Twenty three years ago when I was 19, I met a female sociopath, but I had no idea she was a sociopath.
It was the summer following my freshman year in college. I had just started dating a local boy who I had met on campus in the spring. I liked him. He was from the same rural, Appalachian area where I was raised. We enjoyed the outdoors, music, books, movies, hiking, biking…you name it, we had it in common.
About a week or two into the “official” start of the romance, he received a call from a girl he had known since high school. She told him she was pregnant, said the unborn child was his, and asked for money because she wanted an abortion.
My gut sank.
He explained that they went to high school together, had never dated, but had been friends for years. He said she had recently ended a tempestuous relationship with an older guy and that he had gotten together with her several weeks prior to talk about her break up, and one thing led to another.
I wasn’t jealous or offended. I mostly felt sorry for her. It seems this older guy had really hurt her and she was devastated. She and my now boyfriend made an unfortunate mistake in judgment and choices had to be made. Besides, up until a few days before receiving the news of her pregnancy, there was not a commitment between him and me.
I supported his decision to give her money for the abortion, but it gave me pause. I thought a lot about what that decision meant. But because I was so young at the time with my own recent history of dating shit to get sorted, I did not spend an extensive amount of energy contemplating her situation nor did I judge her. I actually suggested we all get together sometime in the near future.
A few days after her scheduled abortion, my boyfriend confided that he did not believe that the baby was his, but that he agreed to help her because no one else was stepping in to support her. I was a bit astonished that he would have suggested she lied. I didn’t want to believe someone would be that manipulative and deceitful.
Then I met her.
Wow, I thought to myself, what in the hell was my boyfriend thinking?! She was a total snob, not athletic, not healthy looking, and all she did was talk about everyone! She seemed uncomfortable around me, like she feared I was going to bite her or something. I’d ask her questions about herself, and she’d just stare off behind me. And when I tried to talk to her about me, she’d stare off behind me. I was confused. Couldn’t figure out this girl. Didn’t she realize that I didn’t care that she had had a fling with my boyfriend before he was my boyfriend and that I was genuinely interested in being her friend?
During the few years I dated this boy, we had many “adventures” with this girl.
>> She seduced our friends who happened to be a married couple (yes, she fucked them both); she preferred the male; the marriage ended; she was hot and intense with our friend in the beginning; she got cold and distant; they broke up.
>> We introduced her to a single male friend of ours; they were hot and intense in the beginning; they moved in together; there were lots of intense fights; she got cold and distant; they broke up.
>> My boyfriend and I moved in with her. She was hot and cold. I couldn’t stand being in what seemed like her lair, her nest. My relationship with my boyfriend experienced serious road blocks and obstacles. My boyfriend and I broke up but remained friends.
And remaining friends was easy. We lived in a small, mountain, college town. He worked at the book store, my favorite place to go, and she remained in the same apartment, her nest above the chocolate shop.
I’d see her occasionally walking or at a local bar. I’d make frequent attempts to communicate with her. She always seemed to be trying really hard to be seductive with me. We’d be sitting at the bar having a beer, and she’d lean in really close, touch my cheek with her hair, rub her thighs close to mine. Her tits seemed to like resting close to my arms.
I was unmoved. I was not interested or attracted to her. Why would she think I was? Because I was friends with women who had been “intimate” with her? Could that be why she thought I was another easy seduction?
After her overt advances failed, she resorted to dismissing my sexuality. She’d make comments about me having no shape, having no breasts, and having no sex appeal. She commented on my clothes and the way I wore my hair or didn’t wear my hair. How I didn’t smell like a woman that men would find attractive.
I listened to her mostly unaffected, but I boiled inside whenever I saw her, because as much as she thought she was sexy and attractive, all I saw was a demon. All I saw was a sad and lonely woman who needed to minimize me to feel better about herself. At the time, I didn’t know about sociopaths or personality disorders. I just knew that I was in the presence of something that was not good. Nothing about her was good to me.
About 6 months after my breakup with my boyfriend, we got together one afternoon and he asked about getting back together. I was thrilled! I loved this guy. He was one of the best people I had ever met in my life up to that point.
I said, “Yes, I’d like to be together again.”
He seemed pleased with my answer but then a look of shame came over him. He said, “Before we go any further, I must confess something to you, Paula. Remember the weekend you went away for your sister’s wedding while we were living with Ruby?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, Ruby and I were together,” he confessed.
My heart sank.
“Together? What do you mean?,” I asked knowing full well what he meant.
He shared all of the details and how it happened and where specifically in the apartment it happened.
I wanted to run and throw up. I wanted to understand why he did it and why she did it. Why did they betray me?
He talked; I listened. I cried; he cried. He held me; I held him.
I was finding it hard to forgive him. I decided to confront her and compare stories. So I called her that night and arranged to meet her in her “nest” the next day.
What a mistake. Why did I even bother.
When I asked her if it was true, she matter-of-factly nodded and shrugged. She sat in her sofa with this air of superiority over me, like I shouldn’t have been surprised that my boyfriend would seek satisfaction from a “real” womanly woman outside our relationship.
Not once did she say, “I’m sorry, Paula. I know it was wrong.”
Not once! Not even a spark of regret did I detect.
Instead, she seemed to find joy in my sorrow. She seemed to be gleeful that I had experienced this ugly betrayal.
I left her apartment, her lair, feeling dirty and disgusted. Within 6 months, the relationship with my boyfriend ended again. It could never be healed from the many fissures and cracks created as a result of the influence of the sociopath who slithered in and destroyed the innocence of young love.
Today, the sociopath remains in the same apartment. She continues to nest. She continues to exist. But unlike 20 years ago when her youth disguised the ugliness within, she looks as unattractive as her dark heart and soul, burning just beneath the surface.
(I might receive some serious shit from folks who personally know me for sharing this story, but I really don’t care anymore. It’s time it was told.)