Are You Dating A Sociopath? (Elephant Journal)

I'm sharing my latest published post from Elephant Journal on my recent dealings with a full-on sociopath.

You may be surprised how easy it is to miss the clues individually but when they are there it is very important to pay attention and be gentle with yourself for allowing it.

Are You Dating A Sociopath?

Dialogue From A Novel Never to Be Published (Part 1) : A Nihilist and A Boy-man Walk Into Couple's Therapy.

*** This is pure fiction. A hypothetical couple's therapy session written nearly a decade ago to create a sense of closure where closure could not be found in any other way. *** 

It's pretty entertaining and a bit heartbreaking to read the words never said; the sadness never known. BUT....I say this whole-heartedly and on the eve of a truly devestating day: "All is well that ends well." 

Couple's Therapy:  too little, way too late:

It is nothing and everything that I have brought. Leaving, or being left, yet again, with the void.

She enters the small three-flat building having stopped twice at public restrooms at various fast food restaurants on the twenty-mile drive into the city. The drive in was a colossal movie like rendition of memories from their first encounter to the devastating ending. The childish laughs and the full blown adult fights, everything between now and then feels like something that didn’t happen, but rather was branded into her. It has always felt that way. Heavy or light, but nothing wasn’t committed to a long term memory store.

Her heavy steps down the small, musty hallway felt much like plank walk to a destined doom. She tried not to fidget. “Be open and calm” her voice whispered in her head. A green chair sat right outside the wooden and cracking door. She could here the muffle of a low moan voice behind it. It was non-distinguishable yet still completely frightening. She sat. The floor creaked as foot steps fell upon the wood floors, getting louder and more in synch with her heartbeat. She was unable to decipher the difference between them when the door opened.

She has always done things too quickly, made decisions feverishly. She moves at great speed. The grand and the minor. Her body shows the scars of the latter. In the space on her buttocks below her hip and above panty-line is a constant purple mound of dried blood cells, where her finger nails scraps the skin every time she rushes her pants off, even just to change. Her thumb-nails leave a mark of movements too quick to notice. This, like all her actions, is so fast the pain of their repercussions never quite hits soon enough.

Without saying a word, she made eye-contact first with Dr. Hank, a stout man, wearing glasses. Her first reaction was to hold her breathe, as historically, when coming across men that looked like east coast fisherman in corduroy elbow patched blazers. A man that looked like this, with a grey beard and shiny head, usually smelled like ketchup and faint fish-breath. They locked eyes, and he nodded her in.  She obeyed.

The room was dark and the blinds were cracked. She could see the trees being swung around in the Chicago wind. They looked lifeless and at the mercy of the stifling cold of nature, not unlike her near future. Two chairs were set up in front of an old English maroon leather beaded chair. A small non-matching desk was pushed against the window with a non-specific stack of books on its left corner. The entire room smelled like books, cheap aftershave and onions.

This already appeared dismal. Until she saw him, sitting in the chair with his back to her. He stood up, gave her a silent but grateful look and put his hand out. This was new. She couldn’t remember the last time she shook his hand, even an awkward, obligatory closed hand hug would have sufficed, or at least felt appropriate. The entire entrance felt too clinical. Foreign. She sat.

The general theme of their supervised encounter was laid out in almost outline form, yet Dr. Hank tried to seem nonchalant, and calming. This intention did not follow-through with such discomfort. Two people who haven’t even spoken in months, with a history of a lifetime in five odd years trying to be wiped clean, perfectly weaved in to an angle-less knot of closure. The sheer idea of it seemed preposterous, but then again, the entire foundation of their relationship had been deemed as such, so she stayed focused on being open.

Dr. Hank: So, Safina, tell me about you.

Safina: I’m not sure I understand what you are asking?

Dr. Hank: However you would like to understand it is fine. Just respond, however makes you comfortable.

Nick is sitting nervously with one leg bent, his foot resting on the knee of his right leg. His hand is up to his mouth, covering it, almost as if he is signaling her to both speak and say nothing at the say time.

Safina: Ahhh, see that is what I truly loathe about therapy, all the pre-meditated, cue-giving, all the open questions and answers. It’s like you are steering something, but without a wheel.

Dr. Hank makes a point not to nod, or make any kind of gesture. Just piercing and open eyes under his bushy grey, surprisingly frantic eyebrows.

Safina: Okay, the concise version in your speak. (She sits back in her chair uncrosses and re-crosses her legs, looking to Nick for some kind of supportive or curious encouragement. He is motionless aside from the quick bobbing of his foot.) I am a classic text book case of abandonment. My mother left me emotionally years before she did physically, and now, in her age and “wisdom” (Safina motions quotations with her hands) she is incessantly and quite self-servingly apologizing for her absence, and happy agreeing that she was an awful mother, only justifying all my hatred for her and even more my disgust in her boundless ability to be selfish. 

That coupled with my father who was an incredible man, but due to his child trauma growing up used boundaries everywhere…I can count the times he hugged me in my life on one hand. His fear of crossing the line left him constantly standing behind one. I grew up with his over-criticisms which I took with great pride as a sign he cared about me.

Thus, I have been on a path seeking men just like him, looking for patriarchs. (Her eyes land on Nick so heavy he looks away, and then she aims them back at Dr. Hank without the slightest of movement of her actual head.) All that plus boarding school and freedom at 15 fantastically has brought me to the be the person I am now. Again, obvious, so forgive me if I am boring you with typical conclusions.

Dr Hank: Do you feel “typical”?

Safina: It’s settled then,  I am A-typical.

...To be continued in "Part 2: Dialogue: I'd rather shatter than stand untruthful to my soul. I'd rather bleed to thrive than be stoic to survive." 

Shit Storms, Art forms, The Unforseeable and The Love You Mores...

On Shit storms, art forms, the unforeseeable, and the "I love you mores."

or we can call it:  "Stuff I've learned in therapy."

For more: "Lulu Says: Words from Life"

"Misandry Misunderstood as Feminism in the 'Burbs is Going to Ruin Your Sons."

I need to first say that I AM NOT against feminism.

In fact, my first published poem was called "The Amorphous Hypocrisy of Being a Woman" in 2000. It, I believe, is still used in a Women's Studies course.

I love women, I believe in gender equality and a woman's right for equal pay as well as all kinds of other civil rights ideas, although I am a humanist. I think. I hate labels.

I bring this up now because I'm loving all the feministic dialogue, and the human dialogue about women and men. The  hashtag: #HowToSpotAFeminist dominated social media this week and that is an amazing thing.


Tiny Fey was hilarious last night stripping on David Letterman in Spanx making her points, as she does...with satire and smarts.

Some other interesting reads on the topic: Feminists Are Reclaiming the Sexist Hashtag ... and
"5 Reasons People Think Feminists Hate Men."

Ironically, this week I also witnessed a quiet unintentional (I hope) sociological mirco-happening that I don't think anyone is posting articles or speaking at forums for fairness about. I was watching two girls play at the kitchen table. Homework was done and they were on their separate computers playing MineCraft a game that rivals Atari-like graphics and focuses on building and creating worlds with cubic graphics and tools like stone, diamonds, glass...etc. 

Both girls are ignoring the boy who is present, and one year younger. I over hear a snicker and then the high-pitched squeal of him saying: "Thats not TRUE!?"  It was an exclamation that tailed off into a quiet inflection of question.

He is visibly upset and I step in to inquire. After much huffing, and actual finger pointing, I find out that the girls were saying that "Boys don't know anything. He's an idiot." and "Boys are dumb." and  the absolute gem:

"You think you're so important, you aren't. Girls are better, smarter and don't need you."I'll come back to that word..."need" and why it really troubles me.

He was fighting back tears, arms crossed with a lip-quiver saying: "Noooooooooooo?" and "That's not truuuuuuueeeee." His voice cracking as his mind raced to argue the point he is having trouble making because he's too busy pushing down human emotion.

This is where a few things become very clear to me:

1. This very smart, very kind girl sounds like a bitter and angry man-hating wench. (She is a child.)
2. Is this how we are teaching girls to be strong? By belittling others?
3. Is making a boy feel inadequate an entitlement women are embedding in their daughters?

I give the girls my most hardcore (albeit, contrived) look of confusion. "Did you just say that girls are 'better'?" My daughter's smile retreats into her own face immediately. She knows where this is going. She's seen this face.

Her friend answers me: "Wellll, (Smirking a bit, holding the word sarcastically.) It is kinda true....." 

She is "kinda" laughing while darting eyes between the three of us looking at her. My reaction comes from a deep-dwelling place. It is from a mother, a protector of my son (who is two) and against the kind of bitterness that feeds the facade I see women wear all around me.

"Let me let you guys in on something real simple to understand:" I say calmly. Holding their attention, the boy's face still in a frown and hurt.

"YOU, ( I point to my daughter) YOU (I point to the boy) YOU (to the girl) are ALL just as valuable as the other. Why? Because YOURE HUMAN FIRST. Not a boy or girl. What is it that makes you better? Either of you... I'm honestly curious?"

I ask. I am.

The standard answers come out: "Girls rule and are cool. Boys drool." and "Boys are gross."
From the boy, however, I hear: "Nuh-uh. Girls are mean." and "Girls are NOT nice."

I have a reality flash. I too, said and believed that boys were gross, or silly, or awkward. I also knew tons of boys that thought girls were strange, and prissy or mean, or not athletic or smart. It didn't ruin me. We eventually all started to see that actions speak louder than mean words. I knew girls WAY better than boys at sports, I saw girls in AP classes laugh at boys stumbling in algebra. Life and Darwinism did it's thing. I realized my issue here in my kitchen wasn't with that stuff. It was with a word: "Need."

I wanted to grab my handy soap-box, sit them down on the floor and begin a sermon about boys and girls and roles and life and strength and self belief. I didn't. They had already moved on, apologized and been forgiven and gotten back to being kids. I was about to misplace my anger, instead I decided to think on it.

I've thought about it: Fuck that noise!

Is this going to be the equivalent of the "Boomer-bomb" of the over-sensitive and "everybody wins" child-rearing that has left Millineals in a trench of stand-offs and impasse arguments with their superiors over the ribbon they deserve for SHOWING up on time, every day at work?

Are women who choose to take the "talking-points" about Feminism that suit them and grandstanding building little girls that believe they are intrinsically more necessary, have more utility and are more important than boys?

The word "need" is a concept far bigger than the standard gender wars even our great-grandparents had before the learned bigotry, or rules of society and roles as they were. The word need implies (to me) that this girl over-heard that idea. If so, is that ok? Do boys hear it to? 

I'm not blaming, I'm asking questions that I believe are worthy.

If some women bark about how men are NOT NEEDED and idiots, and little boys hear this, what and how are they shaping?

Will they grow to be misogynists to validate the point because they feel the leading women in their life don't value them because of gender, and speak of them as inferior? 

Will they have self-esteem issues and need constant consoling by our girls who, conversely are being taught that just by being born with a vagina they are superior? 

You see, those sentences piss you off. That's good. Why? Because they are not complete. They don't carry all the facts, they make huge assumptions about a thousand factors I'm not presenting. Strangely, it has the limp and lacking statement of "Girls are better, smarter and don't need you."

I'm not equipped nor interested in making huge sweeping statements about Feminism and Gender Bias. I haven't done all the due-diligence, debated both sides in my head, and I am not at all informed enough to take a public stance, or call myself anything other than a woman hearing little boys be told by girls that they are not needed,  that they are and dumb and unimportant.

I'm merely concerned that the women who are misunderstanding what a Feminist means are creating a few by-products that actually fall into the category of "Shaming." "Bullying" and "Gender Inequality." I don't think they are trying to do this, if they were, that's a much longer post.

My observations of the "I Am Woman Hear Me Roar" rah-rah rant is not quite qualified by some of the women I see in Middle-America suburbia. These are not bra-burning, gritty- fact dropping intellects or women with conviction for civil rights, vast knowledge of suffragettes, great literature and history about the women that fought tooth and nail to afford these very women her (I believe) natural right to work outside the home,vote, nurse in public, run for president...etc.

No, I see some imbalance. I am all for mothers who raise boys and girls aware of the issues and gender inequalities all over the place. I believe in explaining fairness, and perhaps re-training our youth how to EARN respect, how to WORK for something and fail, fail again, fail a lot and still push on without giving up.

I believe there is something so valuable in teaching our boys that girls ARE strong, valuable and have tons of traits that are superior to other....boys AND other girls. Just as all of us, born with the right to be who we are, be as smart as we aspire to be and develop the skills we have, regardless of gender.

Do not mistake my concern for something which is developing here as Anti-feminism. My concern is more about something both untrue and a bit disingenuous. I worry  that some mothers are more preoccupied with sounding strong, better and independent, than they are with nurturing the very kind of children (boys and girls)  who will live on respectfully.

I fear that women who spit ideas like "men are not needed" then call one up to fix the stopped-up toilet, or fight dirty to diminish and defeat their husbands, coworkers or some vaguely identified scope of "men" are very confusing. They aren't realizing the strange hypocrisy their children witness.

This group of parents are not teaching fairness, respect and love that will beget young men and women who are going to be OPEN, ACCEPTING and thereby way more capable of what the fundamental points of Feminism (as I understand it) are....fairness, respect, and to be treated equally.

I was raised by a man who said: "Never depend on a man... ever. You never know when he or his wallet will run out. Build your own empire." I get the sentiment. I respect it. I am strong, opinionated, annoyingly stubborn and independent.

BUT....I too,  am sensitive, enjoy being "feminine" and "girly" at times, and I have what could be considered human "weaknesses."

-I can't create sperm from my body.
-I know, without question, that I could provide for my family just as my husband does if someone else was handling  childcare and I worked the same amount of days that he does. Even he knows that.
-I get lost in a parking lot because I have no sense of direction.
-I'm terrible at math.
-My body bleeds every 4 weeks and I get super hormonally charged and can be unpredictable.
-I have, was born with, and love, my vagina.


-I feel blessed that I had the choice, and stayed home to raise my children, and will still be taken seriously as an ex-professional whose mind and functionality matter, even if I let a man be the "breadwinner."
-I love men (and women) that are strong, brave, ambitious and believe in themselves.

NONE of those things make me less valuable. Nor do they make me "such a woman." or "less needed" in society, right? They are just facts about me. They don't deeply hinder my specific capacity for contribution to the species of humanity. They don't solely define me.

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm only a little right, maybe it's not about righteousness at all?

I ask you, as mothers and fathers, to look around.  Just be aware of the way you talk about the other gender.

Are you encouraging respect, understanding, and compassion? Are you encouraging your kids to listen to each other or to defend themselves? Are you teaching your girls to be brave, strong and independent? Your boys to do the same?

It's worth to consider at the very least. I believe we all matter. I believe we've made great strides in civil rights. My nine year old didn't know what Slavery was until I told her last year.

My daughters are living in a world (or at least a house) where bullying is not acceptable. My daughter reminded me to "watch what pronouns you use in that post so you don't exclude anyone who is gay." They are living in a nation where a black man is president and two women (so far) are running in 2016 to run the country. That's powerful. They don't  just see it, they see it as "normal."

It's also powerful to consider our children are LEARNING how to treat each other by being witness to how we speak, interact and engage with each other.

Just consider it.  I am. I think it's worth it.

Not all feminists hate men. Nor does one have to belittle, minimize or shame the other gender to require, deserve and believe in her right to equality. That's what I believe and will teach my kids......Both genders.

A short story on being published: “A Father Indirectly Validates A (wo)man, Unimpressed."

 “A  Father Indirectly Validates a (wo)man, unimpressed.”

“I’ve never ever in my life been more sure my father has his hand in this.” I felt it, almost like seeing it: My entire body became delicate and collapsed in on itself. “Of course.” (Choked on the epiphany) “Of course, he was. He was here. Always has been. I’m certain. Even that sliver of me that doubted my memories, and secretly questioned if I wasn’t embellishing as I so innately sometimes do. No, THIS. This is he. It’s how he would have been.” My tears and the extra mucus now filling my sinuses make my giggle sound more like a snort.

“I can see it perfectly. Me running to him, teenager full of audacity and pride:

 ‘Look! I’m published! Not just once, but three times in four days, dad!’

He would look at me. Hold my eyes and watch me squirm with anticipation. Knowing that he, who his whole life has told me to follow my passions and make myself independent, would look at me.

“I’m not making enough to support a family yet, but the payment is exposure! I’m literally on the front page of the Sports section! They posted it an hour after I submitted.”

I would say this convincing him of something he hasn’t questioned, revealing my own self-doubt.

He would look at me very still and quiet with a smile that always seemed like the beginning of a laugh or a mocking smirk, the two almost impossible to differentiate.

As I spoke these words to JS , my body would react exactly in moments precisely like the one I’m describing, my body abuzz, agitated and excited, chills flaring my skin and hair.

 “It’s a big deal, dad. It is. I mean National. The whole town of haters, forced along with my sister to read, not just hear from me. I am going to be a writer!”

I burst out with a tone that feigns joy and appears like the fact to both of us, persuading pride, not resounding it.

I could hear his voice with a vibration and sound I can’t describe to anyone and as only my heart can hear it.

“Lulu, Were you not a writer before this (he’d always minimize) little website took your work for a nominal fee?” 

And there it would be. The truth. The seeming disappointment I was always lead to with him.

No. I know something new now. I’ve pulled back the curtain of a child’s perspective and I can see clearly. His was a position of teaching me. He was teaching me that I was enough. That I always was, could be, and would be…enough. By no name or validation from outside myself. It was the lesson he constantly wrote out in different tones of disinterest, or being unimpressed. The opposite of  what “Baby Boomers” so often do these days.

As a mother, a parent, a human being having lived and loved and lost so much, I see. He was probably covering his mouth to whisper to his own mother, my grandmother, Maryam. He told her of the business plan I wrote at 18, to propose my moving to Sydney. He pointed to me when I would affably approach strangers with kindness and beguiling charm as a child.

He (and this is where I really lose it on the therapists couch)  is staring at me now. Seeing me as a mother, watching me fumble and try.  Almost laughing like a parent does when a child discovers something so simple for the first time. An ability to walk, the first time her motor-skills master the pincer grasp, a boy thinking he could never win a girls smile only to find the surprise of a love-note in his locker. My dad with his mother is pointing now, saying: 

“FINALLY.”

I told JS in way less words than I write here, that he was the father who, when I sent him an email about my getting a thirty percent raise at my first job, and how unheard of it was….he responded: 

“I’m glad they are acknowledging your value to them as a company, but remember Lulu that however good you are, how fast or smart, there is always someone better, faster or smarter.”

 Then he signed it: 

“Good luck and be happy, Dad.” 

I laughed telling JS this. Not just because it is SO him, just like this situational hilarity of my life as it stands, but because I know the quote. He left out the best part! The most inspiring part of his hacked-up mis-quote was  Churchill ending it all with “But never stop trying!”

With this, JS laughs with me. I’m a puddle. I am a wreck; but so sweetly so that even I can
feel it. Clarity doesn’t arrive in epitaphs from God onto stone atop of  a scenic cliff. It doesn’t sing to you with angelic voices. Nope. Mine hit me in my therapist’s office, talking about my chiropractor, who also does genius energy work, merely telling me he was “proud of me.” The revelation I had was messy and hairy and strange. It was not a beaming light shedding golden hue on a new pathway, it was a trip, stumble and then slow-motion cartoon-style rapid movement-attempt to NOT fall, that caught me off guard.

Of course my said dream of being recognized wouldn’t fulfill me and make everything whole. My life is in pieces. Instead it reminded me, or maybe that’s too much of a stretch even. It was finally, after decades of hoping and trying and rejection letters, and unfocused gibberish trying to sound enlightened, that I stood back, looked around, heard the echoing silence and kind words of maybe four people?  It was then, and only then that I saw what he did. The lively, confident, very full of self-belief girl. 

I saw that I had it - and always have had it. Two things of which I need no permission or conclusive opinion in mass. I will finally figure out how to make my passion a profession. And as  important : I won’t fail at parenting. Not even in my lowest moments of doubt and questioning how this is “my life,” I will always, with the conviction of a  woman who as a child was given so many very valuable gifts and lessons, impart less harshly and with far more compassion such strength in my own kids. 

He has always been here, and he prepared me for this, the longest, most convoluted, winding, U-turn riddled road to myself.

Lulu Diaries. 1996. “The Man You Want, and The Man You Need."

I found all this in my countless spiral journals. It makes me laugh. Again, I was always teetering on an understanding that I did not have the wisdom or life experience to carry through. And so I failed over and over at love. 

Me and “Spatt” in my apartment in Boston (Harbor Towers) at 17yrs old.

1996: 18 years old, Boston

The art of attraction is infinitely flawed. (I think) No really. How is it that most women who fall deep into the throws of love with a man, hate him first? Think of any Jane Austen book, think of any romantic comedy. I can't figure if we are a product of our entertainment, or the opposite. I do know this: What we think we want, and what we need are too very different things. Its navigating through ourselves that can prove tedious.

-Things I want (if I married):
-Have an accent
-Love his mother
-Challenge my beliefs and theories.
-Be Strong and athletic

 1998: Post moving back from Sydney.
Right. Then, I lived a little more, dated men with accents (Australian and South-African) and discovered some more things, by process of elimination :

Runway Show at The Drake, 2001

- He must wear bigger pants than me
-Accent NOT necessary
-Low maintenance, manly man
- Make me laugh
- Be nice
- Be smart

Then, I got adventurous with my needs and wants.

2001: Engagement off, single in Chicago

- Make me laugh
- Make me question EVERYTHING (This is when it goes down hill.)
- Have power (Still descending...)
- Be elusive and mysterious (deep plummet..)
- Be hard to handle (sunk)

2008: A blog post I wrote referencing above lists
It happens. We all think we know what we want. We have to think that, otherwise why listen to your instincts? It can be very confusing. Some of the very attributes that are so seductive, are the very ones that can erode your soul over time.

Let's just say about four out of five of my final needs/wants ended up being the exact OPPOSITE of what works for me. In my personal experience (and this is still subject to change) it takes about half a life to understand who we are, when we are not trying to bed, impress, or woo someone.

THAT is the person that needs to be matched. How can you know who that is until you stop trying? You can't. Some, however are way more clued into their unmasked selves than others. (There was a good five years where I had the self-awareness of Michael Scott-The Office).

Marriage is a strange gauge on faith and your knowledge of self. Look at the stats....51% of us are wrong. The priceless piece of advice I received in the ugliest word-wrapping of reality:

"Marry the man who would scrape you off the floor in your darkest moment, and not hold it against you.” -Julia Maher, 2003 Cafe De Luca, in Bucktown-Chicago.) 

JuJu, My best friend then, now and always.

I did. He did. Choose wisely. Know yourself, and be honest. The getting is fun but it is fleeting. Just be. All those books and movies that show the malicious, horse of a man turning to mush and becoming prince charming aren't showing you the whole story. Look at all the things you think you want in a man. Then write down the opposite. You might just find what you need opens up the gates to all kinds of new possibilities.

You smell what I'm steppin' in...

--------

Today, April 11, 2015

Again, I am shocked at how long I’ve been working on this “Who Am I?” and “What Do I Want?” gig. I do know this, now, I am so glad to be exactly where I am. It’s not perfect by any definition, but it is improvement. Its evolving. 

In a conversation with a woman I have little respect for, I slipped as she berated me saying: “We ARE SO DIFFERENT!” The words: “Thank God.” Slipped out of me. She winced at first, and then her false ego jumped in and repeated, sarcastically, the same sentence. That’s my point....exactly. 

You don’t know how much you can grow and learn and evolve, until you do. 

In the meantime, we all are doing the best we can to know and believe in ourselves. Sometimes its with the WHOLE truth, and sometimes it is not.  I can’t, nor would I be able to fix or guide anyone else. I’m a work-in-progress and honestly, as a friend of mine always says:

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” -AS