Continued from Part 3

2001 Nov 11, Sun PM

Karan, the super lady who originally drove me to the hospital on the previous Wednesday, was there to pick me up and take me home. After the hour drive, I asked her to stop by the post office, which was now closed and after dark, so I could check my box. When I returned to the car, and was about to get in, Karan screamed.

My back was saturated in blood. Karan immediately demanded to take me back up to the hospital, but I refused. The top surgeon said it was OK for me to go home, so I felt if we made the drive up, we’d be turned around and sent home again. She reluctantly obliged, and took me the last few miles home. continue reading…


Synopsis :: A sociopath may have many, many followers, but a disciple would belong to the sociopath’s most trusted inner-circle. A disciple is completely devoted and loyal, based on a combination of being shallow, gullible, needy, as well as ignorant. They are the ultimate groupies.

My week began with a brief call intended for my brother, Alan, but instead turned into a long call with his wife, Karen. I believe we spoke for close to two hours, something I don’t believe she and I had ever done before.

A couple days after that call, though, something hit me: an overwhelming intuition that Karen has been kept in the dark. I have no idea why that instinct took so long to arrive, but in my mind, it was unquestionable. There were parts of the conversation that I felt Karen should have been aware of, but she wasn’t. By the time the instinct arrived, I couldn’t even remember which parts they were. I only felt that darkness that surrounded her. continue reading…


All names have been changed to protect my innocent ass.

The Loyal Disciple is a Psychiatrist.

When I first met Dr Esbe in 2006, I was immediately taken by his charisma. He seemed like someone who wasn’t a psychiatrist — easy going, charming, with a quick and easy-smile; so as far as shrinks go, he seemed relatively normal.

As a comparison, I’ve seen two other shrinks in my life — one would easily fit in the ADHD¹ category, while the other would probably feel at home in the OCD² group. But Dr Esbe seemed more like the LDA³ type to me.

Additionally, since I have no medical insurance, Dr Esbe agreed to take me on pro-bono. Because of that, I wanted to give something in return. Something of value. I knew it would make me feel much better about it, since I was not used to getting stuff for nothing. My botched surgery of a few years ealier has made me see life from vantage points I never imagined. continue reading…


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

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

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


I don’t know how many more entries I’m going to be able to post here. Unfortunately, I’m no where near finished.

Realizing I was running out of time is one of the reasons I jumped on Semi-related Parallel Trauma to cover another very integral part of my recent past, but I didn’t even get to the guts of it. You see, I was infected with MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus) around my spine during a somewhat routine operation. The majority of those infected, especially in hospitals, don’t survive. I wasn’t supposed to.

For those who don’t know, MRSA is the third leading cause of death in the US. It kills more than those who die in car accidents, those who die of HIV-related complications and AIDS, and those who die of breast cancer … combined. continue reading…


Synopsis :: The physical injuries throughout my life.

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

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

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

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

Age: 2-4
Being Grounded

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