I survived 10 years with a psychopath!! My why

Tweet

Psychopath!What does that make you think of? An axe wielding, homicidal manic? Not all psychopaths follow that stereotype.

WHY DO I DO WHAT I DO? MY WHY?

Someone asked me this the other day. Rather than being interested in my story about researching my uncle’s plane, which to me is a major passion, they wanted to know something else, something more about me.

What should I tell them, I wondered?

• How I failed 2 of my A levels, meaning I couldn’t go to University like I’d planned, to do archaeology and history?
• How I ended up doing graphic design, because after failing the A levels mum saw an ad for a design course to which I applied, and got in? (I’d always been good at art, as well as history – it was a toss up really which route I’d have gone down, this just preempted my design career).

“I survived 10 years living with a psychopath” I blurted out.

“That’s more like it, that’s what I want to hear!” she said.

You might be asking yourself:

“How does someone stay 10 years with a psychopath and a) not know and b) not leave?”

They’re interesting questions and ones that you won’t really understand the answers to, unless you’ve experienced psychopathic behaviour.

But let’s got back to the beginning. How did I meet him? I’d recently bought a small motorbike (a CB100) and decided I wanted to meet with like minded people. I went to a bike club in North London and went to a couple of their parties.

One such event was in a pub south of the River, near St Thomas’ Hospital. The psychopath, let’s call him John, was at the door greeting people. He seemed very nice, was open and friendly, chatting with everyone. During the evening, he took a shine to me and rarely left my side. All very flattering. At the end of the evening he kissed me. I’d never been kissed like that before, it was like in the movies: the world disappeared and there were just the two of us in the pub… We were a couple from then on. What I didn’t realise at the time, this is pure psychopathic behaviour: being charming and friendly, whilst targeting their next ‘prey’.

WORKING HIS WAY INTO MY LIFE

Somehow he sidled his way into my life and into my flat, combining our music collections, book collections and friends. At first everything was well, we had a great time, we would go on holiday to Wales on the bike, we would go to bike rallies and gigs. We shared a love of history and used to regularly visit country houses, and other heritage sites. A great raconteur, he would tell (repeatedly) (the same) stories of things that had (supposedly) happened to him, or his friends. He was a very good bike rider and a good friend to people he considered his friends. He was a good ideas man, but not very good at putting those ideas into practice.

But. He had a temper and he liked to drink.

A lot. If I didn’t get him out of the pub after 1 pint, that was it, he would stay most of the night and come home rolling drink. Sometimes he was loud and verbally abusive, sometimes he would be maudlin and cry. I would never know which. Anything that happened to him wasn’t his fault, but someone else’s. He claimed to have a food allergy, that he couldn’t eat garlic.

Now I lllloooooovvvveeeee garlic. To have to start cooking without garlic was really boring, but he claimed that even if he tasted it on someone’s breathe it would cause him problems, so my life became garlic free. In restaurants it became very embarrassing as he would ask if they could do the meal without garlic and cause a stink (metaphorically) if it arrived with the stuff. He would also only eat certain (boring) foods, so my range of meals began to shrink. Sometimes I would test him, just to see if he would notice if I’d added it, but it was a risky thing to do, as he would always kick off.

I BEGAN TO LIVE IN FEAR.

Fear of what he would say, what he would do, would he be verbally abusive? Would he shout? Would he throw things? He only ever hit me once (and that I do believe was accidental, he was demonstrating something and I happened to be behind him), but I still lived in fear.

Now is when most people reading this will be asking themselves “why didn’t she leave/kick him out?” Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome? It’s often talked about in relation to hostage taking or women who have been battered by their partners but don’t leave. You develop a relationship with your hostage taker, partner as a way of keeping yourself safe, to protect you from further violence or perceived possible violence.

I was scared. Of what he would do. Would his volatile temper turn to physical violence? Would he attack me? There was a tea stain on the ceiling where he’d once thrown a full cup of tea across the room in anger.

SO I STAYED…. AND STAYED….. FAR LONGER THAN I SHOULD HAVE DONE.

On one of our trips to Wales, I suffered a horse riding accident and fractured my spine. At first I was fine, but then gradually started to fall over and suffer other symptoms. He began to try and control me even more, trying to get me into a wheelchair, so that he would have total control over me and so I would be totally dependent on him.

ONE WORD IS ALL IT TAKES

It’s amazing how your life can change in one sentence. It was at this point a mutual friend (I’d actually met her through him) said to me “he’s making you ill’. It may not seem much, but this little seed of wisdom grew roots in my mind and I realised, yes he was making me ill. I decided I was going to fight back.

Stopping using the wheelchair, I worked on getting fit again, ate garlic (albeit it not in the flat) and generally started to take back my life. I gave him an ultimatum – either he had to pull his socks up, or he was out.

He got worse – staying in the pub longer, deliberately doing stuff I’d asked him not to do, or not doing stuff I’d asked him to do. Even laughing about it with one of his bar fly friends.

TRYING TO BUILD UP COURAGE

I knew now I had to get rid of him, but it was a matter of building the courage up to take that monumental step. I decided that ‘this Saturday’ (at the time) would be the day, but funny how things work out, that very evening he said to me, as I was brushing my teeth “you wont’ kiss me any more (not surprising, his dental hygiene was appalling), what’s the matter?” Through foamy, gritted teeth I blurted out “I want a trial separation!”.

The look on his face was priceless!

But. There was always a but with him. He wouldn’t move out. Even though the flat is mine, he didn’t see why he should sleep on someone else’s sofa or a floor. He hung around like a bad smell for a month.

Then he told me that he and our mutual friend has arranged that he would go and stay with her for a little while and he would look for a job in her area. This sounded like a great plan.

THE CATALYST

One evening whilst he was there, he rang me totally drunk, calling me all the names under the sun and accusing me of having phoned all the job agencies telling them he was an alcoholic. (Why would I have done that? I wanted rid of him) Again, I later learned this is typical psychopathic behaviour: telling blatant lies and using them to manipulate people to get what they want.

Things then took a nasty turn. Later that same evening (about 3am), our mutual friend rang me totally terrified. She’d locked herself in the bathroom, scared for her life! He was totally drunk and had been out on the drive threatening that he was going to kill someone and then fallen asleep on the sofa.

Could I finally find the courage?

I couldn’t sleep, I went ice cold and paced the flat. What should I do? I was scared, but this couldn’t go on any longer. He had never threatened violence like that before. He’d threatened our friend. I knew what I had to do, but still couldn’t quite find the courage.

I opened wardrobes and cupboards looking at his stuff, I paced up and down trying to decide, knowing what I had to do, but still teetering on the edge, scared of what might happen.

FINALLY I TOOK THE PLUNGE, I MADE THE DECISION!

I started pulling all his clothes out of the wardrobe and putting them in suitcases and black bin bags. I pulled all his books off the shelves and threw them in a pile. Enthusiastically, I took all his tapes and CDs out of the racks and tipped them into bin bags.

I WAS ON A HIGH! EUPHORIC! BUT SCARED. ONCE I STARTED I COULDN’T STOP. EVERYTHING I COULD FIND ENDED UP IN A HUGE HEAP.

And the little gremlin on my shoulder (someone later thought this might be my soul or higher self) was sat there rubbing their hands with glee:

“She’s finally done it!!”

BUT THE TALE DOESN’T STOP HERE.

I rang a friend who worked nights and told him what had happened. He recommended talking to the police. However they weren’t that helpful – apparently because my partner had lived there more than 1 year, he had right of access to his home, never mind that he was violent and had just threatened to kill someone. (I think things have now changed due to new stalking laws etc, but at the time this was how things stood).

I rang a solicitor and we devised a plan to get him out. The solicitor would write a him a letter telling him he had 2 days to leave, after which time we would get an injunction if he hadn’t gone. During that time, for my safety I stayed with my parents. The letter was sent first class to my address and would be waiting for him when he came back from visiting our friend.

FIGHTING BACK

The day arrived and I told me clients I wouldn’t be answering the phone but if they emailed me I would ring them back. then I waited. At about 1pm my mobile started ringing.  I ignored it. He’d obviously seen the letter. The landline rang. I ignored it. Then the torrent of emails started. My resolve started to wobble and I rang the solicitor. He told me to ignore them. I did, but was still scared.

After the 2 day deadline, it was time to go back to the flat, to see if he’d gone. I had asked several male friends to come with me as I was really scared as to what I would find, or what he might do to me if he was still there. But no one would come with me.

I had to go with a female friend. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

Putting the key in the lock I took a deep breathe, not knowing what I would find.

Music was playing and my heart dropped “OMG I thought to myself, we’ve got a fight on our hands”. But then realised there was no one there.

HE HAD GONE!!

The relief was intense. But then I saw the state of the place. He’d left stuff scattered all over the place, half eaten food, belongings, the heating on, music playing. My friend called a locksmith. We started to clear up.I sat there. Numb to my core. And my new life starting.

But. There was always a but with him.

Then came the death threats. He rang various friends telling them he was going to kill me, that he had people following me.

I rang the Domestic Violence Unit. For six months I slept with the light on and a can of hair spray by the bed (the only weapon I could use according to the DVU without being prosecuted).

I SURVIVED 10 YEARS WITH A PSYCHOPATH!!  THAT IS MY WHY

I will survive. This was my theme song at the time. With great vigour I would shout “Go on now go! Go out the door! I don’t need you any more!”. Thank you Gloria Gaynor.

Gradually the fear left and I’ve rebuilt my life. From scratch. When you are at rock bottom, the only way is up (thanks Yaz).

Visit www.lovefraud.com for tips on how to spot the red flags of psychopaths and narcissists. Set up by a women who discovered her husband was a psychopath, it gives an outlet for survivors to tell their stories, get support and validation.

If you need help phone the police on 101 or if it is an emergency call 999.

EDIT: Another number which may be helpful is the National Domestic Violence 24-hour free Helpline on 0808 2000 247. This number wasn’t around for me, but has been recommended by a counsellor who has read the article.

EDIT 2 FEB 2018 – I’m now writing a book about my 10 year experience with a psychopath. The plan is to provide a short autobiographical piece about what happened and also give tips on how to escape such a situation. I hope to have it finished by June.

IT WILL GET BETTER! I PROMISE!

And if you need any help with your design projects please call me on 0775 341 3005, email info@iconiccreative.co.uk or visit www.iconiccreative.co.uk