The Sadist Whisperer
An Intimate Terrorist Love Story
By Mack McColl
COPYRIGHT 2023
NOTHING IN THIS WORK OF FICTION HAPPENED TO ANYONE. IT'S FICTION TO THE GUTS AND CORE. OKAY IT SO HAPPENS THE AUTHOR WATCHED A BUNCH OF YOUTUBE VIDEOS ABOUT NARCISSISM AND THIS NOVEL HAPPENED.
Chapter one: So Tell Me About Your Narcissist
YOUTUBE Video Begins
"So tell me about your narcissist."
"I think it's something else. I never said narcissist. I said what I was told. I wasn't told narcissist. I was called narcissist. I think I was dealing with a Dark Triad Borderline Personality and Reactive Attachment Disorder. The reason I think so is because she said so. Then I found out these people with 'disorders' come with co-morbidities such as Sadistic Personality Disorder, and other aspects of Dark Triad Personality disorder. She had a lot of murderous traits, physical violence, and belligerence. After experiences over an extended length of time, I believe I was targeted by a sadistic intimate terrorist.”
“Say what?”
“She said several times she was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder, and said once she was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. The specific institute was the Albion Centre in London. The initial confession was benign, Nobody ever told me they had personality disorders before. I know people had them. Everybody has them. The ensuing disclosures came under stress, episodes were uncontrollable, as if I was participating in epilepsy. There was a drug missing when we met. Lamotragene. Apparently she was in treatment at this uptown branch of the Tavistock Institute. She had been adopted out of squalor.”
“In England?”
"That's where she's from. Believe it or not, the sadist was a relief from the world I inhabited, even if it was 10 years of her using me for target practice, plunking the bell with large rounds, shotgun blasts. You never hear the shot slamming into the bell. Just the bellowing to be heard.”
“It is a matter of trust between you and me.”
“It's more about restraint in every direction. The shame - - “
“Most people have shame in every direction. The question you have to answer, is, is the primary goal to understand or be understood?”
"To survive. For certain the goal is survival. I never expected to be on this path in a relationship. The promiscuity in a relationship was something I never heard of outside tabloid news, and an occasional asshole friend, or talk of a person you cannot escape such as an employer. What appears to be happening to her is so profoundly out of order, a virtual splitting of self into completely unpredictable and entirely explosive constituents that, if it was me doing it, I would see a doctor.”
“And you would need to.”
"But I concur with your opinion, Doctor. I believe a few observations might help. I encountered a person devoid of authenticity. A person composed of false pretenses so powerful they owned the reality, but false pretense is exhausting to maintain. One way to maintain false pretense is to inflict Intimate Terror. The point of Intimate Terror is to create fear so intense, false pretense is the acceptable alternative. To survive fear I was embracing the lie.”
"If this is a diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder with diagnosed Reactive Attachment Disorder (and a host of commensurate co-morbidities) the term False Pretense doesn't begin to describe it.”
“I use False Pretense as a legal term.”
“Each break with reality will be planned, and each break with teality will be timed, normal to chaos delivered with perfection, including when it is the most frightening real-time psychotic break from reality, murderous assault out of calculated rage, in the same instant as if normal is fully on display. The chaos within this peculiar ecosystem will be targeted. Witnesses, if there are any, will be astonished, but unharmed, except by shock. Targeting will be planned. It will be practiced. It will be lethal. The intention to inflict maximum damage will be primary.
"This will be the aim to obtain sadistic joy, to derive a sense of satisfaction from the target's suffering."
"Why?”
“The break with reality averts danger for a disordered person. At this point a target has reached a point of no return. The target is a threat, and breaking the target is the only path to security while they go about a task of individuating. Relationships are broken object relations. This causes frustration. Emotions run out of control. This is the moment when striking events occur. These striking events are called individuation events.”
"Is this why those who do use false pretense blur the lines of legal and illegal acts?”
“They don't distinguish between legitimate and illegitimate because they have no emotional attachment to outcomes. They have no emotional attachment to reality. It's whatever serves their immediate sense of security and entitlement and perhaps a form of satisfaction to be obtained from inflicting pain and no other way. The sadism part of the Borderline Disorder is prevalent. Practically step one.”
“I discovered too late how she practiced Intimate Terror to hide her tracks.”
"Late discoveries come with injury.”
“Well, God is on my side.”
“That's a good hope to cling to. The Dark Triad with co-morbidities produces people who take extraordinary risks, and these are basically escapes from greater risks created somewhere else, with someone else. A Borderline lives a life on the run like a fugitive, they are fleeing the person who betrayed them, which is the self they inflicted on another. It's a complicated relationship to sort out for anybody. Most people in my profession won't touch them with a 10-foot pole.”
“I too have trouble speaking to a psychiatrist.”
“I don't think you do. You seem to be doing fine. The fact is, Intimate Terrorists leave a trail of human wreckage, and are considered by members of the legal system to be a criminal danger to society. Their ability to switch false pretense makes themselves practically undetectable, therefore it is rare to see them in the open, if ever, it's occasionally in a criminal court. Thank you for your input. Can you tell me, where did you acquire your experience?"
"Yes, Doctor. I did a ten year isolation. I made a lot of notes. Some of it is on the public record in court transcripts, affidavits, and long letters to social workers, counsellors, police investigators, and other social science experts in Canada's westernmost province."
"Extensive learning experience. What is your conclusion?"
“It is safer to lie on a beach in a Tsunami than to isolate with an Intimate Terrorist and their psychopathic traits and disorders and co-morbidities. As a result of surviving, I am now the Sadist Whisperer.”
YOUTUBE Video Ends
End Chapter One
Chapter Two: A word about the Institute
Remember when you were midway in the journey of your life, attending one of those office parties involving drunken reverie, from which you abstained, basically, but you said something stupid, “Ah, women don't come."
"Are you kidding? We come when we walk.”
The strong rebuke delivered in a feminine way by the winsome lesbian was a deep and thoughtful moment if ever you ever had one. (Right up there with the night you were in the townhouse with half a dozen women, and one of them shouted, “Oh, give up. We're women. We do what we want.”
But if women are having orgasms as spontaneous as having a stroll, and doing what they want, why in God's name would I lift a finger if this is the case?
Furthermore, how could this be true? If this were the case, the woman's purpose to copulation is procreation and possibly to beguile and subdue a dangerous male.
In this case, the likelihood of the woman having any interest in you whatsoever is practically nil. She is more likely to be fucking you at some other male's behest, in a case of overcoming opposition and creating apprehension, rather than a pursuit of sexual pleasure she is undertaking for her own benefit.
This means it is a high likelihood males being fucked are males being subdued, because they are the dangerous males. Does this make any sense?
Are you are a dangerous male? To yourself, absolutely. It's fair to say most men are a danger to themselves at various times. A danger to others? Shit happens, but you are not a killer.
You are non-violent but certainly no pacifist. You have neither disposition nor capacity for ultimate violence. But to you certain things seem to come naturally. Scaring other men, and falling prey to evil women.
You have experienced men and women who have personality disorders. It is something a person often flees, but you have found escape to be a monumental task. What lies at the centre of the study of personality disorder?
Trauma.
This is the direction Freud took with psychotherapy in the aftermath of World War One. Freud established the Tavistock Institute in London, England, in 1922, specifically to study the persistent prevailing symptoms of Battle Fatigue and Shell Shock, including those who survived traumatic injury in battle.
John Coleman, who wrote about real or imagined black arts being practised by governments through mind control, wrote, in 2005, “What Tavistock did was to create a black hole of deception in the 20th century." What Coleman doesn't say is, Tavistock created this black hole one little person at a time.
Freud's Tavistock legacy of trauma research was created to similar effect as the heartless juggernaut of the Jesuits, without the church garb and icons. The Jesuits control with the money supply, and the Freudians control with the drugs.
Freud opened Tavistock in 1922 in London where he specialized in trauma disorders with a rich background to study, veterans of World War One. Tavistock Institute soon expanded to become operational on an international scale. Where trauma is the game, Tavistock is the name.
You are not a doctor, but a decade of observation must have yielded conclusions. You are being permitted to share a few of those insightful observations with the Doctor on YouTube. Observations, like, you've been Tavistalked.
First they create the Tavistalker, then they unleash the Tavistalker. The instincts scream in your head, “Come to your senses. Somebody truly hates you and will go to great secret lengths ot prove it!” This Tavistalker isn't a random encounter. You have to realize the chances are they aren't done with you.
Perhaps your Tavistalker has an expiration date. False pretenses come and go on a circadian rhythm, and those rhythms never cease. Shakespeare wrote, "Love is not love when it alteration finds?"
How about when secondary emotion love is created out of false pretense, Shakespeare?
The Bard's statement is Biblical in scope and existential in fact. One supposes a shambolic love is prone to alterations, which would infer, love is not love once the alterations are made.
Tavistock Institute turns out Tavistalkers of the highest order, and the lowest. Either way, they are not faint of heart creatures. Faint hearts get studied, of course, since no stone goes un-turned at the Tavistock Institute. But faint hearts are not turned into Tavistalkers since faint hearts are not a threat.
It is the work of the Tavistock Institute delivered you into the clammy bristly coarse hands of their creation. Normally their creation the Intimate Terrorist with Borderline Personality Disorder and co-morbidities, is owed a huge horse pill of pity, except this time, this pitiless serial killer.
Her modus operandi comes down to one thing, targeting those who awaken to false pretense. Yet by and large you alone decide to take this gigantic shit down the neck of a headless humanity upon yourself? You are either a hero, or somebody who reincarnated to perform restitution for enormous evil in a past life. Or you have enemies who will never be disclosed.
By the best estimate of the intelligence available, she was taken to the Tavistock Institute and turned into the insufferable dangerous malignant master of False Pretense she has become. Her entire intention was to defraud and leave you for dead, deeds which she has done repeatedly to countless people throughout her life.
People change, we know this. You see it in pictures, and watch it happen to celebrities, and in the mirror. But people change by process. Then there is a person who changes pretenses like most people change underwear.
false pretenses
noun plural
false pre·tens·es -ˈpre-ˌten-səz, -pri-ˈten-
: false representations concerning past or present facts that are made with the intent to defraud another
also : the crime of obtaining title to another's property by false pretenses compare LARCENY BY TRICK at LARCENY, THEFT
End Chapter Two
Chapter Three: A World of False Pretense
YOUTUBE Video Begins
"You saw dozens of false pretenses in the first half decade of your association, I am sure. Looking back, which ones were the most outstanding?"
"Isolation."
"Isolation?"
“It was not an association, it was an isolation. Doctor, there were so many false pretenses. The best way to look at it is to think in terms of percent."
"Percentage?"
"Percent. She is 100 percent false pretense, both sides, 100 percent of the time."
"Both sides?"
"Good side and bad side. She has both, all fake. She knows they're fake, and the fake construct is supposed to hide terrible darkness. The darkness is inhabited by a killer, a mad dog killer, a predator with a plan.
"I will be saying this a lot, Doctor, but I had no idea I was in the company of a dangerous predator, until I knew, and once I knew, she knew that I knew, and she knew what I knew could not be not known any longer. It was sudden when what became known about her was each and every false pretense. Here's how I came to know.
"When she said nice things about me, they were fake things which bore no relationship to who I was. I would hear them, and think, “Hmm, those nice things about me are based on lies. It was as if she didn't know any nice things about me, and I looked closer, and I realized she didn't know any nice things about me because she never looked for any. She was perfectly willing and able to make up nice things about me and tell these lies to me and about me. I heard it. I became alarmed later on.
"One of Pandora's single mother sycophants called me 'the deadbeat' in the last stages of the isolation, when every lie she spread was revealed to me, by her, and others. Pandora waited eight years to get a job. She was eligible by law in three. Despite the pressure, we never missed a bill or a meal. My son had 700 Hot Wheels cars and was thriving.
"Pandora was a parasite who groaned miserably through every poisonous contribution she had to make.
"Nevertheless, returning to the isolation. The first False Pretense was an aspiring novelist, and another False Pretense flew out of the box at the same time, in a different mindset. Because not only is she an outstanding writer, with the greatest potential of anybody in the room (out of the two of us), but she is an ARTIST TOO!
"Not just any artist, heir to famous elan in Britain. Nobody I heard of because I am irrelevant. And it occurs to me this may have been the first false pretense to make moves against my relevance, comparatively speaking. Mind you, I've never been an art aficionado.”
"Youtube video doesn't need to pause when you take a drink of green tea."
"The next false pretense flying out of the box is a furiously spirited survivor of childhood trauma of the most unseemly sort. "It's strange because I liked it," she started telling me. I put an end to it when she said, "My mother told my father when I was seven, 'Oh don't worry about her. She loves it.'"
“So it sounds like she was challenging you to accept her.”
“It wasn't a story. It was a labyrinth of stories, One of the stories was handed to me, a manuscript she concocted or stole about a network of British underworld sex slavery including repeated visits to brutal sexual assaults, frantic and futile interventions by social workers, crazed mother assaults, crazed father assaults, uncle, friend, and a possible participation in sex for drugs assaults. She managed to throw in a segue on the fucking British invasion of the Falklands, in which her utterly perverse child raping uncle went door to door in Argentina, fucking children, and presumably holding them upside down to shake every last penny out of them. These kinds of stories, they don't escape your attention.”
“She was a story teller.”
“She shared a false pretense about an awkward phase in her teens, claiming to be Joan of Arc of child sex slaves, this false pretense provided livid descriptions of avenging rapes, rage and vengeance rising when she developed breasts and a gnarly attitude to go with Doc Martens. These were early onset confabulations from a Borderline Personality now manifesting, and in diagnosis.
“For her, reality is false pretense, and this one I was able to deduce from a thread of evidence. It came out of her fucking tattoo."
“Okay. Tattoos do tell stories.”
“Hers told how she became a young criminal consort to a drug dealing scalleywag named Martin Jelliwank in a borough of Cornwall, England, called Lostwithial, and she was a student under instruction in the grim calling to English criminal activity, Matey. I learned this alternate reality was something else, as I discovered from witnesses, she became a dangerous teenage moll of an old-time drug dealer/stage engineer in a travelling show called Hawkwind. She put this old man in prison for 7 years when she provided testimony of their murderous escapades dealing drugs and collecting debts from Cardiff to Kent. which was a concentrated false pretense, and an evolved false pretense, equally, one which probably put her in flight from the UK and into my immediate orbit."
“You were a break from false pretense, and turned into a false pretense.”
“To me, eventually, every false pretense began to look the same, and life together became awkward when every lie evaporated as it was being told, and characters in her stories changed roles or disappeared from stories categorically."
"Interesting phrasing for an act of dissociation, which occurs hysterically in the throes of change. You could compare it to launching a main sail, as it takes her breaking across the waves of false pretense."
"What kind of doctor are you, by the way? Chiropractor?"
"Psychiatrist."
"She wouldn't give you five seconds of her time."
"No problem. I value my sanity.
"Touche."
"I presume in the end she deleted the entire previous tableau of lies."
"Erased the history like a firestorm takes out a forest. One continuous recurring false pretense is something she created when she became a ward of English country teachers living on the south coast of Lands End. This false pretense made extraordinary claims to a (nonexistent) education. The discipline found in education was equally nonexistent. How many is that?”
“So far we've seen about four.”
"Then she was one of 33 (!) siblings and a cog in a wheel of the British Gypsy machinery. And the false pretense became edgier, more dangerous, and reckless. In some ways this false pretense falls alarmingly close to the truth of who she is. A born and raised hard core criminal.
"It turned out there came lurking a false pretense from a previous life. Dare I mention a tattoo of a heart on her left arm, if not the name of a guy inside it?
"Later in isolation, I would watch her transform from former queen of Cornwall, UK, to the reigning the queen of street dealers and bikers of the port city where we lived, saw her become beloved for the aluminum bat she carried in the parking lot. This false pretense became a source of congeniality to crack dealers and pimps who haunted a convenience store where she finally found a job. I remain astonished to this day she could pass a criminal record check conducted by the RCMP. And I am more than leery of the identity she is using."
"False identity?"
"Her false pretenses often come with a different name. But it's counterfeit that would pass muster at Tavistock (if Tavistock was a bank). And the danger continued to mount. The darkness of her world became a vexation for me to contemplate. There came stabbings, and shootings, and many criminals suddenly inhabiting her social circles."
"Fascinating."
"Happened in the blink of an eye, with my back to the wall, so to speak, protecting my son, always trying to protect my son."
""Tragic. Are you on any medication?"
"No, Doctor."
"Do you want any? Anything you want. You name it."
“Adderall.”
“Anything but that.”
"No thank you, Doctor. Cannabis is legal now. I use it in a pinch."
"Yes. Maybe more than pinch."
“Yah, a tattoo artist misspelled her favorite beverage (which it is not), but she was never one to discard the opportunity inflict intimate terror.”
YOUTUBE Video Ends
"Who's Martin?"
"They misspelled Martini."
"Who did?"
"The tattoo artist, ya idiot."
This was either shortly before or shortly after one of her surprise attacks.
End Chapter Three
