It’s so bad, that it’s off the grid


Many of us continue to struggle with and try to process the “what happened to me” thought. We try to make sense of the madness, chaos, twist and turns, half-truths, lies, smear campaign, drama and crazy making through writing, discussing, therapy, grueling contemplation with sleepless nights, and self-help books.

We think we have a grasp on what a Sociopath is and the fact that we were used for our kindness, manipulated because of our inexperience, and left financially and/or emotionally destroyed because of our generosity of spirit. But just when we think we have a grasp on the Sociopath’s destruction and muttered yet another “yes, that’s what happened to me, I understand!” our comprehension slips through our fingers and we are back to square one.

We get it, get what happened to us…we were struck by a Sociopath, we know it, we understand it, we read thousands of words on what a Sociopath is and what a Sociopath does; we confirmed this with hundreds of people that experienced similar. But just as quickly as we grasp it, we lose our hold on this understanding and then feel as if the trauma and abuse we experienced is just as fresh and raw as when it was all happening.

Why does this happen? Because “It’s so bad, that it’s off the grid.” It is out of the realm of human comprehension and understanding. There is no place in our mind that can make sense of it, put the pieces of the puzzle together, look at the big picture, and then store it away for future reference. This cannot be done even when the Sociopath is gone because the Sociopath took us into a realm of existence that shouldn’t exist.

I have thousands of examples (literally) of MS’s (My Sociopath, Kenan Umit) crazy making. One being: My elderly mother called me from Ohio (I live in SoCalif) crying because a freezing hailstorm blew off the siding from her rental property. Her tenants were in a panic. My mother called me because I personally knew a handyman in the area (I grew up with him) and I had all his contact information. My mother knew him as well, worked with him on home projects, but couldn’t find his phone number in the panic.

I quickly went to my cell phone to pull up “David’s” phone number. It was gone. I ran to my computer to pull up his email address. It was gone. My mother was still on the phone. MS was standing in a corner and coldly watching this transpire.

It suddenly hit me. I said to MS: Oh my god, you deleted all of David’s contact information! First and tenth response from MS: No, I didn’t. You’re crazy.

I looked on my phone again. Am I going crazy? MS stands and stares. I tell my mother that I will call her back. To MS: What did you do with David’s contact information? One hour later, MS states: I deleted it because you wanted to fuck him.

David and I hadn’t communicated in many years and long before the Sociopath ever entered my life. David lives 2,500 miles away.

Me to MS: But, my poor mother crying? MS coldly staring with dead eyes calmly says: Your mother will have to find another handyman. Have your drunk brother take care of the house.

It’s so bad, that it’s off the grid.

We can all spend endless hours trying to comprehend this but there is no making sense of it. How do you complete a puzzle with missing pieces? You can spend hours putting the pieces together and when you get to the end and discover there are missing pieces, you can sit for hours beating yourself up for not making sure the puzzle was put back properly long ago, or you can process the picture that presents itself in front of you with the spaces, with the gaps.

To heal from a Sociopath, the only thing we can do is to focus on ourselves…our growth out of the rubble, our rebuilding and our own reinvention. We also have to move on accepting our own missing pieces, the blackness that we found our life in with the Sociopath, and be willing to understand, compensate and grow in the areas around these gaps. But we can never move on trying to find the missing pieces of the Sociopath. These missing pieces are never to be found and are the true black holes.

Lynna, My Sociopath-Struck by A Sociopath


Author: My Sociopath

Oceanside, California

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