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.

###

Mom was pregnant again. If my folks didn’t have a boy, that would put an end to any future generations of our family branch. In that vein, Marcia was probably a disappointment of sorts, not being a boy, which contributed to Kathy maintaining dad’s favor after Marcia was born.

It’s a Boy.

Namesake, even. Photos of me being held by every distant relative, many whom had not appeared in any previous family photos, and virtually no sign of Kathy in any of those early photos.

Now there was a third child to fit into the family photos, but instead of dad just putting me on his other knee, he removed Kathy from “her” place of honor, setting her alone on the cold couch, and placed me on the spot that Kathy considered her own.

Kathy must have continually seen the pride in dad’s face, holding this new intruder that dad had so easily replaced her with. She lost her special perch and dad’s attention … nothing she experienced with Marcia’s arrival. Undoubtedly, she wanted her position back with dad, so the resentment she built was most assuredly focussed on her intruder, and how she would need to dethrone him.

Kathy must have felt deeply rejected and hurt, and apparently, no one noticed. Even in this photo, Marcia is very relaxed, I’m having a great time, but look closely at the stress in Kathy’s little hands. Since some of my earliest memories include unprovoked hostility from Kathy, I really wonder when it actually began. As young and innocent as I was, I had already become a target.

A rejection that so obsessed Kathy, she never let it go.

By the time I got a little older, and began storing my own memories, I have no recollection, whatsoever, of ever seeing that pride in my dad’s face in real life. Never. It was only captured in photos when I was very young. What could have changed in a child between the ages of two and five?

All my memories of him include a face with anger, disappointment, or frustration. Never once in my childhood did my dad ever tell me he loved me, nor did he ever hug me. But I watched as he often hugged my sisters and told them he loved them … obviously, I didn’t live up. I do not believe anyone could have been younger than I was, when I was set-up for failure.

Attack avoidance.

Memories of my childhood are filled with my abusive, alcoholic father spanking me, and only me, when I was young, then turning to hitting me as I got older. My mom would place herself between us to let me get away. Then I’d hear dad yelling at mom for “interfering.” My oldest sister, Kathy, was violently hostile to me, and me alone. It was obvious to me that they hated me, but since it was what I was used to, I simply accepted it. What mattered was staying safe.

I was spanked often, even though he didn’t need much of a reason to spank me. I don’t recall my sister, Kathy, or my brother, Alan, ever being spank. There was the bare hand spank (usually avoided since it would hurt his hand), the belt, the wood paddle, the broom stick, and whatever else was within reach.

Witnessing a public persona.

When we were young, we always went to church services together on Sunday. Not that I knew what I was witnessing back then, but that was when I first experienced my dad’s public persona. He could be yelling at us in the car one minute, but as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, he’d smile and wave. I’d watch him walk up to his buddies, and I wondered how he could change so quickly.

He had just been swinging into the back-seat and hitting us in the car, and now he’s yucking it up with his church pals. He belonged to the mens’ club, volunteered his company’s services to the church, and always greeted everyone with skilled showmanship. He should have sold cars.

During summers, when I would go to dad’s office with him, I realized he was a completely different person to his employees as well, and if they were around, he’d treat me with a modicum of respect, too. He treated his employees so well, that I remember wishing I only worked for him. But once we got in the car to go home, he was able to remove his persona, and remind me what he was really made of. He would open-up on me for something I said, something I did, but no matter what day it was, there would always be something.

Having it backwards all these years.

Living during those times, I always felt that first and foremost, it was dad who hated me, and since Kathy was dad’s favorite, she hated me, too. And knowing she would not get in trouble, she also contributed her own hostility. At least, that’s what I believed until recently … amazing how a series of current events can correct history.

In some ways, dad’s and Kathy’s abuse was very similar, but not in every way. They both abused me physically and emotionally, such as being continually called “stupid” and “will never amount to anything” — funny though, but it was Kathy who never amounted to anything. She’s never kept a job. But one way they differed was in their physical approach: dad wanted to hurt me, but Kathy wanted to injure me. There’s a huge difference.

Dad was physically abusive to me when he drank, and although he drank everyday, he didn’t begin drinking until 5pm. A tall tumbler filled with vodka on ice is what he’d call one drink. He never had just one, though. So I did my best to stay away during that period.

When push came to shove, mom stood tall.

Once, when I was 16 or 17, I walked into the house to find dad waiting for me with closed fists. Luckily he was a terrible aim when he was drunk, but he just kept coming. Mom came in, yelling at dad to stop, but he wasn’t listening. Mom became almost hysterical, and headed to the other side of the house. Minutes later, Kathy ran in, announcing that mom had called the cops. Dad immediately stop and left the room, but Kathy continued looking at me, and said, “If I were you, I’d get out of here.” Her comment made me believe that I was in big trouble … probably what she was hoping for.

I did leave on foot, just at dusk. Sometime after dark, as I was walking through an unlit field, I was suddenly hit with a spot light, and then a second … I simply came to a stop, and waited. I heard footsteps coming towards me from two directions. The first officer simply asked if I was Larry … to which I replied, “Yes.” He then asked if I’d come with him, and I agreed. We walked backed to his car, he opened his front passenger door for me, and drove me back to our house. In addition to the car I was arriving in, there were three patrol cars parked in front. The word “serious” probably never had a greater meaning. Once inside, a detective introduced himself and asked me what happened.

As I’ve always been, I opened-up with complete candor. After no more then five or ten minutes, he got up, and asked me to wait there until he returned. He headed to the other side of the house, where my dad evidently was. Minutes later, he reappeared, and said, “If this ever happens again, please call me” — and with that, he handed me his business card. I recall being shocked, with my head spinning … I was led to believe kids would usually take the fall if it involved parents. But instead, it was the first time an authority figure revealed to me that my dad was in the wrong.

Mom did an extremely brave thing for which she probably paid for. The cops didn’t arrest dad, as I had no injuries. But he never attempted to hit me again.

Sibling brutality.

Kathy, though, had no time constraints. Every chance she got, I was in her sights. And she was brutal. She wouldn’t just scratch, but she’d attempt to create canals … deep bloody gouges. I always had to be aware of her legs, too, as they were her weapons of choice. As soon as I saw one leg swing back, I had very little time to twist and ruin her targeting. Instead of hitting her desired targets, I’d take the kick in my upper thigh. An impact with such force that it would result in a black and blue bruise the size of a baseball. She always tried … she never succeeded.

I was also keenly aware that whenever Kathy brought home a friend, and introduced them to the family, her friends would greet my siblings quite differently than me. They would warmly acknowledge Marcia and Alan, but with me, they’d rarely make eye-contact and maybe mumbled a “hi.” Though I was already a victim of it, it would still be many years before I knew the term “character assassination.” The introduction I clearly remember was when Kathy introduced us to her future husband, Marlin. After seeing how warmly he greeted the others, I felt I had leprosy when he greeted me.

Kathy answered only to dad … not to mom.

I also witnessed Kathy physically brutalizing mom. It was during one of Kathy’s arguments with mom, one which turned violent, that I first felt Kathy’s capability of true evil, cold-blooded hostility.

I was about 10. After just arriving home on my bicycle, I heard yelling between Kathy and mom on the opposite side of the house. I arrived to see mom literally flying backwards across the hallway, slamming into the closet, her spine hitting the doorknob, screaming-out, then dropping to the floor crying, obviously in intense pain. Mom saw me when she first looked up from the floor, as I approached to help her. When I got to mom was when I was first able to see Kathy’s closed bedroom door.

Kathy never opened her door to see if mom needed help. I remember feeling a very eerie chill that, behind that door, Kathy was smiling. And because she never opened the door, Kathy never knew there had been an witness. There was no one else in the house.

Out on my own.

Within a month after graduating high school, I moved out. The abusive relationship I had with dad evolved into no relationship. Kathy had achieved her long-term objective of having dad to herself. Kathy and Marlin had married and moved to Alaska. During my 20s, there would be periods of 2-3 years of no contact with dad. Mom and I were very close, and I had a relationship with her like no one else in the family.

Dad would not let mom have a private conversation with me, so we’d have to wait until dad would be out doing errands. Then we’d talk and laugh for 1-2 hours sometimes, until mom would say, “Oh, I hear the garage door opening … your dad’s home.”

Right when I’d hear him walk into the house, mom would say, “It’s Larry, he just called.”

Mom was such a funny lady, yet I don’t believe anyone in the family, but I, was aware of it. Mom would never speak openly to me unless she was alone, and as time went on, I realized that meant not only dad, but no one else in the family could be present.

Of course, now that makes more sense than ever. Dad brought the “bad gene” into the family. Dad, as well as all three of my siblings exhibit sociopathic characteristics. I’ve caught all of them lying, and I believe they’ll lie to be safe.

For some reason, I was spared the effects of the bad gene. I assume I was the skipped generation. That also meant I was closest to mom than any of the others, but other than in mom’s eyes, I was the borne outcast.

Time for change

At about the age of 30, after all those years of emotional and physical abuse, which led to my own fairly-low self-esteem, I met a very attractive woman who virtually fell for me. She treated me differently than anyone else ever had, which in turn had a very positive effect on my own well-being.

In just less than a year, driven by Julie’s desire to establish a solid future together, we were married. And with that, I began the next chapter of my life, with the most psychotic sociopath I would ever know. Bipolar, borderline schizophrenic, and dangerously vengeful — all verified when I found her psychological evaluation, twelve years later.

###

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.

###

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?

The Accidental Discovery :: My Sibling is a Sociopath
PART 1: Events Leading up to the First Red Flag.

He consistently scored in the top 1% in both science and mathematics, and the top 10% is just about everything else. DK had read more books by the time he hit middle school than I’ve read in my entire life. And in sixth grade, he was invited to attend our state university’s Saturday School for the Gifted.

It was about the time he started middle school, when I noticed his friends were not coming around as they had. I casually asked on multiple occasions, but each time he avoided any real discussion about it, and I saw no reason to push it … at least not with him.

Considering his personality type, I suspected he had been targeted by bullies, and that was eventually confirmed.

After the school’s ongoing denials about the bully problem — except for one brave teacher — another incident occurred in March, 2003, that had been witnessed by a volunteer (parent) on lunch duty. It would be tough for them to continue to deny it.

The biggest shock was when school administers implied the fault was his (i.e., the victim), and he should get help. It was a Tuesday, and I told his counselor that I would be taking him out of school for at least the remainder of the week, and hopefully more, while he and I considered our options.

Next, Part 2 shows what a red flag looks like …

Target Audience :: Anyone interested in learning more about those with the personality disorders, commonly referred to as sociopaths. More specifically: those who are suspicious of someone they’ve known for a very long time, such as a member of the family. This may help identify the signs and to avoid making the mistakes I made — mistakes that led to my character being destroyed, and becoming a pariah.

The Accidental Discovery :: My Sibling is a Sociopath
PART 2: How I almost missed that Red Flag.

 
… con’t from Part 1

Five days had passed since I pulled my son DK out of school. Due to the school’s inability, or more precisely, unwillingness to recognize their student-on-student harassment problem, I was forced to tackle it myself, at least as for my son. Once again, though, it seemed like the bad guys had scored another victory … but they had accomplices: the school administration.

By Sunday morning, my sketchy plan was to file a formal complaint with the Board of Education, talk to the police, and if need be, an attorney. I’d complete the details by day’s end.

An unexpected call from Kathy

Shortly after noon, the phone rang. It was a call from my sister, Kathy.

I recall she sounded upbeat, saying we hadn’t spoken in a while, and she just wanted to chat and see how we were doing. It was not something she did often, but just occasionally — maybe once every year or two. Even though distracted with the issues I was facing, I began sharing information about us as a family in general.

I recall the very next thing she asked was how the kids were doing. Although I did not want to share much detail about my DK’s situation, I began with talking about how my daughter EK was doing. Eventually, I segued to my son, saying …

“And unfortunately, DK’s not doing very well.”

She expressed concerned, “He’s not?  Why? … what’s wrong?”

I told her about how he’d been being harassed by fellow students, about how the school had more important things to deal with, and due to yet another incident, I took him out so as to get him away from his hell, as well as giving me time to make some changes for him going forward.

Sharing the brief overview of his current situation could not have taken much more than one minute. Which surely contributed to my shock from her next comment …

“He’s welcomed to come here and finish the school year.”

“What!? Kath, you’re kidding, right!?”

“Of course not. Both B and K are out on their own now, so that leaves just T still here … so we have plenty of room. Really, he is welcomed to finish the school year here.”

“I don’t know what to say. I hardly told you anything, yet you’re response, yet just like that, you offer to put in up till summer? You know, he doesn’t even know you … any of you. Are you sure?”

“What’s family for, Lar?”

“You have no idea. I’m so touched by your offer … are you sure you wouldn’t like to think it over first?”

“No, not at all.”

“I am so stunned. Thank you for your generosity. Don’t you need to discuss it with Marlin?”

“No, I’ll just let him know … he’ll be fine.”

“So what do you think? We probably need to get him out here quickly.”

“You’re right, so I need to give this some serious thought. And after that, I’ll need to have a long talk with DK.”

“The final decision won’t be mine … it’ll be entirely his.”

“And, I do really appreciate this … thanks again. I’ll give you a call later this afternoon.”

A New Option for DK

From the time my kids were in pre-school, I always addressed them respectfully as human beings, not as subordinate children. That probably helped promote our ability to talk things through, even tough subjects, and communicate like I never could with my own dad.

DK and I spoke for over an hour about all the options, but primarily I focussed the discussion with an in-depth view of Kathy’s offer. As we wrapped up, DK asked me one final question, “Dad, what do you think would be the best option for me?”

I told him that if he felt comfortable traveling cross-country to stay with people he doesn’t know, but will in very little time, as well as attend a different school for about three months, then I suggested he accept Kathy’s offer.

And with that, he said, “OK, I’ll do it.”

Time to update DK’s mom and see the first Red Flag

I told DK we had plenty to do in a very short time, but before we even get back to Kathy, he needed to call his mom and give her a complete update, as she had no idea of any of this.

I also let him know, that based on years of experience, whenever his mom was faced with something she didn’t expect, she almost always had the same, very predictable reaction … which could also be defined as a very distinct over-reaction.

To that end, I suggested that I stay nearby, so as soon as he drops the bomb, producing the detonation on the other end of the line, he can simply hand the phone to me. I would then be able to bring Julie, his mom, up to speed on all the details. He knew his mom well enough to say, “Oh good, thanks.”

As he went to get the phone, I was first going to begin getting stuff done nearby, but decided, instead, to just wait, so I sat on his bed. When he returned, he sat directly to my right. He speed-dialed his mom’s number, and brought the phone up to his left ear … the ear closest to me.

Due to our house being very quiet, and his mom’s volume just the opposite, I found myself hearing both sides of the conversation clearly from the moment she answered.

After a few moments of greetings and unrelated chat, DK told his mom that he was going to fly out to Arizona and live with his Aunt Kathy until the school year ends.

That was my cue, as I was ready to take over the call.

But instead, I clearly heard something else entirely …

“I know!!  I think Kathy’s the greatest.  You’ll really …”

“I know!” ?  Their discussion continued, but that’s all I heard, as I was immediately distracted by an obvious red flag hitting me in the face.

Shortly thereafter, I heard DK say “good-bye” and hang-up. His mom never knew I was sitting right there, and DK did not pick-up on her unexpected admission. I saw no benefit to bring it to his attention, either.

Two words that completely changed my life

At that point, I realized it was time to close my mouth and blink again. What I had just heard was so unexpected that I was literally stunned. Those two words kept repeating like a skip on an old 45. Never once, even while we were married, was I ever aware that either of them they were in contact. Maybe they weren’t then, but then I would not know about this if I had not decided to sit and wait.

“I know!” ??  There was only one way Julie could have known, and that would have been directly from Kathy. But why? Was this just a fluke, or had communication been ongoing? Over eight years had passed since our divorce.

The very first and strongest thought that crossed my mind was that Julie had begun to infiltrate my family. “Infiltrate” is a strong word, but Julie’s deceptive manipulation is beyond belief. If Julie had a plan of some sort, then my family, specifically Kathy, needed to be warned — that’s correct: “warned” as in the potential of danger.

I never informed my family about Julie’s true character, the one behind her charming public persona, nor did I think — albeit hope — I would ever need to. Most people can not accept that “such a nice person” can harbor such malicious and deliberate evil.

But in Julie’s case, I not only have substantiation from her own journals, and voice recordings, but I also have her official psychological diagnosis — items that I never even shared their existence with any member of my family or family friends.

Why didn’t I disclose Julie’s diagnosed conditions?

Besides integrity, in this instance, there were really three more reasons …

1 :: That thing I call my core foundation. I’ve never been one to gossip, or pass on hearsay about people behind their backs (I will share later in this story when I discovered that the majority in my extended family are just the opposite).

2 :: I’ve always been very private with my personal family information, and this qualifies as such.

3 :: In this very unique instance, protecting my kids was most important, and my highest concern. I decided they would only learn about their mom from their own experiences with her. I never once spoke negatively of their mom. And I was unwilling to risk having distorted rumors passing to my kids from outsiders.

Both my son and daughter discussed, with me, observations they made at their mom’s, as well as questioning their mom’s comments, usually about me, which they believed were not true (very wise kids) … all at much younger ages than I had expected.

Protecting my kids came with a trade-off … it also protected their mom’s evil

I have a copy of Julie’s clinical psychological evaluation. I determined I had no reason for family and family friends to even be aware of her evaluation. Julie is a master at manipulating people, something she once even wrote in a notebook that she can always use sex to get what she wants.

The thumbnail includes direct quotes from her evaluation, but in general, it indicates she’s a very troubled, and potentially dangerous individual, with paranoid tendencies which could contribute to unwarranted revengeful acts against others. She even manipulated the psychologist conducting the three-day test, and in probably more ways then I discovered. And after being with her for 13 years, I discovered the hard way how she was able to hide some very serious conditions she lives with.

I know from personal experience that she can become violently hostile with no warning, and no reason. Although she swung at me for unknown reasons, she successful nailed me with a sucker punch as I walked in from work one day. I was thrown back into the garage, with a stream of blood coming off my face. I was forced to crawl on the garage floor trying to find my glasses, only to discover that one of the temples had been flattened. I wouldn’t even attempt to fix it myself, so I wore my contacts, making excuses for my shiner, and left a bit early to run by the house, grab my glasses and get them repaired.

I ran upstairs, grab them off the dresser, but something wasn’t right … I looked down at them, and they had already been repaired. Years later, I asked her why, and she stated she clearly remembered punching me as I walked in, but had no idea why. She also claimed she had no memory of having them repaired.

I am also well aware of her character assassination activities against me, and I’ve recently discovered documents going all the way back to the 80s. The ones I discovered were most likely drafts of letters written to her mom. In an attempt to cover her own immoral activities, she wrote those letters with fabricated events that focussed, and put the blame on me.

And the discovery which proved most shocking were her multiple attempts at having me arrested based completely on fabricated events. She perjured herself to file one completely fabricated allegation against me, and even though it was quickly proven an outright lie, she somehow managed to avoid prosecution. She once wrote in a notebook that she lives her life in a fantasy, and I’m the only one who sees it.

After discovering that Julie had been in contact with Kathy, I decided that I needed to share specific information with Kathy, about Julie, information that primarily warned her that Julie was very scheming and manipulative, and a pathological liar.

“School Bully” Cover-up Continues.

But before I made that call to Kathy, I wanted to make sure that we stayed on-track to get DK everything he needed, and en route to Arizona as quickly as possible. I got him on a flight just two days later, on Tuesday morning, with most everything he needed, except for the school transcripts.

I had an appointment at the school, late Tuesday, to sign all the required documents so they could forward DK’s transcripts. I didn’t know it until I arrived at school, but I was about to be shocked one more time.

Without a doubt, the administration knew that I was taking DK out of their school because of the ongoing problem with school bullies, and unchecked harassment. They also knew that DK was going to finish the school year living with his aunt, and then return.

While signing all the paperwork, I got to the document that included the field for explaining: Reason for Withdrawing.

The following had already been typed in: Moving out of state.

From my own research, as well as what Dr. Bob shared, I’ve come to the realization that this is a huge cover-up affecting most every school district in the country.

Reflection: The Power of a RED FLAG

If I had not been sitting right next to DK when he called his mom, I would have missed that comment by Julie. That comment was the catalyst for asking the question which led to the One Small Lie and the second Red Flag — which is in part 3.

When I saw that first red flag appear, there was absolutely no way I could have predicted the impact it would have on me. But being there to hear Julie’s words — words of admission I was certainly not meant to hear — not only changed my life going forward, but also opened the door to rewrite my history, all the way back to my childhood.

###

Next, more red flags than you can count …

Con’t in Part 3 …

The Accidental Discovery :: My Sibling is a Sociopath
PART 3: The One Small Lie and Red Flag #2

 
… con’t from Part 2

My son, DK, had now been in Arizona for a few days. Kathy and I had been on the phone regularly. By the end of the week, though, the number of our calls decreased substantially. It was during one of those, I remembered that I needed to share the information concerning Julie.

Since Kathy had no idea that I was aware of their communication, it was only natural for me to begin with a question …

“… oh, and before I forget: Have you been in touch with Julie?“

“No.”

RED FLAG: That was not the correct answer.

As simple as it was, I thought I confused her. So, I rephrased it …

“I’m sorry, let me try that one again: Have you been communicating with Julie, you know, by email or by phone?”

“No, I don’t even remember the last time we spoke.”

Except I knew with 100% certainty that Julie and Kathy spoke the previous weekend. At that point, I dropped it, as if it were no big deal.

But, it was a big deal.

Red flags were everywhere. I knew, from those two lies, I was facing a very large problem, something I certainly did not want to realize right after sending my son to stay in her home.

In no time at all, I had four credible individuals who confirmed the relationship between Kathy and Julie, in addition to Julie’s own admission. I was never able to nail down precisely how long they had been communicating. The only aspect that seemed assured was that it was more than one year, since it was referred to as “years” — that’s plural.

On that original Sunday, when I called Kathy back, she asked if I could house-sit for a week that she and her husband would be out of town. I agreed without hesitation. That week was about one month away, and had now taken on an additional role.

I decided not to mention anything about Julie, again, until I was face-to-face with Kathy. Ideally, I’d be able to drop in the same question, unexpectedly, during a casual conversation. I was not expecting a different answer, but I wanted to see her physical reaction, something that would tell me a lot. I knew what I didn’t want to see, but I was fully prepared to see it.

As I think back to that first call from Kathy, I was so taken by her compassion, that I showered her with praise and gratitude. She proudly accepted my gratitude, and when she stated “what’s family for?” with so much compassion, I was truly touched . . . only to realize it was all part of a huge lie.

She called and pretended as if she knew nothing of my son’s dilemma, when in reality, she actually knew everything. As did Julie.

Kathy has NO shame.

She was so convincing, that I never even considered that I had told my dad everything on Saturday, the day before Kathy called me. And during a discussion with dad a couple weeks later, he revealed that he called Kathy not long after he got off the phone with me.

Kathy found out from dad a day before she called me.

I was faced with a myriad of deceptions, and I had yet to determine: why.

###

Next, the face-to-face reality …

Con’t in Part 4 …