A pseudo-Liberal and a Conservative walk into a diner. (Sigh) Political discussion ensues…

I’m reblogging this post because the thoughts here are so similar to the ones expressed in my most recent post (even down to the “liberal tears” mug, haha). Have we “liberals” not all experienced this sort of frustration and exhaustion when dealing with Trump supporters this year?

Please leave comments under the original post.

 

The Chatty Introvert

I was supposed to work yesterday, but ended up getting called off. So, in a state of tiredness and profound boredom, I decided to leave the house and hang out at Denny’s with a book and my writing stuff. I felt like I’d rather die than sit there and tune out the living room TV and look at a computer screen for five more seconds.

But it was like nothing could go right yesterday. I was driving to my fave diner, and half-way there considered turning around. But I got there anyway, and maybe had 20 minutes to myself when someone else walked in (it was pouring rain) that I’d talked to before.

Somehow, a question about the Coexist bumper sticker on my car led to an hour of political discussion, since he figured I had a liberal lean.

I was not prepared for this.

Thanks to being away from…

View original post 886 more words

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A cat named Bill.

I’m just so exhausted, worn down, frustrated, and livid over Net Neutrality being on the chopping block now, and Trump saying he believes a pedophile and sexual abuser (Roy Moore) over the 9 women who have come forward.   He thinks a Christofascist pedophile and sexual abuser is better than a “liberal Democrat” (Doug Jones), who seems like a good man.   But that’s only the tip of the iceberg.  It’s all pretty overwhelming what they are doing.  I can’t even keep up with the terrible things they do every day.   It will take an entire generation, if not an entire lifetime, to recover.

It seems that all Trump and the GOP do is destroy everything and replace it with shit.  Sociopaths and bullies seem to be running everything right now and seem to love upsetting and pissing off “liberal snowflakes.” They even admit they love doing this.  Trump’s base really is deplorable, from what I have seen online.

A new kitten isn’t a cure, and it certainly won’t solve all these huge problems, but it will lift my spirits.   I know of a three month old male tabby who needs a home and I’ve been thinking about getting a new cat for a while now.  I am going to name him either Bill or Steve. Steve is funny (I love people names for cats), but my dad’s name was Bill (he passed away over a year ago)  and it would be a cool way to honor his memory.  I also used to read a comic strip with a character called Bill the Cat, so I think I’m going with Bill.

My low frustration tolerance.

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I’ve always been an impatient person, especially when it comes to trying to learning something new or getting something to work.   When I was a child, I regularly burst into tears of frustration or became agitated if I couldn’t solve a math problem (even though my father used to teach college level algebra, the math genes seem to have bypassed me), solve a difficult puzzle, or get a battery operated toy to work.

I still get frustrated with myself in jobs that have a high learning curve, if I don’t pick up things as fast as I think I should.    Maybe it’s because I set unrealistic standards of perfection for myself, or maybe my BPD lack of emotional regulation makes it hard for me to cope with very much frustration. Or maybe I’m just dumb with some things.

Many of us who blog know Opinionated Man is busy setting up his new self-hosted website and documenting every frustration, mishap, challenge and success–no matter how small–as he moves along in his new journey.   I give the man props for undertaking this risk, because to me, it seems like a huge risk, even though (for him at least) it’s a risk worth all the toil and tears.   It’s great to own your own home, but owning your own home means you have to do all the maintenance and repairs yourself (or contract them out), even if you do get to tear down walls, install Roman fountains in the living room, build a sarcophagus in the bathroom, and paint the exterior orange and purple. Personally, I think Opinionated Man has the patience of Job. Every day I read his running commentary on the transition to self hosting and I can do nothing but gawk in amazement as if he’s from another galaxy.

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I for one don’t know how he does it.   Self-hosting seems incredibly difficult to me, especially after the things he’s been describing!  On top of that, I’d be gnawing my cuticles down to bloody stumps of bone and flesh over the anxiety of possibly losing everything I’ve worked so hard on–or completely f’ing it up beyond repair.   My low frustration tolerance couldn’t handle that!  I’d be going nuts!  I think if it were me, they’d be carting me off to the loony bin about now.

So for the foreseeable future, until and if I have no other choice, I’m going to keep “renting” my domain from WordPress and let them take care of all the maintenance, even if it means I can’t tear down walls or change the color of my boring white walls.

 

I hate my BPD.

bpd_crazy

Sometimes my BPD rears its ugly head. It comes off as narcissism to people who don’t understand. I don’t always understand it either, and because impulsivity is a factor, when I act out in Borderline ways, I’m not even always aware at the time I’m doing it. Sometimes it doesn’t become clear to me until it’s pointed out to me later, and then I’m all, “Oh my God, what have I done?”
Then I beat myself up with guilt and shame, which is what I did today.

Even though I learned tools for handling my BPD when I was hospitalized (for Bipolar II) in 1996 and have found those tools helpful, sometimes it’s not enough and my BPD gets the best of me. I’ve been accused of being narcissistic before. I know I’m not a narcissist, but I can understand why some people might think so.

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God, I really hate this disorder. Out of all my disorders, it’s the worst one. It trips me up so often and destroys friendships and makes people think they can’t trust me. Then it’s very hard to convince them I never had ill intentions, but acted impulsively out of whatever emotion at the moment was driving my behavior.

I think blogging was the first step in my recovery from narcissistic abuse, but I’ve reached a place where a lot of emotional garbage that was buried and frozen because of my PTSD is coming up to the surface and it HURTS A LOT. I just wanted to cry all day. I didn’t but I wanted to.

I will still blog of course (I don’t plan to ever stop either), but my BPD is showing more and I think all the weird emotions I’m feeling that I can’t understand are becoming too much for me to handle alone anymore. It was suggested to me that I really need to seek counseling at this point. I know there are free or low cost mental health services in my area I could look into.

I hate my BPD. I wish it would just go away and stay away forever. It’s caused me and people I cared about so much misery. It’s destroyed so many friendships. I don’t want this anymore. I can live with my Aspergers and even enjoy it, but being a Borderline really sucks. 😦
Just one more way my FOO fucked me over…

Girl Scout Cookies and God…

Frustration___Co_Production_by_ttancredi
Original art from Deviantart.com

It’s times like this my self esteem and progress in healing seems to take a dive into the toilet.
I don’t handle frustration well at all, and it can set me off on my old unhealthy patterns of negative thinking, feeling victimized, and wallowing in self pity.

I am having the tranny rebuilt on my car, and have just enough money from my tax return to have it done. Of course, God always comes through if you ask, and that’s what he did–but I still can’t help feeling sorry for myself because now I have to use my tax return to replace my tranny (and have a car that runs by the end of this week) instead of doing things I would prefer to do, like going to a few concerts or even planning a weekend trip. I know I should be grateful this happened now–when I have the money–instead of later on, when most likely I would not be able to afford it at all.

For the past two days, my roommate hasn’t been feeling well, so she has allowed me to borrow her car to get back and forth to work. Today I needed to get to the bank before they closed to deposit my state return and buy a few groceries. I live about a mile and a half away from the store, and the weather is nice so walking (which I would up doing) isn’t really an issue.

My roommate’s car wouldn’t start and we couldn’t jump start it with my jump start machine either. My daughter has a friend who was picking her up to go to the mall, and it would have been easy enough for her to drop me off at the shopping center so I could do my errands, but she said there wasn’t enough room in the car (there wasn’t).

So I walked, and instead of feeling happy that I could enjoy this beautiful and mild late winter day with the breeze in my face, I felt petulant and victimized instead. When they drove past me and didn’t slow down to ask me if I needed a ride after all, I felt angry and just wanted to give them all the finger. I know it was irrational of me because there were already 5 people in the car along with a baby, but I couldn’t help feeling like the victim again.

Now I’m cranky and depressed and just feel like sleeping away the rest of the day. Is this terribly narcissistic of me? I think it really is. I hate myself for feeling this way, and sometimes it feels like these sort of situations just make dogmeat out of all the progress I’ve made.

I know those of us healing from narcissistic abuse and PTSD have setbacks, but I still can’t help feeling like the way I feel is just wrong and selfish. So there’s guilt on top of everything else.

I knew I needed to blog about this today, as embarrassing as it is to admit how immature and childish I am behaving. I’m sure many of you have felt similarly in these sort of frustrating situations, even when they’re relatively minor, as this one is.

I need to focus on my blessings: my car WILL be fixed (even though it will set me back) and I had an opportunity to take a nice long walk on a pretty day. I also stopped and bought a box of my favorite mint chocolate Girl Scout cookies from some girls outside the supermarket. Think I’ll go indulge now. When all else fails, chocolate is great therapy.

girl_scoutcookies
This may be the best therapy at times like this.

I’m frustrated.

For old times’ sake–

This article was my first big “win” after I started this blog. I only had this blog for 8 days at the time I wrote this post. I’m not the world’s most patient person, and was frustrated and discouraged because my blog had no visibility and I only had 12 followers, and no likes or comments to speak of. It was so disheartening to work on a post all night, and in the morning I’d find nothing but crickets and tumbleweeds under the post. So I wrote this whiny little rant.

OM (Opinionated Man, for those of you who might not know him by his famous initials) , decided to help me out and reblog it. Because OM is hugely popular with an enormous following (51,000 followers last I saw) , I was overloaded with views, comments, likes and new followers that day. It kept me so busy all weekend I practically got nothing else done!
After this happened, there was no stopping me. I was hooked.

I have also worked very, very hard to get this blog to where it is now. At first I had to force myself to write and sometimes it was a chore. But I kept at it, and soon it wasn’t work anymore it was play. November’s Nano Poblano challenge helped a lot. But even by then I was writing 2-3 posts a day. Now I average 4-5!

Other people do the work of getting it out there for me by sharing it on social media, even if you don’t like social media yourself. Making sure to have all available social media buttons under each post is essential for that. People probably won’t bother “sharing” your post it those buttons aren’t there.

Then there is the matter of connecting with the right people, or having the right people discover your blog and promote it. Sam Vaknin has a lot to do with this blog’s growing success, but I didn’t recruit him for that task. I just lucked out by writing one well timed article about him he happened to like (if you can call a mutually beneficial arrangement with a malignant narcissist/borderline psychopath a lucky thing). Now he’s here all the time and reads everything, even if he doesn’t comment (I can tell by how many views per day are from Macedonia).

Connecting with other bloggers, especially popular ones, helps a lot too. Fivehundredpoundpeep at Blogspot has me on her blogroll now that we’ve become friends and her blog is pretty popular so I get a lot “referrees” from there. This blog also appears on Narcwriters at Blogspot and people come here from there too. The stats give so much information it’s mindboggling.

Everything else just has to do with hard work and writing as much as you can. If I don’t feel like writing (because sometimes I don’t) I still will post something short or cute, a video or a photo. I also make every effort to answer all my comments. Even if a blog has the best written articles outside of Pulitzer Prize winners, if an admin ignores comments (or doesn’t allow comments, which is something I will never understand), that makes visitors feel ignored and eventually they will get bored and go away. No one wants to be ignored.
Lively discussions are the key to any successful blog.

If you told me in September this blog would have grown as much as it has in this amount of time (I even qualify to run ads on the site now due to a sufficient amount of traffic) I would have laughed in your face and called you deluded.

Now the sky’s the limit.

Lucky Otters Haven

frustrated

I started my blog a week ago as a form of self therapy and didn’t care if anyone read my stuff. Or didn’t think I cared. But I admit it: I do.

I read a lot of other blogs here at WordPress and some of them have thousands of followers and hundreds of comments for each post. Of course I realize most of these people have been at WordPress for a long time, and naturally those people will have more followers and comments than a newbie. Some of them may be professional bloggers who have paid for SEO and know all sorts of tricks I don’t to increase the numbers of hits they get.

But all that said, I still find it frustrating and disheartening when I spend hours writing a post and then another hour or so editing and trying to make it look great, only to come back…

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The House: a nightmare

shadowpeople

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.

metalfoldingchair

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.

nightmarehouse

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. .
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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.

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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.

A pretty good day

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Alright, so my day didn’t start out very good.

Yesterday I got my settlement check from the insurance company from the car accident Molly was in last month, and this morning had to go to the bank to open a savings account and deposit the rest in checking, so I was an hour late for work because the bank didn’t open until 9 AM and I didn’t want to be toting a huge check around all day.

At 8:30 I received a call from my boss. She screamed “WHERE ARE YOU?”
Rubbing my assaulted ear, I explained I’d left a message on voicemail at 6:30.
“BUT IT WASN’T ON VOICEMAIL! DON’T YOU REALIZE THIS IS OUR BUSIEST SEASON?” The implication that I was lying about leaving a message could not have been more obvious.
“I’m sorry, I did leave a message. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I won’t be more than an hour late.”
“WELL YOU BETTER MAKE IT QUICK!”
Click.

I opened up my laptop and Tweeted: “Today is going to be the day from hell.”
I quickly scanned my blog stats, and found them disappointing.
Mentally I felt my defensive armor going up and my cortisone levels rising. I braced myself for the attack I knew I’d be facing once I got to work.

Although I have nearly perfect attendance and am never late, sure enough, when I arrived at the office, my malignant narcissist boss screamed, “IT’S THE BUSIEST WEEK OF THE YEAR! DON’T YOU REALIZE THAT? YOU ARE RUINING THIS COMPANY!”
Facepalm.

I knew she wasn’t serious, because I do a good job, my attendance is good, and she’s like that with everyone (well, except for her flying monkeys and sycophants), but it still made me feel violated and angry. Narcissists have a way of doing that.

The other bad thing that happened this morning was my daughter Molly went to court and was sentenced to 30 days in jail. She will be out Christmas day (thank goodness for that!). The good thing is that when she gets out, she will owe no more fines (which are far more than she or I can afford) and will have no more probation. She’ll do her time and just has to stay out of trouble after that.

But the day got a lot better. While it wasn’t the day from heaven, it didn’t turn out to be the day from hell either. I made friends with Molly’s older boyfriend, Paul. We were texting each other back and forth about Molly’s day in court and what happened. When I got home from my long day at work, I called him, and we spent about two hours talking. He is very easy to talk to, even for an Aspie like myself–I always feel violated and threatened by the most simple telephone conversations. I always hated the sound of a ringing phone. But talking to Paul was different, and put me at ease.

Paul is not only comfortable to talk to, he genuinely and sincerely cares about Molly. He’s the first boyfriend she’s ever had who has really cared about her wellbeing and wants her to turn her life around instead of all the losers who did nothing but drag her down and use her. We talked mostly about Molly, and what we can do together to help her. He’s older than she is and she listens to him, where she hasn’t always listened to me (I’m her mom–that’s probably why!) He put money into her jail account so she can buy concessions and make phone calls.

The other day I wrote a long depressing post saying I thought Molly was a narcissist (and she may be), but once again I have doubts. Drug addiction and bipolar disorder can also cause a person to act in a narcissistic way. She also has a diagnosis of BPD and PTSD. People with BPD can act very much like narcissists, as can bipolar people in their “manic” phase.

The reason I’m once again doubting she’s a true narcissist is because when she was handcuffed today, Paul was there with her, and she looked at him and said, crying, “I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused everyone. I really want to change. I’m a terrible person.”

I don’t think she would have been faking those tears and those words; for what reason would she do so? Paul told me they have had some deep conversations about her behavior and run-ins with the law over the past decade and how much she doesn’t want to be part of that anymore. I think she was running around with some people who were very bad for her, because she thought she didn’t deserve or couldn’t do any better.

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Molly is intellectually brilliant and could do anything she wants in life. Once upon a time she was a straight-A student. But her self esteem is so low that she’s mostly associated with people far beneath her, people who do stupid things because they just aren’t very bright. Paul wants her to spend more time with her psychologically healthier friends who aren’t doing drugs, and meet some of his friends who are succeeding too.

Molly has never liked to read much (although she reads and writes very well), but in jail she will have a lot of time for reading (it beats playing cards and watching endless reruns of “Cops”). He told me about a book she had been talking about by the actress Kristen Johnson, called “Guts,” in which she describes her struggles with alcohol and drugs before she turned her life around. This book could be inspirational for her. Molly has always liked biographies and stories about people with substance abuse issues. I remember her favorite book in high school was one that had also been a favorite of mine when I was her age: “Go Ask Alice.”

I don’t have any family to speak of (or rather, none that I speak to), and certainly none in my area, but Paul invited me to his home for Thanksgiving. I invited my roommate to come along, but she declined, so it will just be the two of us. He’s new in this area and has no family here either. He’s cooking dinner and I’m bringing dessert and a bottle of red Merlot wine (my favorite).

Having been burned so many times by narcissists and psychopaths, I don’t trust people easily, so of course there’s a small nagging voice in my head warning me Paul may be a narcissist in the love-bombing phase, but I really, truly don’t think so.

Just the other day, Molly was talking about having kids someday. She’s never shown the slightest bit of interest in having children (she is a bit young still and certainly not emotionally ready), but she told me she would be interested if she was married, and she thinks Paul may be The One. I told her not to rush things and I would like her to attend school first. Paul and I think she just may do this once she is released. He wants to take her to the community college just to have a look around and maybe sign up for one class just to get her feet wet.

After putting most of the settlement in savings, I still have a little over $1,000 left, a nice sum of cash for someone as poor as I am. Some will be used for Christmas, but I decided to order a few books tonight. One was Kristen Johnson’s book “Guts” which I’ll bring to Molly; I also ordered a Wild Republic stuffed raccoon (a Christmas gift for my son (who already has “Alfonso” the river otter, who I wrote about)), and two more books about narcissism: Martha Stout’s “The Sociopath Next Door,” which I have heard great things about; and Sam Vaknin’s gigantic tome, “Malignant Self Love: Narcissism Revisited.”
I love to get things in the mail, especially books.

dancingsnoopy

Any day, no matter how shitty it starts, where I can make a new friend, feel hopeful about my kid, have a little money to spend, realize I won’t be alone on a big holiday after all, and get some new books to read, is a good day. And if I can end that day with a new blog post telling you what a good day it was, then it’s officially a great day.

I’m frustrated.

frustrated

I started my blog a week ago as a form of self therapy and didn’t care if anyone read my stuff. Or didn’t think I cared. But I admit it: I do.

I read a lot of other blogs here at WordPress and some of them have thousands of followers and hundreds of comments for each post. Of course I realize most of these people have been at WordPress for a long time, and naturally those people will have more followers and comments than a newbie. Some of them may be professional bloggers who have paid for SEO and know all sorts of tricks I don’t to increase the numbers of hits they get.

But all that said, I still find it frustrating and disheartening when I spend hours writing a post and then another hour or so editing and trying to make it look great, only to come back in the morning and find NO comments or even any likes.

I was a little afraid to post this because as a person surrounded by a lot of narcissists, I worry that I may be seen as a narcissist myself, and as I mentioned in other posts, blogging on a public website and airing your most private issues for the whole world to see is really a very narcissistic activity. Admitting you want more comments or followers is akin to the six year old who whines, “Look at MEEEEEE!” and “Do you like MEEEEEE?” I certainly don’t want to be seen as self indulgent and whiney.

But another part of me thinks it’s justified. All of us are narcissists to some degree or another whether we like it or not. We all fall somewhere on the continuum and it’s only human to want people to read the stuff you spent an entire evening working on. If I was just writing for myself, why spend so much time and effort on my blog’s appearance? Why pay for Custom Design? I might as well just put it in WordPad, errors in spelling and punctuation and and all.

My blog is my outlet. So I won’t censor myself except for a certain level of political correctness. I don’t like to offend people. Of course offending people is something that can’t be avoided unless I completely censor myself, which I won’t do. Political correctness is overrated anyway. Hell, it’s my blog and this is something that’s bothering me, so I’m posting it. It’s not like anyone’s reading my stuff anyway.

I do want to take a moment to thank Opinionated Man for his awesome blog Harsh Reality. His blog is very popular and its easy to understand why. OM gives fantastic advice to new bloggers. He’s always quick to reply to his comments and questions too. I’m trying some of the stuff he suggests to draw more attention to my blog; hopefully it works!

Patience is not a virtue of mine. Maybe I just have to chill and not worry so much about whether people are “Liking” or commenting on my posts or not.

I’m inviting others to share their experiences when they were new to blogging and let me know if they had this same problem when they started. If anyone has any tips for getting more traffic (though OM seems to have pretty much covered everything in his blog) please share that here too.

Meantime, I’ll keep writing regardless of whether anyone’s reading my blog or not.