My son lives in New Port Richey, Florida, which is right in the projected path of Tropical Storm Colin, which is due to make landfall later tonight. My son’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie (he wanted to be a stormchaser when he was younger) so hopefully he stays inside. He took this photo driving home. There were a few others, but I couldn’t upload them.
I just found out he passed away a few minutes ago. He wasn’t in any pain at all.
RIP Dad. Love you.
My dad at age 3 with his mother, 1930.
My dad sitting at the table at their home, Summer 2005 (this was the last time I visited him there). I’m standing on the right in the black T-shirt.
I just received an email from my dad’s wife (my stepmother). Here is part of it:
Everything seems to be same with a few add-ons. The urine output is almost nonexistent
which means his kidneys are shutting down. I also asked why his tongue is hanging like
that and the nurse said that he is not able to hold his reflexes.
Yesterday, after I had talked to all three of you, I told ____ what you wanted me to convey
to him and then asked him to squeeze my hand if he heard me and, he did. I have not
had that kind of response from him since.
Please keep both of them in your prayers. Thank you.
Ted Giffin, a musician, said he read my earlier post from today that compared the lyrics of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” to the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and this arrangement of the song was inspired by that post.
My comments about his version:
I like this arrangement-the melody sounds slightly “off” but in a way I think you intended. It does seem as if there is more than one voice all kind of at war with each other, and there seems to be a scattered kind of feeling and some kind of extraneous “noise” like the noise that goes on in the head of a triggered Borderline (or person with CPTSD/PTSD). I think this is what you intended…anyway, I think this is a really interesting version and the vocals are good.
You can listen to Ted’s arrangement on his blog post. Enjoy!
6/6/16: Ted just posted the music video:
https://tedgiffin.com/2016/06/06/boulevard-of-broken-dreams-video/
I was surfing the internet today checking out blog posts.
I came across one that made me think of the Green Day Song called
‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’, in an entirely new light.
The thought was that the lyrics were an accurate expression of
the internal experiences of someone who suffers from Borderline Personality Disorder.
I have had friends who struggle with the affliction.
So I tried to sing the song from that vantage point.
To see the post, that inspired my version. Visit:
https://luckyottershaven.com/2016/06/05/monday-melody-boulevard-of-broken-dreams-green-day/
Boulevard of Broken Dreams.
I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don’t know where it goes
But it’s home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I’m the only one and I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I…
View original post 198 more words
So my son who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida applied for his fishing license today. He has gotten into fishing in a big way thanks to a friend of his. They went fishing today in spite of somewhat unpleasant weather and my son just caught THIS!
He’s even going to take me fishing when I go visit him later this summer or in the early fall. I’m excited! He might get me “hooked.”
I’m posting this on a Sunday because I feel like it and it’s close enough to Monday anyway.
“Boulevard of Broken Dreams” was a huge 2005 comeback hit by the alternative/pop-punk band Green Day after several years of being out of the public eye. It’s one of the last great rock & roll songs in the wilderness of dreary post-grunge and r&b/hip hop that dominated the airwaves prior to the changeover to EDM and pop around 2009. “Boulevard” has special meaning for me because of the connection it has with Borderline Personality Disorder. I think it captures the horror and emptiness of what it feels like to have BPD, especially these lines:
I’m walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind
One the borderline of the edge and where I walk alone
Read between the lines what’s fucked up and everything’s alright
Check my vital signs to know that I’m still alive and I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there would find me
Til then I walk alone
“Dicey Situation” by Johnny Corduroy, Deviantart
I always hesitate before posting anything about my N mother, because I know she reads this blog. But then I think about two things: 1. what can she do? and 2. no one ever asked her to read this blog. It’s mine. If you don’t want to get burned, keep your hands off the stove. So here goes.
Yesterday when I talked to my mother about my dad, she said she wants to come visit me in the fall. She cannot afford a hotel room, and I can’t afford to put her up in one. She pretty much invited herself, saying, “Well, I will have to stay at your place.” Immediately I felt my self-protective shackles kick in: Danger! Danger! Boundary violation!
In most families, letting your mom stay with you fore a few days wouldn’t be a problem. But my family isn’t most families. My mother is very judgmental of me and my lifestyle, which, although I’m satisfied with it, is less than glamorous and I know she would not/does not approve of the way I live (which really isn’t my fault anyway because I don’t have the financial resources to live better). Even if she says nothing about my mismatched furniture, the sagging, stained couch, the buggy old-fashioned kitchen with its tiny 1970s electric stove, an old summer camp steamer trunk used as a coffee table, the box TV in the living room, the ancient windows that don’t open, and the black mold on one side of the house (which my landlord has yet to do something about), I know she will go back to her extended family and tongues will wag. I know she has devalued me to the rest of the family and puts me down, disapproving of the way I live. She cloaks these criticisms with “concern,” saying things like, “I just don’t know why Lauren always makes such bad choices,” or “it’s so sad the way she lives but she made her own bed.” Or she talks about how mentally unstable or immature I am. Even though my mother is far from wealthy and even borders on as poor as I am, she has always put on airs of being of a higher social status than she actually is, and to be fair, she does a good job of it. Even if I was of a social class she approved of, our tastes and interests are vastly different. I’m far too “bohemian” for her liking and I’m pretty sure I still would be even if I was rich.
I also know she wouldn’t approve of my housemate, and they would get in each other’s way. The idea of the three of us having to share a roof, even for a few days, gives me the willies. I wouldn’t be able to tolerate feeling like I have to apologize for the things I do while she is here. If I tell her no, she can’t come, I know she will go back to the extended family and tell them I’m “hiding something.” She seems to think I still have my ex living with me and am saying nothing about it. This is of course ridiculous, but I know it’s what she’ll tell everyone. She can’t understand why I wouldn’t be thrilled to put her up on my couch for several days and I don’t have the courage to be honest with her. The fact she reads this blog and knows I’ve pegged her as a narcissist (even though I don’t think she is malignant, she is a textbook example of a woman with intractable NPD) doesn’t seem to faze her in the slightest. Being the narcissist she is, she simply is incapable of understanding why I wouldn’t be jumping for joy for the “opportunity” of putting her up on my couch for a few days.
I had no time to prepare for this, so I said weakly, “well, you will have to sleep on the couch then, because my roommate has the other room.” She responded with, “oh, you have a roommate?” As if this is some life choice of mine and isn’t a matter of financial necessity. It’s also interesting to me that I have never been invited to see her where she lives. The one time I suggested going to visit her there, she told me my half sister didn’t want me there (they share a townhouse). I think she was lying, because my half sister barely knows me. I haven’t seen her since 1986. I think it’s actually my mother who doesn’t want me to come there, because I would “embarrass” her in front of the family, so she put words in my sister’s mouth. Even if my sister doesn’t want me there, it was probably my mother who turned her against me.
I’m in a dicey situation, and I’m praying she changes her mind about coming. Just in case she isn’t, I guess I’ll have to start saving enough money between now and then to put her up in a local motel, which I should be able to do given the time frame. Then all I need to do is think of some reason why she can’t stay at my house (repairs? haven’t cleaned it?) She would like a motel better anyway with its pool, sterile rooms, flat screen TV, and a real bed. The fall is still a few months away but it will be hard for me to save the money because I’m trying to save enough money to go see my son in Florida in September. I think she might know this too, but she doesn’t care.
I have my own ideas about the complicated dynamics between narcissists and empaths, but I’ll just let this excellent article (written by an empath) speak for itself. These two apparently opposite types of characters do often seem to be drawn to each other.
The Toxic Attraction Between an Empath and a Narcissist.
By Alex Miles
We know that “narcissist” has become a bit of a buzzword recently, and some folks are quick to apply it to an ex-lover or family member or friend. While awareness of this concept is healthy, so is remembering that it is, in a mental health context, a serious condition that shouldn’t be applied to someone you’re mad at because they stole your mirror. ~ Eds.
I am an empath. I discovered I was an empath after I got involved in a very deep and highly destructive relationship with a narcissist.
I am writing this article from the perspective of an empath, however, would love to read the view from the opposite side if there are any narcissists that would like to offer their perception on this.
Through writing about the empath personality type I have connected with many other people who class themselves as an empath and time and again I have heard people tell me how they have also attracted relationships with narcissists. There is a link. So, I decided to explore it further.
This is my theory…
From my own experience and studies on the narcissist personality type, there is always one core trait: A narcissist is wounded.
Something, somewhere along the line, usually stemming from childhood causes a person to feel worthless and unvalued and, due to this, they will constantly and very desperately seek validation.
Here comes the empath, the healer. An empath has the ability to sense and absorb other people’s pain and often takes it on as though it were their own. If an empath is not consciously aware of boundaries and does not understand how to protect themselves, they will very easily and very quickly bond with the narcissist in order to try to fix and repair any damage and attempt to eradicate all their pain.
What the empath fails to realise is that the narcissist is a taker. An energy sucker, a vampire so to speak. They will draw the life and soul out of anyone they come into contact with, given the chance. This is so that they can build up their own reserves and, in doing so, they can use the imbalance to their advantage.
Read the rest of this article here.
A few hours ago, I received a phone call from my son. He told me to call my mother and said she had been trying to reach me for several days. He said it had to do with my dad and was important. There were no notifications of any messages and I had not received any calls from her. Even though I’m NC with my mom, I still felt terrible. Of course I called her right away.
She told me my dad fell down on some pavement a few days ago, and there has been bleeding in his brain. He has suffered from Parkinson’s for a couple of decades, but recently he’s been unable to keep his balance and is prone to falls. He’s also very fragile at age 90. He is unable to speak or move, and is being transferred to 24/7 hospice care, where doctors expect he will pass on. However, his wife (not my mother) tells me that he is conscious because he will squeeze her hand to let her know he heard something and earlier today he opened his eyes. My dad has always been in good health for his advanced age, in spite of the Parkinson’s, and has a strong will to survive. So it does look hopeful but because he is so fragile and his brain could throw clots at any time, he might not make it.
I wish I felt more emotional than I do. I haven’t had a lot of contact with my father in several years, and only speak to him a few times a year, but he always tires easily and doesn’t always make much sense when he can talk. I feel like I’m going through the motions of a worried/grieving daughter, but I only feel a vague sadness, as if this happened to someone else’s father. Of course I don’t want him to die, but I know it will happen pretty soon even if he survives this. Because of our unfortunate family dynamics, where I’m so estranged from both my parents (my father less so), I feel very disconnected from family events and milestones and can’t work up a lot of emotion. I’m glad he’s in good hands and has a devoted wife who takes care of him and friends who are checking in on him.
If you pray, please say a prayer for my dad’s recovery.
I’ve seen all kinds of strange animals this week. On Monday I saw the two mating black snakes at the lake. Today I had a surprise waiting for me at the nearby Ingles supermarket.
I was loading the groceries into my car, looked up for a minute, and there by a shady area near the service road were some animals I definitely didn’t expect. At first I wasn’t sure what they were, so I walked a little closer to get a better view. They were llamas, grazing on the grass under the trees! What were llamas doing here of all places? Then I saw two trailers parked nearby, and a man who appeared to be their owner. He said he was returning from an exotic animal show in Virginia and was letting his llamas out for air and exercise.
I started taking pictures. The llamas seemed friendly enough. They came in every color–tan, brown, russet, black, greyish. A couple of the llamas just ignored ignored me. A few of the others looked up curiously, then got back to munching the grass.
Never in a million years did I expect to see llamas at the grocery store. You just never know what kind of surprises life has in store for you.
Click on the photos to enlarge.
Lucky Otters Haven 