This is the post that scared me so much I almost deleted it.

Posted on March 21, 2015 by luckyotter

I have never been so scared to publish a post until this one. I had this set to Private for several days and drove myself crazy trying to decide if I ought to post it. It’s about some of my most vulnerable moments and posting about those is incredibly scary for a person who usually has their guard up. But I longed to post it. Something inside was telling me I needed to and I wouldn’t regret it. I also felt this post was my best written one ever because while writing it I allowed my emotions to flow unimpeded. What to do?

I even wrote a short post asking people if I should post something that made me feel so naked and vulnerable. Ultimately, the decision to make this post public was mine, but the consensus seemed to be that I should.

I read this post over again earlier today from the imaginary perspective of a random reader who just happened on the article and had never seen this blog before. I realized that as this “someone else” it would be something I’d want to read.

So here it is, guys. The post that made me feel like I was going to pass out cold when I pressed “Make Post Public.”

Milk and Open Hearts: Embracing the “Feminine” Emotions

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about vulnerability lately. I’m reaching a point in my healing journey where I can start to allow myself to become more open to my emotions and to sharing the feelings of others. It wasn’t my intention to write another post about crying so soon after my last, but I think my interest is due to something that’s happening inside…

For years I couldn’t cry, but wanted to. I was so numb from all the abuse that I had dissociated myself from my feelings. I felt like I was dead and in hell. Recently I’m finding a lump in my throat or tears starting to well much more frequently–usually because I’ve been touched by something or someone in some way, and it’s usually a pretty simple thing. I realize this is a sign that the long term dissociation within my mind is coming to an end because I’ve gained more courage to embrace my feelings instead of pushing them away or denying their existence.

I remember even during the darkest days of abuse by my psychopaths and narcs, when I walked around like an emotional zombie due to all the abuse I endured, there were rare moments of clarity when truth and beauty shone through the murk of depression and PTSD.

During my pregnancies with both my children (I was pregnant three other times–one abortion which I am writing about next–the child would have been a boy born in 1999–and two miscarriages), my brain’s marination in a continuous bath of pregnancy hormones made me very emotional. Not depressed-emotional–in fact, I was happier than I’d ever been. Things just touched me or made me feel some kind of ineffable euphoria or inexplicable sadness and suddenly there would be tears.

I think the increased emotionality experienced by pregnant and lactating women is the result of nature’s opening our hearts to connect deeply and lovingly with our children from the moment we know we are pregnant. The torrents of female hormones–mostly estrogen and progesterone–help wire our brains to to allow the limbic (emotional) system to run things for awhile. The heightened ability to feel is a gift that helps our species survive because under the right circumstances, emotional openness transforms into unconditional love and empathy.

The hormonal bath continued for some weeks after the births of both my children and I remember getting particularly emotional one dark and cold night as I held my firstborn against milk-swollen breasts, with Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” playing on the stereo. I watched as my son rooted for the nourishment he sought and found it. Latched on tightly, dark pink lips pursed in determination and a primitive and preternatural hunger, my baby son began to nurse. As I felt the milk come down, I was overwhelmed with tenderness and love for this completely helpless creature who so recently had lived inside my body and taken nourishment from my blood, and whose wastes were eliminated with my own, and suddenly my face was awash in tears.

I watched as if through antique swirled-glass windows as my tears soaked my tiny boy’s thistledown-fine hair and ran across a petal-soft pink cheek busily working my milk glands. There was a melancholy underpinning to my overwhelming elation and I allowed myself to feel that sadness too–and realized that melancholy welled up from an awareness of how fragile my tiny son was, how fragile we all are–at any age; and how easily a trusting, childlike soul can be stamped out by hurt, abandonment and abuse. I wanted to protect this child from any harm that might ever come his way. I didn’t realize then my son’s own father would set out to destroy his spirit. Thank God he did not succeed.

At the moment the first drop of salt water touched my baby, opaque dark blue eyes fluttered open and gazed at me, seeming to understand my feelings. Sighing a delicate baby sigh, this tiny human being I had created through my love for a man and sustained and nurtured by my blooming, hormone-soaked body, nestled in closer and suckled harder until swept away in blissful sleep. I marveled at the knowledge this tiny boy would one day be a man, taller and probably physically stronger than me, and that I would play a huge part in his journey to manhood. It scared me to pieces but I felt willing and ready to take on the challenge–because of love, the greatest power we have as humans.

This wondrous connection–this moment of almost painful sweetness–was so honest and magical I almost dared not breathe. The tears poured down. I didn’t wipe the wetness from my face for that would have disrupted the beautiful connection I felt with my child.

It’s during these moments our hearts are open and we allow ourselves to become vulnerable, that we are fully engaged and connected with life and open to the bliss and pain of pure unconditional love. That kind of love is expressed in tears (often combined with laughter or smiles) because there are no words that could ever express the depth of this sublime emotion–an emotion of such beauty, rarity and truth it nearly hurts.

Tears are the mark of our common humanity and connect us with each other. We are pushed into the world crying, and are (hopefully) cried for when we leave it. Crying marks the most important milestones of our lives, whether they are happy or sad. There are always tears at graduations, pregnancy and wedding announcements, falling in and out of love, weddings, births, baptisms, death and funerals. There are tears wherever there is honesty, intimacy and love.

The happiest people in the world are often people who cry a lot. Their hearts are open, so everything and everyone touches them. They’re not afraid to connect and to empathize. Their love sometimes overflows the confines of their physical composure, and so they cry. I used to know a beautiful young woman who said she cried five or more times a day–just because she was so happy all the time. She wasn’t annoying happy. Honest joy never is annoying. She moved through life regally and with dignity and compassion, appreciating everything and loving everything and being touched by everything, and everyone loved her right back because they knew she was an empath. People wanted to be close to her, they wanted to be touched by her, both emotionally and physically. Her large expressive eyes were almost always wet with tears. At first it seemed a little strange, but soon we got so used to seeing her that way it just seemed normal after awhile. And it WAS normal, more normal than anything could ever be.

I was so envious of that girl for her emotional openness. But she showed me a great truth about myself. I could be that girl because that was me. I just needed to find a way to knock down my thick concrete walls of fear. It’s getting easier. I still have a lot of emotional blockage, but I no longer feel like one of the walking dead.

In the Stephen King movie “The Green Mile,” John Coffey is an autistic man who nevertheless is an empath. He’s been unjustly sentenced to Death Row for the murder of two little girls because he was the last one seen with them (and probably due to his being black as well). You sense Coffey never killed those girls and in fact you realize how empathic this man really is. He has no defenses against the world due to his inability to hide his emotions (some autistic people have trouble regulating their emotions), and at the same time this very defenselessness gives him unbelievable strength and goodness. Coffey cried almost constantly, feeling the emotions of everyone around him and freely giving unconditional love where none existed.

A couple of years ago, there was a very popular video that went viral. It featured a 10-month old baby girl apparently crying from empathy as she listened to her mother sing. I’m not usually a fan of “cute baby” videos but watching this baby was fascinating because she cried like an adult would have–and the purity of her emotion was an achingly beautiful thing to see.

We are born withour hearts unguarded. When life begins to hurt too much (and it always does), children eventually learn to guard their hearts or in the worst cases (NPD, ASPD and some other mental disorders), dissociate themselves from their true feelings so thoroughly there is no turning back to the emotionally open state we were born with.

It’s a sad state of affairs that all the tender (“feminine”) emotions such as sadness, deep connection or friendship, love in all its forms, joy of the non-shallow type, feeling touched or moved, gratitude, and empathy– have been so devalued in modern society and are often seen as proof of weakness in a person when in fact they show a person who has the strength and courage to leave their hearts unguarded when it matters the most.

It’s interesting that all these softer emotions indicate goodness and purity of heart. They possess enormous potential to eliminate or reduce darkness and evil because they are emotions of healing, love, and our human connection with the Divine.

In a perfect world where all human beings had open, unguarded hearts, an alien from another planet upon first meeting a typical human would see smiles and laughter graced by tears. If the alien were to question what these signals meant, the answer would be “Love.”
The angels in Heaven would tell you the same.

WT actual F is up with all the random bananas at stoplights?

Posted on March 21, 2015 by luckyotter

Pairs of bananas hanging at almost every stoplight, Batman! I’ve been seeing this all over the Asheville, NC area. It’s so funny and random! What does it mean?

New gravatar and profile

Posted on March 21, 2015 by luckyotter

I finally got around to changing my gravatar photo and rewriting my profile. Not much else to say. I think the new profile better reflects my state of mind now.

Nobody knew who I was.

Posted on March 21, 2015 by luckyotter

Woodcut by Käthe Kollwitz, 1867-1945

I used to be a nobody.

Or, as my malignant narcissist mother would have put it, “a nothing.”

Before I started this blog, years of psychological abuse had sealed my lips and closed my eyes to what I could be. I rarely spoke to the people around me, and when I did, I revealed nothing because I was too afraid and was convinced I was a boring person who lived an equally boring life. I never ever revealed anything about my emotional life to people outside my immediate family, and even with them, I was reticent.

I’ve always found it difficult to make friends offline, due to my Aspergers and my avoidant personality, as well as my fear of revealing too much. I still almost never talk about my feelings offline. When I was a child I revealed way too much. I was highly sensitive and vulnerable but didn’t know how to handle it. That kind of openness got me bullied and as a result, I learned it was best to say nothing at all. I didn’t realize my high sensitivity was in reality a wonderful gift.

I shut and locked all my psychological doors. After a while, I couldn’t remember how to unlock them. For me, writing was the key, but I assumed the lock was broken and the key would not work.

For most of my adulthood, although I managed to marry and have a family (with a narcissistic bully who was all wrong for me or for anyone) I had practically no social life outside of that and hardly ever engaged in any interesting activities. I gave up easily. I never completed anything I started due to my dismally low self esteem that told me I was sure to fail. I gave up writing and art and all the things I had loved when I was younger. I feared being boring but boring is exactly what I became. I was just too afraid of everything to be anything else.

I believed my purpose in this life was to be an example to others of how not to be. Hell, even my own mother called me a loser and a failure, and if your own mother has no faith in you, how can you believe in yourself? Mother knows best, right?

Wrong.

I thought about writing a blog, but didn’t because I feared I would have nothing to say that would interest anyone. I also thought it would be too hard and I would give up in frustration, like I had given up on so many other things when they became too difficult. My irrational fear of failure crippled me.

Even if I could think of something to write about, I was afraid people would hate my words and ideas. Ideas? I didn’t think I had any anyway. In my own mind I was the most boring person in the world. I felt like a walking zombie, marking time until death.

I was so wrong. So very wrong. I’m free to reveal the self on this blog that was in hiding for decades and many times was hidden even from myself. I’m finding it’s safe to be open and vulnerable, at least online. And I’m finding there is so much joy to be had if you just open your eyes and your heart and let yourself feel life. It really wasn’t that hard to do, once my psychopathic sperm donor was out of the way.

I never thought I could help anyone, least of all myself. I felt impotent and helpless in the world, someone born to be a victim, a source of narcissistic supply to others, because that was how I was trained. I didn’t realize that I wasn’t really stupid, uncreative and boring. I wasn’t a loser and I only failed because I was too afraid to try anything and would give up easily the few times I did try. I didn’t realize it was my PTSD and depression that turned me into a walking zombie. Mental illness is a powerful dark beast and can engulf and eclipse your true spirit.

My creativity is blossoming. I always had ideas, but now they’ve revealed themselves as I’ve let go of my debilitating fear and self hatred. Sometimes I feel like I have too many ideas and can’t write them down fast enough.

Although my external circumstances haven’t changed very much (outside the narc being gone), I have hope now. I feel like a real person again, an interesting person who can even be a friend to others. I’m even starting to like myself, and think I’m a pretty interesting person. I’m even becoming proud of my high sensitivity I used to be so ashamed of. In its highest form, high sensitivity can reveal empathic ability.

I truly believe that once I got the narc out of my life, that God stepped in and took things over. He has shown me who I really am and what my purpose is in this world, and it’s not to be an example to others of how not to be. A plan for my life is taking shape and every day it amazes me. There’s so much to be amazed by. He is teaching me how to use the gift of writing that I had been wasting for so long on bullshit or not using at all.

Becoming vulnerable again through my writing is a beautiful thing. If you like yourself, you can handle the bullies, but chances are there will be fewer than you think, and most people will admire your willingness to be open and can relate to that. Your voice will be heard by those who are really listening. It can penetrate the darkness in other people’s lives.

Being vulnerable is about being honest. It’s embracing the truth rather than believing the lies.

Becoming vulnerable takes courage. Rather than being a trait of a weak person, it really takes a strong person to be willing to feel life in its kaleidoscope of colors. Before, I only saw in shades of gray.

I used to believe there was nothing left to look forward to. Now I know there is still so much ahead of me.

Nobody knew who I was. I wouldn’t let them in. Now the door is wide open. Come on in.

My crazy fantasies.

Posted on March 21, 2015 by luckyotter

I have some crazy fantasies. As an INFJ Aspie with an extremely vivid imagination, for me these fantasies can be almost as real as reality itself, and that is really pretty cool. Some people, usually neurotypical extroverts, think it’s unhealthy to live inside my head so much. I disagree. If I enjoy these thoughts and they don’t interfere with day to day functioning, how is it unhealthy?

I won’t go into the details of my fantasy life but there are times I think there’s something wrong with me for having the kinds of thoughts I do and deriving so much pleasure from them.

I was telling a friend on FB tonight about the details of one fantasy. She doesn’t think I’m crazy but pretty normal. I just had to bounce this off someone else as a sort of reality check. I need to do that from time to time, just to make sure I’m not insane.

I think most of us, especially if we’re introverted, have our secret life we don’t want to talk about. It’s like having our own personal movie that we write, direct, cast and star in. These personal movies can make a rather humdrum, often irritating and sometimes depressing life seem more full and interesting.

The other great thing about having such an active inner fantasy life is it sometimes jumpstarts creative ideas, which can be transformed into actual, tangible things that can be shared with the whole world.

March madness.

Posted on March 20, 2015 by luckyotter

March is a weird month.
Yesterday was sunny, extremely windy, and in the low 70s.
On Sunday, temps climbed into the low 80s.
Today was like late November, cold and rainy, temps in the low 40s.
This weekend is supposed to be pretty, but then they are talking about SNOW after that.
Tornado season starts about now, too. Fortunately i don’t live in a Tornado Alley state.

Welcome, Spring!

I’m finally getting really excited about this.

Posted on March 20, 2015 by luckyotter

In late October, after a lifetime of being agnostic but intermittently dabbling in various cults (Scientology) and religions including Buddhism and fundamentalist Christianity (Southern Baptist), I made the decision to become a Roman Catholic. If you’re interested in the reasoning behind my decision and the evolution of that decision, read the articles under “My Spiritual Journey” under “My Story” in the header (scroll to the bottom to find those articles), especially this one and this one.

My decision to follow Jesus Christ was quite strange and unexpected (it started as a sort of bet with God), and the two articles describe how that process worked. I was literally an agnostic on October 19th and made the decision to become Catholic on October 25th.

I’ve been attending Mass almost every Sunday (I did sleep in a few Sundays, lol) and always get something valuable out of them (besides finding the Mass very beautiful and appealing to me on an aesthetic level–I love the ritual), But still I struggled with doubts about the Church and Christianity in general, although I believed enough to accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior.

In last night’s RCIA class (which are very informal and it’s a small group), we talked about the role of Mary in the Church and the importance put on her. I already knew Mary is not worshipped and is not thought of as divine like God or Jesus, but she acts as an intercessor and is venerated–which means you can ask her to pray for you on the behalf of God. The saints serve the same role.

We talked about the qualities Mary had (and many of the saints had or have) that make her special to God. I won’t get into the idea of her being conceived without original sin because that gets into the dogma and many of you do not believe this (and I admit I have doubts myself). But I will say that Mary in particular had qualities that are not valued in today’s narcissistic world. Mary was the opposite of a narcissist–she was humble, obedient to God, compassionate, merciful, and very maternal, and yet she was very, very strong and her love of God and her Son knew no limits. Personally I think she was an empath. She appeals to me because she’s the mother we all should have had. No matter how old we are, we never lose our need for a loving, compassionate, merciful mother. Mary can be the mother I never had.

“La Vierge au lys” by William-Adolphe Bouguereau – PaintingHere.com. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:La_Vierge_au_lys.jpg#/media/File:La_Vierge_au_lys.jpg

It was the most enlightening and interesting RCIA class we’ve had yet.

New conversions are done on Easter Saturday (April 4th this year) and the heavy duty preparation for new members takes plan during Lent (which began on Ash Wednesday at the end of February). I chose a sponsor (Godparent) about a month ago, a lovely woman named Rachel. Last Saturday we went to a Mass at another church where the catechumens (people converting) were introduced by their sponsors and blessed by the Bishop of the Charlotte Diocese. Afterwards there was a brunch across the street where I got to talk to the Bishop, who hugged me.

But I still didn’t feel as excited about it as I felt I should. I still had doubts (and still do) but there are some doctrines I want to believe so much that I’m willing to suspend my disbelief and take into account that some things that happen may not have a scientific explanation–or do have one that we cannot explain with the scientific knowledge we currently have. I was surprised to find the Catholic church so friendly to science (including divinely inspired evolution, which I believe in anyway) but it really shouldn’t be too surprising, because so many of our most renowned scientists were in the Catholic clergy or just very devout Catholics.

One of the “mysteries” I’m willing to suspend disbelief on is transubstantiation (the idea that the host and wine during communion actually transform into the body and blood of Jesus Christ, and are not just symbolic. This is in the Bible so in no way goes against Biblical teaching, but Protestantism changed this idea into one where the host is merely a symbol or remembrance, not the actual body of Christ.

I absolutely love the idea of something as unique and miraculous as taking the actual body of Christ into myself (taking him into my soul), so I’m willing to suspend disbelief and in time I may actually believe this is what happens.

Transubstantiation.

A humorous take on the above — sorry, too funny not to share.

Today I had an appointment with Father C. about my first Penance (confession). Rather than being a dark and punitive thing and something to dread, it brings relief. It seems to work almost like Step 4 of a 12 Step Program, where the idea of “confessing” your sins (wrongdoings) to a priest takes the burden of guilt off of you, and you are absolved and forgiven. Then you are told what you need to do, usually reciting some Our Fathers or Hail Marys. I don’t have any problem with that, and being the kind of person I am who struggles with guilt constantly, I think this will be very helpful.

My first Penance (one of the seven Sacraments) will take place on Monday night. Over the weekend, Father C. wants me to make a list of what I think of as my sins, and try to put them in some kind of order. I don’t have to list every sin I ever committed, because I’d be confessing until the day I die, but just the ones I think are important or feel the worst about. I will be praying for guidance this week because I want my list to contain the sins that matter the most to God, not necessarily just in my own mind.

On Holy Thursday (one week from today), I’m attending a foot washing service, where my sponsor and the priest will each wash my feet, symbolizing how Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. I feel strongly that this will be an extremely moving and very spiritual moment for me. It’s a loving act, but the recipient must be willing to become both humble and vulnerable to fully understand the meaning of Jesus’ act.

Jesus spoke to his disciples of the meaning of foot washing in John 13: 1-15:

1 And before the feast of the passover, Jesus knowing that His hour hath come, that He may remove out of this world unto the Father, having loved His own who are in the world—to the end He loved them. 2 And supper being come, the devil already having put it into the heart of Judas of Simon, Iscariot, that he may deliver Him up, 3 Jesus, knowing that all things the Father hath given to Him—into His hands—and that from God He came forth, and unto God He goeth, 4 doth rise from the supper, and doth lay down his garments, and having taken a towel, he girded himself; 5 afterward he putteth water into the basin, and began to wash the feet of his disciples, and to wipe with the towel with which he was being girded. 6 He cometh, therefore, unto Simon Peter, and that one saith to him, “Sir, thou—dost Thou wash my feet?” 7 Jesus answered and said to him, “That which I do thou hast not known now, but thou shalt know after these things;” 8 Peter saith to him, “Thou mayest not wash my feet—to the age.” Jesus answered him, “If I may not wash thee, thou hast no part with me.” 9 Simon Peter saith to him, “Sir, not my feet only, but also the hands and the head.” 10 Jesus saith to him, “He who hath been bathed hath no need, save to wash his feet, for he is clean altogether; and ye are clean, but not all;” 11 for He knew him who is delivering him up; because of this He said, “Ye are not all clean.” 12 When, therefore, He washed their feet, and took His garments, having reclined at meat again, He said to them, “Do ye know what I have done to you? 13 Ye call me, ‘The Teacher’ and ‘The Lord’, and ye say well, for I am; 14 if then I did wash your feet—the Lord and the Teacher—ye also ought to wash one another’s feet. 15 For I have given thee an example, that ye should do as I have done to ye. Verily, verily, I say unto ye, the servant is not greater than his lord; neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them.”

I’m meeting with Father one more time after that to talk about the Big Event, which will take place on Saturday night, the day before Easter (that’s when the big Easter mass where the new converts are welcomed into the Church takes place. In the Catholic church, Easter is a much bigger deal than Christmas).

On Saturday morning of the big day, I attend a rehearsal with my sponsor. That night, at 8 PM the Mass takes place. My daughter is the only family member I have attending, but that’s okay. At that time I’ll receive the Sacraments of Communion (no, I do not have to wear a lacy white dress or a veil like little Catholic girls do) and then Confirmation. I have chosen Catherine as my confirmation name — Saint Catherine of Siena was a strong faithful woman of God, and she is the patron saint of writers. I love the strength of the name. I didn’t have to think about this one too much. It just came to me as being perfect.

I don’t have to be re-baptized. My Methodist baptism is considered acceptable (which surprised me). Any Baptism using water and the sign of the cross is sanctioned as acceptable in the Roman Catholic church.

I’m a little nervous of course, but after my meeting tonight, I’m finally realizing how close I am to this happening and just how big this is for me, and finally feeling excited about it. I’m not without my doubts, but am willing to take that big leap of faith and I can’t wait.

If you’re interested in reading other stories of people who decided to convert (or return to) Catholicism, WhyImCatholic.com is is a great website and a lot of fun to read, too.

Switching gears.

Posted on March 19, 2015 by luckyotter

God, I hate it when I am forced to change my evening plans, which means blogging until I can barely keep my eyes open and sleep takes over.

I don’t like sudden changes of plans or disruptions of my Aspie routines that force me to switch gears or have to engage with others when I don’t want to. If I were a car, I’d have a faulty transmission.

I wasn’t able to get home until well after midnight and I had no energy to write anything except this.

I resent the feeling that tonight was wasted, and I feel guilty about feeling that way. Obviously I’m just framing things all wrong.

Why can’t I just be left alone with my words and my music?

Is this an improvement?

Posted on March 18, 2015 by luckyotter

Sure, this cartoon is funny, but is also worrisome. If this is true, then we are raising a generation of narcissists. It also shows how little teachers are respected these days.

Replying to my haters.

Posted on March 17, 2015 by luckyotter

Not everyone likes this blog. I have a few haters. The following are not really troll comments (which I delete immediately or don’t approve) but criticisms of me and this blog. (A few do come close though).

It’s okay to have haters. All bloggers have them. All writers have them. I don’t expect everyone to agree with or understand my motives for having a blog like this. Having haters just means something you said pressed somebody’s buttons. It’s inevitable, especially when blogging about a controversial subject like narcissism instead of posting brownie recipes.

I decided rather than try to reply as these comments come along (which can disrupt the flow of a conversation), I would put them here in this one post. (I’ve been saving them to Wordpad). Obviously this blog isn’t for everyone. I am not identifying the handles of these commenters.

Fortunately, I have not received many of these type of comments. These are in fact the only ones I have received outside of 3-4 troll comments which I will not respond to at all because feeding the trolls is always a bad idea.

1. obviously this post is made to sympathize with you which of course I do and it may seem “callous” but you wrote this article to gain sympathy this article isn’t informative to anyone, what purpose does it have , im seventeen years old and I’ve had a turbulent life growing up to say the least , but come on woman your just giving your husband or ex the satisfaction ,he wanted you to crumble , he wanted you to feel empty , helpless , its the past , you also mentioned that you noticed several times that what he was doing was morally wrong but does that justify your actions stop making up excuses and take some responsibility ,why did you stay with him because the way you explain him makes him seem like he had nothing to offer .Also diagnosing everyone with a mental disorder I’ve noticed is quite common among America as a norm like “what a pyscho” I do not doubt that your husband was not a psychopath but labeling everyone a narcissist without actually being a psychologist is ridiculous , did you ever ask Helen why her son didn’t like her because he could have made up so many fabrications . There’s not much you can do but move on and try to improve yourself , writing articles like this just allows you to dwell in sadness and feel sorry for yourself . this article just sounds very narcissistic , honestly no matter how bad it was how could you leave your son or both children with someone who mentally fucked you up , I feel as though this post was immature and it makes me sound like a total bitch but you chose to stay with him you chose to have another child with him you chose to go out with someone who previously had alcoholism , im not blaming you for his behavior im just stating what everyone else ceases to notice , don’t reply with something about my age and how I would have no idea because that argument is invalid because I did not actively post my story over the internet , I bid you farewell and wish you the best in your future endeavors

You are seventeen and obviously too young to understand what I am trying to do here. I am not an expert or a mental health professional, and I never pretended to be. My disclaimer in the header explains all that. It’s not that I don’t “take responsibility.” I’ve been hearing that shit all my life by my abusers (my mother and ex, but others too) and have been badly damaged emotionally. I take responsibility where it is necessary to do so.

I blog about my experiences not to get yours or anyone’s pity (I hate being pitied) but as a form of self therapy. It helps me. It helps others too. Think of it as a public journal. I am not “wallowing in sadness” at all. Writing this blog in fact makes me happy. Being that I cannot afford therapy, writing this blog has helped me sort out all the things that happened to me and has made it so much easier to deal with all the toxic emotions we victims of narcissists had to deal with all our lives. There are plenty of other blogs like this one. I realize that a blog like this can seem narcissistic. I get that and I get why. But before you judge, why don’t you try to put yourself in someone else’s shoes instead of making snap judgments about things you obviously know nothing about.

2. This post seems like the pot calling the kettle black. Anyone who would write about such personal matters on a public website and then invite people to “comment” and “Like” your personal dirty laundry seems like a narcissist to me. I think all bloggers are narcissists but especially bloggers who air their dirty laundry all over the Internet.

I “air my dirty laundry all over the Internet” as a form of self therapy, not because I want attention and sympathy. It’s helped other people too. If you don’t like what you read here, you are certainly free to go somewhere else. As for the comments, I have that option because allowing comments builds a community. Sometimes that’s the only way we can talk to others who have gone through similar experiences. The option to “like” does not have to be checked. Most bloggers use a “like” feature. Sorry, there is no “dislike” function.

3. I don’t like the way you and all the other idiots with these sort of blogs make fun of people with NPD which is a real mental illness. You say you have empathy but then in the next breath you are calling people with NPD “Narcs” and N’s and other horrible names like devils or posessed by satan. I don’t have NPD but they arent devils they are human like everyone else. They deserve the same respect like everyone else. Not everyone is all bad, you know.

I have had this complaint a few times. I do not hate narcissists and “narc” is really just a shortcut term we ACONs use–maybe it has become a pejorative over time, but that’s not the reason I use it. I rarely use “N.” I have said many times that narcissists are not devils or monsters but they have a disorder which makes it impossible for them to feel empathy for others or even act like very nice people. Some of us were raised by narcissists or were married or in long term relationships with them, and it’s definitely no picnic.

Like you said, most narcissists probably have some good qualities. They might have a special talent or dress well or are good cooks, and some non-malignant narcissists can even sometimes be genuinely nice. But only sometimes. Malignant narcissists and psychopaths are something different and I do think those people are actually evil, even though they still may have a good quality or two. Hey, even Hitler loved dogs.

If you are offended by my joke page, its purpose is not really to make fun of people with NPD, but to make them seem less dangerous to people enmeshed or trying to escape a relationship with one. The jokes help make them seem less frightening. Sometimes it helps us to laugh.

4. What the hell is it with you and that idiot Sam Vankin? Why do you post so much of his shit and talk about him so much? That convicted criminal is a charlatan and faked his degree, Everyone knows that. You seem intelligent, but why would any smart person read his garbage is beyond me. He’s an idiot. I bet he must be paying you off to promote his shit here. He is also a horrible writer. JMO. Sorry I like your blog but it had to be said.

There is nothing with me and Sam Vaknin. He doesn’t “pay me off” LMAO!
For awhile I was writing a lot of articles about him because of my own fascination with him. You may not like his writing or his ideas, but he’s no idiot with an IQ of 180. He knows a lot about narcissism, probably more than some mental health professionals. That being said, he’s controversial and not everyone likes his ideas or agrees with him, and as a self professed malignant narcissist/psychopath, he’s not that nice a person either. There are a lot of smart people who read his stuff. I don’t agree with all his ideas, I just think he and his ideas are interesting. I don’t care about his criminal past or his degree status. It’s of no consequence to me. I think he’s as qualified as anyone else to write about narcissism because he has the disorder and can write about it from an “insider’s POV,” which someone who isn’t a narcissist cannot.

That being said, I am trying to focus on him less because of the fact he’s so controversial and there are many other people who have contributed as much to the field as he has.

I’m glad you like my blog though.

5. All Bloggers are Narcissists. Heres some advise. Get a job or a real hobby and stop writing about things you don’t know jackshit about as if your shit doesn’t stink. Thank you.

Excuse me, this IS my job (although it’s not paid) and my real hobby. It’s what I love to do more than anything else. No, I am not a mental health professional (which is stated in my disclaimer) but I do read a lot and I also think my experiences having been raised by and married to malignant narcissists makes me qualified to write a blog about this disorder. I write about a lot of other things too.
Also, learn how to spell or use Spellcheck. Your grammar could use some improvement too.

6. What gives you the right to act like your some sort of expert. Do you have a pyschology degree? If not then stfu and write about your kids school projects or something.

[This is the same person who write comment # 5.]
I never said I was an expert, but I do think I’m qualified to write about the things I write about. I do have a BA in psychology.

Sorry, but I will not “stfu” and I don’t want to write about my kids’ school projects. They’re 21 and 23 and are adults so they wouldn’t have any school projects anyway.

BTW, in your first sentence, you should have used “you’re,” not “your.” I hate grammar nazis but that drives me insane.