According to both psychologists and a number of sporting experts, the desire to run in able-bodied races was possibly the epitome of his unconscious desire. “The fact that he was so talented gave him the tools to unconsciously prove himself, but as always, one can never do this just by external means. Hence, when things didn’t go his way, there was acting-out behaviour. Because his self-esteem was so intrinsically linked to the outer representation of the self, by that I mean the awards and applause – i.e. overly dependent on external reassurance – the individual is likely to have become very vulnerable when threatened. In these instances, the individual is prone to work even harder for outer validation by increasing the means of stabilising their self-perception,” offers Dr A.
It is clear that Oscar’s self-esteem was dependent on his ability to achieve, to normalise, even neutralise, his disability. He went to great lengths to push himself way beyond normal expectations; to be the best, the fastest and most admired. “But being a poster boy on the outside does nothing to build the inside if there is fear and a sense of self that is determined by what is externally normal,” explains Dr B. It appeared that Oscar was not aware or conscious of his inner fears of failure and disappointing both his parents. He did not grasp, it seems, that although he remembered being loved as a child and having a happy childhood, it was during these formative years that he developed a deep desire for extreme perfection. “This formula is often the seed of compulsive behaviour,” says Dr A.
His identity was always defined by straddling the fence between being a disabled runner and being normal and acceptable. He played both roles very well. Perhaps what made him famous – being disabled – was also a very painful part to acknowledge, as he had spent his youth and adult life trying so hard to be normal. But he was not normal. His medicine was also his poison.
While he was extremely talented and driven to compete (that compulsion is clear), one can’t help but wonder whether there was ever any place for him to show his vulnerability or weaknesses. It seemed that everyone wanted him to succeed and there were many waiting in line to take a piece of his very lucrative success.
His craving to be accepted and regarded as normal definitely extended to his relationships with women. “These seemed to cause some of his most intense internal feelings of inadequacy and torture,” says Dr B. “He longed for the unconditional, nurturing love his mother had lavished on him, perfection really, but it appears that all of his relationships fell short of such unrealistic ideals.” On one level he seemed to idealise these women and then, possibly sensing they fell short of perfection, he would reject and betray them.
According to both experts his prosthetic legs must have played an important role in contributing to his feelings of insecurity and inadequacies in these relationships.
While the outside world was crowning him with accolades like The Sexiest Man of the Year, revering him for physical perfection, when he got home at night he had to take off his legs and be confronted by his deformity and imperfections. His stumps, often chafed, blistered and bleeding, were harsh reminders of everything he wasn’t. “The more famous he became and the more he was affirmed for his physical attractiveness and prowess, the more the battle between his upper and lower halves intensified,” says Dr B.
Along with the rest of the world, we have spent many hours wondering what exactly was happening in Oscar’s mind in the months, the days, the hours preceding Reeva’s death. It is clear that Oscar went through a number of significant emotional challenges during that time. Undoubtedly, the most challenging of all was the mental and physical preparation for the 2012 London Olympics. Images of Oscar the Miracle, Oscar the Blade Runner, were everywhere in London as well as in the media all over the world during the Olympics, placing a huge amount of pressure on him. In many ways, Oscar was similar to Princess Diana, in the sense that they were both adored by the world, but deeply insecure and needy inside.
Behind the scenes, it is clear from the compulsive and emotional calls he made to the Taylors during the Games that his emotional equilibrium had been destroyed. He knew he had made a mess of his relationship with Sam and he was desperate to win her back. “The fact that Samantha attempted to become involved in a new relationship in an attempt to survive and move on might have sent Oscar over the edge, which could have influenced his behaviour in his new relationship with Reeva,” says Dr B.
The pressure to put on a good appearance, presenting one’s A game to millions of people watching, together with his relentless drive to prove himself athletically, underpinned by a lack of emotional tools while his heart was breaking, might have proved too hard for Oscar to handle. “The more Oscar tried to keep it together, the more he probably experienced his inner world falling apart,” says Dr B. “Very possibly his attempts to overcome his emotional problems were futile, only intensifying over time.”
One of the things that has come up since the tragic shooting is how Oscar has spoken about being fearful of crime and needing to protect himself. In fact his defence in the murder trial is centred around the claim that he mistook Reeva for an intruder and shot her in self-defence. There have been many questions around this. He was wealthy, admired, with access to at least six licensed firearms, and lived in a gated, high-security compound. He owned two fierce watchdogs, so why was he so fearful?
“One could only assume that fear is a strong emotional driving force in his life,” says Dr A. “Being a disabled person makes one a lot more vulnerable to outside dangers. But with Oscar it probably wasn’t just fear of crime, but an internal fear of not being able to be normal and prove himself.”
And here is perhaps where some kind of light can be shone onto the possible circumstances both preceding and contributing to the tragic killing.
“It could very well be this complicated mix of everything that had happened in his life, the very layers that had created his sense of self, which drove him to impulsive rage outbursts preceding the incident,” explains Dr A.
Sadly most of these incidents were brushed off or hidden to preserve his lucrative public image, which concealed the true nature of these outbursts. “If violent or reckless incidents are left unattended, they often lead to destructive behaviours which are intensely self-damaging,” says Dr A.
According to both psychologists, what’s usually behind emotional outbursts and rage is an inability to deal with frustration and fear about vulnerabilities. “These thoughts may not even be based in reality but are sometimes paranoiac thoughts,” says Dr B. Individuals who display these tendencies are also often sensitive to rejection and are envious of others. “They sometimes have an uncontrollable urge to control those that are close to them as controlling behaviour is one way of making them feel secure and cohesive – it stabilises their self-esteem,” says Dr A.
When Oscar returned from the Olympics he was on a high because of all the glowing media attention, yet those feelings were underpinned by a deep sense of failure and shame. “He had not achieved what he had set out to do: show the world he could beat the best athletes in the world,” says Dr B. “Additionally in the Paralympics, he not only lost his 200-metre race but he publically lost his cool when he was beaten.”
Dr A elaborates: “As his grandiosity grew outwardly he remained emotionally the little boy showing his mother that he was normal, and taking on her desire for him not to be treated any differently.”
The shooting of Reeva Steenkamp may possibly have been an extreme reaction that can only be explained by the extent of the deep fear, threat to self-esteem and inability to deal with frustrations. Both psychologists agree that Oscar does not fit into a sociopath or murderer category. Both agree he was a man under unusually high pressure who was unable to deal with his emotions in the rest of his life beyond the track.
By the time you read this the verdict of the case will have made headlines around the world.
Only Oscar will ever know what happened on the night he shot Reeva Steenkamp, but this psychological profile will, we hope, offer
some insight into Oscar’s emotional state at the time he committed the violent and perplexing act that shocked the world.
Author’s Note
* * *
Six days before I signed the An Accident Waiting to Happen contract, I wrote off a R3.5 million Ferrari. It was an accident. A huge gigantic metal crushingly expensive mof$#%ng accident.
On 2 September 2013 I had woken up, consumed with joy and heart-stopping excitement at my imminent adventure. Just hours earlier I had celebrated my 14-year clean-and-sober birthday at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in Parkhurst where I had told the group of recovering addicts that the clean life was laden with unbelievable miracles and gifts of great proportion. And like manna from some shiny benevolent petrol head heaven, I was about to taste a bit of mine in the shape and form of the new Ferrari California that I had organised to test drive between 9am and 4pm, as part of my feature’s/drive editor’s job at my magazine job.
I ruled my world that day, lapping each moment up like the Queen Car Cat of Recovery who had just gotten a huge dollop of oily cream. I was the ruler, the creator, the driver of my universe, even if it was just for a day. It’s amazing how easy it is to feel omnipotent when you have a car that roars from 0 to 100 kilometres an hour in 3.8 growling seconds.
At 15:40, twenty minutes before I was to hand the car back to the Ferrari dealer, to ensure insurance was in order, taking a back route to avoid the beginnings of rush hour traffic, I collided side-on, T-Boning a hunk of a seven-seater Pajero. It was an accident, a misjudged moment that I would replay a million times over, wishing it had somehow turned out differently.
Ironically I was only doing 50 kilometres an hour in the super car. But the combined force on impact was devastating.
Chest-crushing airbags banged our breaths away, crushed metal catapulted into a spin that seemed to stretch across time like some eternal elastic… In the end the once-perfect Ferrari lay in pieces, smashed beyond recognition across the now glass-sharded tarmac. My colleagues and I slowly alighted from the wreck, like shell-shocked zombies emerging from some apocalyptic delirium. As the tow truck vampires and sirened ambulances descended, I surveyed the damage. The Ferrari was clearly a right off. My only solace, and I really mean only, was that miraculously no one was hurt.
My world that just hours before had appeared to be so perfectly poised on the brink of “gifts-in-recovery” wonder had now been thrown into a fast-congealing oil slick of chaos. Within minutes of the crash, although I was virtually comatose from shock, I called the Ferrari people to tell them what had happened. That was really hard. Within an hour I had stumbled into the police station to make statements. I would much rather have run. But I stayed. Faced it. Dealt with the aching shame and sadness of it all.
Three months of costly bureaucratic and legal daily hell followed.
Six days after the crash, I caught a plane to Cape Town to sign the book contract with Trish Taylor. I cried throughout our meeting. I spent the weekend hiding behind my shades as the Sunday papers rang incessantly. I experienced a Diana moment. I felt like a hunted animal.
I hardly slept for the first 30 post-accident days. Haunted by that sickly sound of the crash, the airbag explosion, my mind could not stop the spinning, veering into all the macabre possible scenarios that might have played out that day.
It was a pure miracle that there had been no casualties as a result of the accident, let alone a death. I could have killed people. I could be dead. That thought kept spinning over and over and over in my mind.
I was compelled to look deep within. I had already started writing the book at the time of the crash and now it felt like I was being forced to look at Oscar through new accident-infused eyes. Oscar, whose life after Valentine’s Day 2013, let’s face it, was much more messed up than mine. After he shot and killed Reeva, like many others, I had been incensed, outraged by his actions; condemning and judging, joining the crowds, baying for his blood, for payback and justice.
But the Ferrari changed everything.
I now saw life differently.
I am not suggesting our actions were in any way the same, but I saw how quickly human error, a spilt second of wrong thinking, could change a world.
I had to live with what I had done.
I had to accept responsibility.
I had to face myself, my wrongs and embark on a long journey of soul-scraping humility and make amends.
Along my route I found a town called Compassion. I saw Oscar beyond his actions, I saw a flawed man, a human being, at times I saw myself. After my accident, who was I to condemn Oscar? Really… who was I?
I tried to approach this book with my new-found head space. I now tackled the writing differently, trying to unravel Oscar on a deeper level, trying to understand him, not jump to obvious conclusions, avoid vindictiveness, see the layers, the pain, the human flaws behind the actions. I hope in this book that was achieved.
I am still somewhat surprised by the fact that I have written this book. To be honest, initially I had been quite derisive about the whole Oscar frenzy, likening the media and Oscar authors to a pack of vampires, caught up in a feeding frenzy on the carcass of a tragedy.
But when Trish approached me at a book fair last year, to work together, I was drawn both to her and her daughter Samantha’s and the Taylor family’s story. I felt privileged that they trusted and respected me enough to share it.
Writing a book is an arduous task, especially when it comes to other people’s stories. But somehow this story came easily and Trish and I became a dream team combo, mirroring each other in terms of commitment and work ethic.
As the story revealed itself through many many hours of interviews, I found the time Trish and her family spent with Oscar, the celeb, the world-famous athlete, the sad lost little boy who parked his legs at the bottom of the bed, fascinating, disturbing and insightful. With all the rumours and misinformation that has abounded around this case, I was intrigued by the intimate nature of their story, the truth of it and the possible lessons and insights that could be gained for the subject, authors and readers.
The debris of my accident has slowly cleared, been largely sorted out and swept away. It’s incredible to see how, when you try to do the next right thing, everything works out for the best. I hope there is a lesson to be shared and learnt from that…
Melinda Ferguson
3 March 2014
Acknowledgements
* * *
Thank you, Trish Taylor, for having the courage to share your experiences and trusting me with them. I have never doubted your integrity in telling this story, which I know could so easily have stayed buried. You have brought it into the light and hopefully walked out of fear. Thank you, Samantha Taylor. Your support has been invaluable through what I know has been an achingly hard time for you.
To Owen Blumberg, the man of legal persuasions, you have honestly been a gift from above. These days it’s almost impossible to find a lawyer who not only works from a place of both wisdom and integrity but who is also a bit of a rock star. I thank you from the deepest place of gratitude.
Tim Mcd, you have travelled a long journey with me and your love and support have been what’s made me get up every day at 3:30am to write. Sorry for all the sleeplessness and me-me-me moments.
Amy and Peter Bernstein, all the way in New York, your belief and hard work on the book has spurred us on to reach for greater heights. There are still many roads to travel. Thank you, Amy, for your editing and astute insights.
To my darling boys James and Daniel who have lived through four books with me. You two are the real stars in my life who get me going.
To my colleagues at True Love, especially Nikki and Lerato.
Bridget and Maggie, thank you for believing in me and MFBooks. Kerrie, Megan and everyone else at Jacana – you guys rock. Thank you Wynter for listening and navigating when I spoke too much. Finally, my friends Meg, Val, Martine, Peta, Clinton, Candice, Kate, Denis, Liana and Pumla, I love you all.
– Melinda Ferguson, March 2014
First and foremost, I would like to thank Melinda for travelling this journey with me. I could never in my wildest dreams have wished to work so closely with someone who just got it. From day one, I put my trust in her and poured out my story, and in return, she transformed it into a remarkable book.
To Sammy, well done for staying so strong, and for always keeping your heart pure and your head held high.
Thank you to Henry and my siblings, who from day one stood by me, and agreed that this story needed to be told. And for the amazing ongoing love and support that we always have and will give each other.
To my children, thank you for being amazing. For giving me the best opportunity that anyone could ever have to be the best mom ever. You are all so awesome in every way.
To my mom and gran, and extended family, who taught me to live my life with an abundance of love, honesty and integrity. You gave me the gift of believing in myself.
To my friends, far and wide, you are all amazing. You are always there, giving me love and support. I always say once you are my friend, you are my friend for life and you have all proved that.
– Patricia Taylor, March 2014
Oscar: An Accident Waiting to Happen Page 17