Note to self

The sociopath is NOT your friend even if he says he is.

Note to selfEight months after I left the sociopath (a.k.a. the boy in my story), he called me at 10:00 p.m. on September 6, 2011, his birthday. I didn’t answer. I texted him instead saying, “I know why you called. Happy birthday. Hope it was a good one.”

Well, you would have thought I told him to go to hell or something, because the stream of texts I got in return spoke to his need for control.

His texts were down-right cruel and despicable.

He wrote how I was a heartless and mean-spirited whore (all things he had told me while in the relationship) and that I never loved him, and if I had ever loved him, I would have picked up the phone. By not picking up the phone it was proof to him that I was a bad person. (See how fucked up and self-centered their logic is? I didn’t pick up the phone because I was setting boundaries, asshole!)

A week later, I called him. (I still didn’t realize what he was at that point. That came later.) I was concerned about his stability after those emotionally charged text messages. He picked up. I asked him if he was okay, and he actually apologized and said he wanted to be friends.

I hung up the phone feeling extremely relieved! I was thinking that all of my recent suspicions of him being a narcissist were completely off. Finally, I felt good about the end of it all and hoped he would find happiness with someone one day and maybe even have a child of his own to care for and love.

Fast forward one month. I became enemy #1 again because of a website and URL I owned that he wanted me to hand over to him. The site and domain name just so happened to be for his business. I had agreed to create a site for him while still in the relationship and had done all of the leg work and even created a landing page as a place holder instead of using the default page provided by the internet host provider.

He basically demanded that I hand over a site and domain name that I paid for with my money using my name during registration.

Hmmm? I said no. I said he could pay for the domain name and the site like everybody else. I’d be glad to put it up for auction for him.

Why did I say no? Well, just a few weeks before he had asked to be friends, remember? I remembered. So, as a friend, I thought he should have asked for the site and domain name in a nicer way, in a way that’s indicative of a friendship rather than a business transaction.

But asking to be treated like that was unacceptable. According to his sick mind, asking to be treated like that meant I was still interested in him and wanted to be with him. He just wanted the site and domain name and I wanted him. (Gag!)

Stubborn me, I refused to just hand it over to him until he asked nicer and with more respect. (Do you see how I was still trying to teach him how to treat people even outside the relationship? I was banging my head on the proverbial wall and didn’t realize it!)

And it continued. E-mail exchange after e-mail exchange, he could not understand why I expected him to treat me like a friend. He thought I wanted to hold on to the site and URL because I wanted a piece of him. He couldn’t see that I just wanted to be treated like I wasn’t some stranger to him.

Little did I realize that I was and had always been a strange stranger to him. But being the stubborn person I am, I fought to be treated differently.

I said to myself, “I am a human being, God dammit, and will be treated with respect! That prick needs to open his eyes. If he wants the domain name, he’s going to either ask nicer or he can pay for it!”

He never asked nicer. (Surprise! Surprise!) So, I threw it on GoDaddy auction with a starting bid of $250. (The minimum bid is $10, but I can be an asshole like the best of them when provoked.)

And that’s when World War III began and led me down a path of realization and acceptance. In a few short months, I eventually realized that the man I once knew was a boy and a complete sociopath. My suspicions were correct from the beginning.

Remember that these fools test our empathy without us realizing it. We react to them like healthy humans do when we happen upon wounded and pathetic creatures. Our healthy and caring reactions are met with disdain and hatred, and we just get screwed repeatedly for showing an ounce of concern for them. We finally react with equal amounts of hatred and disdain.

In hindsight, I see that I shouldn’t have battled this boy for as long as i did. He has no empathy or conscience and is not capable of understanding. Not capable!

I finally relinquished the site and domain name in late September 2012. It was becoming a black cloud over an otherwise bright and shining existence. Do you have any idea how good it felt to simply hit the “delete” button?  

And to think at one time I wished him the best in life.


The Lockout (a VERY short play in three acts)

pregnant with Armando

pregnant with Armando 2005

I was inspired to write this story of friendship when I was 4-months pregnant with my son in April 2005. I hope you enjoy it.

The Lockout
by Paula Reeves-Carrasquillo

Act 1: Scene 1

(Jake and Randall sit next to each other on the front steps of their house. It’s early spring and a gentle breeze is blowing.)

Jake: Let’s get out of here.

Randall: Where should we go, Jake?

Jake: Let’s roll up to Quinn’s and grab something to eat. There’s always good food at Quinn’s.

Randall: Sounds like a plan.

Act 1: Scene 2

(Jake and Randall stand in front of Quinn’s house: a small cape cod-style home with a fence running along the perimeter of the small yard. They are out of breath after running the one mile to Quinn’s house.)

Randall: It doesn’t look like Quinn’s around. Let’s check the backyard.

(The two walk along the side fence to the backyard.)

Jake: He’s not here either. I wonder where he could be; what time is it, Randall?

Randall: It feels like dinner time to me. He should be here.

Jake: Clearly he’s not. Let’s go back home.

(The two walk off in the direction from where they came.)

Act 2: Scene 1

(Jake and Randall come running on stage in front of Quinn’s house again. They are really out of breath this time and keep looking back over their shoulders acting like they just got away with something.)

Jake: [with a chuckle] Did you see the look on that guy’s face? He was boiling! How fast do you think we were running, Randall?

Randall: Fast enough to lose him, I hope. Did you see the gun in his rack? By the looks of it, that thing could fire automatically and hit us both in seconds. Seconds!

Jake: Yeah, but let’s not think about that right now. Right now, we need to figure out how to get back home going a different route. Jane must be worried sick looking for us by now.

Randall: Yeah, you’re right.

(They both turn to walk off in the direction of their house again. A noise is heard coming from the direction of Quinn’s backyard.)

Randall: Hey, I think I heard Quinn in the back. Let’s see.

(Jake and Randall walk along the fence to the backyard. Although Quinn is not in the yard, they can see him through the dining room window of the house.)

Randall: [pointing] Look, Jake, there he is! Should I try to get his attention?

Jake: Not too loud; we want him to come out alone.

(Randall lets out a low and quick bark. Quinn’s alerted ears can be seen through the window. Jake and Randall wait patiently for Quinn to come out through the back door, but he never shows.)

Jake: What’s taking so long? If he doesn’t come out soon, we’ll have to go before the catcher circles back to this street. What do you think, Randall, should we wait or go?

Randall: We gotta go. It’s Friday night. Jane probably has plans.

Jake: Yeah, plans. If we don’t get back soon, we may get locked out for the night. Let’s hurry!

(Jake and Randall scamper off stage toward their house. The day has turned to dusk.)

Act 3: Scene 1

(The setting is a park with large elms and a few benches scattered about. Jake and Randall are sprawled out under one of the trees.)

Jake: What time do you think it is, Randall?

Randall: It’s definitely past dinner time but too soon for Jane to be getting home from her plans. Why on earth did we leave the house in the first place?

Jake: It had something to do with food, I think. Doesn’t it always?

Randall: We get ourselves into more trouble thinking about food than we do thinking about anything else.

Jake: What else is there to think about, Randall? What else do you think about?

Randall: I think about lots of stuff. Like that Pomeranian two doors down. I bet she thinks about me, too. Do you think she thinks about me, Jake?

Jake: No way! We’re just two mangy mutts, and she’s a pristine pedigree. At least that’s what I heard Jane call her. Nope. She doesn’t think about us, not even for a minute.

Randall: I guess you’re right, Jake. [Randall pauses for a second. Then speaks excitedly.] What about Sally? SHE MUST think about us. I mean, we at least smell better than most, and we look pretty good up against Gus. He’s got those funny bottom teeth that…

Jake: [interrupting] He’s a bulldog, an English bulldog, Randall! All the girls think he’s sexy and fierce.

Randall: You mean I’m NOT sexy and fierce? Look at me. I can be fierce, Jake.
(Randall demonstrates by growling as low as he can and squishing his forehead tightly between his ears.)

Jake: [sarcastically] Ooooh! I’m scared! Come on, Randall, get real. We’re two regular dogs without balls, really. Haven’t you heard Jane call us cousin “Its” before? It’s not because our hair hangs in our eyes sometimes, either.

Randall: You mean that’s not a good thing? She’s not being sweet and complimentary when she says that?

Jake: It’s about as sweet and as complimentary as us calling the catcher a tick-infested hairball! Goodness no, Randall, it is NOT a compliment!

(Car lights suddenly light up the tress and benches. Jake and Randall stand hoping it’s Jane’s car pulling up to their house.)

Randall: Is it her? Is she back?

Jake: [stretching to get a better view] I—I—I’m not sure. Uh—no, it’s not her.

(They both slump back onto their bellies and rest their heads on their outstretched legs.)

Randall: Jake. Have I ever told you how much I love you and how glad I am that Jane picked both of us that afternoon at the pound?

Jake: Randal, you tell me everyday. Everyday I listen to you recall that story, because every night we get locked out, and EVERY night you get all wishy-washy, as if it’s going to be our last night, as if we’re going to freeze to death out here before Jane returns home. Relax, Randall. It’s April.

Randall: So, do you think the catcher will ever catch us?

Jake: Randall, you really need to stop worrying so much. [excited] Look! I think I see Jane’s car!

(Jake and Randall hurry off stage in the direction of another set of head lights.)

The End.

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