I needed to see this. Now I’m laughing. (It’s an old commercial, but it’s f’ing hilarious).
I needed to see this. Now I’m laughing. (It’s an old commercial, but it’s f’ing hilarious).
I just found out my son’s 16 year old Australian shepherd, Sammy, was put to sleep today. He said this morning, Sammy couldn’t even get up, wouldn’t eat, and there was a tumor he wasn’t aware of growing on his paw pad. I’m crying for real right now.
Here are the last pictures of Sammy, both taken today.
RIP Sammy.
I think this day just needs to be put to sleep. I’m probably just going to go to bed early.
Just yesterday, I wrote a post about how DBT has enhanced therapy and made my life easier in general. But I’m far from perfect and today I completely failed at being mindful.
I don’t want to talk about my day because right now I just want to forget about it. It sucked and I handled it badly. I went off on someone I don’t like, who I was stuck working with all day. So today was long, annoying, and painful, and I’m not proud of the way I acted.
There was something good waiting for me at home though. One of my older posts went viral today. The day isn’t even over and I’ve exceeded 3,000 views because of that article. That’s the most views I’ve ever had in a day. So I feel very good about that. It makes up for my horrible day.

I had the good fortune of living in New York City (well, actually in Queens, NY) during the punk and new wave explosion of the late 1970s at just the right age. Until 1979 though, I was largely unaware of it, and satisfied myself with Boston, Aerosmith, and Fleetwood Mac, because in those pre-MTV days, that’s what was getting all the radio airplay (along with disco, of course).
On New Years’ Eve, 1978, I met a young man through a friend and fell head over heels in limerence with him. Never mind that he turned out to be a narcissistic jerk (they all were), for the first half of 1979 we had blast. Mark was what today you might call a hipster–he was a Jewish art student who wore skinny ties and trench coats, and he had an earring when they were still a novelty on men. He ate organic food, rode a bike everywhere, listened to obscure music and he adored punk and New Wave. He hated what I listened to and proceeded to give me a music education.
He used to take me downtown to the East Village, and it was like a carnival. Young people everywhere wearing Mohawks, black leather with safety pins, ripped T-shirts, cheap eateries on every corner, second hand record stores. And of course, a multitude of smoke-filled hole-in-the-wall music clubs, the most famous one being CBGBs.
New wave and power pop bands that would become famous during the early 1980s got their start there. Probably the most famous of all of them was a nerdy looking young Irishman named Declan McManus, more famously known as Elvis Costello.
Costello had a hiccupy, neurotic voice and a spastic dance. He wrote songs with deep, almost indecipherable lyrics and incredibly catchy music with melodies that stuck to you like caramel sticks to your teeth. You were never sure if he was sincere or sarcastic, but no matter–all his songs sounded great and you found yourself singing and bopping along.
His biggest hit was a little ditty called “Accidents Will Happen.” Although my life then was no less shitty than it ever was, I always associate this song with good times. It’s impressive for how far ahead of its time it is. It sounds more like a song that would have been popular in 1986, not 1979. I never grew tired of it, and enjoy it as much today as I did when I was 20.
For anyone suffering from BPD who wants to undergo psychodynamic or trauma therapy, I definitely recommend taking some DBT (or CBT) classes first. This also applies to people with complex PTSD, as the symptoms of C-PTSD and BPD can be almost the same (and for Borderlines, usually co-exist together).
I’ve been in therapy many times throughout my life, but I never stuck with it before. I usually would quit, because I either gave up in frustration or things got too intense. My first instinct whenever things in life would get too uncomfortable was to run. I had zero insight into myself or why I reacted (or overreacted) to things the way I did. I always thought everything was someone else’s fault. Yet I was constantly apologizing for things that weren’t my fault. I know that’s confusing, but I was confused. I was ignorant about boundaries and then wondered why others got offended when I unwittingly invaded theirs. Either that or I put up too many boundaries, not letting anyone in or rejecting people who tried to get too close. I had a martyr complex, always felt picked on and ganged up on, was constantly paranoid and hypervigilant, always feeling like everyone hated me and was out to get me. I was ready to go off on someone or act out at the slightest provocation, believing I was being attacked unfairly. I was much more likely to attack things than people (I was constantly breaking things; self harm was never really my thing) but my violence toward objects and verbal tirades still upset those around me and upset me too after the fact. People always told me I overreacted to everything, but I always felt like it was somehow justified. I couldn’t see the part I might have been playing in all that.
To be fair, I was horrifically abused both as a child and as an adult, so my paranoia and distrust of others wasn’t completely unfounded. I was trained to be a victim and tended to act in ways that ensured I would remain a victim, without knowing I was doing so. I still struggle with this. I still tend toward codependency. I still find it hard to connect with people in any meaningful way. I’m a long way from being the person I want to be or that I could have become, and I may never get there completely. But there’s a big difference between the way I am now and the way I used to be. Mindfulness.
What is mindfulness? It’s the ability to think before you act, be aware of your own actions and reactions, and have insight into your own motives and why you do the things you do. It’s staying in the present, instead of fretting about the past or worrying about the future. It’s being able to step back mentally and see yourself the way others see you. Being mindful keeps you from acting out in ways you might regret later on. You’re not constantly apologizing because you acted out without knowing, because you can stop yourself before you do. Being mindful is like receiving a pair of magic glasses that allows you a view of yourself you never had before. You might think that having this “inner critic” would make you self-conscious, fearful and awkward, but ironically, it does the opposite. Because you have the ability to know how to act before you act, you have more control over yourself, and therefore more control over how others react to you. Slowly, you begin to find that people are reacting more positively to you, and you have fewer reasons to lash out at others or overreact to things. You begin to trust others more, because you trust yourself more.
Mindfulness is a wonderful tool in therapy, and is helping me get so much more out of it than I ever did before. I took DBT classes in 1996, when I was first diagnosed with BPD, and at the time I sort of blew them off. Because I was still in my abusive marriage, I was still very sick and not really ready to do the work. As long as I stayed with my narcissist, I was not going to get any better, but I didn’t know that. My ex had me convinced that I was the problem, not him. Because of his triangulation and gaslighting, he had everyone else convinced I was the crazy one too and he was just the put-upon victim. He’d systematically goad me into a BPD rage, knowing he could, and then with a smirk of satisfaction, tell everyone how insane I was. His personality and manner came off as more cool and collected than mine did, so I probably really did look crazier and more out of control than he did. But he was pulling all the strings.
Anyway, back to mindfulness. It wasn’t until early in 2014, when I finally went VLC (very low contact) with him (and kicked him out of the house), that I started to change. First I started to write and that’s why I started this blog. Writing every day helped me gain insight into myself and my narcissists. After a few more months, I began to realize I needed to make a few changes to myself. I pulled out my DBT workbook (Marsha Linehan’s Skills Training Manual for Borderline Personality Disorder) and began to do some of the exercises. I had already been doing a few of the things, but this time I took it more seriously and tried some of the things I hadn’t before. One of those things was paying attention to my internal, bodily state whenever I felt an unpleasant emotion. By doing this, I was able to begin to name what I was feeling. Emotions are very physical things. By naming an emotion, you can allow yourself to feel it, realize it’s just an emotion and not “you,” and learn to have more control over it.
In therapy, I find I’m constantly focusing in on my bodily state, whether there’s any tightness, pain or strange sensations. There always seems to be pressure or tightness in my stomach, chest and throat that goes away when I can name the feeling and begin to express it. Being mindful this way of my internal state and naming my feelings, I’m much less likely to act out against other people or break things. I’m working now on breaking down the protective emotional wall I’ve developed that overlies softer feelings of sadness, grief, empathy, and connection with others. For many years it seemed the only emotions I ever could access were fear (sometimes straight up terror), shame, guilt, anger, and rage–and mind-numbing, zombielike depressions where all I wanted to do was sleep.
There are many ways to be mindful. Some of them are very simple, like counting to ten before acting. Others require more concentration. We need to learn how to self-soothe, something we never learned how to do as babies or young children. Being mindful allows you room to learn self soothing techniques. The insight you gain into yourself by being mindful also allows you the ability and courage to dig deep when you decide to undergo psychodynamic therapy. You’re going to experience powerful emotions when you’re searching for the root causes of your illness, and being mindful allows you to experience them without overreacting, acting out…or quitting therapy.
I stumbled across a WordPress blog yesterday written by a self-professed Malignant Narcissist. The name of his blog is, simply enough, Knowing the Narcissist.
Indeed, to read Malignarc’s entries is to know the mind of a high spectrum, unrepentant, sociopathic malignant narcissist. I can’t tell too much about the man from the posts I have read, other than that he claims some sort of renown (his fame may be exaggerated for all I know, after all he’s a narcissist and they’re known to exaggerate their achievements*), he lives in Great Britain, and he’s unceremoniously devalued and discarded (and possibly done worse) many hapless women. He’s in treatment and talks about his sessions quite a bit. He likes to challenge, gaslight, and play mind games with his therapist. From what I can gather, he’s not in treatment by choice but by obligation, which makes me wonder if he committed some sort of crime.
Knowing the Narcissist is creepy and unsettling, and could be triggering to many victims of narcissistic abuse. The first thing that hits you on the blog is a huge banner with a fiery background on which huge black letters spell out the word “EVIL” (it turns out this is the name of one of his novels but it’s still fitting). It’s not exactly a subtle warning. You can leave now, or keep reading at your own risk. Being endlessly curious, of course I kept reading. His posts are addictive. They grab you and hold you in a vise grip, and even when you don’t think you can stand another second of the bleak and frightening view from inside the man’s deeply disordered mind, you simply can’t tear yourself away.
As with another narcissistic writer who writes about his NPD, Sam Vaknin, you feel pulled against your will into Malignarc’s dark vortex, but unlike Vaknin, he’s completely self-satisfied and happy (as much as it’s possible for a narcissist to be happy) with his own narcissism. Also unlike Vaknin, he hasn’t had the good manners to exile himself to a remote Eastern European country and marry a woman from there. Malignarc is still very much at large. Ladies beware!
I boldly commented under one of his posts, asking him why he writes a blog like this, thinking he must have some small semblance of a conscience that drives him to do so. He replied back almost right away, explaining that he started it because he “likes an audience” and that it’s also a requisite of his treatment. Well, at least he answered my question, and promptly at that.
Whoever has required him to get psychological treatment is wasting their time (and money, if it’s being paid for). I’m one of those who thinks that certain lower-spectrum narcissists (usually covert) who become self-aware can be healed if they’re willing to do the emotional work, but a narcissist like Malignarc can’t ever be cured or successfully treated, since he expresses no regrets over how he has treated the people in his life and appears to have no conscience or empathy whatsoever. He also appears to have almost no emotions other than seething rage. He gloats about the way he devalued and discarded one of his victims, writing glowingly about his new source of supply (who no doubt will become his next victim):
Yes I am with Lauren now. She is wonderful. She is everything I have ever wanted and I am her soul mate. I know that we are going to be very happy together now. She is the one. I know I thought that of you, but you misled me. Lauren is not like that. I am moving in with her next week. It makes perfect sense. I want to be with her all of the time. She is beautiful, just look at her, perfectly put together. She is so shiny and new. I am head over heels in love with her, I cannot be apart from her. Take a look. If you had been more like her then I would not have had to punish you the way I did. That is not going to happen with Lauren. No way. I can only see a bright and beautiful future for us. I hope she falls pregnant soon as our child will be such a wonder to behold. Thank God I did not have a child with you. Imagine that? Good God that would have been terrible having to share a child with a monster like you. Lauren will be a first class mother, we have already talked about it and I can tell that she is keen. She adores me and always will. Not like you. You had your chance but you messed it up. You only have yourself to blame.
This diatribe goes on and on. The discarded woman the post is directed to shouldn’t hate or be jealous of Lauren; she should warn her.
Knowing the Narcissist could be useful to victims, if you’re able to stomach it. You do get a close-up look inside the mind of a person with severe NPD and he does a good job of explaining the motivations, machine-like manipulations, and soulless Machiavellianism driving his toxic actions. His words could serve as a warning to the rest of us, by serving as a graphic example of what really makes a narcissist tick so you don’t get duped into falling for one of these characters ever again. I can’t say he’s performing a public service, since that’s clearly not this man’s intention, but it could be a side-benefit.
*He’s an author who writes under the name of HG Tudor

Credit: Unknown artist, Favim.com
I’m thrilled to introduce my first guest blogger, Tessa from Advocate for Mental Illness. Her blog is about her daily struggles with Bipolar disorder, told from a Christian perspective. She has recently given her life to Jesus Christ. Here is her bio from her About page:
ABOUT TESSA
I need to write this down where I’ll remember this later.
I just woke up from a dream. I must remember this one so I can tell my therapist. Right now I’m still rising up from the fog of sleep and my memory of the dream is still fresh but will fade away soon so I can’t delay in writing it.
I am waiting to see my therapist. But my therapist isn’t my therapist. He is my old therapist (the one I had when I was 22, the one who I fell madly in love with and had to leave because my emotions were too painful). But he is still my current therapist. (I know, but it made sense in the dream.)
Someone is talking to me and I’m crying. It’s not a bad cry or a painful cry. I think I’m crying in empathy. I don’t know what I’ve been told or what emotion I’m feeling, but my head is thrown back and tears are streaming from the sides of my eyes and down into my hair. My lashes stick together. I’m wearing non waterproof mascara; I’m vaguely aware the black tear tracks will be visible to my therapist even after they’ve dried. I leave them there, almost proudly, intending for him to see. We’ve been working on getting me to cry in session. I need for him to see the evidence of my tears.
His office is in some kind of art complex. Outside, patrons are walking around looking at and purchasing art. My handsome therapist comes out, as he always does in real life, to ask me kindly to give him another five minutes. But this time, his face worries me. He looks worried or concerned. He tells me there is something he needs to tell me. I feel the blood drain from my face and my heart curls up into a tight ball as if to protect itself from whatever’s coming.
“It might disturb you, but don’t worry,” he says. And then he walks away.
Of course I worry. In fact, I panic. I go back out into the art complex and walk around, pretending to look at the art. There seems to be a party going on. People are dressing in costumes. I think about what my therapist has to tell me. Is he sick? Going to dump me? Leaving town? Is he going to die? Dread and my old friend, Fear of Abandonment, holds me fast. I can’t escape. My breathing quickens and becomes shallow. My tears have dried and I can’t make anymore even as I will them to come.
Soon I see my therapist laughing with a woman, a beautiful woman. I wonder if that’s his wife.
My therapist turns, approaches me. I freeze in place, almost drop the raku vase I’m holding.
I start to cry when our eyes meet.
But pride takes over.
“You’re an asshole,” I say, rubbing my eyes with my fists like a spoiled child. I no longer want him to see me cry. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.
He looks angry.
“I’m not going to see you when you talk to me that way,” he says. I look at him dumbly, stunned into silence.
“But what about–?”
“I’ll see you next time,” he says, and turns on his heel and walks away.
He might as well have just stabbed me in the stomach. I feel as if I could collapse onto the floor. I want to disappear. The shame and anger is overwhelming. And I have to wait to find out whatever horrible news he has to tell me. I think he’s trying to torture me.
I’m still in the art complex and people are walking around as if the world didn’t just end. All the therapists in the office are milling around too, drinking out of cocktail glasses with ridiculous little plastic umbrellas and other doodads sticking out of them. Someone has set up a cash bar at the far end. My therapist is over there, laughing with the other therapists. I feel like I don’t exist.
One of the therapists gets up on a podium and says we are having an animal costume contest. We will be dancing to “Old McDonald Had a Farm” in our animal suits. I don’t want to be there, but I feel obligated to participate. A huge box is pulled out from somewhere and everyone rushes over and starts pulling out costumes. All I can find is a chicken head and a silly cowprint suit. Somehow it seems familiar to me, as if someone in my past had worn this same costume before. I put it on and feel like I can be invisible in it. I just want to die.
I woke up and was overcome with relief when I realized it was only a dream and knew I had to post it right away. I haven’t worked out what it all means yet, but I’m pretty sure I’m skirting around the edges of the yawning black hole at my center, where my abandonment and early attachment issues live. I’m about to dive in there, I guess. It’s interesting that even though I trust my therapist more than anyone I’ve ever known, and he has given me NO reason to think he would ever abandon me, this fear I have of him abandoning me seems to be a recurring theme in our sessions. Obviously my transference toward him has been successful and I’m replaying some kind of abandonment/rejection trauma I experienced when I was a child.
Ancient Romans had impressive technologies that got “lost” during the Dark Ages.While advances continued to be made, especially in architecture, during the Middle Ages, technologies that the Romans began to develop became dormant. Some of these were hydraulic power, the beginnings of the steam engine, science-based advances in medicine, the aqueduct system, indoor plumbing (yes, there was running water and flush toilets, at least for the wealthy), and even a mechanical computer.
But ancient Rome, like so many other great civilizations, including this one, became hubristic and militaristic, drunk on its own power. History shows that this kind of excess in a society never ends well, and Rome is a glaring example of what happens when a society becomes too big or too mighty. So Rome fell, and it took with it almost all technological advancement for a thousand or more years.
I wonder what would have happened if Rome never fell. I wonder if we’d be about a thousand years more advanced than we are today. Perhaps the steam engine would have been invented in 600 or 700, rail travel by 800, the discovery and harnessing of electricity by 900, the combustion engine (leading to cars) slightly later, space travel by 1000, modern computers (or their equivalents) by 1050, the Internet and Smartphones (or their equivalent) by 1100. By the time of the Renaissance, we’d probably be far more advanced than we are right now.
Would we now be colonizing other planets and traveling to distant stars? Would we be able to reverse aging or cure cancer? Would we now be immortal or have already self destructed? It’s sobering to think how powerful Rome would be by now if it hadn’t fallen. We might be living under a global dictatorship.
I think there’s a natural system of checks and balances that keep a society from gaining too much power, at least over any extended period of time. Societies that grow too powerful seem destined to fall (and are bad for its average citizens), but from the ashes of their ruins rise the seeds of the next great civilization. The Middle Ages, for all its backwardness and ignorance, spawned some of the greatest minds in history, bright lights keeping watch over the dark wilderness of a western world that was replenishing itself through a much needed long sleep.
This was a question I thought of after posting my list of 50 things I ponder about, but I want to explore this further because I’ve never heard anyone else ask this same question.
Limerence is a term coined by psychotherapist Dorothy Tennov in 1979 in her excellent book, Love and Limerence. Limerence is a newer word for the state of infatuation, being “in love” (as opposed to real, agape or mature love), or simply “having a crush.” I’ve always liked her word because I think it sounds exactly like what the emotion feels like. I never liked the term infatuation because it sounds disgusting, having a crush implies an “unserious” problem only teenagers have, and being in love is probably not accurate.
She hypothesizes that limerence is an evolutionary adaptation that makes it possible for men and women to meet and mate, and lasts just long enough for them to marry and reproduce. That’s why the typical limerent episode lasts on average two years, and why it more commonly afflicts the young.
I’ve always been what Tennov calls a “limerent”–a person who gets crushes easily. Not everyone does. People with Cluster B disorders, especially BPD, are more prone to limerence than others, because we tend to idealize other people without really knowing them well or at all. It’s actually very narcissistic, because the other person serves as a kind of mirror, reflecting back the ideal qualities you want to see in them–until they don’t. Tennov calls the object of a crush a “limerent object.” In some ways, when you’re limerent about someone, you do see them as an object, because the idealized image of the other person isn’t based on reality or even accurate. At least that’s the common belief.

Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss – Antonio Canova (Italian, 1757–1822) – Eric Pouhier (May 2007)
But what if it IS accurate? What if limerence is actually a hyper-real state where you see another person as they really are, and just aren’t seeing everyone else the way they really are? What if it’s kind of like the idiot savant phenomenon in severe autism, where the autistic person seems to focus ALL their intellect into one narrow subject at the expense of everything else? In other words, if we were all created in God’s image, then maybe we are all far more beautiful and closer to perfection than we can perceive in everyday reality, and only in the state of limerence, when all our attention is focused on one person, we can see that person the way they really are, which is the way God perceives each one of us.
If you’ve ever been limerent about someone, and especially if they return your feelings (or you believe they do), you feel heady, giddy, euphoric, almost high. It’s a very spiritual feeling, and falling in love with someone does feel very spiritual. When we look at someone we are limerent about, are we really seeing them through a small window that lets us see them the way God sees the whole universe and everything in it?
Maybe the people who are closest to God and the spiritual, and who are the happiest, walk through life feeling limerent about everything. Being able to feel that way all the time about everything is the closest thing to heaven I can imagine.
That feeling can also be induced by certain drugs. Limerence could be closer to a drug high, but I prefer to think it’s a small peek into the divine.
I read somewhere that limerence is being considered as a mental illness in later editions of the DSM. Whether or not it’s real, I think that would be a shame, because limerence can be one of the most profound and magical experiences in life.
Further reading: Do Narcissists Fall in Love?