 |
| Image credit: Photo by pareeerica on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
Yesterday I wrote about the possibility that Karen Maezen Miller could be a serial killer. (In case you're wondering, the chances are small.) To be honest, I was much more concerned with the more real and terrifying possibility that she or Shawn somehow knew my mother and would, upon learning my name, call her and say, "Hey, do you know that your daughter is writing a secret blog about being married to a sex addict?" But I left that part out because it's not as entertaining as the thought of a Zen priest Unibomber. However, while that was a bit tongue in cheek, the thought really did occur to me.
It occurred to me because I think about serial murder, hm, rather more than I should. My husband and I recently rented DVDs of Dexter (a TV series about a serial killer). Halfway through the second episode, I began blathering excitedly about the serial killer subgenre of crime dramas, when my husband paused the show and said, half teasing and half genuinely exasperated, "What is your deal with serial killers?"
What is my deal with serial killers?
Well, it's true. I do have a deal with serial killers; in fact I have a longstanding morbid fascination with murder in general and both mass murder and serial murder in particular. When my son was born, I would record true crime shows and watch them, holding him through the long, lonely hours of his infanthood. He was breastfed to documentaries about the Night Stalker and Ted Bundy the Son of Sam and John Wayne Gacy. And well before he was born I'd voraciously devour books and newspaper articles, studying each case. Always I wanted to know the same things: Why do they do it? How do I tell the difference between serial killers and the billions of other non-serial killers on Earth? How do I know who to trust? What makes their mind different from my mind? How does their mind work? How does my mind work?
At the time I found out about my husband's sex addiction, when my son was a few years old, the story of Laci Peterson's murder was all over the news. She had been pregnant, her husband had an affair and he'd killed her along with their unborn son. I was pregnant at the time too and my husband had also been unfaithful. When I thought about how much I had trusted Mark and how much he had hidden from me, I didn't know what was real anymore. I felt an aching connection to Laci and the parallels were strong enough that I wondered, in all earnestness: What made me different from her or my husband different from Scott? Why was I alive while she wasn't? Who was to say my husband wouldn't murder me? After all, I wouldn't have thought he could cause such unimaginable hurt he did. I remember how Laci's family supported Scott, until they learned of the affair. They changed their minds in an instant, thinking (as I did), "Well, if he could do this first horrible wrong I thought him incapable of, what is to keep him from doing another?"
Murder is the most extreme form of violation and betrayal. The ultimate trust we place in one another as humans is the trust that we will not kill each other. Murderers break that trust, and serial killers break that trust again and again. When my husband betrayed me, I asked why. When someone is murdered (or murders themselves) I ask why. There is no rational reason for either, yet my mind pursues it, trying to make sense and form understandable patterns from the irrational ones.
When Mark asked me what my deal is with serial killers, I paused before saying, "Well, I suspect it's the same reason I'm drawn to addicts. I think there's something there that resonates with my own life, there's something in the stories I relate to, there's something about me that I need to figure out. And I think you," I said, tickling him under the chin, "are sort of like my own serial killer." He frowned, rolled his eyes and went back to watching the show, not at all pleased with the analogy.
lol - you had me in stictches with that first paragraph!
You are on to something. Children are the instruments of our self destruction and husbands are our mortal enemies. I mean that in the most zenlike way, of course.
I'm fascinated by them too. Maybe it's like the werewolf or vampire of my youth, only these are real and walk among us. I've often wondered how many times I've rubbed elbows with a murderer just walking on a crowded sidewalk. It's an area of our human psyche that is hard to fathom.
you had me in stitches in the last paragraph! bowser would give me the Death by Withering Glare Stare if I ever compared his addiction to the violation of a serial killer.
(although, between you and me, I get the analogy.)
I have struggled with that issue myself, with that "I don't know this person, he could be capable of anything" thinking. There are certain things that shake you so much that you really can't take any possibility off the table.
I have found that I have this need to know everything, just to put this fear to rest. But, people don't tell me everything, most often. They often refuse to tell me anything, even when I have the proof in front of them.
How do you live with the reality that you really don't know anyone, ever? That is a big issue for me.
Thanks for the post!
I love this post! I'm fascinated with murderers too, and love reading books about them.
Me too! I watch all those true crime shows again and again. I think that, for me, it's about trying to figure out how to see "evil" in people. I am too quick to trust people, especially people who really are not at all trustworthy. And I tend to miss ginormous "red flags" that everyone else seems able to see immediately. I keep thinking that if I watch enough shows about serial killers, I'll finally have the ability to "read" people.
... the story of Laci Peterson’s murder was all over the news. She had been pregnant, her husband had an affair and he’d killed her along with their unborn son.
Nope. She was killed by the woman who abducted her as a result of having her baby cut out of her body - while she was still alive.
I grew up in Florida which is, as far as I'm concerned, the serial killer capital of the world. I grew up hearing about Ted Bundy and the rest. (Why do they like Florida so much?) And violence certainly seemed an ever present possibility. Still does when I'm there.
Oh, now you've given me my idea for tomorrow's post! Thank you MPJ!
A Voice of Sanity, true, in the spirit of not ever fully having access to or knowing The Truth, I should have said "her husband was convicted of killing her."
I lurve Dexter, at least the first series. I think it's the idea of amorality/ an entirely different moral code that holds the fascination for me.
I too am fascinated with serial killers and am a big fan of the show. I never really considered why I was so into true crime stories, but you might have shed some light on that for me. Dexter was also a very touchy subject for my husband, never understanding my fascination with it. He thought I was empathizing with a serial killer, but in actuality, I too was trying to figure out how he keeps this double life a secret from the world and his loved ones.
My brother is also fascinated with serial killers and owns several documentaries, one of my friends loves slasher movies, and my boss reads true-crime murder books. I think it's natural to wonder about the dark side of humanity.
The Craigslist Killer stuff all came out right after I found out about my Ex's addiction. I had always wondered how women could be engaged to or married to serial killer's. Or how the wife of that man in Austria who kidnapped their daughter and held her captive in the basement could have a) married him in the first place, and b) stayed married to him. I remember thinking my Ex was capable of anything. When we lived together I had a phobia about men breaking into our apartment...I had a *horrible* time sleeping the whole time. (Exacerbated by the fact that yes, some guy broke into a shop downstairs, and then climbed up to our balcony.) I immediately thought of him as a dangerous person, and totally capable of anything. Freaky deaky.