Chapter 23

A couple of days later the temperature was just below freezing; I turned on the water and once again nothing came out. Sigh. I'll survive, but now I will also call a plumber. People had recently told me about a new plumber in town. Our other plumber was a guy who decided he'd rather drink than plumb, so I was happy to know we now had a new option.

This month I have spent more time in my basement than I have in all the years previous. The ceiling down there is low, so you always have to crouch if you're over five feet tall. It's hard on the back. My new plumber is short, like me, and he knows what he's doing. He determined that the switch and gauge were both fried, due to how they had been set up all those years ago. He had his helper run to town to the hardware store for new parts. Within an hour I had real running water throughout my house, just like it was long ago. I am really feeling buyer's remorse now, Chuck.

I'm not the only one having problems these days. Dee Dee is having some health issues so she doesn't get out much. Ellen is having problems at work and is highly stressed. Phil still has problems with his truck. So I was homebound for a while .

Chuck seems to have lost his computer. I noticed in November the few times that I saw him post something online, it was at a time when he was definitely not out here. So I would guess he was going to the library to use the computers there.

February's end, I am finally able to get to the grocery and then over to Phil's for a visit and some supper. Phil has got the heater working in the truck again, though the ATV is still no go. It was a good time and I came home with leftovers.

A hamburger! I haven't had a hamburger since last summer. They had grilled some a few days earlier and had put a few in the freezer, so I got one. I put some onion and canned tomatoes on it, and a slice of cheese. What a treat!

The morning after I was at Phil's I looked out my kitchen window to enjoy the view. Chuck's old camper is part of that view and I see this scrawled on the side of his camper, in black marker:

COONS'S

CAT

CRAPPER

BELLE -------------l

MICK --------- l     l

                   v    v

There are arrows pointing all over which I couldn't exactly replicate here. Wow. He must have had quite the stressful day to make him act out like a 12-year-old. Yes, dear, cats poop outside. And they have more right to be on this property than you do. Graffiti, at age 60? You know,  being young at heart and being immature are not the same thing. Now you're doing it wrong.

 

I'm not entirely sure what to make of that first word. Raccoons? One friend who saw it said that long ago it was a slang term for a lady's private parts. It's also a derogatory term for people with dark skin. I sure hope that nice, young black man who rides his horse up and down the road can't see it. I do think maybe it's a lame attempt to spell my birth name. The stupidity it reveals is rather stunning.

I'm happy to report, though, that this doesn't stress me out hardly at all. A few deep breathing exercises and I was actually able to laugh at it. Then I considered going over and writing on the side that he sees from his window, “Shit happens.” But I decided not to stoop to his level, and I've just let it be. 

It rained about a week later, and all the words got washed away. Then, a  few days after that, as I went out for the mail, I saw he had painted, with dark blue paint, the words, "Illegal Immigrant" on the end of the trailer which is visible from the road. There was an arrow pointing at my house.

Well, I had this bottle of blue nail polish, left over from an old art project, so I used it to cover the word "immigrant," and change it to occupant. Then I painted an arrow towards him.

Cherylann Thomas, in her book, Evil Eyes: A Daughter’s Memoir, says "Psychopaths are more impulsive than malignant narcissists and are less able to pretend to conform to society’s rules or portray a mask of normalcy."  She also states that she believes psychopaths hurt people on purpose for the sheer enjoyment of it, whereas malignant narcissists’ abuse is more a consequence of their selfishness. 

Chapter 24

I just found out that Chuck is in trouble with the police. A couple of months ago he quit driving his truck and started taking a bicycle to town. I have now learned from friends that he had thousands of dollars worth of traffic tickets outstanding and they finally caught up with him. He doesn't seem concerned about it though. Evidently he won't go to jail over it because there just isn't enough room in jails now. They will just let him pay it off however he can. So he wins again.

I have continued my online studies and believe that Chuck has now advanced from a personality disorder into full blow psychosis.

Martha Stout, a clinical psychology instructor at Harvard Medical School and author of The Sociopath Next Door, says psychopathy is an utter lack of conscience. Sociopaths have one, but it’s full of holes and works on their own set of rules. Narcissists have one, too, but are so self-interested it’s hard to tell. "What distinguishes [psychopaths] from the rest of us is an utterly empty hole in the psyche, where there should be the most evolved of all humanizing functions," she says.

 

In real life, psychopaths can only be diagnosed by professionals. But, say the experts, there are a few clues.

• Pity play: Psychopaths play on people's sympathy because we are compassionate and believe they deserve it. "Consistently bad or egregiously inadequate behaviour with frequent plays for your pity is as close to a warning mark on a conscienceless person’s forehead as you will ever be given," says Martha Stout, a clinical psychology instructor at Harvard Medical School.

• Manipulative: “Psychopaths love to make people jump, even if it’s not to their benefit," says Stout. "If you’re left wondering why, or thinking there was no sense in what happened, that’s a red flag."

• Parasitic: Whether they use charm and manipulation or the pity play to meet their needs, "they prefer living off the work of others rather than their own efforts," says Robert Hare in Vancouver, a world authority on psychopathy.

• Deceitful: Big or little, deception is a tool of their trade. "Their lies are always woven with a thread of truth," warns Hare, "which, if questioned, they indignantly point out in their own defense."

• Charming: Compelling and charismatic, psychopaths are mesmerizing, like predators before the kill.

• Conceited: Psychopaths "think they’re the next step in evolution," says Hare, and they let it show with arrogance, boasting and undermining those around them.

• Not to blame: Not only do they never accept culpability, but psychopaths will also manufacture proof that puts others at fault.

• Reactionary: When it suits them, psychopaths can mask their anger, but will also "overreact in response to perceived personal insults or insufficient demonstration of respect for their authority," explains Hare.

If you know a psychopath you may think your love will cure him. Let it go. Psychopaths are untreatable. "People have a hard time getting their heads around that," says Donna Anderson, a U.S. journalist who launched www.lovefraud.com to educate the public after her husband lied and defrauded her of $227,000. I guess I should be glad I only lost a couple thousand.

Chapter 25

It's 2012 now, and we're still here. “Married.” Not legally or anything, but we're still in each others' lives. I can't get rid of him and he can't get rid of me. Dear readers, be careful what you wish for.

Here are last year's adventures with the psychopath.

One day in early spring, after most of the snow had gone down, I went out to the mailbox. Just as I approached it, it fell over on its face. That was unexpected. I'm glad it fell before I was in front of it, or while the mailman was in front of it. It was quite heavy and the 4x4 wood post had evidently rotted away at the bottom. I turned it over and retrieved my mail. There was something for Chuck in there so I just left it.

Later I saw him go over to it. He got his mail and then spent several minutes looking at the situation. Thinking he might have some interest in helping to get it set up again, I went out and said, “Bummer, eh?” He just looked at me and sneered, and walked away. So I dragged the remains into my back yard and contemplated what to do now.

I decided to go up to Jack's and ask if he had any spare 4x4s so I could build a new post, but he didn't. I called Phil but he didn't have anything, either. So I pulled out my catalog from the local hardware store and found they sell an entire post and box set for $75. Ouch. I called and was told they didn't have any in stock, but they ordered one for me. It would be in the following week and they would call me when it arrived.

Meanwhile, what to do? I needed a mailbox. I looked around at what I had, then gathered a wooden stool and a few boards. I pried the metal box from its perch of 30 years, maybe longer, secured it to the stool and set it up by the road. With the help of some stakes and bungie cords, it seemed quite sturdy.

The next day I went out to meet the mailman when he came by, to explain the situation and ask if this was acceptable, albeit a bit different. He checked it out and said yes, it would work, for a while. What a relief.

A week later I hadn't heard from the store, so I called. They looked it up and told me those were on backorder at the warehouse; one would be here in 2 months. So I got on the internet and found they had them in a Northview hardware store. I called Ellen, told her what was going on, and asked if we could maybe go for a bit of shopping. I would give her $12 for gas.

So, a few days later we went, and we did lots of shopping. We had a great time. The next day I unpacked it all and read the instructions. I still needed a 4x4 piece of wood and a deep hole.

Next day I went out with my little spade and started digging a hole. Jack came by while walking his dog. “Whatcha doing?” I updated him on my project and said what I still needed. Now that he had seen the situation, he said he was pretty sure he had something that would work in his storage shed. He'd be back.

He returned about an hour later with a post, a bucket of tar, and an auger. In no time at all he augered out a hole, poured some tar in it, and set up my new mailbox. I awaited the mailman the next morning to ask if this passed inspection. It did, of course.

A few days later I went to Jack and Lisa's with a six pack of beer. At first they said, no no, we weren't expecting any payment for that. We were just helping out a friend. I said okay then, we'll each drink two and this will just be a nice visit. Which it was.

All summer long, then, Chuck enjoyed the new mailbox, as much as I did. Although, he's never done anything to help maintain it.

My garden that summer was great. I had all sorts of things growing. One day I took a picture of it, in all its glory. The next day I was gone all day, spending the day at Phil's. The next day I went out to pull some weeds and it looked different. I saw missing branches off of some plants. So I took another picture, not sure what happened. Comparing the two pictures on my computer, it's quite obvious that entire branches have been removed. 

The next day, I saw Chuck on Face Book post pictures of my garden, calling it his. The pictures were taken with all the branches still on. The pictures were dated the day I was gone. The next day some branches were gone. Draw your own conclusions.

It was coming on fall then. I decided I really wanted that old truck off my property, along with a whole lot of other scrap metal scattered here and there. I decided to sell it all to a scrap dealer. I went across the road to Jack's to ask if he could recommend someone and he informed me that his son did that.

So I arranged for a pick up. His son came and Jack came over, as well, to help. One thing I wanted removed was an old electric stove that Chuck had tossed over behind my barn 3 years ago. It had been laying there, on its side, untouched, and always in my way for all those years. We each grabbed a corner and the three of us carried it down to the driveway. Chuck was sitting outside as we walked by with it. He said, “That's mine, you know.” 

 

I told the guys to just ignore him as it had been abandoned for many years which legally made it mine now. So, we kept on and eventually lots of garbage got removed from my yard. I got a few dollars for it. 

A week later, Jack was walking his dog up the road and Chuck was out shoveling the new snow from the driveway he uses. Chuck looked over at Jack as he walked by and called him a thief. Now, Jack is a very mellow person, an artist, and this really upset him. So, later that day when his son stopped by to visit, he told him about it. His son doesn't like anyone messing with his dad, so he went over to Chuck's to explain the situation to him. Chuck saw him coming and called the police.

Now, I didn't know about any of this. I was upstairs doing laundry so I didn't hear anything. I came downstairs and looked out the window and saw a cop car in my driveway. WTF? I went to my entry door and saw Jack and his son talking to one cop at the end of my driveway. There was another officer over at the trailer talking to Chuck outside. Chuck was clearly agitated.

That one then walked towards my house and I braced myself for a visit from the police, for whatever reason. But he just said to the other officer, “That guy is a nut bar,” and they got in the car and drove away. 

 

A short while later, I saw Chuck walk through my driveway and he dropped a plastic bag there, close to my door. I thought it was one of the free newspapers we get. So I went out and picked it up.

Through the plastic I could read: “STUFF TO PONDER:

Even the most gentle creature will become vicious, when backed into a corner.”

There were several pages: a picture from the cover of the book, The Sociopath Next Door. This book has some sets of crazy eyes on the cover, and he Photoshopped a picture of my eyes onto there. Because, you know, I am the sociopath. Oy. There was a page from the Tenant's Association about reasonable enjoyment of property. He seems to have that one backwards. Then there was a page of personal information about me that he somehow gathered from different sources which I'm sure made him feel like quite the detective. 

I took it all up to Jack's to show him; that's when I learned about what had happened and why the cops were there. I told Jack about hearing the one say Chuck was a “nut bar.” Yes, we agreed, he sure is.