Here’s a man’s perspective on emotional abuse which elaborates even further on the sneaky tactics abusers often use to get others to see THEM–not the actual abused–as the victim. There’s even an acronym for this I was not aware of: DARVO (Deflect–Attack–Reverse Victim and Offender)
In various articles and blogs I’ve read about abuse by invalidation. This has been a huge part of my experience, and is ongoing in a big way because I’m unable to leave my abuser at this time. Invalidation is a tactic that hurts the victim by way of frequently rejecting the victim, disallowing even the basic acceptance that people rely on for normal functioning. It involves questioning or denying the truth of their pain, experience, perception, memory, et cetera.
To be clear, I am not talking about having a difference of opinion, or even a heated disagreement. I’m talking about abuse, which entails a pattern of behavior that is injurious.
Invalidation is one of the most insidious ways to abuse a person. It causes a tremendous amount of strain and damage in the victim. I suspect this is largely because it can go on for so long without being detected…
One thing that still excites me is seeing how much reach this blog has had. Two years ago, my thoughts were read by no one. They didn’t even leave the confines of my own brain. That sure has changed! Pictured above is a map showing my visitors since January 1, 2016. It still shocks me (in a very good way) that people in almost every country have visited my little corner of the Internet. So I want to take this opportunity to thank all of you for taking the time to visit and read this blog. It’s very much appreciated.
I meant to write two posts last night, but when I came home from work I laid down for a nap and never woke back up. All is well though. I’ll put them up tonight.
On a whim, I picked up a small cat bed yesterday at Dollar General. I sprinkled a little catnip in it and waited. I didn’t think either of my cats would be interested, but today I found Sheldon curled up in it sleeping. He looked up just in time for me to get this photo.
I’m acquainted with a woman who loves children. She loves them so much she’s chosen a career as a first-grade teacher. She gets together with her nieces and nephews on the weekends and takes them on outings–to parties, to movies, to the zoo. Sometimes she just hangs out with them, and listens to them regale her with their childish tales. She’s available for babysitting on many evenings–and is more than happy to do it too. But my friend is also childless. What surprises many, including me, is that she’s childless by choice. As she told me, she loves kids but was just never interested in taking on the responsibility of raising one. As she puts it, “I enjoy kids immensely, but I can always hand them back to their parents when they get cranky or I’ve had enough. I’m afraid if I had children of my own, I’d stop liking them as much as I do.” Child-free women have the reputation of being child-haters, but this isn’t always (or even usually) the case. Some, like my friend, are even huge fans of kids.
I’m the same way about dogs. I adore dogs. I think they’re cute, hilarious, sweet, loyal, and interesting. I always stop to pet dogs (if they are friendly), I watch videos of dogs, I read stories about dogs, and I have a job where I frequently encounter dogs and my interactions with them are one of the job’s high points. But I don’t have a dog and don’t want one either.
Although dogs are awesome, they are also a lot of work–work I don’t have the time or inclination to take on. They require attention–lots more than a cat, and they are expensive. If you acquire a puppy, you must have the time to train it. You can’t just leave it alone all day while you go to work or do other things. You have to take it out when you’d rather be sleeping or watching TV, and you have to devote time to socializing it. Even if you acquire an older dog who’s already housetrained and socialized, you have to give it attention and play with it so it doesn’t develop behavior problems. You have to walk it and take it to the vet. Like a child, you are stuck with that dog for life.
Some people get a puppy and then callously drop it off at the pound when they realize how much work it’s going to be. I think that’s plain wrong. Like children, dogs need to feel securely attached to their people, and dogs that are abandoned or rejected often find it difficult to become attached to a new set of owners (if they aren’t euthanized first). I think if you agree to adopt a dog, it’s a lifetime commitment. Sure, there may be some situations where you can’t keep a dog (a particular dog may turn out to be a “bad fit” for a particular owner, or the dog has unforeseen behavioral problems that cannot be resolved), but in most cases, I think the decision to get a dog just wasn’t thought through ahead of time. Puppies are irresistible. People see a puppy and think, “I must have it!” without considering that puppy won’t always be a puppy and that they are making a 10+ year commitment to another living thing.
I’ve had several dogs in my life and I’ve loved them all. My last dog was a handsome lab mix named Dexter and he was as sweet and good and loyal as they come. Like most dogs, Dexter was very social. He required a lot of attention and would whine and whimper when he wasn’t getting it. When my daughter moved out last year, she wanted to take Dexter with her. I was a little sad to see him go, but I also knew she would pay more attention to him than I ever had, so I agreed to part with him. I can still see Dexter whenever I want, just by taking a short car ride. But I’m not responsible for him anymore and that’s fine with me.
Sometimes, especially after playing with or interacting with a particularly adorable dog, I’m tempted to go to the shelter and pick out a dog for myself. But I know I wouldn’t want the commitment. I love dogs but also like to be able to “hand them back to their person” when I’ve had my fill. I’ll stick with my cats for now. They’re all the “dog” I need.
Unless…someone gives me a Corgi puppy. Then all bets are off. OMG. I would NOT be able to say “no” to a Corgi puppy.
Every time the Internet goes down, I panic and catastrophize the situation, always assuming one of the following:
Someone who hates me hacked my computer and/or sent me a virus so I can’t get Internet access.
My computer is broken.
My computer is broken because someone who hates me sent me a virus that destroyed my hard drive.
My computer is broken because someone hacked it and I will never be able to afford a new one.
Of course, it’s none of these things. The Internet and my computer are both fine; last night Charter was just down for a few hours. But of course, in my mind, it can’t ever be something minor and temporary. It always has to be catastrophic and permanent.
I’ve been doing a lot of Google searches about dreams to find out if anyone else knows what I’m talking about, but I haven’t seen anyone else describe this exact same thing, which makes me wonder if it’s just me, or if it’s one of those things that’s so hard to describe it’s just taken for granted as something that comes with the territory of dreams, which are weird by nature.
I’m talking about the feeling or mood that accompanies dreams, not the strangeness or illogic of the actual actions taking place. In fact, it’s in the more mundane dreams–those that imitate real life or take place in familiar settings or situations–where the feeling is the strongest. It’s almost impossible to describe. Things just feel different–not in a bad or good or scary way–but just different. It’s not that things seem flatter or the colors seem washed out because my dreams have as much color (sometimes more so) in them as my reality and things certainly don’t appear flat or two dimensional. It’s not that fantastical things happen either, because in most of my dreams, nothing much happens at all (if anything weird happens, it’s more likely to be of a slightly absurd or random nature than anything resembling a fantasy novel). It’s not anything you can actually point to in the dream and say, “That’s it, right there!” It’s a vaguely eerie mood or feeling, but it’s not really an emotion. I always think of it as a “parallel universe” effect–things can even be the same as they are in waking reality, but you know it isn’t waking reality because it just doesn’t feel the same. It’s as if my everyday reality were transported to another universe. All my dreams have this same parallel-universeness about them which makes me able to distinguish them from waking reality–most of the time.
Sometimes my brain makes errors though. I’ve been a little obsessed over the past day or two with two or maybe three memories that I can’t figure out were memories of a dream or memories of a real event. Complicating matters is the fact that I occasionally experience dissociation, especially derealization, in which waking reality takes on that same odd feeling dreams have. When that happens there’s nothing much (other than waking up) that distinguishes “dream” from “reality” and that makes me feel a bit insane sometimes.
First, a little background so the following screenshot makes sense. My son is part of an online community that buys and sells art to other members. In this community, there’s a certain etiquette expected when you buy art from another member. If you have a webpage, you are expected to link to the seller’s webpage who sold you the art. It’s considered common courtesy and no one asks any questions. It’s just done.
The individual who wrote this rant had bought art from another member and is ranting about why he/she is refusing to link to the artist’s site. The artist’s signature is also edited out, so the artist never gets any credit. This individual is clearly an entitled, rude jerk. I don’t know if this person is a narcissist , since an isolated instance of rude, entitled behavior isn’t enough of a marker if other symptoms aren’t also present (they may just be an everyday asshole), but it certainly seems likely. The last paragraph seems to be a projection of the jerk’s own sense of entitlement onto the artists whose work he or she has defaced.
Not long ago, I wrote about my housemate, a woman several years older than me who lives with chronic, unrelenting, severe pain due to a number of chronic medical conditions. I ranted about how none of the doctors will prescribe this woman any pain medicine, because of the dumb drug laws in this state, which are very strict. But IMHO, they’ve gone way too far. If you’re wealthy, of course, you can pay a doctor to give you pain medicine, but because this woman is on SSDI and gets Medicare, she doesn’t have much choice in who she can see. Now she is being accused of “doctor shopping” and is required to attend an evaluation for substance abuse before anyone can prescribe her anything. As far as I know, this woman has never been addicted to drugs! Oh, but she might *get* addicted. *eyeroll* She might even be distributing, even though she is 60 years old, can barely walk, and doesn’t know anyone here anyway. So I guess she’s just supposed to LIVE with the pain? If it were me, you’d better believe I’d be “doctor shopping.”
She’s supposed to be having surgery (knee and shoulder replacement), but they keep putting it off and in the meantime, are doing NOTHING to help her.
I wouldn’t normally get involved in something like this, because under normal circumstances it would violate my boundaries (and probably hers too), but I wrote this letter of my own accord, because I am at my wit’s end and my boundaries are being violated anyway, by this woman’s constant pain I must deal with. I will not toss her on the streets (although I could and may have to if things don’t get better or she gets much worse) but it’s very, very difficult to live with someone in severe, chronic pain who talks about nothing else, even if it’s a close relative like your mother, but this is a woman I didn’t know from Adam until last October. I don’t know how much this letter is going to help (it’s probably more useful as a rant to get things off my own chest); she probably needs to get an advocate (I know they’re out there), but I have no idea how she would go about getting one. The behavior of the so-called “medical profession” toward people like my housemate is appalling, in my opinion. So I ranted off in this letter, which I hope you can read. You may need to click on the photos to make them large enough to read.
Lucky Otters Haven 