My journey so far: a timeline of recovery

Posted on December 15, 2014 by luckyotter

Here I am going to show you my timeline in recovery from narcissistic abuse because I’m noticing some fascinating patterns and certain things are becoming much more clear from looking at it.

My Recovery Timeline

2006: Following my divorce, my father sent me a copy of M. Scott Peck’s book “People of the Lie.” While I was still deeply enmeshed with my psychopathic ex, and nowhere near recovery, this was the book that planted the seed for what was to start growing years later. I think this was a sign from God that I needed to make some serious changes but I didn’t recognize it at the time. But I was able, for the first time, to recognize the MNs in my life for what they truly were: evil people. Recognition is the first step in recovery, even if it takes a while to get the ball rolling.

February 2014: 8 years later, I finally had the catalyst I needed and the strength of will to get rid of my narc, who had been leeching off me, using me and manipulating me and our kids for 7 years. (I had allowed him to move back in with me in 2007, a huge mistake). This decision arose from Michael becoming violent toward our daughter. I wasn’t aware before that physical violence wasn’t necessary to obtain a restraining order–I could have obtained one at any time since we were no longer legally married. But maybe I wasn’t strong enough yet and it took an act of violence to inspire me to finally take some real action. I put up with a lot of his other shit, but violence was something I simply would not tolerate, even in my weakened state. Yes, it was scary as hell to do this, but I am so glad I did.

February – July 2014: I had to learn how to live alone again and become independent. There was a part of me that felt I actually needed him, even though he “needed” me far more. I wasn’t just afraid of what he might do if I made him leave, I was also afraid of living alone without him, though I can’t really fathom why since all he did was use and abuse me. This was a difficult and lonely time, but I began to feel a little like a person again.

July – September 2014: I began to educate myself about narcissistic personality disorder and the community of survivors of narcissistic abuse, particularly ACONs. The first blog I started to read was Dr. George K. Simon’s excellent blog, Manipulative People. I posted a few times there and “came out” there as an ACON and abuse survivor, but mostly I just read. I also ordered his excellent books, “In Sheeps Clothing” and “Character Disturbance.” (You can find the links for both his blog and the books in the Info and Support tab in the green header above.) I also found other good blogs written by survivors of narcissism and psychopathy, and among these settled on a few favorites, especially Five Hundred Pound Peep’s blog because she was Aspie like me and had a mother who sounded almost exactly like mine. (Her blog is also listed in Info and Support).

September 2014: Inspired mostly by FHPP’s blog (but others too–see Info and Support for a list of other blogs and resources I think stand out), I decided to start my own. The decision came from out of the blue–it wasn’t something I had to think about. Prior to that, I had always been afraid to start a blog–I thought it would be too hard. But on September 10th it was like I got struck by lightning and without even thinking about it I went to WordPress (after first trying Blogspot and finding it required me to use my real name because it’s connected to Google) and immediately started a blog. In retrospect, I think this action was actually inspired in me by God. I was finally strong enough to start my own course of self therapy (and unbenownst to me, help others in the process of helping myself).

September – November 2014: While my blog wasn’t an immediate hit and started off quite slowly, I had several “mentors” along the way, such as OM from Harsh Reality, who helped me make my blog more visible and got me more followers. At first writing seemed like a chore sometimes and I had to discipline myself to write a post a day (and sometimes I skipped a day or two). Sometimes I wrote two. After a while I found that I couldn’t stop writing (and now I write about 3-5 a day!)

My early posts were almost as likely to be about topics besides narcissism (music, religion, funny rants, photos, etc.). It was good practice, but sometimes I think I was trying to distract myself from the real issue I needed to confront. Posting fluff pieces allowed me to avoid that, but still gave me practice writing and blogging every day.

By November I was addicted and rather than blogging seeming like a chore or work, it was becoming a passion. I was a writing maniac! I couldn’t seem to stop writing, and if you look at “Archives,” every month I have more posts than the last. I realized with great relief and joy that I had never lost my writing ability and this is actually my strongest method of communication. I began to build a small following. I had never known how to use the writing gift God gave me and didn’t think I could ever help anyone using it, especially myself. But all that was being proven wrong again and again.

During the same period of time, I began to explore spirituality and religion. Many of my posts are about my spiritual journey from near-agnosticism and even a slight antagonism toward Christianity, but sometime in October, through a sequence of events (the posts are under “My Story” in the green header), I settled on becoming a Catholic. It’s Christianity (though I know some Christians disagree!) but doesn’t go against my deep love and respect for science and other beliefs I hold dear that I cannot let go of. I have never liked the hellfire and brimstone doctrine of fundamentalist Christianity; but Catholicism isn’t wimpy and wishy washy either, like some liberal Protestant churches. I also love the Eucharist and all the ritual (for aesthetic reasons–I know ritual isn’t important in salvation). While I don’t agree with all Catholic doctrine, much to my surprise I found myself agreeing with most of it. I signed up for RCIA classes (Rite of Christian Initiation) at the local Catholic church and have been attending those and weekly Bible studies regularly. I will be accepted into the Catholic church at their Easter mass. I am very excited!

I believe now there was a very good reason for my becoming a Christian and strengthening my belief in Jesus Christ as God and savior when I did. Never before in my life had I been able to understand the concept of the Trinity or the concept of Jesus as a tripartate person of One God, or why he would have sacrificed himself for us on the Cross. Suddenly I found myself understanding these concepts and beginning to internalize them. Yes, I still have doubts and I still have problems with the Bible, and have not had any sudden, earthshattering conversion like Saul/Paul, but from my agnosticism of a couple of months back, I have gradually come to accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior, and that prepared me for the next step in my journey, because I was about to enter a very dark and potentially dangerous place for anyone who does not have a strong faith. It could have been my undoing, but is proving to be anything but.

November – December 2014: In mid-November, I watched “I Psychopath” for the second time and became fascinated with its subject, self-proclaimed narcissist Sam Vaknin, whose excellent (if rather scholarly and ponderous) writings about narcissism and narcissistic abuse are exhaustive and highly available to anyone who wants to read them. I wrote an article about my observations about the film, and Sam himself not only commented several times on my post, he shared it on social media so that in a matter of a day or two, I saw a spike in my stats like I’d never seen before. It was unreal.

I wrote a followup a few days later; the same thing happened. I started to read his personal journals and diaries, and found myself deep inside his strange psyche. I wanted to write a biography about him. A narc who was that insightful and (inadvertently) helped so many people was such an oxymoron I had to find out as much as I could about why someone could be like that. But in reading his honest but highly emotional journals and the devastating abuse that led to him developing NPD, I was feeling myself starting to be drawn to a very dark place. I couldn’t explain it, but I began to feel like I was losing focus on my OWN recovery, and the recovery of fellow ACONs and focusing entirely too much attention on one man’s disorder, for which there is no known cure.

So I decided last week to put the book idea on the back burner, until I am stronger and have gone further in my recovery journey. While I’m still reading his writings, it’s for education, not to focus all my attention on a project about someone else that would eclipse my own recovery. I prayed about this and felt that God had gave me the answer: keep this idea in your mind but put it on the back burner until you’re emotionally and spiritually stronger. Delving too deeply into a disordered mind like Vaknin’s at this point in my journey without proper armor could be mentally and spiritually dangerous.

So I moved on, but have found within the past week or so that my blog posts have become much deeper, darker and more focused on the supernatural and “evil” nature of NPD. My posts have also become a lot more personal and confessional. I’m digging deeper into the disorders of those who raised me.

While this might seem like a negative thing, it isn’t. Because looking at narcissism this way is giving me clarity and more incentive than ever to fight against its evil. We can’t fight against something or really deal with it on a deeper level until we understand its true nature (without allowing ourselves to be exposed to it). I am very careful not to engage with real-life narcissists or only engage with them as often as I absolutely must. This way, I am removed from it while at the same time I can study it at close range the way an astronomer can study the stars under a high powered telescope: he is not out there in the stars, but can study them with with objectivity and distance.

In my last post I described a powerful nightmare that stuck with me all day today (I did wind up going to work after all). I won’t analyze it piece by piece, but I think it was both a warning and a revelation: to move forward but tread carefully into the study of malignant narcissism and how it’s infected my family, because to be too hasty and dive too deep too soon in my present still fairly weak spiritual state could be my undoing.

I could be entering dangerous territory where I myself could be taken over by evil (represented at the end of the dream–I believe the robot-like “host” was actually a demon or the devil himself, who controlled everything in that house; and my inability to escape (except through waking) because the car (that represented God and light) that was to take me away had left. I did have the presence of mind to tell the devil to “go fuck himself” but that may have enraged him too. But the fact that through my terror I still had a fighting spirit and was willing to take him proved I have some strength of will now that I never had before. I think this dream was a warning to take things slowly and only with God by my side as my protector and guide.
Because when we are dealing with the subject of malignant narcissism, we are dealing with evil itself. My growing relationship with God is important to help me resist those evils even while exploring them in more depth.

God makes all things happen only when we are ready.

The poem I wrote yesterday was similar to my dream and very much related to it. In it, I was told I “passed the test” which I think means my “primary education” (being raised and abused by MNs and psychopaths most of my life) is now no longer necessary and now I’m ready to begin the next level of self discovery.

Over these past few months I’ve become less depressed and much happier overall. I feel for the first time in my life like God has a clear plan for me, I have a future and everything that led up to this was a test and an education. I feel like I’m being called to eventually help other victims find their way out of the barbed wire jungle of psychopathy and narcissism.

Why making your own timeline is a good idea.

Making a timeline is an exercise you can do too. You can chart out your own timeline of recovery in a similar manner and it will become much clearer how far you’ve come and what patterns have developed. You can also see where you may need to shift your focus if you have become stuck or are finding yourself in a dark place.

Timelines can also give you some idea of the next steps you may need to take. You can learn a lot about yourself and your recovery from doing this. You don’t have to make it public like I’ve done; you can do it with pen and paper and just keep it for your own reference. Seeing any kind of physical representation of your journey to recovery can give you an amazing amount of clarity and focus. Making a recovery timeline can act like a good pair of glasses.

Staying Balanced.

I think lately I’ve been focusing a little too much on the dark side of narcissism (well, it IS dark) but there is a good reason for that right now.

Still, I think everyone (including me) needs an antidote to all this darkness. So my next post after this will be about something positive or practical instead of something dark. It might even be about another subject besides NPD. It might even be a fluff post!

I want this blog to remain interesting to the followers who are reading it for other reasons. Not all my followers are ACONS or victims of other psychopathic relationships. I used to post more about other things but a lot of things have been happening to me from blogging about it and that’s why I seem to post less now about other topics that are more “fun” than narcissism. But we all need a break from it sometimes.

The House: a nightmare

Posted on December 15, 2014 by luckyotter

It’s 4:42 AM. I just woke up from a David Lynch-like nightmare and am writing it out here before it dissolves the way dreams always do. At the moment I’m still in the surreal mindspace that sometimes lingers after a vivid dream so it’s a good time to write about it. I haven’t thought out what it means, because it’s so involved and convoluted but I definitely think it has something to do with my recovery from the effects of my psychopaths.

I haven’t had a dream like this in a very long time. I know I won’t be able to get back to sleep, and have decided to call in sick today. I don’t feel very well anyway.

It started at work. My partner and I were sent to clean a house late in the afternoon, at about 2 PM. We had trouble finding it because it was in a very remote area with no street signs. We finally found the house at the top of a mountain, at the end of a long circuitous highway with many hairpin turns that went through mainly forest.

We were an hour or more late. The house turned out to be a much bigger job than we had been led to believe–involving things like cleaning an oven with 3-inch crusted on grease and cleaning the entire garage. Usually our work doesn’t involve such things and it’s possible to clean a good sized house in about 2 hours (with a partner). Alone, obviously it takes longer.

But I wasn’t alone. At least the lady I was with is someone I get along with.

The house was very large, really a mansion. It contained at least 8-10 people, possibly more. It turned out (at first) they were the present day version of a family I knew well back during childhood. In fact I had been good friends with their son, a boy about my age, who was bullied like I was and I am sure also suffered from Aspergers. I haven’t seen him in 40 years.

Things kept happening that kept us from being able to leave. The owners kept finding something else for us to clean. It was getting dark out and we weren’t even halfway done. Every time we’d clean something–stove, toilet, microwave, whatever–one of the family members or friends (they seemed to have a lot of visitors coming in and out too) would come and use it, so it would have to be cleaned again. It became apparent we would probably have to spend the night there and finish the job in the morning.

Somehow (I don’t understand how) I had packed two clear plastic zippered bags–one with clothing (all my favorite outfits–enough clothing for a week instead of a day), the other with a bunch of randomly thrown together boxes of unopened cosmetics and perfumes. That made no sense at all–were they supposed to be gifts?

We went to “bed” late. The cleaning wasn’t finished. There was no bed to sleep in so I was forced to try to sleep in a metal folding chair. I tried to get as comfortable as possible. This is where the dream starts to get fuzzy, really confusing, and weird.

There were people walking around everywhere. It seemed like some kind of party. Lights were turned up high and music was blasting. There was a girl I didn’t know but who was supposedly my childhood friend’s sister (he never had a sister) who kept coming over and screaming nonsense syllables into my ears whenever I’d start drifting off. There was also a very large cat, about 3 times the size of a normal cat. He looked like a wildcat of some type. I tried to stroke him and he hissed at me in a way I never saw a cat hiss. I backed away. Someone told me if I fed him he’d be friendly. I went and found my plastic zipper case and got out a candy bar because that’s the only food I had (no one there offered us dinner). I fed the cat the candy bar. He ate it, stretched himself out, scratched a couch, and walked away.

I kept trying to sleep in that damned black folding chair. I couldn’t get comfortable no matter how much I shifted around. I was cold. The basement I was in was lit yellowish fluorescent, nasty and unrestful. Nothing cast a shadow it was so bright. There were a seemingly endless number of small, warren-like rooms and many narrow hallways. The girl and now a young guy with greasy hair and pimples who had the face of a meth-head kept giggling together and waking me up on purpose. Obviously psychopaths. I didn’t know where my partner was, and I didn’t even remember to look for her. I didn’t even remember why I was there.

I don’t think I slept at all. There was another man in the house who was an old co-worker of mine, who kept demanding I give him back his stereo. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Finally the sky outside began to get light and it was time to leave. I still didn’t know where my partner was, but I started off to gather my things to leave.

I couldn’t find either of my bags. I went from one warren-like room to another, not knowing how many there were or knowing how to get back to where I had been. Some of the rooms had strangers in them. I looked in every room, on every shelf, but they were nowhere to be found and none of the shady people I ran into had seen them. I felt I was being lied to. I felt strongly that someone (probably the evil girl and her meth-head boyfriend) had hidden them somewhere.

Frustrated and nearly crying, I found the two psychopaths in another room, one I hadn’t seen yet. There were so many! I asked them about my bags. The one contained all my favorite clothing. They acted all innocent and surprised and said they would help me look. I went outside and looked on the wraparound porch. The car taking my partner and I back to the office was ready to leave, and so was my partner, who was waiting outside. She had all her bags.

I told her I couldn’t find my bags so my partner came back in to help me look. The man who had accused me of stealing his stereo told me I’d better return it. I remembered something: the stereo (a small plastic one) was in the bag that didn’t have the clothing. (I know that doesn’t make any sense because originally it contained boxes of cosmetics, but this is a dream after all) I looked around frantically for both that and my clothing bag.

I went back outside. I went over to the car (now a sort of mini-bus or van) and saw its hatch was up. I looked inside the van which was lined with shelves that went about eight feet high (how to explain that, I have no idea). The shelves were full, but there, on the very top shelf, I found the blue plastic stereo, which had been haphazardly placed there, so that any motion of the vehicle would probably cause it to fall and break (and by the way, this was the same stereo I actually owned back in the 1980s). I told the man in the van to get me the stereo because I had to return it to someone and he did. I asked him about the bag of clothing. I scanned all the shelves. It wasn’t there either.

I went back into the house carrying the entire stereo. I found the man who I had “stolen” it from and returned it. He took it and walked away, saying nothing. I took another hike through the warren of rooms, scanning every possible nook and cranny for my clothing bag. It wasn’t there and still no one knew what I was talking about.

I went upstairs and looked in those rooms too. They were filthy again, the floors caked with mud and garbage strewn everywhere. All the rooms smelled like shit. There was no way they were getting cleaned, especially since the car outside was still waiting to take us back. There was no clothing bag there either. Everyone was very rude and acted like I was crazy. As I walked around looking, I could see them giving each other knowing glances out of the corners of my eyes. I wanted out of there so bad but I couldn’t leave until I found my clothes. Someone told me I was obsessing about the bag and someone else told me I had never had a bag of clothing with me. I was told I was imagining that I ever brought one (and actually, I don’t remember ever packing one because I didn’t realize I had a bag until I was already in that house). I felt the hostility of their glares. They didn’t want me there and I didn’t want to be there. These people and this house were evil. .

I had looked in every room of that house and asked every person and never found the bag. Perhaps there had never been one? I decided to give up and call it a loss. I had to leave. My partner was still waiting. It was growing late; I looked at my watch and saw it was 2 PM I had now been at that house almost 24 hours.

But I had one more thing to do. In the foyer by the front door there was a metal man, a sort of robot-like thing that wore a dinner jacket and tie but had a speaker you could talk into. He was the “host” of the house I was told. His eyes were blank because he was a robot but filled me with ice cold terror. They were black and opaque, the dead eyes of a psychopath. Behind them, they glowed dull red. I hated him more than I have ever hated anything, and I decided to tell him so. Somehow I just knew this inanimate piece of evil machinery was behind it all and responsible for everything that had gone wrong.

I screamed into the squawk box on his forehead: “I hate this place and I hate this house. You were the worst host I have ever met. You never offered me dinner, you kept giving us more work when we thought we were done, you kept messing up everything we cleaned, you didn’t offer me a bed or even a couch to sleep in but just a fucking metal folding chair, and then you had your minions downstairs keep waking me up when I started to fall asleep. I know they stole my bag and did something with it. I know I had it, and I know this house is full of liars. So I only have one more thing to add: Go fuck yourselves.”

I turned around and headed toward the door and the car was gone. I had no way to get out of there because it was way out in the country on top of a mountain. I could hear laughter behind me. Terrified, I woke up and decided to write this down. I wanted to write it before I completely shook off the surreal feeling it left me with.

I haven’t analyzed what this dream means yet but obviously it’s about my life. It was interesting. I know this dream was significant and a part of my recovery. This whole journey is definitely taking me to some very dark places, but it’s okay because I know God is with me. I couldn’t done this when I didn’t believe.

We were the lucky ones.

Posted on December 15, 2014 by luckyotter

“Narcissus and Echo” by David Revoy

Those of us who are ACONs and didn’t become narcs ourselves really are the lucky ones.

Narcissism, as I’ve written so many times, is a family disorder and is passed on through generations, both through the genes (as a predisposition, not as a “bad seed,” which I don’t believe in) and through early childhood abuse and neglect.

I’ve read so many of Sam Vaknin’s writings from his personal journal now. He is an ACON just like us but was never able to escape from developing the disorder himself, in spite of his insight and high intellectual ability. The abuse he suffered at his mother’s hands was horrific. With loving parents he may not have developed NPD.

I am also pretty sure my MN mother was sexually abused. I wrote about her childhood in this post. She never actually said she was, but she’s never talked much about her past. Most of what I know I pieced together from bits of information others told me. But even though sexual abuse was never mentioned, I strongly suspect she was and it would explain a LOT.

My MN ex was abused by his mother too. I haven’t written a lot about it, but someday soon I will. His mother was a malignant narcissist who mas a master manipulator and gaslighter, and physically abusive too.

I thought, “that could have been me.” It could have been any of us.

There are narcissists much worse than Sam, who have no insight and no desire to help others avoid people like themselves. Sam and his wife have chosen not to have children because of the devastating effects NPD could have on them–either as its victims or inheritors of the disorder. The fact he doesn’t want to burden a potential child with that proves to me he must have some semblance of a conscience, even if he thinks he doesn’t. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have NPD but he probably isn’t that malignant compared to some truly evil people out there. I wouldn’t call him a benign narcissist either though–his behavior in “I Psychopath” was pretty intolerable, for the most part, even if he made me laugh sometimes. Sometimes I feel sorry for his wife, who seems like a meek, codependent type and scored very high in empathy on the tests she had to take in that film. I hope he treats her well. But because he’s a narcissist, he probably doesn’t, even if he tries to.

I have complained endlessly about my disorders and the effects of narcissistic abuse on me at the hands of my family and my ex (as well as previous boyfriends before him–I’ve ALWAYS been attracted to narcissistic men, which is why I won’t enter into another romantic relationship ever again). But you know what? For all my social awkwardness, PTSD, BPD, avoidant personality, low self esteem, debilitating anxiety and hypervigilance, and intermittent major depressions, I wouldn’t trade any of that in exchange for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I could have EASILY become a narc. So could any of you reading this who suffered similar abuse, because you may have the gene for it or it runs in your bloodline, like it does in my FOO.

Maybe we suffer more than someone with NPD (although someone like Sam definitely suffers in his own way), but we have hope. We can get better. We can heal ourselves either through traditional therapy or writing about it. We can separate ourselves from the malignants and the psychopaths who hurt us (narcs can never escape from themselves and make no mistake–they are dangerous to themselves). Our healing may take a long time, it may not be easy, but we can get well. We can become whole, happy people. Because we have the willingness.

Narcissists do not. Their true self is so damaged and atrophied it can’t be accessed and the masks have no desire to get better, because the are just masks. The more malignant the narcissist, the less hope there is for them. The are the cursed ones. They are trapped in their sickness. The really unfair thing is, in most cases this was something done to them. That doesn’t excuse the way they act, but they never had a choice.

We were the lucky ones. We have hope because we never lost our true selves. Think about that the next time you feel like you’re worthless because of the mindgames your narc plays with you.

The most evil man I have ever seen

Posted on December 15, 2014 by luckyotter

Here’s another addition to my Museum of Narcissists:

This devastating documentary (from 2000) about Melvin Just, a psychopathic sexual abuser who systematically destroyed all his daughters and his 3 stepdaughters (and killed a nurse but was never charged) paints a graphic picture of highly malignant narcissist who seems as thoroughly evil as the devil himself. His wife, dying of lung cancer during the time of filming, appears to be a malignant narcissist herself, not much better than her husband. She may have been under his thrall so long (and was such an enabler) she became evil herself. Psychopathy is contagious.

The pitiful daughters and stepdaughters are shells of what they could have been; they all are addicted to drugs or alcohol and appear to be living in grinding poverty. They all seem like they’ve died inside–their cynical laughter and hard attitudes cover scars so deep they can probably never heal. These are all wasted lives. One of the older daughters, Ann, was highly intelligent and read a lot, including books about famous psychopaths. She made the connection and identified her father as a monster just like the killers she read about. But even though she seems less damaged than her sisters, she suffers from depression and suicidal ideation and has tried to attempt suicide several times.

Melvin Just is one of the most evil people I’ve ever seen. During his interviews he shows absolutely no remorse for his heinous actions and keeps denying any wrongdoing. He also has the opaque, dead, black eyes that very malignant people are known for. It’s hard to look at him even in video without feeling like his evil could somehow infect you.

The way the daughters react to his funeral at the end is both hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time. These are incredibly tortured women.

Did you ever almost not post something…

Posted on December 14, 2014 by luckyotter

…but went ahead and did it anyway?

I just did earlier today, with my poetry. I haven’t written poetry in years and I feel like it really isn’t good–too melodramatic and full of purple prose. Like a tacky velvet painting, done up with garish colors and second-rate drawing. Something you wouldn’t even bother selling because you know no one would buy it; so to get rid of it, you just wind up giving it to Goodwill or something.

I think my prose is much stronger. But people seemed to like the poem I wrote. It was also very cathartic for me to write that, and deeply personal. It’s easy to have second thoughts about making something that personal public. Especially for those of us who have lived with and been raised by narcs, everything is so damned dangerous.

To think that the world is full of malignant narcissists and psychopaths who could be stomping all over my fragile and bleeding heart which I just lay out there in the big wide open world of the Internet is a scary, scary thing, but as bloggers about narcissism, we can’t let that stop us. We must be brave.

Yeah, those narcs could be sitting there right now laughing at everything we write, even quoting us elsewhere and making fun of us among their sycophants. If we write about being victimized (which most of us do because that’s how we learned what we know), narcs are at least going to be reading our stuff. They will not be empathetic. If you think about that too much, you’ll lose your courage and won’t write anything.

So to hell with those narcs. They are going to read what we write. They love to read about themselves, even if it’s negative. To a narc, negative attention is better than no attention. It’s still narcissistic supply.

So what are they gonna do? Troll our sites? We can always not approve comments. So far I have only received one abusive comment and into “Trash” it went. Some narcissism writers have made their blogs private or required people to sign in before they can see any posts. I won’t do that with my blog. It’s an open book, available to everyone and anyone, even narcs.

This is a blog primarily meant to be a form of self-therapy (though it’s become a lot more) so why should I edit my thoughts and feelings? Why should I make my blog a “private club”? No, I won’t ever do that. I hate exclusivity and having to sign into a website. If I have to sign in, I probably won’t bother joining. So I’m not going to do that to you, either.

So anyway, after I posted my poetry I waited for the vomit sounds and crickets. I’m glad that hasn’t happened. My stupid hypervigilance again. I always short sell myself.

I kind of felt the same way posting “My Mother, the Exhibitionist” because the behavior I described in that post is deeply embarrassing to me (and almost borders on pornography). But it is a perfect example of the way some narcissists behave in front of their kids and others, and it affected me, so why would I NOT write about it?

The minute I start editing my thoughts on this blog is the minute I’ve sold out and the blog becomes something other than what it was meant to be–a public online diary. I will never sell out.

But I won’t ever talk about my crush on this blog. Ever. I know that’s probably got some wheels turning. Nyah nyah, too bad. Deal with it. 😉

Upgraded stats page: yea or nay?

Posted on December 14, 2014 by luckyotter

The only thing I like about the upgraded stats page is there’s a button to take you directly back to your site. Otherwise I don’t see much of an improvement if any, and I don’t like the simplified graphs at all. I liked being able to see number of views and number of hits so I can compare them. I don’t see where you can do that with the upgrade.

What do YOU think?

Today I cried.

Posted on December 14, 2014 by luckyotter

[My lame attempt at freeverse poetry, for whatever it’s worth.]

Softer, more buoyant than ocean water
Welcome as a warm spell in January
and sudden as a summer squall
hot floods of tears from some unknown cistern rise up and
caress my face like
the loving touch of the mother I longed for and never had and
my fears and doubts fade and dissolve

Relaxing, not scared and
Melting into this dark warm and unfamiliar place
I sleep but never forget.

Ascending to the surface through an ocean of dissolving dreams
I cry out to the stars: Where are you? Who are you? How did you know?
I wait and wait and wait and I
hear nothing but the endless silence of the stars and
the crashing of the waves on the faraway shore and
the beating of my heart and

I wait

Then the answer comes: I’ve always been here.
Look inside and then look up.
Loving arms reach down and lift me up and
hold me like my mother should have and then I hear these words:

“You have passed this test.
Now, armed with the twin swords of truth and light
the dangers you faced can no longer harm you.
You are strong, you are safe and
God anoints you
with every tear that falls.”

This search term had me spewing coffee out my nose

Posted on December 14, 2014 by luckyotter

dealing with narcissistic cake decorator coworker

I don’t know quite why this one sent me into fits of uncontrollable laughter, but it just did.

Do dogs go to heaven?

Posted on December 14, 2014 by luckyotter

This is the first time I am reblogging a post I disagree with. I respect this blogger’s religious beliefs and I’m a Christian, but sometimes the crazy on this blog is off the charts, with all its hellfire and brimstone pontifications and nutty conspiracy theories about things like the Illuminati. He has a vendetta against Catholics and I do have a problem with that.

I follow his blog anyway because of its WTF factor. I never commented on any of this blogger’s posts before but I couldn’t let this one pass.

When I look into the eyes of my dog (or any dog, or cat for that matter) I see love, pain, shame, joy, sadness, fear– the whole gamut of emotions humans experience there. They must have a soul. I think animals automatically go to heaven because they do not have free will.
Besides, Heaven without pets in it would be hell to me.

My mother, the exhibitionist.

Posted on December 13, 2014 by luckyotter

Painting of woman (title unknown) by Jeremy Lipking.

I have written before about how common it is for narcissists (especially somatic narcissists) to obsess over their (and their children’s) bodily functions. I even described my malignantly narcissistic mother’s obsession with my childhood BM’s and the Enema from Hell that was a constant threat if I failed to produce.

But there’s more to the obsession than this. For my mother, all bodily functions became performance art. Modesty was a foreign concept to her.

My mother was always an extremely beautiful woman with a sexy but slender body (which she spent hours every day keeping that way through constant exercise, yoga, and living on only salads, chicken and fish). She is still in good shape but has lost her facial beauty due to age and way too many facelifts which makes her appear to be wearing a mask–to my way of thinking, a sad and final physical manifestation of the psychological mask she has worn her entire life. She has become a walking, talking mask.

In her younger years she was an exhibitionist. She regularly walked around the house naked, or dressed in a flimsy diaphanous short negligee, with no panties on underneath. In fact, she never dressed in actual clothing unless she had to go out. My mother’s perfect naked body was almost completely visible under that sheer garment, especially when the light hit it a certain way. She cared not one whit that a child was present.

In the 1970s, during the womens’ movement, the popular book “Our Bodies, Ourselves” was her Bible. It was kept on the living room table for everyone to see, along with other coffee table books like “America the Beautiful.”

I remember being fascinated by that book, with its graphic descriptions of the most intimate female bodily functions, including sexual intercourse and masturbation. With equal parts of awe and a weird, squirmy, embarrassed feeling, I stared at the many black and white photographs of women breastfeeding, or giving birth, or lying on the OBGYN’s table with their legs in stirrups, or doing yoga naked, or dancing in groups with other naked women, pregnant or not.

I remember when my mother was married, I always could tell when she was having sex with my father, because she would groan loudly enough to make the whole house shake. Her moans and groans scared me at first, but after awhile I got used to it. I could tell when they were finished too, because she would announce loudly that she needed to douche to avoid getting pregnant.

After the divorce, when I was 14, things got even worse. We had moved to a small one bedroom apartment, and she took the living room (at least she had the human decency to let me have the bedroom). As a highly attractive and socially gregarious woman who always needed a source of male narcissistic supply, she had a running string of boyfriends. I was left alone overnight often–which I actually didn’t mind at all–because if she returned home with one of her dates, it meant they slept together on the pull out sofa,and THAT meant if I wanted to leave my room for any reason, I had to walk through the living room because there was no hallway.

Walking through the living room with them in there was so embarrassing, I would skulk through quickly with my eyes averted, trying not to see or be seen, but it never worked. She always wound up calling me in for some reason, sitting up from under the covers, her shapely naked breasts exposed, forcing me to look at her in bed with some man I did not know or want to know. I knew on some level that was her real reason for calling me in. She WANTED me to see.

She also always left the door open when she went to the bathroom. She didn’t care if I saw her. In fact, she would call me in while she was sitting on the toilet to ask me a question or tell me something. She wanted me to see but I have no idea why.

The worst thing was when she was having her period. I remember her describing loudly to anyone who would listen (or was forced to hear) the way the clotted menstrual blood would gush out and stream down her thighs when she got out of bed after it pooling inside her all night. She announced it as if she was announcing she just got a promotion at work or won some award.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a prude. I can appreciate the beauty of the female human body and even its mysterious, intimate, lifegiving functions, but these are private and not something a normal person shares publicly as if they’re discussing the news or the weather. Only a somatic narcissist (like my mother) does that. Because to them, it’s performance art and their body is an exhibit to be worshipped and admired, even during its uglier moments. Modesty is never on the radar.