The Cokehead Sociopath and His Sex Worker Attaché

I've always been fascinated by charismatic con artists, silver-toothed mountebanks, and mesmerizing cult leaders. I ask, again and again, how can they do it?

Not how do they do it--that's pretty self-explanatory. They bullshit their way through enough people--who are mostly altruistic in nature--for as long of a time as they are allowed, until they have to move on.

My question is: How can they do it? How does one find the gumption to hoodwink everyday people and not feel utterly poisoned and hollow from within? Do they engage in some sort of trancelike meditation, so as to detach from their own cognizant decision-making in an attempt not to realize the abysmal depths of their own ethical perdition? Or is taking advantage of others' kindness just as perfunctory to them as driving to work?

I had a recent run-in with two such people--my titular characters. The cokehead mostly got his way through coercion and threats of violence. The attaché did so through performing the role of ever-suffering victim. I won't go into too much detail, but my brief tenure with them ended with me changing the locks on my house and getting an HIV test after the words "Fuck You" and a smiley face were written in human shit on my guest bedroom wall.

My dilemma is twofold. On the one hand, I truly would like to understand the rationale behind their raging entitlement. Why the outburst directed at someone who showed them nothing but acceptance and generosity, until their user antics got out of hand and she was forced to (heaven forbid) tell them no. On the other hand, stepping inside chaotic minds and souls like theirs is a feat of despair so repugnant to me, that I simply can't do it.

I guess I have to live with the uncertainty. I guess all I can do is hope they receive the extensive psychological care of which they are both so desperately in need, and move on. I guess, ultimately, I just hate not having the answers--even if I do have the new door locks.