I would buy an entire case of these.

Posted on February 24, 2015 by luckyotter

My foodie readers should be happy. 🙂

I simply cannot get enough of these. I usually am not a big fan of “health” bars, but these are fantastic! They are chewy and lemony (natural, not artificial lemon flavor), with an irresistable slightly crunchy drizzle of lemon glaze on the surface. They don’t taste like something healthy but they actually are pretty good for you and loaded with fiber and Vitamin C.

The only problem I have with them is that I can’t stop at just one. If I have a box (which contain 6 bars) I wind up eating the entire box!

The other problem is that, like all nutrition/health snacks, they aren’t cheap.

So I’m going to tell you how you can make your own. Homemade ones are just as good as Fiber One’s (though maybe a little less healthy). Some commercial mixes result in a more custardy, eggy (and less chewy) lemon bar. That’s okay if you don’t mind a more custardy texture. They’re quite good, and the hardened lemon glaze gives them an interesting juxtaposition of textures.

You can make lemon bars from scratch too, of course. I know there are lots of recipes if you do a Google search, though I never have.

Lucky Otter’s Lemon Bars

Use a commercial lemon bar mix, like Betty Crocker or Duncan Hines. Follow the instructions on the box.
I always use real butter in place of margarine. I just think it tastes a lot better. To prevent burning, you can smear the pan with margarine or cooking oil.

Make a lemon glaze from scratch. Here’s how I do it:

Mix about a half cup of confectioner’s sugar with the juice from a few lemons. Mix until you get a thin consistency (but not so thin it’s watery) and then drizzle the glaze over the cooled lemon bars. It will harden and give the bars an enticing crunch.
If you like your glaze a little less intense, you can replace a little water (not milk!) for some of the lemon juice.

Go away, winter.

Posted on February 24, 2015 by luckyotter

When I opened my front door this morning, I saw this lovely scene.

I’ve had it. This hasn’t been such a bad winter overall, until this month. If we’re going to get snow and sub-zero temperatures here in western North Carolina, it’s most likely going to be in February and March.

Nature, you’re so predictable.

This month has been hell for me climatically. Last week the temperatures dropped down into the single digits and my pipes froze, even though I kept them dripping at a fast clip to keep them from freezing. The only water I still had was a little trickle of ICE COLD water from the kitchen sink. Things stayed like this for an entire week.

Two days ago, the temperatures rose to the low 50’s and I waited impatiently for the water to return. Instead, when I went into the kitchen yesterday morning, I noticed the laminate parquet-look floor I just put in a year ago was soaking wet and squishy under my feet. Further investigation revealed its source–a pipe had burst behind the wall of the kitchen and water was seeping through the floor. I listened and heard what sounded like someone taking a shower inside the wall.

My landlord told me to turn off the water (which requires going outside and lifting the manhole cover by the road) and he’d send someone out to look. His handyman, a drunk named Roger who never really fixes anything because he’s cheap (my landlord doesn’t want to spend any money), is famous for just jimmy rigging things instead of fixing or replacing them. He might as well just carry Duct tape around to use for everything. Last year when this happened, he “fixed” the pipes even though they are probably the original ones that came with the house when it was built in 1908. Because the pipes are uninsulated and UNDER the house, he had to rip out part of the kitchen floor and an entire wall to get to the pipes. Of course he never insulated them, just patched them up somehow (probably using Duct tape). He replaced the original kitchen wall with an ugly piece of ill-fitting plywood. I painted it to make it at least a little presentable. I put the new kitchen floor in because of the damage done to the old one (and the old one was really ugly anyway–dark brown 1970s speckled linoleum).

So of course the pipes burst again and now there’s no water at all because I had to turn it off to keep the leak from doing further damage. I haven’t had a proper shower in a week. The dishes are piled in the sink and starting to stink. I may go to the truck stop today to take a shower if I can drive there later because the feeling of dirty grunginess is very depressing and I probably smell. I can’t get to my job today (again!) because of the snow on the roads and it’s still snowing. I think I might go out and fill a bunch of milk jugs (which I keep handy for such emergencies) with snow, let them melt by the heat, heat the water on the stove, and fill the tub so I can take a bath. It will probably take hours to do this and about 100 milk jugs worth of snow, but I really need a fucking bath! My hair is hanging in greasy strings and my scalp is starting to itch. How did people before the days of indoor plumbing stand all the dirtiness?

I am also losing money. Last week I only worked two days: one day the office closed due to the icy road conditions and the other two days (when my car was having its transmission rebuilt) there wasn’t enough work to justify having anyone pick me up. My roommate’s car won’t start either and there was no one else to drive me back and forth to work. Thank the Lord, my car’s fixed now (and runs better than it has in two years) but I still have no f*cking water.

Now the temperatures are dropping again, into the teens, and the handyman, who apparently finally realized the house needed replumbing and was going to come out today to start working on that, just called to say he wouldn’t be able to do it with the temperatures this low. It’s supposed to remain this cold all week.

This really bites. I hate winter with all my body, mind, and soul. Maybe I need to just move to Florida or something where I will never have to deal with freezing pipes, cars too cold to start, icy and snowy mountain roads, and just plain being cold all the time.

Why anyone in their right mind could love winter (except for wealthy people who don’t have to drive to a job and get to ski and snowboard all winter) is beyond my comprehension.

Spring, hurry up and get here! PLEASE.

My MN ex’s weird attitude to his son.

Posted on February 24, 2015 by luckyotter

My malignant narcissist ex bullied our son without mercy through most of his childhood. I wrote about that in this article and a few others, so I won’t rehash it again here.

My son is 23 now and lives in Florida. He moved there, in part, to escape from his father and our dysfunctional, sick relationship. He always hated our almost constant fights. He lived in Illinois before he moved to Florida. He hasn’t lived in North Carolina since 2010, when he was still 18. I only see him once a year, if that. I try not to let the huge distance between us bother me, because he is doing so well, has many wonderful friends, and is involved in so many activities that make him happy.

Financially, my son is doing better than I am because of his drive and ambition and he’s doing light years better than his helpless narcissistic bum of a father, who still lives at the Salvation Army, even though he gets disability now and could get a small apartment if he got himself put on the list for available apartments. Once I asked him why he didn’t do this, and he actually said he would rather live in a shelter than in the projects. He said he thought he was too good to live in the projects. As if the Salvation Army is any better! I think the real reason he refuses to do what he needs to do to get an apartment is because he’d rather be homeless so everyone can feel sorry for him. Other people’s pity gives him an excuse to act entitled and needy. He takes a perverse pride in acting as pitiful and helpless as it’s possible to be.

None of his immediate family feels sorry for him anymore. Not even his daughter, who was his only defender for a long time. He has lost her too.

My ex has a weird attitude about children. He says he hates kids, which isn’t such a terrible thing (lots of people don’t like kids–I’m not even overly fond of them) but I remember him getting annoyed when I put up the kids’ baby photos and photos of them as children around the house. It angered him. He also got upset when I would talk about something the kids did when they were younger. He accused me of being too sentimental and living in the past. I thought his reaction was strange. I just thought wanting to put family photos up around the house was the normal sort of thing any mother would do. He always hated any displays of sentimentality or nostalgia. The only thing he told me when I questioned him about his strange attitude was that he hated thinking about the past because of his own painful childhood.

I have noticed many narcissists have a bizarre aversion to sentimentality. My mother is the same way. She hated displaying family photos around the house (except in bedrooms) because she considered family photos in public areas tacky. She actually said she threw away most of the family photos, when I recently asked her if I could have some. She might be lying or she might have actually thrown hem away. I would not put something like that past my cold fish of a mother.

Maybe this explains it.

When I was living with my ex, I remember his strange Jekyll-and-Hyde attitude about his estranged son. Most of the time he acted like he didn’t care about him. He never seemed interested in his activities, watching his Youtube videos (which are very good), and would change the subject if I talked about how well he was doing in college or in his job. It seemed as if he was envious of his son for being more successful than him, instead of proud of him. He really just never wanted to talk about him at all, except to make inappropriate and sometime lewd jokes about him being gay (he always insisted it didn’t bother him Ethan was gay).

He never seems to really miss him, and almost never calls him. Once Ethan left the state, to my ex it was almost as if he never existed. If Ethan had died, I doubt Michael would have cared much. He cried more when our dog Daisy died than I think he would if something had happened to one of our children, especially our son.

One time when they did speak on the phone, Ethan said something Michael didn’t like–he disagreed with him about something political (Michael spent most of his time ranting on political websites against anyone who disagreed with his views and trolling conservative websites). For months after that, Michael refused to talk to him at all. Ethan tried to call him a few times, but was always hung up on rudely. When I asked Michael why he did this, he just said his son was an “asshole who doesn’t deserve the time of day because he doesn’t agree with me.” True story.

But occasionally Michael could get all maudlin and weepy. Many narcissists do that. It’s weird. Usually it’s when they’re drunk. In Michael’s case, it happened when he was stoned (his main goal in life seems to be procuring weed). These tearful, sentimental moods came randomly, for no reason.

One day I came home to find the news channel he always watched off (for a change). I found Michael standing in front of the bathroom mirror, sobbing in an exaggerated way like the baby he is. Crying uncontrollably to the point he was actually choking and gagging. I asked him why he was crying. He told me he needed a hug. I complied but felt repelled and held my body stiff. I did not feel empathy or much concern, mostly just disgust and annoyance. At this point I hated him so much after years of his abuse and constant gaslighting that touching him, especially touching him when he was this vulnerable, with snot and tears all over his prematurely aged face, made me feel a little sick to my stomach.

He never told me what was bothering him. He probably didn’t even know. He went into a diatribe about how he wanted to buy Ethan the best camera he could find and it made him feel terrible that he was unemployable and so poor he couldn’t buy him even a cheap camera. I reminded him that Ethan already owned several cameras that he either bought or his grandfather had bought him. Michael continued mopping at his eyes and interrupted me, talking about the brands of cameras he would buy Ethan if he could.

I don’t think that’s what was bothering him. But he did get maudlin like that occasionally and it was always strange and disturbing and just happened out of left field most of the time.

I’ve noticed that about narcs. Most of the time they look down their noses at normal displays of sentimentality or the normal expressions and feelings of love parents have for their children or other family members, but when under the influence of alcohol or drugs they get maudlin and weepy to a disgusting level over inconsequential things that really don’t matter. I always felt myself recoiling at these over the top and inappropriate displays of emotion.

Michael wasn’t actually an emotional person at all but used emotional displays to get attention and pity, or to hoover me after he’d been abusive. When we were first dating and “in love,” he would frequently become all teary eyed when he told me how much he loved and needed me. He cried when he asked me to marry him. He cried when we were having sex. At the time I was incredibly moved and overwhelmed by feelings of love when he did this. I thought it meant he was a big sensitive softie with a huge heart. I loved his “vulnerability.” God, I was so naive. I read somewhere that some narcissist men act like this when ~~wooing a woman~~ trapping their prey.

Why are narcs so creepy?

Why this blog is becoming successful and how yours can too.

Posted on February 22, 2015 by luckyotter

The beginning: Taking that first, scary leap of faith.

When I started this blog in September, my intention wasn’t to have a “successful” blog. My initial aim (and still my primary aim!) was to heal myself from PTSD, severe anxiety and depression caused by many years of victimization by narcissists. The healing isn’t finished yet, and probably never will be completely.

Deciding to make my personal diary a public spectacle seems rather narcissistic, but my reasoning for doing this was (a) as an alternative to traditional psychotherapy, which I could not afford (and still can’t afford); and (b) my belief that complete honesty on the Internet with complete strangers was the key to my healing and overcoming my many fears, especially my fears of social interaction.

It’s a lot like that first venture into the deep end of a swimming pool. At first you’re scared to death, but soon no one can keep you away from it!

So far, it’s working. I can honestly say these past five and a half months have proven to be the best therapy I ever had. Yes, putting my heart and soul and vulnerability out there on the web was incredibly scary at first, and I hesitated much about posting some things about my past (and still do sometimes), but I went ahead and did it anyway, then held my breath and waited for the psychopaths, bullies and trolls to descend on this blog like the wicked witch’s flying monkeys descended on Dorothy and her friends in The Wizard of Oz.

That never happened. The few trolls are easily controlled–I just don’t approve their comments. I guess I’ve been lucky: there’s only been about two on this blog so far. I learned not to take what they say personally. I’ve already been the victim of Internet bullying, and feel that with my own blog, I have a lot more control and I know how to handle the bullies and trolls.

My first mentors.

Early in my blogging experience, I was fortunate enough to have three very different people from completely different backgrounds help me obtain more visibility. These people were my first mentors, before I learned the ropes of blogging or how to get it seen.

As a brand new blogger and a person not known for being patient, when my first week passed and I had a measly 12 followers, and was getting practically no likes or comments after slaving away for hours on a post that was painful to write, I expressed my frustration in this post (which is still one of my most popular). I couldn’t lie anymore–although I started this blog as an online journal, dammit, I wanted people to actually read my thoughts! Opinionated Man, known for his kindness to newbies, reblogged that post on his blog HarsH ReaLiTy the next day, and I spent the entire weekend fielding so many comments and new followers that I never had a chance to do my laundry or go grocery shopping!

I consider that my first big win, or maybe my second. My next big win was writing an article about “I, Psychopath,” Ian Walker’s documentary about Sam Vaknin, and that attracted the attention of Sam himself (who admitted he found the article by Googling himself!) For awhile he was sharing every article I wrote about him (and I kept writing more not only because of my interest in him, but I have to admit, to keep my momentum going, since every article I’ve written about him has become wildly popular, even if not shared by Sam himself.) He’s been doing less sharing of my articles and that’s perfectly alright, because now I know how to build my own momentum.

My third big win (but really my first) was Fivehundredpoundpeep’s wonderful blog. Prior to starting this blog, I’d been reading hers religiously and was astonished how much I could relate to this woman, who is an Aspie like myself abused by a truly evil family of narcs (even more so than my own). I added her blog to my blogroll and started commenting on her posts and soon this was a mutually beneficial arrangement where she added my blog to her blogroll (and hers is a pretty popular blog).

All these things have helped my visibility enormously. OM reblogging several later articles has helped too, as well as taking advantage of his regular invitations for bloggers to “pimp their blog” on his website.

Getting over my fear of social media.

Would I really sell my soul to this devil? Well…yes.

Even with all these fortuitous events, I was still terrified of sharing my articles on social media, Facebook in particular, because of my fear of my FOO (family of origin) and other people from my past I prefer to keep a distance from finding this blog. There’s only so much visibility you can attain through the help of others. To become really successful and for your blog posts to move up to the top of search engines, you can’t rely on other people to do all your disseminating work for you. Eventually you will need to promote your blog yourself, and that doesn’t take into account just writing posts people want to read (which I will get to in a minute).

I didn’t have too much of a problem sharing my posts on Twitter or Stumble Upon, since none of my FOO use those services (except my son, who’s a Twitterholic), but ignoring Facebook is a bad idea for a blogger who wants to grow their visibility and have a successful blog. So I held my nose and first signed up for a LinkedIn account, which seemed less “dangerous” than Facebook. A few weeks later, I finally threw in the proverbial towel and decided to start sharing my articles on Facebook too, even though I use my actual name there instead of my psuedonym, as I do here.

At first nothing much happened. But soon I found I was friending and following people on both Facebook and Twitter who may be interested in a blog like mine. I started paying attention to the “who to follow” section, which always annoyed me before. I followed or friended a number of groups and organizations too that were relevant to the subject matter I write about. By following organizations and groups, you get a lot of new people at once seeing your shares instead of just one person at a time.

Within the past two weeks, my Twitter followers have increased from about 80 to about 130. Every time I sign into Twitter now, I have more followers. That was never the case before.

I’m still wary about Facebook, but I’ve noticed my posts always get the most shares on that site (sometimes in the double digits), so I make sure to “like” relevant groups and organizations, as well as friending a lot of individuals in the narcissistic abuse community.

I recently was able to start running ads on this blog because my traffic was sufficient to do so. I doubt I’ll ever become rich with this blog, but I may earn a bit of pocket money anyway. I sure would love to earn enough to be able to quit my day job, but that’s probably more likely to come from writing a book at some point and selling it on Amazon than it is from this little blog. But that’s okay. Things are happening at the rate they’re supposed to, and not before I’m ready.

Reaping the harvest.

Due to my becoming far bolder about sharing this blog on social media, it’s been attracting attention from professionals and other people I’m surprised found it. Last week I posted a video of Christian singer-songwriter Danny Gokey’s hit “Hope in Front of Me” and I got a direct message from him on Twitter thanking me for doing that. I got a thank you and several retweets from film director Eric Casaccio, the maker of the upcoming movie, “Narcissist.” I have received a private email from two academic researchers from the University of Georgia who asked me to link to their survey about parental narcissism on this blog. I was more than happy to help them with that project. (The survey is still open and the link to it is in the sidebar; the deadline for that is February 28th). I’ve also been asked to review a new book for abuse survivors and am currently working on that too.

In the past week, my followers have increased by more than 100, and this doesn’t include random readers who are not following my blog at all. As OM says, it’s not about how many followers you have or how many “likes” you get, it’s about how many hits you get. Several of my articles are now on Page One of Google. Other search engines are appearing in my stats now too, including obscure ones and AOL (does anyone actually use AOL anymore?) This is all kind of shocking to me, but the more stuff you have appearing at or near the top of search engines, the more hits you will get. It’s a self-perpetuating mechanism.

All this may sound like bragging, and it probably is. I can’t become too narcissistic about all this as vanity is one of my character flaws. I still have a long way to go. I still have a lot of healing to do, and healing is still–and always will be–the main focus of this blog.

The best reward of all.

More encouraging and exciting than anything else, though, are when I get emails or comments from abuse survivors who tell me this blog or my story of abuse has helped them. I used to feel so incompetent and useless in the world, so testimonials from people who tell me they feel less hopeless and broken because of something I wrote feels like winning the lottery. Better than winning the lottery. It makes me feel like I have a purpose, that I wasn’t put in this world just to be narcissistic supply to others. I used to actually believe I was put on this earth as an example to others of how not to be.

God, how wrong I was about that. If you feel that way and you are emmeshed with a malignant narcissist or psychopath, you have been trained to believe you are nothing and can offer nothing good or useful to the world. Please believe me, that is wrong. Your abusers are projecting their own self-hatred and worthless feelings onto you.

Tips on writing a blog people want to read.

Besides taking that leap of faith to finally promote my blog and share articles on social media (and getting a lot of help from others, especially in the beginning), if you want to grow your blog there are several other things you really need to do:

–Include ALL the social media buttons under every article. Even if you don’t use them (but you should), others will. That will help your visibility even if you don’t promote yourself.

–You don’t have to be a Shakespeare or a Poe or have great writing ability. If you know how to string together a few sentences and have halfway decent grammar (grammar and spell check will help), you can still write a blog post people want to read. The key is to make it conversational and personal. Don’t overload the reader with too many facts or pedantic language. And always, ALWAYS be honest. People can tell when you’re lying or leaving out pertinent information. They will finish reading your article feeling unsatisfied and cheated and may never return.

–Use graphics for long posts to break it up. No one wants to read a wall of text, no matter how well written it is. Pictures are easy to find on Google images–just type in a phrase that describes what you’re looking for, or even use pictures you took yourself. Quotes and block quotes work well too at breaking up walls of text, and never be afraid to use humor!

–If your blog focuses on one or two subjects as this one does, it’s okay to add in an occasional article or post about something unrelated. In fact, I think it makes your blog fresher and more interesting. Another benefit of posting unrelated material is that you will attract readers who may not otherwise be reading your blog. I have had a number of foodies and furries reading this blog (and even following it in a few cases) because of articles I wrote about those subjects. It helps to be versatile, but be careful not to lose your original focus.

–If your blog is about a serious or dark subject (as mine is), watch the negativity. People won’t feel helped if all you do is complain or act pessimistic. It’s great to be honest, but people want to feel like you’re giving them some hope for their hopeless situation too. That’s why I include inspirational memes and quotes, happy or cute photographs, cartoons, jokes, and lots of music. (Music has been major in my healing, second only to writing). Sometimes I find that if I post something positive even when I’m feeling like I want to jump out a 16th floor window (it happens more often than you think!), it actually improves my own mood.

–Make sure you post frequently. You don’t have to go crazy like me and post 3-5 new posts a day, but if you publish one post per day, that’s enough to keep readers interested. If you can’t think of anything to write about (and I do have those days), sometimes just a funny cartoon, inspirational meme or pretty photograph with one or two sentences will do. There’s nothing that will kill a blog faster than abandoning it. If you don’t appear to care, your readers will go somewhere else.

–Use as many links as possible in your articles. Doing this will create a pingback or a trackback: Blogs you link to will see the pingback and in return, will most likely follow your blog and recommend it to others.

–Link to your own articles too. Doing this not only adds depth and background to your article, but it also encourages readers to not stop with the article they’re reading–they might click on your links and read your other articles too!

–If you have the time, comment on or at least “like” posts by other bloggers. Follow as many other bloggers as you can, too. Most people are polite so most likely they’ll follow you back.

–Unless you are in a situation where you have potentially dangerous people stalking you on the Web, never, ever, EVER require people to sign in to read your blog. I know if I see a blog that requires me to sign in or use a password to read posts, I’ll bypass that blog, even if it’s about a topic I’m jumping out of my skin to read about.

–Probably most important of all: always reply to your comments! It might seem like a chore, but if you fail to reply to your comments, your readers will think you’re ignoring them and no one likes to be ignored. I also don’t understand why some people don’t allow comments. Interaction is necessary for a blog to be active and dynamic. Replying to comments will keep your readers around and make you seem like you care about them.

There’s a lot of other blogging advice that’s more technical than what I have offered here, and I don’t consider myself any kind of expert on how to run a successful blog. I’m nowhere near OM’s level of viewership and probably never will be, and that’s okay. Besides all the above things I suggested to improve your visibility and readership, I strongly suggest adopting his blog HarsH ReaLiTy as your blogging bible–and in return he just might reblog something you posted!

For more about increasing readership and popularity of your blog, see this article (told from an earlier–and more humorous–POV–I wrote it in early December): https://luckyottershaven.com/2014/12/08/this-blog-is-growing-yours-can-too/

On narcissists who want to be cured.

Posted on February 22, 2015 by luckyotter

We shouldn’t just dismiss them as hopeless until we know more.

The above quote is a common sentiment among survivors of narcissistic abuse, and healthy when we are trying to go No Contact with a narcissist who has tried to ruin us, or cope with a narcissist we can’t practically disconnect from. To give a narc any benefit of the doubt during these times is what has kept us trapped in a sick and destructive relationship. Many of us are also empaths and that’s the very quality that has kept us trapped in the hellish merry-go-round of the cycle of abuse. When we’re leaving our narc (or trying to cope with one), it’s healthiest for us to give them no benefit of the doubt at all. It serves us best to think of them as inhuman machines, devils, or monsters with no ability at all to love or to feel real emotions.

But is it fair or realistic to think of them this way? I don’t think it is, because narcissists aren’t machines, demons or monsters. They are human beings with a terrible mental disorder that causes them to attack and manipulate others for their own gain. I’ve come to a point in my healing where my narcs are safely out of my life, and I can finally afford to think of them as fellow humans and even have a degree of empathy for them. It’s nice to not hate, but am I deluded?

Do narcissists really suffer?

Obviously, I read a lot of blogs and forums about NPD and narcissistic abuse. There seem to be very few websites for people suffering from NPD, which you would expect, since narcissists are more likely to cause suffering in others than suffer themselves.

It has been argued that narcissists do suffer, but they suffer alone. They don’t want you to know. They aren’t likely to seek help for their disorder unless they’ve lost a major source of narcissistic supply, and the defensive structure they have built for themselves is seen by the narcissist as the flimsy house of cards it really is. I believe this is all true, but some narcissists are so out of touch with reality and their true self that they project their misery and emptiness onto others and keep lying even to themselves.

But occasionally, even on victims’ boards and blogs (the following is from a Christian-oriented blog with a strong focus on victims of narcissistic abuse whose pastor owner is unusually compassionate toward people with NPD), I see a post like this:

Wow! Reading this is very sobering. I an not a victim of this, but the oppressor! I admit that I have been this way. I am saved but I am discovering that my while life I have really been a selfish narcissist. My question is this- is hope for an unempathetic narcissist like me? I am honestly sick and tired of my selfish ways and the way I’ve hurt others and have lacked any empathy or emotional feelings for others. I trust that Christ can help me out of this, but does anyone have some advice or testimony for a narcissist who WANTS to change? I always see alot of literature for the victims of narcissistic abuse and I give my utmost respect to the victims, but what about us perpetrators who want to give this up? Any feedback put advice will help.

The narcissist, who calls himself “Michael,” followed up his post with this:

It bothers me a lot that i lack love and empathy for others. I can’t feel life the way I want to. I think my narcissism problems are largely fear-based, over rejections that happened to me at a young age. Also, I admit I’m just addicted to pleasing my self and I don’t know how to truly love someone else. It is no fun being a narcissist, it is miserable. It really bites when it seems everyone else around you knows how to love and feel deep empathy and passion, while you’re feeling “stuck in an emotional bubble”.

Posts like these ones by Michael give me hope that somewhere inside their blighted souls, narcissists still possess a seed of goodness and with enough water and sunlight, that seed can grow into something beautiful, healthy and good.

I remember several months ago a self-proclaimed narcissist came to this blog and wrote a seemingly heartfelt post that he or she wanted to change. It floored (and moved) me enough to write an entire article about it.

Malignant optimism.
I still can’t get over my childlike excitement whenever it appears a narcissist wants to get well. I’m just like a 4 year old with an ice cream cone. Sam Vaknin calls this malignant optimism. Is he being overly pessimistic about the possibility of a cure, or is he right?

I don’t know the answer to that.

Malignant optimism.

As a Christian (and a codependent), I tend to want to give people the benefit of the doubt. After all, we’re all God’s children. He made us in His own image. I always try to look for the good even when all I can see is the bad. I do believe in evil, however, and that there are truly evil people in this world. I like to think they’re not that common though. So when a narcissist says they want to change, how can I sit there and pass judgment and assume they’re just lying? To do that would make a narcissist of me. Maybe there are moments of clarity or windows that occasionally open in their dirty souls to let in the light. How can I say they’re not telling the truth? Maybe they are. They are still human beings with souls, after all.

Maybe they aren’t really narcissists.

Then there’s the possibility that a narcissist who goes on a blog or forum and writes a post about wanting to be cured, isn’t actually a narcissist at all. Very few narcissists have the insight or desire to change. Maybe “narcissists” who write posts like this really suffer from some other disorder that causes them to hurt others and lack empathy, like Borderline Personality Disorder or even certain anxiety disorders like OCD (whose sufferers may also seem to lack empathy) or psychotic disorders like schizophrenia (although the pleas for help I have seen by narcissists certainly don’t sound like they’re written by schizophrenics).

“Michael” (the above quoted poster who claims to be a narcissist), wrote about how the Holy Spirit was trying to change him but he kept fighting against it. He doesn’t sound much like a narcissist at all in this followup, but there’s no way to tell for certain without an official diagnosis. Maybe he has another disorder besides narcissism. It’s an interesting post though, because he speaks about the bullying and abuse he endured that may have caused him to develop NPD. If he does have NPD, he seems to have both insight and the desire, and that’s a good omen.

Wow thank you for that insight. I will also add i have a great deal of apathy in my life. It’s like i don’t care about others, God, life, or even my own well-being at times. But having Christ in my heart, it’s like the Holy Spirit wants it but my flesh does not.

I never handled shame or rejection well as a kid. At a young age, I was bullied in school until the end of my middle school years. I wanted acceptance from my peers- from women I wanted attention, from men I wanted respect. I didn’t receive either, so I put on a facade of myself to fit in so I would be “accepted”. My whole life I’ve been emotionally numb, and I hate it how it’s like I don’t even cry when i should, like when a loved one passes away, or when someone shows a deep display of love, just as Jesus did. Even in my Christian life, I feel like the Gospel hasn’t really penetrated me on that deep heart level yet because I cannot really love or feel love. I guess only God is the answer to this, because i sure can’t do this in my own strength.

The cost-benefit analysis of healing.

If it’s possible for a narcissist to be cured of their disorder (not merely treated), it’s not going to be an easy or a short process for them or their therapists. (I’ll explore this more in a later post, but I’ve already written about it in other posts about NPD healing regimes such as Attitudinal Healing and Reparenting). It’s a topic that’s fascinating to me, and I also have a vested interest in it because it gives me hope for the narcissists in my own life that I have cared about and even loved. This could include my beloved daughter, who may have a mild form of NPD (but is more likely Borderline–the jury’s still out on that).

Obviously, some narcissists would be more curable (or at least more treatable) than others. They must have both the insight into their disorder and the desire to change. They must be willing to undergo enormous psychic pain and terror as they confront their true self and shed their false self. Desire without insight isn’t possible, but insight without desire is. If narcissism has been beneficial to its sufferer, they may not want to be rid of their disorder, even though they still may be in immense psychic pain. Whether they are willing to be cured requires a cost-benefit analysis of whether undergoing intense and painful emotional catharsis is worth giving up whatever benefits narcissism has afforded them. For the vast majority, it probably isn’t. Even if they willingly enter therapy, once the painful process of healing is underway, they are likely to run away in terror and put their masks back on.

I have to be realistic too, and not dismiss the tragic possibility that a narcissist can want to change, but have no hope at all of it actually happening. All I can do is pray that God will step in and help them find their way to the light. I pray for them every day, as well as the more numerous people they have victimized.

I dreamt I was pregnant.

Posted on February 22, 2015 by luckyotter

I fell asleep for several hours this afternoon and had this weird dream that I was pregnant. I’m too old to get pregnant anymore so it was very strange. Even if I could get pregnant, there’s no way I would want to have another child.

I don’t remember too much else about the dream but I think the pregnancy was symbolic–I’m giving birth to myself.

Snow and sky.

Posted on February 21, 2015 by luckyotter

I took some photos around Asheville, North Carolina yesterday and today. Yesterday’s photos are the sunny ones. Today’s are the ones with the trippy looking sky. It’s warmed up quite a bit, with temperatures above freezing for the first time in a week.

If you click this photo to make it larger and look closely at the left hand side where the land meets the sky, you can see the top of Mount Mitchell, part of the Black Mountain range of the Blue Ridge, and the highest peak on the East Coast. It’s covered with snow.

Other snowy photos from yesterday:

The sky is on hallucinogens! (these photos are from today)
These photos don’t quite capture the almost otherworldly weirdness of the sky today. These are not storm clouds. I don’t know the name of these wavy clouds but they are shaped by wind currents.
Click the photos to enlarge.

Watch this Incredible 13 year old dancer.

Posted on February 21, 2015 by luckyotter

I just saw this on Twitter. K. J. Takahashi is an amazingly talented 13 year old Dubstep dancer from Dallas, Texas. Even if you don’t like dubstep, this boy’s legwork and fluidity is incredible.

ETA: Quixotic Faith (who has an awesome blog) just informed me this type of dancing is called “animating.”
My son does this type of dancing too, but he’s not THIS good.

“The Con Man Cometh”

Posted on February 21, 2015 by luckyotter

I found a short story from Sam Vaknin’s website, that really may not be that fictional. Fiction often says more about the writer of a story than even confessional nonfiction. This story, really a monologue to a hypothetical “mark,” seems as if it could be a look inside Sam’s motives for writing about narcissism and running forums and online groups for its victims. I think it speaks for itself.

Yes, Sam could be conning us all, and most likely is, but frankly I don’t care and never will. His words, regardless of his true motives, have helped me and other victims of narcissistic abuse, and his writing, as always, is hauntingly poetic.

His eloquent words provide a searingly vivid look inside the mind of malignant narcissist who may also be psychopathic. It helps us to know the way they think. It’s prudent to be very careful not to engage directly with even an insightful, intelligent narcissist as they too are dangerous. But if you keep your distance they can teach you something.

The Con Man Cometh

Image of Abhishek Bachchan (Bollywood actor) from Apunkchoice.com

Swathed in luminosity, we stir with measured competence our amber drinks in long-stemmed glasses. You are weighing my offer and I am waiting for your answer with hushed endurance. The armchairs are soft, the lobby is luxurious, as befits five-star hotels. I am not tense. I have anticipated your response even before I made my move.

Soon, temples sheathed in perspiration, you use the outfit’s thick paper napkins to wipe it off. Loosen your tie. Pretend to be immersed in calculations. You express strident dissatisfaction and I feign recoil, as though intimidated by your loudness. Withdrawing to my second line of defense, I surrender to your simulated wrath.

The signs are here, the gestures, the infinitesimal movements that you cannot control. I lurk. I know that definite look, that imperceptible twitch, the inevitability of your surrender.

I am a con man and you are my victim. The swindle is unfolding here and now, in this very atrium, amid all the extravagance. I am selling your soul and collecting the change. I am sharpened, like a raw nerve firing impulses to you, receiving yours, an electrical-chemical dialog, consisting of your smelly sweat, my scented exudation. I permeate your cracks. I broker an alliance with your fears, your pains, defense compensatory mechanisms.

I know you.

I’ve got to meld us into one. As dusk gives way to night, you trust me as you do yourself, for now I am nothing less than you. Having adopted your particular gesticulation, I nod approvingly with every mention of your family. You do not like me. You sense the danger. Your nostrils flare. Your eyes amok. Your hands so restless. You know me for a bilker, you realize I’ll break your heart. I know you comprehend we both are choiceless.

It’s not about money. Emotions are at stake. I share your depths of loneliness and pain. Sitting opposed, I see the child in you, the adolescent. I discern the pleading sparkle in your eyes, your shoulders stooping in the very second you’ve decided to succumb. I am hurting for what I do to you. My only consolation is the inexorability of nature – mine and yours, this world’s (in which we find ourselves and not of our choice). Still, we are here, you know.

I empathize with you without speech or motion. Your solitary sadness, the anguish, and your fears. I am your only friend, monopolist of your invisible cries, your inner hemorrhage of salty tears, the tissued scar that has become your being. Like me, the product of uncounted blows (which you sometimes crave).

Being abused is being understood, having some meaning, forming a narrative. Without it, your life is nothing but an anecdotal stream of randomness. I deal the final, overwhelming coup-de-grace that will transform the torn sheets of your biography into a plot. It isn’t everyday one meets a cheat. Such confident encounters can render everything explained. Don’t give it up. It is a gift of life, not to be frivolously dispensed with. It is a test of worthiness.

I think you qualify and I am the structure and the target you’ve been searching for and here I am.

Now we are bound by money and by blood. In our common veins flows the same alliance that dilates our pupils. We hail from one beginning. We separated only to unite, at once, in this hotel, this late, and you exclaim: “I need to trust you like I do not trust a soul”. You beseech me not to betray your faith. Perhaps not so explicitly, but both your eyes are moist, reflecting your vulnerability.

I gravely radiate my utter guarantee of splendid outcomes. No hint of treason here. Concurrently I am plotting your emotional demise. At your request, not mine. It is an act of amity, to rid you of the very cause of your infirmity. I am the instrument of your delivery and liberation. I will deprive you of your ability to feel, to trust, and to believe. When we diverge, I will have molded you anew – much less susceptible, much more immune, the essence of resilience.

It is my gift to you and you are surely grateful in advance. Thus, when you demand my fealty, you say: “Do not forget our verbal understanding”.

And when I vow my loyalty, I answer: “I shall not forget to stab you in the back.”

And now, to the transaction. I study you. I train you to ignore my presence and argue with yourself with the utmost sincerity. I teach you not to resent your weaknesses.

So, you admit to them and I record all your confessions to be used against you to your benefit. Denuded of defenses, I leave you wounded by embezzlement, a cold, contemptible exposure. And, in the meantime, it’s only warmth and safety, the intimacy of empathy, the propinquity of mutual understanding.

I only ask of you one thing: the fullest trust, a willingness to yield. I remember having seen the following in an art house movie, it was a test: to fall, spread-eagled from a high embankment and to believe that I am there to catch you and break your lethal plunge.

I am telling you I’ll be there, yet you know I won’t. Your caving in is none of my concern. I only undertook to bring you to the brink and I fulfilled this promise. It’s up to you to climb it, it’s up to you to tumble. I must not halt your crash, you have to recompose. It is my contribution to the transformation that metastasized in you long before we met.

But you are not yet at the stage of internalizing these veracities. You still naively link feigned geniality to constancy, intimacy and confidence in me and in my deeds, proximity and full disclosure. You are so terrified and mutilated, you come devalued. You cost me merely a whiskey tumbler and a compendium of ordinary words. One tear enough to alter your allegiances. You are malleable to the point of having no identity.

You crave my touch and my affection. I crave your information and unbridled faith. “Here is my friendship and my caring, my tenderness and amity, here is a hug. I am your parent and your shrink, your buddy and your family.” – so go the words of this inaudible dialog – “Give me your utter, blind, trust but limit it to one point only: your money or your life.”

I need to know about your funds, the riddles of your boardroom, commercial secrets, your skeletons, some intimate detail, a fear, resurgent hatred, the envy that consumes. I don’t presume to be your confidant. Our sharing is confined to the pecuniary. I lull you into the relief that comes with much reduced demands. But you are an experienced businessman! You surely recognize my tactics and employ them, too!

Still, you are both seduced and tempted, though on condition of maintaining “independent thinking”. Well, almost independent. There is a tiny crack in your cerebral armor and I am there to thrust right through it. I am ready to habituate you. “I am in full control” – you’d say – “So, where’s the threat?” And, truly, there is none.

There’s only certainty. The certitude I offer you throughout our game. Sometimes I even venture: “I am a crook to be avoided”. You listen with your occidental manners, head tilted obliquely, and when I am finished warning you, you say: “But where the danger lies? My trust in you is limited!” Indeed – but it is there!

I lurk, awaiting your capitulation, inhabiting the margins, the twilight zone twixt greed and paranoia. I am a viral premonition, invading avaricious membranes, preaching a gospel of death and resurrection. Your death, your rising from the dead. Assuming the contours of my host, I abandon you deformed in dissolution.

There’s no respite, not even for a day. You are addicted to my nagging, to my penetrating gaze, instinctive sympathy, you’re haunted. I don’t let go. You are engulfed, cocooned, I am a soul mate of eerie insight, unselfish acumen. I vitiate myself for your minutest needs. I thrive on servitude. I leave no doubt that my self-love is exceeded only by my love for you.

I am useful and you are a user. I am available and you avail yourself. But haven’t you heard that there are no free lunches? My restaurant is classy, the prices most exorbitant, the invoices accumulate with every smile, with every word of reassurance, with every anxious inquiry as to your health, with every sacrifice I make, however insubstantial.

I keep accounts in my unstated books and you rely on me for every double entry. The voices I instill in you: “He gives so of himself though largely unrewarded”. You feel ashamed, compelled to compensate. A seed of Trojan guilt. I harp on it by mentioning others who deprived me. I count on you to do the rest. There’s nothing more potent than egotistic love combined with raging culpability. You are mine to do with as I wish, it is your wish that I embody and possess.

The vise is tightened. Now it’s time to ponder whether to feed on you at once or scavenge. You are already dying and in your mental carcass I am grown, an alien. Invoking your immunity, as I am wont to do, will further make you ill and conflict will erupt between your white cells and your black, the twin abodes of your awakened feelings.

You hope against all odds that I am a soul-mate. How does it feel, the solitude? Few days with me – and you cannot recall! But I cannot remember how it feels to be together. I cannot waive my loneliness, my staunch companion. When I am with you, it prospers. And you must pay for that.

I have no choice but to abscond with your possessions, lest I remain bereft. With utmost ethics, I keep you well-informed of these dynamics and you acknowledge my fragility which makes you desirous to salve my wounds.

But I maintain the benefit of your surprise, the flowing motion. Always at an advantage over you, the interchangeable. I, on the other hand, cannot be replaced, as far as you’re concerned. You are a loyal subject of your psychic state while I am a denizen of the eternal hunting grounds. No limits there, nor boundaries, only the nostrils quivering at the game, the surging musculature, the body fluids, the scent of decadence.

Sometime, the prey becomes the predator, but only for a while. Admittedly, it’s possible and you might turn the tables. But you don’t want to. You crave so to be hunted. The orgiastic moment of my proverbial bullets penetrating willing flesh, the rape, the violation, the metaphoric blood and love, you are no longer satisfied with compromises.

You want to die having experienced this eruption once. For what is life without such infringement if not mere ripening concluding in decay. What sets us, Man, apart from beast is our ability to self-deceive and swindle others. The rogue’s advantage over quarry is his capacity to have his lies transmuted till you believe them true.

I trek the unpaved pathways between my truth and your delusions. What am I, fiend or angel? A weak, disintegrating apparition – or a triumphant growth? I am devoid of conscience in my own reflection. It is a cause for mirth. My complex is binary: to fight or flight, I’m well or ill, it should have been this way or I was led astray.

I am the blinding murkiness that never sets, not even when I sleep. It overwhelms me, too, but also renders me farsighted. It taught me my survival: strike ere you are struck, abandon ere you’re trashed, control ere you are subjugated.

So what do you say to it now? I told you everything and haven’t said a word. You knew it all before. You grasp how dire my need is for your blood, your hurt, the traumatic coma that will follow. They say one’s death bequeaths another’s life. It is the most profound destination, to will existence to your pining duplicate.

I am plump and short, my face is uncontrived and smiling. When I am serious, I am told, I am like a battered and deserted child and this provokes in you an ancient cuddling instinct. When I am proximate, your body and your soul are unrestrained. I watch you kindly and the artificial lighting of this magnific vestibule bounces off my glasses.

My eyes are cradled in blackened pouches of withered skin. I draw your gaze by sighing sadly and rubbing them with weary hands. You incline our body, gulp the piquant libation, and sign the document. Then, leaning back, you shut exhausted eyes. There is no doubt: you realize your error.

It’s not too late. The document lies there, it’s ready for the tearing. But you refrain. You will not do it.

“Another drink?” – You ask

I smile, my chubby cheeks and wire glasses sparkle.

“No, thanks” – I say.

New: Emergency escape button!

Posted on February 21, 2015 by luckyotter

I got this idea from Lady With a Truck’s blog. I am adding an ESCAPE button at the top of the sidebar.

If you are reading this blog and are still with your narc and they come into the room and can see what you’re looking at, hit the Escape button and you will immediately be taken to The Huffington Post (I picked this site because she did and it’s a good news site, so why not?).

Your history on the computer will still show this website so don’t forget to erase your history and cookies.