My girlfriend the sociopath
I’m screaming at the top of my voice “Stop! Fucking stop Paula! Stop! Please stop!”. Since I don’t have any arms to defend myself I do the one thing I’ve never done before in my whole life. It is the nuclear option. I spit in her face. It worked.
Words like sociopath and psychopath are often overused these days. They are quite unpleasant labels and should only be applied to really unpleasant people, so believe me I don’t use that word lightly, but in her case I think it’s highly appropriate.
Paula wasn’t always a monster, we had many good times and in the early days of our relationship we got on brilliantly. Aged twenty, Paula was four years younger than me when we met at work, where I was a welfare rights officer with social services. Paula was the office typist, she was friendly and I found her quite cute. Paula was also very inexperienced and innocent ~ I didn’t know it when we first got together, but I was her very first boyfriend.
She had one request. For now, we should keep our relationship secret — especially at work. I went along with this, but inwardly I worried whether she was ashamed of me.
Paula said she was a Christian and was ‘saving’ herself for her marriage, so I didn’t pressure her at all. But as our relationship continued she became more relaxed and more adventurous sexually. One day she declared “I want to know what making love is like, let’s do it!”. I was very keen, but she said that her knickers were staying on. I went along with this, but I still wore a condom just in case — I definitely didn’t want another ‘accident’ to happen like it did with poor sweet Fiona (I will talk about her in another chapter).
Soon after this we decided to go away for a weekend as she was ready to ‘do it’ properly. Our first weekend away was in the Lake District, we stayed in a very posh hotel at Lake Windermere and the ‘Do not disturb’ sign was permanently displayed on our bedroom door for the two days. I remember her giggling like a child when she saw the large double bed. Over two glorious days we just spent most of the time in that bed. We even shared a bath together and I remember rushing into the bathroom with my camera and she quickly grabbed a towel to cover her breast, peering cheekily over the bath and giggling. The photo captured fun times.
I began to realise that Paula was far more relaxed when we were away from our hometown of Crosby. Almost every weekend we would go to different places around the country and she would be very loving and amorous. She was even less abashed than me about kissing in public and I would hold her hand as I drove my powered chair, with her walking alongside. We would also hold hands in the car when I drove home — but I noticed that the closer to home we got, her mood would gradually change.
I can’t list every bad thing that happened with me and Paula in this piece, but I do expand more in my forthcoming autobiography. But I’ll start by showing you when it all started to go wrong.
In the 1980s I was fairly limited where I could go with my partners or friends. Cinemas were mostly no-go areas as I was deemed a fire hazard. Hardly any pub or nightclub were accessible for wheelchair users. Level access step-free entrances were a rarity, accessible toilets even more so. Public transport excluded many disabled people, but thankfully I got my first adapted car within three months of leaving home at the age of 22 and I passed my test first time. We drove to a pub just outside Southport called The Plough (now demolished) and we went in through the back door via the car park. It didn’t have an accessible loo but at least I could get in the place and anyway I was driving so I just had a glass of orange juice that I sipped. Paula didn’t drink that much either, she either just had the odd glass of wine or an occasional Pernod.
After our drink, Paula said “let’s go out the front entrance”. I told her that I didn’t think it was accessible and besides, the car was parked at the back. She insisted that we try it anyway, so I drove through the double doors which she held open and I said in a sarcastic but jovial manner “Oh look darling, there’s steps!”. She told me not to be silly and declared “we can do it”. Paula then immediately grabbed the joystick on my powered chair and it shot forward. I managed to stop the chair just before the steps and shouted incredulously “You are joking, aren’t you? Can you see these three massive steps?!”. But Paula wasn’t joking and she grabbed the joystick again. I was wrestling with her hand frantically trying to stop. I managed to reverse backwards towards the doors out of danger, but this only infuriated her even more. We were both shouting at each other and I was feeling genuinely scared. I had visions of rolling off the steps and smashing my face on the concrete below or breaking my neck with the heavy chair falling on top of me. “Fucking stop messing about Paula!” I yelled “Stop being such a big baby” she spat back, but rather more calmly I noted. “Do you want to get done for fucking murder? Do you?” I screamed, but she just laughed and tried to turn my power chair back on.
My heart was racing, but not in a good way, but thankfully our commotion was heard and a woman came rushing up to us. I assumed she was the pub landlady. She spoke in a broad Lancashire accent. “What’s up love?” she asked me in a concerned but caring way. Paula spoke before I could; “we’re trying to get out of this stupid place!” she said aggressively. The landlady smiled at me and said “come this way my lovely”. She led us to the rear doors that we came in. Paula just walked ahead to the car. “Thank you so much!” I mouthed, still breathless.
We had a brief row in the car. I told her it was a really stupid and reckless thing to do. Paula quickly diffused everything by giving me a warm kiss on the lips. She repeated that she was only joking and said “I wouldn’t have let you fall babe”. I just replied okay, but in my mind, I started to have serious doubts about whether this relationship could continue for much longer. But as I’ve said, she wasn’t always bad~ abusers rarely are.
One evening we were in my neighbour Dave’s flat. Dave was aged about forty and had advanced multiple sclerosis. He was the first person I met when I moved in and we got on really well. His speech was very impaired and you really had to concentrate to understand what he was saying. He could walk but with great difficulty, dragging his right leg like it was just a dead weight. Paula and I were sitting on the sofa and we were all getting along fine when suddenly she poked me hard in the ribs with two of her fingers “Ow! That hurt!” I protested jovially. Paula laughed. The first couple of times she poked me just seemed like playful banter, but then I said “Okay stop now please babe, my side is getting sore”. But she didn’t stop, she just kept on poking and poking, even a little harder than before, all the while laughing. “Paula, for fuck’s sake stop!” I shouted, but she ignored me. This went on for something like ten minutes at least and I was in great pain. She knew I suffered with kidney stones and this certainly wasn’t helping. Dave held out his right arm and was clicking his fingers towards her trying to get Paula’s attention and started shouting “Stop Paula, stop!”.
“What did you say Dave? I can’t hear you properly” she was deliberately riling him, mocking his speech impairment. Eventually Dave struggled to stand up and he looked really angry, so Paula finally stopped. “Oh God, can’t you take a joke Kevin?” she whined. “Just fuck off!” I responded, my side totally aching. I managed to climb into my power chair which I had parked at the end of the sofa. I apologised to Dave and said i was going home. When we got back to my flat we had a blazing row. Paula eventually burst into tears and said she was really, really sorry. Her crying in those early days would have an effect on me and reduced my anger.
I went out with her for about 6 years — on and off. I would often be determined to finish with her but she would phone me up in tears or she would call round to the flat begging me to have her back. I always gave in. Many people have asked me why I put up with her for so long when she was so abusive, but I suppose I was scared to be alone and she was great company when she wasn’t being cruel. Plus, I felt incredibly sorry for her, which was now the main feeling I had for her. In fact, I stopped loving her a long time ago.
Everything she did or said I would always make excuses for her. For example, within about 6 months of our relationship she would say things like “You’re my first lover. But I’ve never been out with anyone normal”. I wasn’t upset by blunt statements of this nature, she wasn’t very articulate and besides, she did have a point. I asked her to define ‘normal’. “Oh, you know, someone who isn’t handicapped, like you”. I would reply with something like “okay, well if that’s how you feel, then go off with someone else then”. Then bizarrely she’d respond with “why are you being horrible? I’ve never kissed anyone who isn’t in a wheelchair!”. “Okay fine, I’m not stopping you. There’s the door.” I was usually quite calm in these discussions, which I think annoyed her, as she wasn’t getting the reaction she wanted. “You’re just being nasty now Kevin!” she’d yell. I really wished that I wasn’t her first lover.
There were many eventful things that happened over the years which I can’t write about here, but I can talk briefly [more details will be in my book] of incidents such as the time we booked into a beautiful cottage B&B in the countryside of Snowdonia national park, North Wales and within two hours of settling in Paula declared “I don’t like it here. Let’s go somewhere else”. “What!? It’s perfect. It’s only for one night.” “No, the sheep scare me and the place is fucking boring” she answered flatly. I sighed and then I said I would speak to the B&B owner. “No, we can leave out of this door — she won’t know we’ve gone.” I strongly protested and tried to reason with her. “We can’t do that! We’ve slept in that bed and used the shower!”. “We didn’t actually sleep in it” she corrected me. “You know what I mean! Plus, we owe her the money”. It was pointless arguing. We agreed to leave the room money on the bedside table. I added another £10 note when Paula was putting the suitcases in the car.
We eventually arrived in the resort town of Llandudno. “This is much better!” Paula beamed. I was glad she was in a good mood, but we didn’t have anywhere booked. Finally, we found a very large hotel on the seafront that didn’t have any steps. I waited in the car while Paula ran in to check it was okay. Night was falling, it was very dark. It was a three-star hotel and thankfully had accessible rooms. Shortly after we got into bed she sat up and shouted “Oh shit!”. I asked her what was wrong. “We have to go back to that stupid cottage! I left my shell suit in the wardrobe!”. I laughed out loud. “No, that’s ridiculous. I’ll buy you a new one”. “No, it’s a Nike. I HAVE to get it back”. I shook my head. “It cost what? A fiver? ten pounds? I’ll buy you two. I’m NOT driving back there! It’s not even worth wasting the petrol.”
The next morning after breakfast we were driving back through the Snowdonia national park. It took ages finding the place again. Paula walked up the path and knocked on the door. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but the woman didn’t look too pleased to see her. After about ten minutes she came back to the car carrying the gaudy lime green and black polyester shell suit. “She thanked us for the money, but the old bitch wasn’t pleased that we left without telling her. You should have written a note Kevin! Okay let’s go home now babe”.
One dull rainy afternoon in my flat we were playing a peaceful game of Snakes and Ladders [anything more intellectually challenging, like Scrabble, would usually end in aggression]. The phone rang — it was Fiona, my very first steady girlfriend. I hadn’t seen her in a while and we were just chatting generally when Paula immediately snatched the phone out of my hand. “Who the fuck do you think you are, ringing my fella? You’re a fucking slut!” she was screaming. She’d never even met Fiona and knew very little about her, nor the trauma that she had gone through. She carried on screaming obscenities until Fiona sensibly hung up. Paula slapped me across the face a couple of times and warned me never to speak to any of my ex-girlfriends ever again.
Two weeks later I received a postcard from Tenerife. It was Fiona. She said she was having a lovely time etc. She signed off ‘P.S. who is that psycho bitch you’re going out with?’.
Sometimes I would drive along a road and Paula would spot a female wheelchair user. “You should be going out with her, ha ha!” she would shriek. Other times I would be driving and I would feel a sharp slap across the cheek. “Why are you looking at that bitch? Keep your eyes on the road!” I usually wouldn’t have a clue who she was talking about.
Paula once presented me with a piece of A4 paper. Written on both sides in her own hand was a very long list. The title was ‘The Things We Can’t Do Together Because Your [sic] Handicapped’. Many of the things listed were obvious and logical, but as I read further on they became more ludicrous. I can’t remember the whole list but it included ‘Walking barefoot on the beach’, ‘Dancing in a nightclub’, ‘Skiing’, ‘Climbing trees’, ‘Running up hills’ and bizarrely ‘Scuba diving’. Paula couldn’t actually swim — I think she was jealous that I could!
Her behaviour became more erratic. I lost most of my friends. My family couldn’t stand her. My mother witnessed her hitting me and freaked out with her — Paula burst into tears [she was quite skilful at this] and told Mother that I provoked her and she would never do such a thing again. Mother told me to dump her.
I did indeed finish with her many times, but I always took her back. Paula would be great for a few days then the hurtful aphorisms would begin again. You’ll never go out without anyone else. No-one will want you! You’ll never get anyone normal! Ridiculous phrases, but they were repeated so often they stuck in my mind. I became fearful that perhaps she was right. I couldn’t think logically. I came to believe that her taunts were true. My previous steady relationships were becoming distant hazy memories. Her psychological torments were far, far worse than anything physical she did to me.
Paula was incredibly jealous and possessive — even though she moaned about wanting to go out with someone ‘normal’. She repeated like a mantra, almost daily, “You’ll never go out without anyone else normal!” and “I can cope with your little hands but I don’t like your little feet!” or “You should be grateful you’ve got me, no-one else will want you!”. I would ask her why the hell she was still with me then, if she felt that way? She implied she was doing me a favour!
I looked for ways to escape. I went ‘travel teaching’ around different towns in England for a month with a friend when I joined the Baha’i Faith. Paula caused a massive scene at the Liverpool Baha’i centre. Then when she burst into tears the women took her into the house next door to comfort her. But at least I got a month’s respite from her.
For another form of escape from her, I would occasionally sleep with Escorts who visited my home whenever I finished with Paula. I would always be depressed at the end though, handing over money in a mere business transaction rather than being in any fulfilling and loving relationship [barring one Escort who I became close to, but that’s for another time].
One weekend Paula said she had never visited Scotland. So, I drove 230 miles to the capital Edinburgh. No sooner as we had entered the city boundary she cried “I don’t like this place, take me home!”. I had been to the place many times as a child when I got my prosthetic legs fitted there. I tried listing places we could visit such as the historic Edinburgh Castle, home to Scotland’s crown jewels and the Stone of Destiny. But she couldn’t be persuaded. I was too knackered to drive all the way back home, I hadn’t even got out of the car. So, we found a small hotel in Carlisle. Paula went up to bed but I stopped at the bar and had a double G&T and chatted to the barman — I was the sole customer there. Then I went in the lift up to our room. I banged on the bedroom door for ages. Finally, she let me in — but made me sleep on the floor in the shower room. She threw in a pillow and a quilt. To be honest I was glad of the peace.
I used to pray Paula would find someone else. It’s a long story that I won’t retell in full here — but amazingly she did! A farm labourer that she met at a wedding of her cousin’s in Yorkshire, that we both attended. She asked if she could dance with this bloke “Well I can’t dance with you can I? It’s only one dance” and she kissed me on the cheek. They danced all night and after the last ‘slow dance’ the lights went up and he led her by the hand out of the hall outside. I caught them kissing each other’s face off. On the long drive home she begged for forgiveness and squeezed my hand affectionately and kissed my neck while I was trying to drive. I never spoke to her and dropped her off home without a word.
Anyway, she went back to Yorkshire by train the following weekend and they had a brief affair until he dumped her. Apparently, he was ‘a bit of a bully’. In the meantime, I overdosed on Paracetamol [looking back it wasn’t a serious suicide attempt] and I spent a bizarre week as a volunteer patient in a psychiatric ward until I discharged myself [I’ll write more about this in another posting].
Paula would use this event as another psychological weapon. She would tell everyone “He loved me so much he tried to top himself!”. She got great joy in recounting this.
We had spent a lovely summer’s day in Southport and we had a romantic meal in a classy restaurant that evening. Paula and I were in great spirits when we got back in the car. I casually asked her “pass me the car keys love”. She took them out of her handbag and immediately started prodding my ribs with the key. My heart sunk but I tried to laughed it off. “Come on babe, let’s go”. But she kept prodding and prodding … and prodding.
After maybe fifteen minutes [it could have been shorter] I’m in agony. I’m screaming at the top of my voice “Stop! Fucking stop Paula! Stop! Please stop!”. Since I don’t have any arms to defend myself I do the one thing I’ve never done before in my whole life. It was the nuclear option. I spat in her face. It worked. In shock, she opened the car door, got out and threw the keys at me then aggressively slammed the door and walked away. Luckily the keys landed on my chest and I grabbed them and roared away. “Fucking bitch!” I screamed to myself, my side still throbbing.
I got home around 10pm and got in bed. I vowed never ever to see her again. Just after midnight the phone rang — it was the police. “I’ve got a young lady here. She’s very upset. You abandoned her in Southport and she’s no money and the trains have finished running” the officious voice said. “Can’t you drive her home?” I asked exasperatedly. “We aren’t a taxi service, sir” he said brusquely.
I got dressed and within half an hour I pulled up outside Southport police station. A plain clothes man walked out, his arm around the shoulders of a tearful Paula. “are you okay now, miss?” he asked, “yes thank you officer” she sobbed pathetically.
Back in the car, she said calmly “just drive”. I asked angrily why she’d waited until midnight to phone just after the trains had stopped [I left her before 9.30pm], but she stayed silent. About a mile away from the police station she calmly said “pull in”. When I stopped she started punching me round the head and screamed “why did you fucking leave me? I could have been mugged or raped! You selfish bastard!”. Eventually I drove to her home, the rest of the journey made in total silence.
Of course, I dumped her again — for a week or so.
Eventually we parted for good. It took me a long time to have the courage to form a relationship with anyone else. I would automatically cringe if anyone made a movement towards me — even future partners when they were being affectionate.
I’m now happily married to a lovely adorable woman and we are very much in love. We have two wonderful children. I truly don’t know how (or even where) Paula is … and I couldn’t care less.
[All names have been changed for obvious reasons.]
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