Category Archives: essays

The most obnoxious thing you can say

Posted on by

idontwannahearit

“There but for the grace of God go I.”

My blood boils every time I hear those words. Now, you may be thinking, why would someone get upset about that? It’s meant to be kind, to assure someone it could have just as easily been you the bad thing happened to. Surely there are much worse things you could say.

See, I don’t hear it that way, even if that’s how it’s meant. What I hear is smarmy, self-righteous judgment. By uttering that phrase, you are in effect saying, “God must like me more than he likes you” (which means I’m better and have higher moral standards than you). It’s like saying, “I’m going to heaven and you’re not, nyah nyah,” only even more obnoxious because it’s less direct than that. Wrong headed or not, that’s the way I hear it, and that’s why I fly into a rage if someone says it to me. So just don’t.

Don’t judge me because I’m poor.

Posted on by

impoverished
The topic that’s on my mind right now is potentially volatile and can open a huge, rotten, festering can of political worms, so that’s why I’ve been hesitant to write this. But heck, it’s on my mind, and I promised myself and my readers I would hide NOTHING, and I NEED to rant about it because it hits so close to home, so here goes.

Recently, there’s been an increasing number of conservatives (the loudest and most extreme are in the Republican Party) who have abandoned all pretense of caring about those who have less than they do–in fact, they are openly (even proudly) hostile toward the poor, blame-shifting the lousy economy, lack of jobs, and basically all of America’s problems onto the most vulnerable people in our society. American society in particular has become narcissistic, worshiping and rewarding those who have the most money and the most toys, while punishing those who have nothing more than ever before, rubbing salt into their wounds. Their contempt used to be limited to the poor who didn’t work (and those who were milking the system and might have deserved their wrath), but lately it’s extended even to the working poor–men and women who hold up to 2 or 3 jobs and work full-time (and many supporting young children), but due to the low wages they earn that haven’t kept up with an economy rife with inflation and where good jobs are scarce, still can’t lift themselves out of poverty. Empathy is seen as a liability rather than a virtue, and those who have empathy for others are seen as weak. Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged” has become the bible of the greedy and self-centered, and no one bats an eyelash, even though Rand herself was a narcissist whose role model was a serial killer.
The verdict is, if you don’t have money, you don’t deserve to live. There are no extenuating circumstances. If you’re poor, it’s your own fault.

Hatred of the poor isn’t anything new (and has been going on throughout human history, but enjoys spurts of popularity from time to time), but lately there hasn’t even been any effort to mask the hatred–it’s in your face constantly. Just watch FOX News, which I don’t. There’s no civility any more, and even less empathy.

It’s really a form of prejudice, no different really than a person of color ostracized and shamed because of the color of their skin. As a person who is currently under severe financial stress and trying to survive on an income barely above minimum wage (and having no outside help or assistance) as well as being a Highly Sensitive Person, I feel these insults keenly and feel diminished and enraged every time I read another article or watch another news show where some self-righteous cretin blathers on about how “the poor choose to be poor,” or that we are lazy, entitled, “welfare queens” with no morals and even less intelligence–and worse yet, dare to hide their ugly and mean-spirited self-righteousness under a cloak of piousness: many (not all) of these small-minded people call themselves Christians. I actually remember hearing some politician (I can’t remember who) who said Jesus wouldn’t give handouts to the poor, and cutting Food Stamps would be the most Christian thing one could do. What I’d like to know is, what God does he worship and what Bible is he reading? How dare he presume to put words like that into Jesus’ mouth, when Jesus himself was all about acceptance and love of the downtrodden and oppressed of his society.

The reason why this open hostility toward the poor is such a huge trigger for me is because that attitude assumes something about me that isn’t true. People who embrace the “you chose to be poor” mindset haven’t walked in my shoes, and they don’t know me or what led to my circumstances. They are presuming something about me based on an ugly stereotype. How is saying all poor people are lazy, stupid and entitled any different from saying all blacks are criminals, or all Jews are dishonest and greedy, or all Italians are dirty and don’t bathe? Now I’m not saying I didn’t make some bad choices because I have. I’m not saying I bear no responsibility for my own circumstances, because I do. I’m not saying it’s my government’s responsibility to lift me into the middle class, because it is not.

But you don’t know me. You have no idea who I am or why I am poor. You can’t, since you probably either never were poor, or if you had to “pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” you probably didn’t really–you probably had a grandpa, a mom and dad, or a long-lost uncle who helped you through college and graduate school, or helped you get the job you have today, or a loving mother who gave you a place to stay when you were down on your luck. Don’t tell me this does not apply to you. Hillary Clinton said “it takes a village” to raise a child, and she was right: it’s a fact that kids who were not given the opportunities–either in the form of college tuition or some other type of tangible or even just emotional support, are far less likely to become successful.

As an only child of narcissist parents (mostly my mother, but my father was an enabler and N-apologist), I had no financial, physical, or emotional support once I reached the age of 18. I had to pay for my own college education with student loans, while working full time. When I hit rough spots later in life, I never had the option to return home while I got back on my feet. On top of this I was suffering from depression, PTSD, autism, and avoidant personality disorder–and every one of these disorders causes people to become withdrawn, isolated and introverted. I think it’s a legacy a lot of us children of narcissists have been saddled with–there does seem to be some sort of correlation between narcissistic parents and autism (as well as the obvious PTSD and avoidant personality). Back in the 1960s and 1970s, it was believed autism was caused by “refrigerator mothers” but this theory was later rejected–however I do think there is something to it and should be studied further. Autistic adults (and non-autistics who have nevertheless turned inward due to their abuse) have a real handicap in today’s fast paced, competitive society where aggression, brashness and great social skills are a huge plus. Those of us who are intelligent but who don’t do well in a social setting are likely to become lost in the world because we lack the ability to connect and make friends with successful people who could help us. If an autistic adult (or just a painfully shy adult) doesn’t have family support and also lacks a specialized degree or talent (that may or may not be “discovered”), it’s not likely they’ll get very far in life, regardless of their native intelligence. It has nothing to do with how hard they work: I’ve worked my butt off most of my life, at times holding 2-3 jobs AND attending college, so I don’t think my poverty is due to my being “lazy and entitled.” I do not get any “welfare” or even food stamps. Everything I have, I pay from my own pocket, so shut the hell up.

So that’s why I hate it when people make assumptions about why I’m poor, and tell me what I’m doing wrong when they know diddly squat about what makes me tick or what motivates me. I don’t think poverty is a lifestyle “choice”–no one in their right mind would choose a life of struggle, want and heartache. For most of us, it was foisted upon us. And the more you have to worry about basic things like food and shelter, the less energy and time you have to “improve yourself.” But I don’t expect outside assistance or a “government handout” and haven’t asked for any. I try to take the steps necessary to pull myself out of the mire, but I REALLY resent being blamed for my situation when I lacked the advantages most other kids had, then had to somehow find my place in an unempathic, narcissistic, materialistic society where people who are introverted or highly sensitive or who live inside their heads are considered weak, stupid and incompetent because we don’t “schmooze” well with others.

The coolest. thing. ever.

Posted on by

world

I’m a stats junkie, and WordPress gives its bloggers an amazingly detailed statistics page, which is awesome. I love studying the numbers, and have found out through studying my stats page, which of my articles, tags and categories are the most popular, and that’s very helpful to me as a new blogger who wants to increase readership. My recent post about my son being “furry” is my top rated post, closely followed by my n00blogger rant, “I’m Frustrated.” I think the titles have a lot to do with how popular an article gets: it has to be grabby. I’m finding out that catchy, short titles that make some sort of statement about yourself get the most attention. If that statement hints at controversy, that’s even better. It’s good to know this. But I digress.

The coolest thing about the stats page is the map and countries list. Realizing that my posts (and yours, too) are being seen all over the world the moment we press “publish” is pretty incredible.

I keep going back to study the map and all the countries that have seen my posts and it blows me away every time. So far 29 countries have seen my posts, including a few far flung ones like Ghana, Trinidad and Tobago, Malaysia, and New Zealand. It’s hard to wrap my brain around the idea that the thoughts, feelings and opinions that were just inside my head can be known by someone on the other side of the planet almost as soon as I type them out. And that is so, so, so cool.

I’m jealous of your tears.

Posted on by

cry

Crying is underrated.

In America (and probably most of the western world), shedding tears is seen as weak, even if you’re a woman. Example: if you’re female and you cry in the office, management will think you can’t handle more responsibility (or even the job you have). Things have improved a bit for men, but the reason for the tears and the way in which they’re shed matters. “Manly” crying means weeping silently, shedding just a few tears and wiping them away quickly–and it should be because (a) your team just won the Super Bowl; (b) your dog just died; or (c) you just won the lottery. It’s okay to sob openly if a close relative or friend dies, but only in with other close friends or relatives. Otherwise (if you’re a guy), you’re expected to keep a poker face even if everyone around you is falling to pieces.

So anyway. I used to be a huge cryer when I was a little kid, because I was “oversensitive.” Later on, I was bullied in school because as an Aspie and a highly sensitive person (and I think most Aspies are also HSP’s though not necessarily the other way around) it was hard for me to hide my emotions the way the other kids could. At home, my narcissistic mother shamed me for my tears, and my father pulled out the old yardstick.

Sometime during high school, I finally toughened up–but there was only one problem. The lacrymal faucet had been turned to “Off” so tightly it got stuck. From that time on, the most I could hope for was a leaky faucet. When I did cry, it was usually from anger or frustration–and didn’t feel that cleansing. When I was sad I just became stony faced and sulked.

jdeppquote

I didn’t mind seeing others cry, but I couldn’t do it myself anymore. I was too scared. Things haven’t changed much. The only time I feel like it’s “safe” to cry is vicariously, through other people’s tragedies or tender moments. I can go through an entire box of Kleenex at a sad or touching movie, and I tear up when I read a sad or tragic news story, especially if it involves an animal or a child. But if something happens to me? I get all depressed and quiet, and sometimes rage, but my eyes remain as dry as the Sahara.

Sometimes music can turn on the tears, but if I try to transfer the emotions stimulated by the music to my current situation, whatever it may be, I dry up and can’t do it.

Is it because I still fear ridicule or punishment, even though there’s no logical basis in reality to think that would happen anymore? Is it because I’m afraid if I start crying I might never stop? I really don’t know. Maybe it’s my PTSD. I’ve read people with PTSD become numb emotionally. And that’s where I’m at a lot of the time (though lately it’s getting better).

There’ve been a few isolated instances that always catch me by surprise where I went the whole nine yards–chest heaving with sobs, swollen eyes, snot running down my chin. But I could probably count those times on one hand, two at the most. Usually they happen in an inconvenient place, and by the time I get somewhere private the desire to bawl my eyes out is gone.

But I will tell you that when this has happened, I felt a lot better afterwards. Crying is Klonopin for the soul–it relaxes you and later it’s easier to think more clearly about the situation that brought on the tears.

I know a few people (mostly women) who say they cry every day–and I’m not talking about depressed people. These are people who laugh five times as much as they cry, and they’re usually a joy to be around. And their crying isn’t always brought on by sadness either. Sometimes they just cry because they’re so damned happy.

If you’re one of those people, you’re lucky. .
Me? I’ll probably get cancer and die prematurely from holding all that poison inside.

At least I know how to laugh–but I could use more of that in my life too.

Interlude: a day filled with light

Posted on by

chakras

Before I get started writing about the last part of my journey with my psychopathic ex, I wanted to share my experience today because it was such a mindblowing one. There’s been so much darkness in these posts and doing the emotional work required can be painful and exhausting. I really needed a respite from that and today I got it.

A week ago I was reading about a place called The Light Center, in Black Mountain, NC (which is close to my home), a prayer and meditation center that among other things, focuses on using colored light to help stimulate and align the chakras for improved physical, emotional and spiritual wellbeing. I know this sounds like an ad but it’s not. (If you’re interested though, I’ve linked their website above).
I’ve always been interested in the chakras and attracted to all things metaphysical so I was intrigued and thought I might benefit, especially after releasing so much negative energy while I was writing my blog post late last night. I needed something to offset all the negativity and recalibrate my chakras.

I mentioned I felt like I was dead inside for a long time. In a way I was. My chakras have been in a very sick overall state for a long time, particularly my lower chakras which I think were and are almost non-functioning. My root chakra (grounding–survival and security, animal instincts) is my weakest. I live inside my head, less so inside my heart (but I’m working on that) but I’m not grounded or in touch with physical reality much at all. Not long ago I took an online chakra test and scored highest in the Crown chakra (top of the head–spirituality, universal consciousness, release of karma) I don’t know exactly what all this means but it does tell me I have very poor survival instincts but a highly developed awareness of the spiritual. This does seem to fit my overall relationship to life.

The Light Center is a geodesic dome that sits near the top of a beautiful green mountain in North Carolina’s Black Mountains (part of the Blue Ridge). The highway to it is long and takes many sharp turns as it snakes its way up. As you begin to climb, a primeval silence takes over and you begin to feel disconnected from the hubbub of humanity and the mundane world of commerce and dysfunction that lies below. I was with my 21 year old daughter who felt she needed healing too (and had nothing else to do today). Finally, after what seemed an endless climb into the clouds, a sign for the center appeared. We turned onto a gravel road and the silence of very late summer closed in, the air cool and foggy with a hint of fall. The trees seemed to whisper. I got a great sense of the spiritual and when we turned a corner, we finally saw the top of the dome.

Inside we were met by a substantial woman in her late 50s or 60s who smiled and welcomed us. Something about her exuded serenity and love. She gave us a tour of the center, explaining its history and how it came to be. I liked the fact there’s no fee for their services, and the top of the dome, which serves as the meditation and prayer center, is open 24/7 except when the road is inaccessible.

Then she left us alone in the Light Room, which she had explained to us briefly. It was a silent sixteen sided chamber with completely white walls, and equipped with easy chairs and small blankets and pillows for comfort. The lights dimmed to darkness and ambient music began to play, and suddenly we were bathed in red light, which represents the root chakra. We spent five minutes under each of the colors, all the way up to purple (the crown chakra), with the lights dimming to blackness in between each for about a minute. My breath slowed and I tried to focus on each chakra as the corresponding colored light went on, and spent the moments of darkness in between thanking God for this experience, the beautiful day with my daughter, and for the mountains and beauty just outside. I thanked Him for helping me get back in touch with my creativity, my long-lost love of writing expressed through starting this blog.

But most amazing of all, I didn’t feel hatred for my psychopaths. This was a very new feeling for me. Unbelievably, I felt compassion for them. So I asked God to heal them, if not in this world or this lifetime then in the next. I realized that for psychopaths, all their chakras are closed off and disconnected from each other. Functioning chakras are necessary to utilize the life force and do good in the world. Psychopaths have them but they are so nonfunctioning they are really are almost dead inside. It’s like a 4 cylinder engine running on only one. The car won’t run.

If you could see the aura of a psychopath they would be very thin, dark, almost black. There’s nothing in the world we, as humans, can do to help the psychopaths in our lives. We have to let them go. Only God can help them, and only if they choose to let Him inside. I believe even the worst psychopath has moments, however rare, of clarity and truth and those are the moments God can heal them. In the meantime, we can pray for them, and pray for ourselves, and pray for a world that comes to know we are all connected and all equal in God’s eyes. I was humbled by this revelation.

On the drive back down the mountain, my daughter said she felt the same thing.

why I can’t stand snow

Posted on by

ihatesnow

“Sooooo….I hear it’s gonna be a rough winter this year.”
ARGGGHHHH!
I hear this every single year, starting in about August. It drives me insane. First of all, how does anyone know how rough the winter’s gonna be? Weather forecasters can’t even predict the weather right most of the time DAYS ahead, never mind for the long term. Flipping a coin would probably do just as good a job predicting the weather. Whenever people use this phrase, I want to slam my head through a brick wall. Why? Because it almost seems like a taunt to me, as if they WANT it it snow all winter. It’s also usually said by someone who has four wheel drive and fancy snow tires. They’re prepared.
Well guess what? I’m not.

Sure, snow is pretty and all, and it’s nice on CHRISTMAS because it suits the season and on Christmas, most of us can lounge around at home in fuzzy slippers and pajamas all day if we choose. Unless we’re visiting relatives, we don’t have to DRIVE IN IT.

I detest driving in snow. It scares me. No, scratch that. It TERRIFIES me. I drive an old car and my tires are almost bald. I don’t have four wheel drive, and I slide all over the road. For me, it doesn’t matter if it’s snow or ice. I STILL SLIDE. And that’s fucking scary. I feel like I’m putting my life at risk every day I have to drive to work when it’s snowing. I’m sorry I don’t have 4-wheel drive and new tires like you do.

I also hate being cold. Winter is incredibly overrated. Think about it: it’s cold, it’s wet, it gets dark early and stays dark late into the morning, and everything is dead and colorless. The only colors to be seen are gray, brown, black and deadly WHITE if there is snow on the ground (until it turns into black and brown slush a day or so later). After the colorful festivities of Christmas (which is barely into the winter anyway), there’s nothing left to look forward to until spring.

You also have to wear layers and layers of heavy, uncomfortable clothing that takes up time in the morning that could be better spent surfing the web, writing a new blog post, reading your daily affirmation, or leisurely nursing your cup of hot coffee instead of gulping it down. I can’t stand the itchy scarves, gloves that make you drop things, sweaters that make you look like you gained about 50 pounds, and hats that make your hair look like crap when you peel them off and sometimes give you electric shocks.

Oh, and there’s the cleanup too. Spending half an hour scraping the white stuff off my car windows and shoveling it out of my driveway so I can get where I’m going is not my idea of fun.

For normal people I just don’t get the love of snow.

I suppose I can understand someone who doesn’t have to work liking snow. They can sit and stare out the window at it all day wearing their jammies, or go out and build a snowman. That’s why kids like it–they get a day off of school. Most adults do not. If I want to see snow I’ll look at a picture of it, thank you very much.

I can understand why someone who can afford to go skiing every winter would love snow. But how many people are there who can actually afford to do that? Definitely a lot fewer than the number of idiots who smugly announce what a rough winter it’s going to be.

So I have one thing to say to you if you say those words to me:
Shut the fuck up and go fall in a snowbank.

I’ll take the bugs, heat and humidity of summer any day.

Blogging is crack for the soul, but is blogging about narcissism, um, well, narcissistic?

Posted on by

Blogging

I’m taking a short break before I post the next part of my story, and I apologize for that. That project is giving me a lot of clarity and insight into both myself and my abusers, but it’s emotionally and mentally exhausting, so today’s posts are a bit lighter.

I read an article yesterday by another survivor whose work I really admire (An Upturned Soul) which brought up the question of how you can tell whether a blogger who writes about narcissism is actually a narcissist. It’s an interesting question and one that left me scratching my head and a little bemused. The answer is, you can’t. Not really. There are some clues (which can be found largely in the way the blogger react to comments), but unless you meet the person or are very familiar with their posts and online behavior, there’s really no way to tell for sure. After all, how do you know the blogger isn’t the real narcissist shifting the blame to the “narcissist” who is really the real victim? Here is her article. Make of it what you will, but it does raise intriguing questions. I think as survivors of abuse, we have to suspend disbelief to some degree and just assume the authors on this topic are on the level until we get to know them better. We must assume they are innocent until proven guilty. It’s all we can do.

Which brings me to the main reason I dragged my feet for so long about starting this blog: I was afraid if I started a blog about narcissism, people might think I was a narcissist. After all, isn’t blogging about your personal life story to complete strangers kind of a narcissistic activity, especially when we make use of things like “Like” buttons, “Share” buttons that send our posts to other social media, comments sections (we want proof people are reading our posts!), rankings and ratings, and various and sundry other widgets that call further attention to our posts and ensure we get as many hits as possible? Oh, and there’s the stats, which let us know how we’re doing and how much our blog is being read and how much it’s liked, and even if out posts are being read by people in foreign countries! On top of that, we want our blogs to look great too. I broke down today and even though I couldn’t really afford it, bought the “custom design” package for $30 so I could change the fonts and color strip on the header to something I thought looked more striking and professional. (I have no idea how CSS works yet though). We want our blogs to be the sharpest and coolest looking ones out there! We want to be noticed and our work admired! Isn’t this all pretty narcissistic when you think about it?

But you know what? I don’t care if it’s narcissistic or not, because I decided I love blogging. Now that I’ve started I can’t stop! In less than a week, I’ve discovered so much about myself, even remembering things long forgotten. Blogging’s a lot cheaper (and maybe sometimes even better) than one on one therapy. I no longer feel so alone, knowing how many of you fellow bloggers have been through similar experiences. I think people who have been through our kind of experience tend to feel more comfortable writing about it than talking to someone, because so many of us have trust issues with the people we are closest to irl, who have all too often disappointed us, proven to be untrustworthy, or have even triangulated with our abusers against us.

Here’s my other reasons I waited so long to start doing this.
— I thought you had to be an expert on something. I’m not an expert on anything; I just know a little about a lot, but am deeply interested in certain topics. So I guess that makes me expert enough.
— Even though I know I can write, I was afraid people might hate my writing.
— I’ve never had a blog before. The closest I ever came was posts on message boards, forums, and other people’s blogs. It’s like diving into the deep end for the first time. Even though you already know how to swim, the deep end is a lot scarier than the shallow end at first.
— I thought it would be hard. People told me WordPress was really hard to learn, but actually it isn’t at all. There’s a little bit of a learning curve, but by my 3rd post I felt like I knew what I was doing.
–I thought you had to know coding or be a tech geek. I only know a little rudimentary HTML, the sort you can use on any forum post. I thought you had to have some sort of esoteric programming knowledge.
— I thought my story would bore people.
— I thought my blog would look like crap.
— I thought it would be time consuming. Well it is, but I’m fine with that.
I’m pretty damn proud of my blog–does that make me sound like a narcissist?