry at me for bleeding too much.

I really wanted to say, “Do you want to do it again, and I’ll try to bleed less? Silly me, but isn’t that why you get paid the Big Bucks?”

Big Bucks :: adj noun :: 1) billing my insurance company $34,000 for a 4-5 hour procedure; 2) insurance company paid him $11,000, which he accepted, and likely wrote off the rest (taxes, what taxes?). He performs about six surgeries per week.

That was a side of him I had not seen, but it would be virtually the only side I’d see going forward.

Just after Dr Dale left, two nurses entered my room. Liz, a middle-aged woman, introduced herself as the head nurse. She then introduced Bridgette as a student nurse. Liz wanted to let me know that Bridgette would be working with the staff nurses that morning.

A short time later, while lying on my left side, my back to the door, I heard Liz’s voice as she was again entering my room. She was explaining the proper way to remove a catheter. I glanced up briefly to see that Bridgette was getting the ten-second training.

Almost immediately, very mixed feelings overwhelmed me, as I recall thinking I wanted to ask Liz to slow down with those instructions … don’t make her nervous.

Since all I was wearing was a hospital gown, I moved it out of the way as they approached … and kept my eyes shut. As I waited for a moment to interject a question, things happened too quickly.

Suddenly, I was lifted, followed immediately by a very strong and uncomfortable tug … sort of like having the catheter attached to a slamming castle door. I emitted an unexpected moan, and folded right in half into the prenatal position.

I was still trying to catch my breath after they were gone. They walked out so quickly and quietly that I wondered if they laughed at my reaction once they got to the hallway.

I have no doubt that I was Bridgette’s first catheter tug. It made me wonder if a nurse with a thousand good tugs to her name would have left me in a different state, something other than a rope-burn in the urinary-tract kind of feeling. Or maybe given me a 1-2-3…tug.

But, I recovered just fine in what seemed like an eternity.

I had my first of two scheduled appointments with a physical therapist that Thursday afternoon. I had no idea what to expect. She told me she just needed to see me walk, and since she couldn’t keep up, she said I was doing great.

2001 Nov 9, Fri

Morning Rounds: Dr. Dale came by to measure the amount of blood in my vacu-something. It’s a spring-loaded pouch, with a tube going into my surgical wound. Its job is to keep the hemorrhaging from filling my torso.

Dr R. once again reminded me that I bled too much, and I certainly would not be going home Saturday, as it was the early-release possibility. I didn’t see this in him before, but he was holding a grudge that I bled too much. What’s with that? I was already getting to where I was not looking forward to his visits, as he just carried an attitude.

I had my second of two scheduled appointments with a physical therapist that Friday afternoon, and this time I was led into the fire escape and asked to climb some stairs. So I walked right up one flight, looked back down at her, and she waved me to come back down. When I got there, she was laughing.

She looked up at me and said, “I meant just three or four steps.” She also said I was doing great and I should expect a fairly quick recovery, as most people do struggle to get up a few steps after the surgery I had. I remember not being surprised, since I was in good shape and expected to recover quickly.

It was Friday evening, and after spending two nights, it was the longest I had ever been confined to a hospital.

2001 Nov 10, Sat

Morning Rounds: Dr. Dale came by to measure the amount of blood in my vacu-something. I asked him if it looked as if I’d be able to go home Sunday … now if I had kept my mouth shut, my foot would have never slipped in so easily.

I recall his reply, steeped in attitude, that if I hadn’t bled so much, maybe … but at this rate, he didn’t think I’d even be going home Monday.

A simple “no” would have sufficed.

Early Saturday Afternoon

As I was rolling over, I felt a sharp pain around my surgical wound area. I immediately envisioned that a staple had come loose. A few minutes later, I got that sharp poke again, so I page the nurse.

When the nurse took a look at my back, she reacted startled, “No, it’s not a staple … your drain tube came out. Here, I’m just going to pull the rest of it out.”

With that, she came around to the front of me, and said, “Look, this much was inside your back”  indicating approximately 24-28 inches. She told me she’d leave a message with the doctor and let me know what he says.

About 30 minutes later, she told me he knew and he would see me in the morning on his morning rounds. Considering his reaction, I assumed it wasn’t that critical.

2001 Nov 11, Sun

Morning Rounds: With a nurse already in my room, Dale R, MD, entered, walked quietly to my bedside, and said, “So I hear you pulled the tube out of your back?”

I half-heartedly chuckled at his attempt at humor, and returned an equally humorous, “Yea.”

After a brief silence, he said it again, “I hear you pulled the tube out of your back?”

RED FLAGS APPEARED EVERYWHERE.

That time, I responded quickly and very directly …

“OK, that’s the second time you said that, so allow me to be perfectly clear about this: I DID NOT pull any tube out of my back. It would appear to me that the tube was not properly connected, and it worked its way out. Any other questions?”

He said nothing else about that.

After examining my back, he said, “Well, since the tube is out, I guess you can go home.”

If a surgeon, as well as the head of the Neuroscience Department, smiles and says I can go home, then it must be safe for me to go home.

At the time, little did I know that he had more than enough experience to be well aware that he was likely sending me off to my death … with a smile.

I bled too much.
 
to be continued … soon
 

Critical Events to Remember from Part 3:

1) Both physical therapists, from Thursday and Friday, told me I was doing great and I should expect a fully successful recovery.

2) Dr Dale kept reminding me that I bled too much — frankly, I think he was angry too much.

3) Saturday morning, Dr Dale stated that I may not even go home Monday, based on the amount I was still bleeding internally. That also factored in having the vacu-something fully-functional and completing its job until I stopped hemorrhaging — at least through Monday.

4) A few hours later, the tube came out. From that moment, the vacu-something ceased to provide any more of its critical functionality — something emphasized repeatedly by Dr Dale.

5) When informed, Dr Dale stated he’d check it when he saw me the next morning, Sunday.

6) Sunday morning he immediately appeared to be attempting to audio-record an admission from me, as if I were deliberately responsible for the tube coming free.

7) Dr Dale states that since the tube came out, I can go home (re-read #3 above).

Additionally, Dr Dale released me without a bandage covering my surgical wound, nor with any antibiotics. My understanding is that he was 75 years old when he operated on me.

Non-jounalists, non-experts, and non-experienced individuals writing about very serious topics that they simply re-purpose from others like them … and it goes on and on.

More of these “public-reporting” Web sites are popping up all the time, allowing virtually anyone to write about topics without any sort of “check” on their sources or accuracy. If the Web has succeeded in spreading any character flaw, it’s got to be “gullibility.” Blind leading the blind?

I’ve read countless, misinformed articles on the topic of sociopaths, such as the one typical example above: the frighteningly-laughable “How to Deal with a Sociopath” — rated four-out-of-five stars by the readers.

Some are so misguided, that I considered them dangerous if someone actually did what was recommended. On many of those, I added a comment warning other readers that by placing some of the suggestions into practice, they could place themselves into jeopardy, if not outright danger.

How difficult could it be to identify a sociopath?

Most sociopaths are not like Hannibal Lecter, but more in line with Bernard Madoff.

Although a fictional character, people usually relate a Hannibal Lecter-type demented deviant as representative of a sociopath.

Reality, though, is quite different.

Bernard Madoff was highly respected in the world financial market, so respected that when there was suspicion about his firm, those who raised the suspicions were almost laughed at. No real investigations were ever conducted.

But all during that time, Bernard Madoff was stealing the life savings of friends, business associates, corporate fund investments, and even from his own immediate familly, to the tune of fifty-billion dollars ($50,000,000,000.00). How? With his skillfully-executed, completely malicious public persona.

The malicious public persona of just one ‘nice’ old man.

The only reason he was caught was that the recession created a domino effect of withdrawals — withdrawals of money which actually did not exist. He even stole the life savings of his own children. No remorse. No guilt. Any apology would just be another lie.

So where do I turn?

If you truly want to know just how devious, transparent, and evil the inner workings of a true sociopath really is, you must be willing to take the time to read … and begin with a credible source. The only accurate accounts I’ve read are written by actual sociopath victims who have dedicated an enormous amount of time by creating their own blogs to document the details, from before discovery, to being thrown into hell as a victim.

And virtually every one of them states the same basic purpose: to shed light on the real dangers, to dispel the misinformation, and hopefully help others avoid what they didn’t. Many of those sites, such as this one, include a short bio of the writer. Two of my siblings are sociopaths, so my bio begins before I was born.

Conclusion: if anyone could learn to spot a sociopath in five or ten easy steps, how did Bernard Madoff fool the brightest financial and money managers, around the world, for decades?

###

Related Posts:
One Small Lie = One Huge Revelation :: Part 1 of 4 Discovering my sister.
Protect yourself from any sociopath.
Sociopaths are all the same … right?
What makes a sociopath so dangerous?
Psychopath/Sociopath: Similarities Outweigh Differences
Discovering Your Best Friend is a Sociopath
How do you spot a sociopath?
Identifying a Sociopath
AUDIO: Evidence by Recording Phone Calls :: Part 1 of 4
Do School Administrators Help Young Sociopaths?

I believe the first matter to deal with is to shed the denial. Of course, that’s very difficult to convince people of the reality … and for some, it’s virtually impossible. What is equally as prevalent and dangerous, as the condition itself, is the rampant denial. I am still baffled as to why otherwise intelligent people allow themselves to be controlled and manipulated, by very shrewd and cunning sociopaths. The only theory I have is that some people are much more susceptible to being brainwashed, to a level that I truly cannot comprehend.

Most are never diagnosed, though, and that’s for one very simple reason: they do not want to be diagnosed. There is no blood-test-type diagnostic procedure providing a positive or negative result. A confirmed diagnosis relies on the suspected sociopath being honest with their answers to the psychologist. Hello? Based on that alone, it’s quite easy to understand why there are relatively few, clinically-diagnosed sociopaths.

“How do I identify a sociopath?”

That’s the most common question, and I believe, it’s the wrong question.

I’d say the correct question is: How do I protect myself from a sociopath?

No matter what anyone tells you, attempting to conclusively identify a person as being a sociopath is nearly impossible, and the process itself can get you into deep trouble, as the sociopath’s next unwilling and unaware victim. Even if you waste an enormous amount of time doing your undercover, investigative work, and you conclude that the person in question is a sociopath, what would be your next step? How about: How do I protect myself from this sociopath?

It’s inevitable, but it’s your best first-line of defense. If you incorporate a system based in observation and correct reaction, you’ll be protected from sociopaths whether you suspect them or not. And when your system is fully implemented, it’s done from the subconscious level. It’s not something you think about … you just react appropriately.

“I don’t get it.”

And you won’t by the time you finish reading this post … but you’ll begin to. You’ll need to come back and build your arsenal. Nothing’s easy, but stick with this and you’ll get it.

Think about dèjá vu. Think about how you do not think about it. It just pops to the forefront of your consciousness. It’s the overwhelming feeling that you’ve done this before, or you’ve been here before, or both. Think about how fast it happens … your brain just automatically scanned your history, potentially your entire history, and discovered matches. No computer on earth can process data anywhere near as fast. That’s the part we need to program. We need to make changes in our reactions. Rule #1: we need to think … if we make that commitment, our brains will add the speed.

I’ve seen data clearly state that male sociopaths outnumber female sociopaths. On one statistic, it stated there were four times as many male sociopaths as there are female. But allow me to make this suggestion: women are more likely to come forward with their stories of being victimized, more so than their male counterparts. I personally know this to be true, as I never came forward. And when violence erupts, women are also more likely to sustain injuries.

We do live in a country of liars, but so does everyone else on the planet. Lying crosses all perceived barriers: economic, gender, race, creed … it’s part of our global society. Sociopaths have embraced technology, using the power it provides to fulfill their personal agendas.

If there is one thing we can thank sociopaths for it would be for their indirect, and possibly unknown involvement on outlawing the use of polygraph testing in court. The polygraph itself — i.e., the lie-detector — uses very little science, though I certainly would not call it an art, either.

Its entire premise is based on recording a person’s physical changes — such as heart rate, blood pressure, perspiration, and breathing — brought on by the testee’s guilt from telling a lie, as determined by the tester’s opinion, watching and noting any physical changes, as well as those recorded by the seismograph-type gauges. A sociopath does not experience guilt; hence, the polygraph tester would report that the sociopath-testee “never lied once.”

The majority does not win.

One must always keep an open mind. Those who use their own brains, and not rely on others, have a much better chance of maintaining control of their own lives. Forget the notion that the majority wins. The majority is often comprised of a bunch of followers, those who rely on others to do their thinking for them.

Consider a large room full of people, all casually socializing. Everyone in that room knows the details of one specific event. A new person enters the room and mingles through the group, and over a period of time, hears the same story from multiple people … each indicating the same conclusion, and from the way they tell it, they know it from personal experience.

Question: How many times must the average person hear an unsubstantiated story (i.e., hearsay) before they accept it as true?

Would it surprise you if the answer was just once? Most people believe anything the first time they hear it. Think about it. And depending on the “dirt-level” of the story, there’s a good chance they’re already spreading it.

Not long ago, before technology was intertwined into our lives, even before the advent of the answering machine, it was not very easy to spread gossip quickly. But now, even someone sitting at work, can spread just-heard dirt to an unlimited number of people — hundreds, even — in just minutes. The potential is there.

Bad news travels fast.

So, let’s say someone hears something defamatory about a public figure (actor, politician, etc.), falling cleanly into the dirt category [pun intended]. Within five minutes, that person has shared that dirt with 20 friends, via email. Keep in mind, that person just shared hearsay as if they knew it as true.

Allow me to put that into perspective: let’s say it takes one person five minutes to send 20 emails. From the time that first person sent those 20 emails to their like-minded, gossip-spreading friends, and each of those friends spends the next five minutes forwarding it to 20 others — and so on — how many people could potentially receive that gossip in a half hour … just 30-minutes total?

Ready?  What’s your guess?  But first, did you understand the question? If in doubt, why not read it again to be sure. If you did understand the question, then the answer should not surprise you: sixty-four million people. Now, do you need to go back and read the question again? Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Since it takes five minutes for each mailing, 30 minutes can be split into six segments of five minutes each. Hence, there will only be six mailings. In the first five minutes, 20 people received the email.

Those 20 people each forward it to 20 more people, which means 400 people (20×20) have it during the second five-minute segment. The third five-minute segment results in 8000 people (20×400) reading the message. The fourth five-minute segment indicates that 160,000 people (20×8000) now have the email. The fifth mailing gets to a whopping 3.2 million (20×160,000). And by the final five-minute segment, the email has been forwarded to 64,000,000 bone heads. But that 64-million does not include all the previous recipients, so the actual number comes out to around 67,368,421.

Absurd? Of course it is. Just considering that most people forward emails to way more than just 20 people means these numbers are without validity.

Sociopaths are so evil, so manipulative and sinister, that virtually no one wants to accept the reality of a sociopath — whose own reality is lightyears from reality.

Their very real danger comes from the fact that they’ve had their entire life to learn the skills to create a public persona, a completely fabricated stand-out kind-of-person, one that seems to spew charm, concern, compassion, honesty, integrity, and morality. None of which they actually possess. Not in the least. But try to tell that to those who have been completely taken in by a sociopath, and they will defend that person unequivocally.

But for those with an open mind, those very few who stay on their toes, they may see a red flag, a warning from their own intuition. They sense something is not right — the spew-level is too high, way above the norm. A sociopath underscores the old advertising campaign of: “Perception and Reality.” And, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Time never makes for certainty.

In 2003, my sister, Kathy, lied to me about something I already knew the answer to. I thought it was quite benign until she lied about it, sending up a red flag for me. She obviously felt the need to hide something about it, so that’s what I needed to find out. Following up on it exposed that she had lied about many things in a short period of time, all relating to one event. Within 12-18 months, I had gathered enough inconsistencies and deceptions, when I was told exactly the fabricated lies she was telling people to assassinate my character.

I grew up with her, and witnessed her evil as a child, and feared her because of her ruthlessly vicious hostility against me. Yet I never even suspected her being a sociopath until I followed up on that one little lie. Kathy always had many “friends” but I realized none were close friends. By 2006, Kathy confirmed to be one of the most evil people I’ve ever known. I write a lot more about Kathy throughout this site.

People believe Kathy, yet if one pays the slightest attention to her, she’s a complete fake. One must question why she has never been able to maintain a job. She’s not intelligent, and does nothing … other than scheme, evidently. She has followers and disciples (including family), and when she sensed I was on to her, she easily got all of them to join in my banishment. People are so shallow.

Don’t let anything slide.

Throughout my life, when something didn’t seem right, I was never able to file it away until I made sense of it. That’s one thing you need to begin practicing to help protect yourself from sociopaths. Do not let anything slide … not even the seemingly smallest, most benign event. Follow-up on everything yourself … do not involve anyone else.

It is not as important to be able to identify sociopaths, as it is to always think for yourself — never allow someone else to think for you.

And never, ever, believe hearsay.

###

Related Posts:
Five Easy Steps to Identify a Sociopath.
One Small Lie = One Huge Revelation :: Part 1 of 4 Discovering my sister.
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The difference between a Psychopath and Sociopath

First, some historical data:

Psychopath … This disorder was first defined and named ~1800 (in France, I believe) and has had its definition revised many times since.

Sociopath … A category of social disorders first defined 1980~1983, and has also been further defined.

One can also find that the term “psychopath” is no longer in use, and was replaced by “sociopath.”

On the other hand, “psychopath” can still be found in use by other reputable sources. So, if and when (i.e., until) a clear delineation is fully adopted, the following seems to be the generally-accepted difference …

A psychopath will use violence — even murder — if they consider it necessary to protect their persona, or simply to fulfill that part of their dementia.

A sociopath would not be driven to physical violence. Technically, though, I consider there to be little-to-no difference between the two, other than time.

A psychopath would have likely been defined as a sociopath before being caught for heinous acts. A sociopath, I believe, could well be driven to hostility based on what they are willing to risk if their activities bordered on becoming public.

Therefore, extreme physical violence clearly separates the two. But, they have much more in common, than in difference.

What does not separate the two?

• Both will break the law if they consider it necessary.

• Both will go on the offensive to avoid going on the defensive.

• Both will fit in with society, beautifully (maybe too beautifully) by using a public persona.

• Both manipulate and use people for their own selfish, immoral, and illegal activities.

• Neither will allow anyone to get in their way, and will destroy anyone they suspect, even if that other person is family.

• Some are paid millions-per-year because of the ice-cold blood running through their veins.

There’s a reason I began this with a history lesson.

If you look between the lines above (metaphorically speaking), do you see anything that could also be part of the answer?

What I saw raised a very clear question. What did I see?

How about this:  After recognizing the psychopath, what caused the delay of 180-years before the same was accomplished for the sociopath?

My theoretical answer:  It underscores just how difficult it is to recognize and identify a sociopath. The clinical experts, themselves, were unable to recognize the sociopath  for 3-4 more generations after their predecessors identified the psychopath.

Therefore, another noteworthy difference: a psychopath may be more dangerous, but a sociopath is much more difficult to identify.

Keep in mind, there are potentially 10-100 times the number of sociopaths as there are psychopaths. That’s a wild guesstimate, but that’s all anyone can muster.

A true Psychopath.

Jeffrey Dahmer, killed at least 17, then dismembered and ate his victims. But in the real world, Jeffrey Dahmer fit right in with society. He was considered a “gentle” man by all who knew him. After receiving a life sentence, Dahmer was murdered by his fellow inmates.

Conclusion :: The Difference.

The primary difference, that which will affect the most people, is that sociopaths far outnumber psychopaths, and they blend into society so well — so extremely well — that they are virtually impossible for the average person to recognize.

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Related Posts:
Sociopaths are all the same … right?
What makes a sociopath so dangerous?
Psychopath/Sociopath: Similarities Outweigh Differences
Discovering Your Best Friend is a Sociopath
How do you spot a sociopath?
Identifying a Sociopath
AUDIO: Evidence by Recording Phone Calls :: Part 1 of 4
Do School Administrators Help Young Sociopaths?
One Small Lie = One Huge Revelation :: Part 1 of 4