 My name is Sam Vakne. 22 years ago, I have written a book about psychopathic narcissists. I even coined most of the language in use today, including narcissistic abuse. Yet when I come across a psychopathic narcissist, even I am shaken to my foundations. There is something utterly reptilian or alien about these people. Psychopathic narcissists and histrionic and borderline women, they are driven by primitive urges, unrequited needs, raw negative impulses like rage and vindictiveness, and psychological defense mechanisms run amok and awry. It is not so much a lack of empathy as it is a kind of one-track mindedness that renders these people robotic or zombie-like. You cannot contract, make a contract, make an agreement with a psychopathic narcissist or with a histrionic borderline woman. They recognize no rules. They have no deep emotions. They get attached to absolutely no one, not even to their own children. They play mind games with everyone. They lie incessantly and usually unnecessarily. They will not hesitate to hurt you fatally if it gratifies the trifles of their wishes. These people, psychopathic narcissists and borderline histrionic women, are not sadists. They are not out to inflict pain on you. You are merely a kind of collateral damage. They do what they do absent-mindedly. They don't care. You are not there. Where a human being should have been, there is a vast deep space of emptiness. Avoid with howling from model winds. It is chilling. These defective renditions of humans have no real spouses. They know no children. They maintain no friendships. They keep no families. There's no continuity. It's like a series of disjointed snapshots with nothing much to connect them. These people plow through their lives and through the lives of their so-called nearest and dearest. Like unstoppable, unconscionable racking bones. They swing apathetically between compulsions and obsessions. They have an ever more dimming awareness of the stirrings that pass for their consciousness. It's like these people are raw material. Unfold yet to become human. Some elements are there. Many are missing. I think that is what frightens people. That's what puts most people. Illeties. This is the uncanny valley. Psychopathic narcissists and borderline histrionic women appear fully formed and fully human. Many of them are charming. Many of them are irresistible. But when you get a bit closer, on a second look, on a second meeting, on a second exchange of correspondence, when you bond or attach to them, you discover that they are the wind. Like Dali's famous painting, Galatea, they are an assemblage of molecules. Ever colliding. Never restful. Never can be grasped. Never comprehensible. Very painful. Again, despite having written this book, in Malignancy of Love, and having been exposed for 22 years to thousands of such people, with every new encounter, I am dumbfounded and sometimes even downright frightened.