Late 1950s
A woman can afford anything she wants, but she has no right to be unattractive. Lauren understood that she wasn't particularly smart, and her appearance left much to be desired. At least, she had heard so often about her ordinariness that she had come to terms with it. Tired of loneliness, from an early age, her mother instilled in Lauren the idea that the most important thing was to find a life partner. In her daughter's case, the woman believed it should be done as soon as possible. Youth was a valuable but perishable commodity. "Dress brighter, borrow some lipstick from the neighbor," she instructed the girl when she was getting ready for dances at the cultural center.
Nature endowed Lauren with a slender figure, but that was about it. Her thin, unruly russet hair looked greasy on top and curled into awkward dry curls near her shoulders. Bad skin from nature's hand in her teenage years was covered with pimples, and by the age of twenty, the pimples had been replaced by freckles and spots. Her small, deeply set eyes didn't add to her attractiveness either. The only asset she had was youth, which she urgently needed to sell, and at the highest price possible. Seeing a handsome and cheerful student from Miami at the rural club, she declared:
- I will marry him.
Her friends laughed at her back then, but Lauren got what she wanted. Daniel Miller was a distant star, someone from another planet. Miami was just a few miles away from their village, but it seemed unreachable. Every year, students were sent to their area, so the dream of every girl was to make some local fall in love with her and get him to marry her. That was considered the easiest way to move to the city.
It was the late 1950s. By his twenties, Daniel, modest, solid, and pedantic, had virtually no experience with the opposite sex. Lauren's attention flattered him, and by the end of his forced exile, he had already proposed to her. Of course, the girl agreed right away.
Lauren's first task was to forget where she was born, to burn all bridges so that her sisters or mother wouldn't accidentally come to visit her for an indefinite period.
Daniel and Lauren were assigned a room in a dormitory. Day and night, classmates of the young husband gathered in their ten-square-meter cell. With them, this quiet guy miraculously transformed into a hospitable rough-and-ready lad. Lauren couldn't stand the noise, drunk friends, and songs with a guitar accompaniment that accompanied any gathering. For a while, the girl tried to maintain the image she had created for herself. She smiled at the guests and even pretended to love hiking and kayaking trips. But over time, she grew tired of it all. The goal of her life became pregnancy and an apartment, which would be much easier to obtain with a child. Unfortunately, conceiving wasn't successful for quite some time. Consequently, getting the coveted housing was postponed. A couple of years after the wedding, luck smiled at her, and soon the young couple moved to a new apartment on the outskirts of the city.
Pregnancy of the young woman was difficult. The gynecologist was greatly concerned about the fetus, and Larisa, in turn, had almost buried the unborn baby. By the time her son was born, the woman had imagined a thousand ways for the infant to die, managed to survive it, and come to terms with infertility.
Steven Miller was born on November 26, 1959. The baby was entangled in the umbilical cord and already turned blue due to lack of oxygen. Doctors did the impossible and still managed to hear his first cry. But everyone understood that the chances of survival for the baby were slim. In addition, a serious congenital defect was discovered in the newborn: funnel chest. The defect itself was not the worst. Many people have a sunken chest: some slightly more, some less. However, this congenital physiological feature often comes with a bundle of health problems and very often - a heart defect. Only a week later, they showed the boy to his mother. Until that moment, doctors did not risk taking such an important step. This was the woman's firstborn. It was not a fact that he would survive. There was no need for her to see him alive. It's one thing to have a miscarriage or a stillbirth, and quite another for the child to die after birth.
Today, the necessity of close contact between the newborn and the mother immediately after birth is of paramount importance. However, in those years, this was considered a gross exaggeration. Everything had to proceed according to approved standards and under medical control. As an exception, women were allowed to hold the newborn, but only if his life was not threatened. Only many years later in the States, the controversial psychologist Timothy Leary and a number of his followers would prove that children who were not handed to their mother in the first moments of life were neurotic, prone to depression, and often had lower emotional intelligence. Just born, the child finds himself in a hostile, hitherto unknown world. When a mother holds her baby close to her heart, imprinting occurs: the baby is filled with unconditional love for the closest being capable of protecting him. It doesn't work the other way around, by the way. A woman doesn't start loving her child just by holding him. This feeling awakens over time and is proportional to the efforts made.
Steven survived, but Lauren returned from the maternity ward feeling like she had become the mother of a disabled child. She started taking him to doctors, constantly receiving new diagnoses. Now, there could be no talk of friends or joy in their home. The sick baby demanded constant attention and absolute silence. It was unbearable for the new father to enter this house of sorrow and silence every evening, where no loud noises were allowed. Laughter and joy were prohibited because the child was ill. The man couldn't bear it and gradually began to blame everything on his son.
Lauren never loved Daniel. Feelings are the essential building material for creating a strong family. They help reconcile with all the partner's shortcomings. If this cement is not there initially, then eventually only irritation and disgust remain. At least, that's what happened to Lauren, who gradually began to hate her husband. She couldn't leave him - she couldn't go to the collective farm to her mother with a sick son in her arms. Living with her husband was unbearable too, and gradually this feeling became more mutual.
Daniel started drinking in the evenings. Now he did it alone. Alcohol turned the quiet pedant into an aggressive and cruel tyrant. The actions he took when drunk sometimes scared even himself.
In September 1962, Steven was enrolled in daycare. On the first day, Lauren was so meticulously preparing the child that the boy was sure he was facing a difficult test. And then he was taken to a large room where several children were already playing. At that moment, a woman literally dragged in a three-year-old girl who was resisting and crying. All the children immediately became interested in what was happening. The girl's mother apologized to the teacher and tried to calm the child down. The cry that had been building up inside Steven's sunken chest finally burst out at that moment. The boy wasn't afraid to part with his mother, but now he suddenly realized that he was left alone with all these children. And that was truly terrifying!
Steven screamed, cried, struggled to breathe, and rolled on the floor. The caregivers had seen such performances before and knew well: the main thing was not to pay attention to such a child, so as not to encourage hysteria. At some point, the scream turned into vomiting, and there was a wet spot on the boy's tights.
"Come on, you little rascal," whispered the tall elderly caregiver, grabbing the newcomer's hand. She dragged him into a cold, dark room filled with beds.
"You'll sit here until you calm down," the woman said and went out the door.
Alone, Steven quickly quieted down. In the evening, when Lauren came for the boy, the caregiver complained to her for an hour about her son's behavior. Towards the end of this humiliating conversation, she handed the mother clothes stained with vomit and urine.
This happened time and time again for a long time until Lauren finally managed to get her son transferred to another nursery, considered elite. Now, to get there, they had to take five bus stops, but at least Steven no longer threw tantrums on the floor.
Daniel believed that his son was simply mocking and manipulating his mother, so he tried to raise the child strictly. Over the years of family life, the man got used to the torture of silence. Initially, the silence in the apartment annoyed him, but after a few years, he reconciled himself to the fact that the only voice that could be heard in their apartment belonged to the announcer Mitchell.
Steven was four years old when Lauren asked her husband to take the child to nursery one day. Daniel resisted as much as he could but eventually gave in. Silently taking the boy's hand, the father led him to the bus stop. On that frosty morning, the man felt disgust towards the whole world, but primarily towards his son, for whom they had to leave the house so early. However, Steven was in a great mood at seven in the morning, and not even an irritated father could spoil his mood. He wandered around the bus, sat on one empty seat, then another, and finally climbed onto a seat with his legs.
"Get off," the father shouted once again, but Steven paid no attention. Elderly women were already casting disapproving glances at them, always in a hurry to get somewhere early in the morning. "You'll have to get there yourself from here, I'm not going to be embarrassed because of you," the man declared as the bus braked at another stop. It was only at that moment that the child hesitated and began to slide off the seat, but it was already too late. The doors slammed shut, and his father's figure swiftly moved away. The boy found it hard to breathe, tears filling his eyes. He would have thrown himself on the floor in hysteria, but who would he do it for here? Who would listen to him now?
At that moment, the bus stopped, and Steven saw in the distance the familiar building of the daycare. He helplessly looked around for someone to help him descend the high steps to exit the bus, but there was no one willing to assist. Passengers, who had been shaking their heads disapprovingly because of the child jumping around the cabin, were now focusedly looking out the window.
The boy managed to safely reach the daycare, but after some time, the situation repeated itself. However, this time, when the child began to misbehave, his father got off the bus without saying a word. Steven never understood what had happened. By that time, he had completely forgotten about his previous outburst and had angered his father, who never explained what the issue was. The torture of silence and loneliness had become the favored means of pressure in their family. Steven had to guess what his parents wanted from him. Whenever he appeared in sight, they fell silent. If the boy did something wrong, his parents would stop talking to him until he corrected himself. Steven was not against doing things right, but most of the time, he simply didn't understand what exactly provoked the adults' anger.
When a person becomes dissatisfied with the surrounding reality, they seek refuge in the world of their own fantasies. Two things are unbearable: unpredictability and indifference. Everything else can be endured. However, these factors not only threaten life but also call into question the possibility of remaining a person and continuing to exist. You are not noticed, and nothing depends on your actions. Do you really exist? Steven's parents, due to their ignorance and innate coldness, left the child in a vacuum of emotional alienation, adding a sense of shame and inadequacy there. In public, Lauren demonstrated maternal love, meeting others' expectations, but when alone with the child, she stopped noticing him. The son was like a precious vase to the woman. Such a little thing could be placed somewhere in a corner, dusted off occasionally, and checked if everything was in order. If needed, one could just come and take it from where it was left. A vase doesn't have feelings and thoughts; it doesn't need hugs and encouragement. In those days, it was believed that praising a child was fundamentally wrong, as it would make them conceited and want to stand out from the collective.
In psychology, a type of person like Lauren has been named a "schizophrenogenic mother." Contrary to the initial Fromm-Reichmann theory, it is impossible to develop schizophrenia because of this, but a personality disorder of this type is almost guaranteed. This complex of developmental characteristics is characterized by alienation, detachment from the world, and a flattening of the emotional sphere. In simpler terms, a person is faced with a choice: reality or their own fantasies—let them be terrifying and frightening but predictable, understandable, and controllable. Upon reflection, there is no real choice here: when nobody around cares about a person, they will always prefer the illusory world.
It is commonly believed that psychopaths are people without compassion, conscience, or feelings. In reality, their emotions and feelings don't disappear; they are simply distorted. In various types of psychopathy, the disruption of affect looks different, but in the case of schizoid psychopathy, it follows the so-called "tree-glass" formula. It's worth noting that the "tree-glass" dichotomy is common to almost all types of personality disorders. A person can calmly receive news of a close person's death while remaining as rigid as a tree. But if, for example, they lose a beloved teddy bear or someone reads their diary without permission, it can even lead to suicide. In such a situation, someone suffering from schizoid psychopathy becomes as fragile as glass. There's no logic to it. It may seem impossible to predict how they will react to one situation or another and what emotions they will display, but that's not the case. Imagine watching a movie where the main character dies. How would you feel upon learning about James Bond's death? You would probably be upset. Especially sensitive individuals might even shed a tear, but fifteen minutes later, they would push the sad thoughts out of their heads. A psychopath might perceive such a death as something important but happening on screen, not real. A teddy bear or diary—these are things that play an important role in the carefully constructed world of their fantasies. They are what's real. It's news from their main world.
And what's so frightening about it? They were unloved, unpraised, and not hugged enough in childhood, but then everything will be fine. Right? Just attend a couple of personal growth workshops, fall into someone's arms during a trust exercise, and everything will change. Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. A pronounced personality disorder that manifested in childhood affects motor neurons. From birth, we learn to understand other people, recognize their facial expressions and gestures, and react according to what is expected of us. If a person doesn't see the faces of loved ones every day, doesn't hear speech directed at them, emotional reactions from others can mean one thing or another, and their words can mean something entirely different. Motor neurons slow down and falter: understanding and seeing signals from other people become an impossible task. Awkwardness and clumsiness arise from this misinterpretation of hints, subtext, sarcasm. In addition to this, schizoid psychopathy is often mixed with autism, as well as autism spectrum disorders. In such cases, a person becomes completely unable to understand the people around them; they become literal, like children, but still retain all affective disorders. It's not surprising that, transferred to everyday life, we see a hidden, inaccessible, and incomprehensible person who at the same time reacts excessively to trivial situations but does not react at all to complex and responsible ones. Or reacts so inadequately that it causes irritation, disgust, fear in others.
Few people know that schizoid psychopathy goes hand in hand with emotional underdevelopment. Such people can hide their condition for many years behind a mask of beautiful words, intelligence, deep thoughts, but inside they are completely empty. They can perceive theater, cinema, literature, art, but cannot and do not know how to experience what happens on the screen or pages of a book. For them, it's always a play, costumes, sets, music. Their surroundings often mistakenly perceive such behavior as deep, refined taste, but in reality, it's a soul void. They can sing, read poetry, play musical instruments, but nothing happens inside. They can go to church, do good, be scholars, artists, activists, but inside there is apathy, lack of feelings, emptiness. They can make love, but it's always a play, not backed by something deep and real. They can give birth to and raise children, but they will always remain tools, dolls, extensions of themselves, not living beings.
Schizoid psychopathy is most often diagnosed when a person is over forty. This is because until that moment, they hide their problems behind a mask of activity, intelligence, eloquent speech, intellect. They usually avoid social interaction, preferring solitary activities, being interested only in things that do not require emotional involvement. They can be successful in their profession, but their personal life will always remain empty and unsatisfied.
Understanding a person with schizoid psychopathy is difficult. They may outwardly appear normal, intelligent, successful, but inside they are cold, empty, alienated. They can be literate, educated, talented, but unable to experience genuine emotions. This is a very tragic condition because they remain eternal observers, never experiencing true joy, sorrow, love. They remain behind glass, observing life but not participating in it.