I’m ready to kick some narc ass.

Posted on March 27, 2015 by luckyotter

Yesterday I wrote my rant about my psychopathic sperm donor getting an increase in his disability benefits because of his “homicidal tendencies.”

I was amazed by everyone’s support and encouragement to call out this useless POS and fight the travesty of his being rewarded by the system for being a potentially homicidal psychopath. I’m grateful to everyone for this, because it’s given me the courage to actually take this thing and run with it.

The first thing I need to do is contact the newspapers, either by writing a letter about this outrage or better, finding a sympathetic reporter to write up the story. I could also write a letter describing this travesty to politicians who would be sympathetic to my case. It was pointed out to me that conservatives would have a field day with this, which is very funny to me because I’m anything but a conservative. But hey, whatever works.

Since some of you asked, let me give a few details about why the sperm donor gets disability income. He has Type II diabetes, knee problems (he has trouble with his joints and kneecaps), and a host of mental disorders: he has been diagnosed with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and schizophrenia. Depression and anxiety are legitimate diagnoses, but PTSD is highly questionable and I know for a fact he does not have schizophrenia. He is a good actor and faked psychotic symptoms after his second rejection so he would qualify for a guaranteed income and never have to work a day in his life again. He’s actually a highly malignant psychopathic narcissist who is very intelligent but has zero insight. If you were to call him a narcissist, he would deny it or get angry. In fact, he’s very quick to call everyone else a narcissist, including me. If you asked him, he would probably tell you I abused him, and that’s why he has PTSD. In fact, he has said that. He’s a virtuoso at projection and the most skilled gaslighter I’ve ever known, bar none.

My father called him evil long before it even occurred to me that’s what he was. When he sent me M. Scott Peck’s “People of the Lie” back in 2005, before our divorce went through, he sent it with a note telling me to read it because it was about my ex husband. (I also discovered my mother in that book, and this horrified me but I knew it was true.)

It’s outrageous that this monster is faking psychotic symptoms and being rewarded for it. It’s outrageous that he claims to be a victim of narcissistic abuse with me as the narcissist. It’s beyond outrageous that he will be able to live comfortably, get full health coverage, and never have to work a day in his life and have plenty of disposable income from the back pay he is getting for the seven years he lived on my couch smoking weed and making troll posts on political websites while I worked my butt off to support him. It’s infuriating that while he lives the high life on his handouts, I will continue to be poor, struggling the pay the bills every month on my tiny income, not having any health insurance, and God forbid should I become disabled or ill, because there is no one who would or could take me in should that happen. If I get sick or disabled, I’ll be out on the streets. Getting disability requires that you do not work during the review process, which can take years. You need someone to support you during that time. If it weren’t for my allowing this malignant POS to freeload off me for seven years, that’s what would have happened to him. Oh, I could go on and on, but I’ll spare you.

Just writing this has made me angry. Dwelling too much on anger can cause bitterness and misery, but there is healthy anger too–righteous anger caused by realizing you have been had and are the victim of blatant injustice. Sitting around stewing about it can eat away at your soul, but anger can also be the impetus to get out there and make a stand. It’s the same sort of righteous anger that gave me the courage to finally kick out the psychopath when he physically attacked my daughter last year.

Standing up for my rights against a sick system that rewards evil and just plain laziness is a daunting prospect, to say the least, but I think maybe God is testing my courage and ability to make a stand. He knows I’m ready for this because I’ve let go of most of my fear. There’s always a reason for everything.

Fear is the only thing that holds us back from claiming our rights.

I think I’m ready to kick some narc ass.

ETA: I have one request for those of you who have Facebook accounts. Please share this on your timeline. I don’t dare post this on my FB account because it might be seen by him or people who know him, including my kids. But I’d like to get this out there to as many people as possible. Thanks!

The real reason highly sensitive people get bullied.

Posted on March 25, 2015 by luckyotter

I had an “Aha” moment today.

The reason highly sensitive people get bullied so often isn’t because of our sensitivity. It’s because of the dismally low self esteem that tends to go along with being that sensitive, especially if we were victimized by malignant narcissists and bullies when young.

Narcissists envy and fear high sensitivity.

Narcissists hate high sensitivity in others for two reasons: 1. They envy it because it’s something they can’t have or may have lost as children and it’s a sign of an authentic person, which is something they aren’t but wish they were; and 2. they fear it, because they know this quality makes it possible for to zero in on the emptiness hiding under the narcissist’s guise.

Their hatred and fear is expressed through love bombing followed by bullying and other forms of abuse meant to weaken the HSP. An HSP’s fragile ego can be destroyed or greatly diminished after years of bullying and abuse.

Sharon: an HSP who carried a can of Narc Repellent.

I was thinking about a woman I used to know named Sharon. She was an empathic young woman who felt everything so deeply–but mostly joy and love. She’s exquisitely sensitive but is also self confident (she was raised by very loving parents). She is comfortable enough with herself to show her vulnerability openly, allowing herself the liberty to feel all her emotions as well as share the emotions of her friends.

You might think Sharon is a magnet for bullies, but she’s not. She makes friends easily because she has such a loving and positive presence and and people feel like she cares about them, and she likes herself too (without being at all narcissistic). They are right.

Narcissists avoid Sharon like the plague. Why? They would probably love to get their hooks into her if they could, but Sharon’s confidence in herself and easygoing comfort around all kinds of people scares them right off. While still being emotionally vulnerable, Sharon is invulnerable to narcissists because they sense her strength. She’s indestructible and they know it. As a result Sharon is never victimized and tends to attract other loving people as her friends, people who just want to be around her because she’s a lot of fun but can also cry with you if that’s what you need.

If you’re a highly sensitive adult whose self esteem has been destroyed by narcissistic abuse or a sensitive kid who has become insecure and fearful because of bullying, your high sensitivity will be expressed very differently than someone like Sharon.

Sensitive children do get tested by school bullies, and it’s harder to not let that damage your self image when you’re so young, especially if your parents are also bullies and have already done a number on your self esteem. But for an adult, most people will admire emotional openness and vulnerability or at least respect it–as long as they also know you respect and love yourself. People can sense when you’re comfortable in your own skin and narcs will stay far away, because they’re only attracted to codependent types who are unsure of themselves or their place in the world.

Being highly sensitive: a curse or a blessing?

A sensitive person who hates herself will tend to act in ways that attract mean people and bullies to them. They are unsure of themselves, fearful, easily depressed or discouraged, easily hurt, easily frustrated, paranoid, hypervigilant, and insecure. They are afraid of everything, and like ravenous wolves, narcissists can smell their fear. They see this–not the underlying sensitivity–as weakness, and they will horn in on such a person for narcissistic supply or bullying because they’re an easy mark who will be too afraid to call them out on their abuse.

Things are very different for a sensitive person with high self esteem. Such a person will be appreciative, insightful, observant, compassionate, forgiving (but not stupidly forgiving), affectionate, creative, a good listener, empathetic, and with a well developed (but never mean or sarcastic) sense of humor. They are not fearful and they know their place in the world. They have a clear sense of their own boundaries (and those of others) and know how to enforce them if they think they’re being violated. They attract people like themselves as friends and lovers and these relationships tend to be self-reinforcing for both parties.

Narcissists know a strong HSP is powerful and dangerous to them.

Malignant narcissists stay away from self-confident HSPs, because they know they’re much stronger than they are. They know they’re dealing with an authentic person who is happy with themselves and with life, while they are anything but. They know a confident HSP (not the same thing as narcissism) has a laser-like ability to see through their mask without fear and won’t hesitate to call them out when it’s necessary. To a malignant narcissist, a self-confident HSP is a very dangerous and powerful person. That’s why they work so hard to destroy our self confidence and make us hate and doubt ourselves. If we’re crippled by abuse, they can still get what they need from us (supply), without running the risk of having any damage done to them.

As my confidence has grown over these past two years, I’m noticing a transformation of my lifelong high sensitivity from something that made me feel weak and helpless for most of my life into something that makes me feel strong and authentic. I know now that this “curse” and “weakness” I was born with is really a blessing and a strength. I just needed to develop enough confidence to be able to use it effectively.

Learning to love your high sensitivity.

Here’ a few things I have learned.

1. If you have a talent or skill in one of the arts, use it to express what you’re really feeling. Painting, singing, dancing, writing, poetry–can all be ways we can release our deepest emotions in a “safe” way that’s socially acceptable. Don’t hold anything back when creating art, performing or writing. Allow yourself to be vulnerable even if it feels weird and awkward at first.

2. If you don’t have an artistic talent, take up a hobby that speaks to you or get involved in a sport such as running or take a martial arts class, which can build confidence. Activities that center you and build both inner and outer strength, such as yoga, can be helpful too.

3. Always be 100% honest about your emotions. If you’re very shy or fearful, write down your thoughts and feelings in a private journal. Don’t worry about the quality of writing–that’s all just gravy. The main point is to get your feelings down on paper. Seeing your thoughts on paper (or a computer screen) will give you clarity. If you choose to blog publicly instead, you will gain confidence from expressing your most private feelings to the whole world and from the feedback from others you will get. It can be very scary to publicly post something you wouldn’t tell your next door neighbor (as I have now twice this week!), but believe me, it’s worth it. You’ll be amazed at how much doing such a thing will increase your confidence and sense of inner strength. At first you’ll feel like you’re running around naked in public, but you’ll be amazed by the sense of freedom and liberation running around naked can give you! 🙂

4. Every day, try to do one nice thing for someone other than yourself. If you’re really ambitious, you can try volunteer work to help the poor, homeless, children, animals, or anyone more vulnerable or less fortunate than yourself. In doing so, you will feel like you have a purpose, and that you can help others. Knowing you have made someone happier will raise your self esteem.

5. Listen to music whenever you can. It’s second only to writing and blogging in my healing journey.

6. Surround yourself with positive people (not the same thing as positive-thinking nazis, who are often narcissists themselves) but authentic, happy people who accept you for who you are and don’t judge you.

7. Get narcissists away from you. No Contact is best, but is not always possible. If you can’t separate from your narcissist, read as much about their disorder as you can, and read about PTSD and complex PTSD and the devastating effects these character disordered people can have on the rest of us. Read books about highly sensitive people. Elaine Aron’s The Highly Sensitive Person is probably the best known (and an excellent book) but there are other books about HSPs too. Write down your feelings in a journal your narcissist cannot access.

8. Try prayer. It does work.

He still lives in my dreams: the story of my abortion.

Posted on March 24, 2015 by luckyotter

Although I’m becoming Catholic in less than two weeks, my views on abortion are still more or less pro-choice, depending on the situation (such as rape or incest), but this post isn’t about my political or moral stance on abortion. It’s about something much closer to my heart than my views on political/religious issues.

It’s about the abortion I had in July of 1998, right at the 12th week, which is the deadline for first trimester, uncomplicated abortions.

I made my first confession tonight in preparation for receiving the sacraments of Communion and Confirmation at the Easter mass. A few days ago, Father C. told me to think about what I wanted to talk about in confession. Even though my abortion and infidelity while I was still married to my narcissist are in the distant past now, those were the things I wanted most to confess, because lately both have been weighing on my mind heavily, especially the abortion.

I won’t get into the whole sordid and sad story of my marriage to Michael, as it’s already been written about under “My Story” (links to that are in the header), but the short version is he was a terrible malignant narcissist in every way imaginable–abusive mentally, emotionally and sometimes physically (when he was drinking). I was miserable during the last years of our marriage and wasn’t in the best of mental health, having been hospitalized twice during the late 1990s for major depression and PTSD.

Michael had his own sins to contend with (but he probably never will because of his narcissism), but I was no saint either. As a Borderline–and at that time not yet knowing how to monitor and control my borderline tendencies (I learned those tools during my first psychiatric hospitalization in 1996)–I tended to act out in impulsive, dramatic and inadvertently selfish ways.

As my husband’s primary source of narcissistic supply and his #1 victim, I was frantic, scared, frustrated, depressed and lonely, and longed for love, tenderness and physical affection. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but simply didn’t think of the needs of others, even my own two children, when there was something I wanted to do, like get together with a new lover. In a person with BPD, this self-centeredness is due more to obliviousness to the feelings of others rather than not caring how they feel. Borderlines also have abandonment issues–that is their greatest fear. I was already emotionally abandoned by my narc husband and had always felt abandoned by my parents, and I longed for connection and affection.

I never made a conscious decision to have an affair, but it happened because I didn’t resist the temptation and once underway, I felt that this illicit relationship was something I needed.

At the hotel where I worked as a banquet server, I met a maintenance man there I’ll call Ryan. He was about 8 years younger than me. We got to be friends and talked a lot during our breaks. I felt very comfortable with him. I found out he was also a deejay at the hotel where we both worked. At many of the events and parties I served, Ryan spun discs when it was time for the guests to dance. At those times I’d go up and join him at the booth where he sat, and we’d talk while the guests danced and the music played.

Soon our friendship developed a sexual element. We realized we were both attracted to each other, though love was never part of the equation.

Michael and I had not had sex (after the love-bombing honeymoon phase of our relationship was over, I would not say what we did together in bed was making love) for several months by the time I met Ryan. About a month after we first met, in April 1998, he invited me to his house and we spent the entire night with our bodies wrapped around each other in his bed. We made love several times that night.

I called my kids and Michael but I didn’t go home that night. I made up some lie about staying with a girlfriend whose mother was ill. I was getting almost as good as Michael with the lying.

Ryan and I continued to see each other when we could. I was already neglecting my children who needed their mother, not to mention leaving them alone with their narc father. I still feel bad about that to this day and try to make it up by being overprotective now when they’re in their 20s and over-protectiveness is the last thing they need or want.

In August or September of that year I realized I’d missed my period and took a home pregnancy test one afternoon when I was home alone. It was positive.

I panicked. It wasn’t my husband’s child because the last time we’d had sex was months before I became pregnant. There was no way I could tell him I was carrying another man’s child–I couldn’t even imagine the abuse that would be inflicted on him or her. He was already abusive to his flesh and blood son, and he had told me he didn’t want any more children. I knew that if I went through with the pregnancy and had the child, both the child and I would be punished and I couldn’t allow that to happen.

I thought about adoption, but again, I would be subject to Michael’s abuse during the pregnancy especially once I started to show, as it would be a constant reminder to him I was pregnant with another man’s child. Then there was the matter of giving up the baby when it was born. I had no idea how I would explain to people how I could give up mine and Michael’s third child (I wouldn’t have dared tell anyone the child was not his).

I couldn’t decide what to do. But I had to make a decision quick–because I was closing in on 11 weeks and after the 12th week, you enter the second trimester and abortion becomes far more dangerous and medically complicated, not to mention more emotionally harrowing.

I have always been iffy about abortion, but at the time, I really didn’t see any other option. So I picked up the phone and called the local abortion clinic. They didn’t have an appointment for a week, which meant I would be right at 12 weeks–almost three months pregnant. I thought my belly was already showing a hint of a bump.

When the day came, I sat down with a nurse who was very friendly and sympathetic. She told me they had to take an ultrasound so they would know the location of the fetus in my womb before going in to remove it.

After the ultrasound, I surprised myself by asking the nurse if I could see it. She looked at me oddly, then shrugged and turned the screen facing me. I saw my baby there, glowing blue-white and floating in what looked like the darkness of space. I could see the little spine through the thin fetal skin, and it was perfect–it looked like a string of tiny seed pearls. I felt hot tears burn behind my eyelids but I didn’t cry. I swallowed hard and asked if she could tell the sex.

She looked at me sympathetically and then looked back at the screen to study it. She told me it was early, but she believed it was male. I just nodded and thought about that. My third child would have been a boy.

“Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” she asked, placing a soft motherly hand on my forearm.
“Yes,” I said.

The procedure itself wasn’t that awful. I was put in a twilight sleep and could barely tell what was going on. It wasn’t until afterwards, when Ryan was driving me home, that I suddenly began to feel sick. I ordered Ryan to pull over, stumbled out of the car, and threw up into the weeds by the side of the road. Even after my stomach emptied itself, I kept dry heaving. I was bleeding (which is normal) and crying from the pain. Ryan was concerned and came over to me (we were still friends after all this). I screamed at him to go away and leave me alone. Total borderline on my part.

At the time, even though I felt guilty about what I did, it didn’t bother me too much. I thought I had done the only thing I could have done. It wasn’t that I didn’t want this child, but that I couldn’t. The only future I could see for him was a childhood filled with abuse and pain meted out by his stepfather, my husband. He would punish me by punishing my child.

I didn’t think terminating that pregnancy bothered me that much, but on some level it must have, because every May, the month he would have been born, I find myself wishing him a happy birthday and telling him how sorry I am. I have done this every year since May of 2000.

In my dreams, I have watched him grow up into the almost 16 year old he would be right now. I always see him at the age he would have been at the time of the dream and he is always running away, fading into dream-space. I keep losing track of him. He always ignores my presence. I’m just some strange woman to him.

Even though this boy grew inside my body for three months, it weighs heavily on my heart that I don’t know him either. I don’t know one thing about him. I don’t know what he likes or dislikes, or what his interests or hobbies are. I don’t know what his personality is like. In my dreams he never talks to me, even if I try to talk to him. He always runs or turns away or dissolves into the dream space. One thing I can tell is that he is hurt and angry. He doesn’t know I’m his mother, but he does know he was inflicted with the ultimate betrayal–not having been allowed to have a life. I know instinctively his hurt and anger is because of this.

There is a metaphysical wall I can never get past. I cannot know his spirit. I know what he looks like, or would have looked like because he always looks like the same person in my dreams. He changes because he’s growing up in dream-time but his face is always the same. He looks like a male version of me when I was young but his hair is much darker than mine.

I never gave him a name. Although I know God has forgiven me, I still regret never having been a mother to this boy, this third child who would have been my two older children’s little brother.

He lives on in my dreams. Maybe one day I will see him in heaven and he will have forgiven me.

After narcissistic abuse.

Image

Click to enlarge.

ETA: Here is an essay by Michelle Mallon, who wrote this letter. I’m not entirely sure, but I think the psychopathic therapist she writes about here may be the person she wrote this letter to.
http://www.naswoh.org/?page=mallon

It’s prudent to be careful who we choose as a therapist. So many of them are narcissistic or even psychopathic. They’re drawn to the field of psychotherapy because it allows them plenty of narcissistic supply and the opportunity to hurt vulnerable people. In a professional setting, it’s hard to see the red flags, especially if the therapist seems sympathetic.

If you begin to feel used, gaslighted or abused in any way by your therapist, or just feel uncomfortable around them, LEAVE.

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.

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.

Serendipity.

Posted on March 10, 2015 by luckyotter

Serendipity. Kismet. Miracles. Or coincidence?

We’ve all heard that God works in strange and mysterious ways. Here is a beautiful example of how a perfect storm of events can sometimes happen that seems anything but coincidental.

I just received an email from a follower I will call “Ana,” who found this blog when she was looking up a recipe for Merrimints candies and wasn’t looking for anything at all about NPD or Aspergers.

But it turned out that when she found her recipe on this blog, she realized the primary subject matter was exactly what she needed because she is an Aspie dealing with narcissistic abuse.

Here is her lovely email (I hope she doesn’t mind if I repost it here, but I have changed her name).

Somehow this must be kismet. My name is [Ana Rodriguez]. I too am a self diagnosed high functioning aspie who has had a lifetime of bullied existence and parents from hell. I was looking for a recipe and info on the mints and stumbled on this page. I am a member of “it’s all about him.com” and baggage reclaim and read them daily. I am currently just off surviving a npd relationship that has me twisted. My father was the narc-a much beloved town doctor-and drug addict. Crazy doesn’t even cover this-dickensian nightmare, oh god ! My mother was only concerned about him. She was obsessed with him and his moods. We children were nothing but irritants. Neither of them should have had children.

Welcome, Ana and I hope you find some support here. ❤

I don't believe in coincidences. I think everything happens for a reason and God orchestrates these little miracles that happen every day and we see them if we are paying attention. Every day he shows us his presence in small but profound ways.

Why are we all so old?

Posted on March 9, 2015 by luckyotter

It seems that most of us who have finally left their narcissistic abusers, blog about it, or have finally gone No Contact with their narcissistic FOO’s (family of origin) are not spring chickens. Most of us seem to range from our 40s to 60s.

We are just now finding out, late in life perhaps (but never too late), what WE are really all about and the way we wasted so many years staying with our abusers or allowing them to continue to control us, even from a long distance. Many of us remain terrified of our parents or siblings until a very late age. We unconsciously revert back to our childhood roles when forced to deal with them.

It hurts to realize that our younger years were wasted on being narcissistic supply to someone else, instead of becoming the productive, happy people God meant for us to be. There’s a lot of guilt when we realize how we cheated ourselves out of happiness. We neglected our abilities, abandoned our interests, never developed our minds and talents, and became vulnerable to mental illness, generally dismal self esteem, poverty and even chronic illness due to the abuse we endured. This is the way our narcs wanted us, because a weakened person is not a threat. A weakened person is obedient and won’t leave the narcissist. Most of us were trained from an early age to be supply for other narcissists.

While it’s natural to feel regret for all that we missed out on when we were younger, we need to forgive ourselves. What happened to us wasn’t our fault. It happened because we are nurturers by nature and attract narcissists who see us as easy marks. They are also pathologically envious of the qualities (such as empathy and love) we have that they will never possess. They want what we have but will slowly (or not so slowly) kill us to get it. But those qualities they envy and want so badly will always elude them, because they must come from inside themselves, not from others they have recruited to be their victims. Inside, they are emotional vacuums that are essentially empty but devour the life force from others.

It’s never too late for us to change, but I wonder why it is that you rarely sees narcissistic abuse bloggers who are much younger than their 40’s. Does it really take that long for us to wake up from our delusions that by only pleasing our narc that we will live happily ever after? And WHY does it take that long?

It’s amazing how much I have learned about myself in one short year. I never believed people when they used to tell me I would be so much happier and more confident without my needy malignant narcissist ex-husband feeding off of my patience, my finances, my emotional stability, and even my sanity. I thought this shit was normal. I was accustomed to it. Now I know it was anything but normal. Seriously, you’d have to take a gun and shoot me in the head before I’d go back to living the way I did until just over a year ago.

On abused men.

I also sometimes wonder how many men have been victimized by narcissistic/psychopathic women (or other men). I know they exist but there seem to be very few men blogging or writing about their abuse. That’s probably because men have a harder time talking about their feelings, especially on a public blog or forum. To admit having been abused by a woman probably is seen by men as an admission of weakness, even though it’s really anything but.

I think men’s fear of being seen as weak or vulnerable puts them at a huge disadvantage and makes it less likely that they will ever be able to repair the damage done to their minds and emotions. Men are also less likely to enter therapy than women. They may finally leave their abuser, but they continue to suffer alone instead of sharing their pain and journey to wellness with others who have similar stories. I think that’s so sad.

Narcissist Achilles Heel

Posted on March 9, 2015 by luckyotter

This is a kind of a followup of yesterday’s rant about how I was played for a fool by someone I wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to due to my “malignant optimism.” A good post by a fellow blogger from the narc abuse community, as well as a great friend and supporter. I wanted to share her words. I hope my friend doesn’t mind.

Let this be a lesson to anyone who thinks a narcissist can ever be your friend. They cannot.

galesmind

I just read a very eloquent article by a really brilliant woman. You may know her.

My “friendship” with a famous narcissist is over.

This is her article I did reblog but I wanted to go further than that. What made this wonderful, caring brilliant woman care about an avowed narcissist who openly has great distain for women and people in general? She really cared about him and thought she could help him. This exact nature of hers to care about others is what entrapped her in his web. Back an forth he supported then he withdrew. He found out about her interest in narcissism from Googling his own name for heaven sake!! I made an innocuous comment and of course like the humorless narcissist he is he took offense. Instead of telling me off he went after her and blamed her for my words. If you are so proud of…

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My “friendship” with a famous narcissist is over.

Posted on March 7, 2015 by luckyotter

Some of you may have noticed I’m posting less these days. Not long ago I was averaging 3-5 new posts a day; now it’s about 1-2. To most of you, that’s probably still considered a lot of posts, but for a blogging demon like me, it’s pathetic and makes me ashamed of my lack of motivation. I hold myself to higher standards than one post a day. Lack of motivation was a problem for me during my years living with a narc; that’s not supposed to be in the picture anymore.

There are two reasons for my lack of motivation, but really just one. The first one is not the real reason but the one I’ve been using as an excuse to not post as much: too much work stress.

That’s a lie because I’ve always had too much work stress. Nothing has really changed on that front. In fact, I’m coping with work stress better than I used to, so that’s not the real reason at all.

The real reason is stupid and embarrassing, and that’s why I haven’t talked about it. Because I’m afraid I’ll be judged harshly because of it.

But I did commit to complete honesty on this blog, and I think it’s become pretty clear that nothing I confess to on this blog will be used against me or will make people judge me harshly (which is one of my biggest fears).

I also think by admitting what my problem is, that in itself might be the remedy and get my blogging mojo back up again.

So here’s the real truth.
I lost what I foolishly thought was a friendship with a man who writes books and is quite famous within the narcissistic abuse community. That man himself is a self-professed narcissist and that in itself should have been a huge red flag. I will not say his name (because I don’t want to have to add it as a tag here), but I think almost all of you in the narcissistic abuse community will know exactly who I am talking about.

I am not going to go into great detail about what happened because there is no reason to. There was never anything other than what I thought was a nice, professional online friendship. However, in my fascination with this man’s unusual mind, I became obsessed to an unhealthy level and found myself being drawn further in, even though I was simultaneously repelled by his personality.

I was not immune to his abuse. No one is. Get too close, and he will abuse you. Just because he writes books and runs forums and makes videos for victims of narcissistic abuse doesn’t mean he isn’t a snake who will bite you if you get too close.

The man’s initial love bombing of this blog was followed by using it and me for narcissistic supply followed by devaluation and unfair (and untrue) accusations against me. I will not go into the ugly details; it’s not necessary. In a nutshell, I offended him in some way, and now I am “the enemy.” Ultimately he blocked me on most social media. He used me and threw me away when I was no longer of use to him. That’s what narcs do. Just because they’re famous writers who navel-gaze at their own narcissism doesn’t make them some sort of exceptions. A narc is a narc, end of story. They’re all the same.

He no longer comes to this blog, which is probably a good thing, but I won’t lie–it hurts me that he doesn’t. I miss his presence. As a matter of fact, his disappearance and blocking me sent me into a kind of depression. But that’s just part of the abuse cycle a narc uses. I feel so stupid for thinking he was going to continue to be nice to me. That he was some kind of exception just because he’s intellectually brilliant and writes material for people like us.

Ding, ding, ding! WRONG.

But there’s a nice benefit to me from his rejection too. I used to live in mortal terror of offending this overly sensitive man because I didn’t want to lose his “friendship.” I felt like I had to tippytoe around him and never say anything critical about him in order to avoid offending him. I wasn’t even allowed to make a joke at his expense, and once when I said “LOL” to a valued member of this community who made a rather innocuous joke about him, he overreacted and flew into a narcissistic rage directed at me. He blocked me for one day and then unblocked me and apologized, but at the same time lso demanded that I never allow my commenters to make jokes at his expense ever again. Whoa. After that I was very careful not to insult him and never “like” any comment that even implied a criticism.

Now I can call him on his bullshit, and that’s good because calling out the narcs on their crap is part of what this blog is for. Narcissists deserve to be called out.

Offending him was inevitable because he’s a narc, and guess what. I don’t care. In fact I’m glad I offended him and he stopped coming here. Because now I can write whatever I want about him and not be afraid of offending him because I’m already on his shit list apparently, and he doesn’t come here anymore anyway so he probably won’t even see it.

Even though he’s a raging, batshit crazy horse’s ass, to be fair, he helped me a lot in the beginning getting this blog the jump start it needed and maximum visibility. There were heady days in November and December where my blog stats shot through the roof due to something I wrote about him that got shared by him everywhere. That was good for my self esteem. He also taught me a lot of things about narcissism as well as how to promote my blog on my own. He gave me validation, maybe even a little narcissistic supply of my own (which satisfied my own inner narcissist–we all have one).

I don’t need his help anymore. I can do this on my own. But I can’t help wishing he was still around. It was kind of a huge rush that someone I admired so much and was so well known seemed to like or at least take so much interest in my little blog. His attention made me feel kind of special, if truth be told.

In addition, I wanted nothing more than to see this self professed narcissist get healed, because it seemed to me, a narcissist with that much insight and intelligence actually had hope. But I was wrong. He has no hope because he hangs onto his narcissism as a kind of trophy, but more than that, he hangs onto it as a way to keep punishing himself because he hates himself more than anyone I have ever known. He suffers but he loves his suffering. He believes he deserves it. He believes he deserves to be hated. He devalues those who reach out to him in friendship. He cannot get well because he has chosen to remain a narcissist because he thinks it’s all he deserves and it gives him some sort of twisted satisfaction (as well as being his claim to fame and source of income).

So those heady days of fake “friendship” with a renowned narcissistic writer are gone. Whatever kind of friendship we had, if you can call an Internet relationship with a narcissist a friendship, is over.

He knows I no longer need his help. This blog is doing fine without him now. And he certainly wasn’t the only person who helped this blog get started anyway. But I can’t help feeling as if I did something wrong to make him cut me off. I don’t know what that thing was, because he’s not forthcoming and will probably never tell me what that thing was, if it was anything at all. He’s just another narcissist playing his narcissist games. Narcs don’t know the first thing about true friendship or even how to maintain a working professional relationship, which I stupidly thought we had.

I feel like I’ve been duped and taken for a fool, and that threw me off the roller coaster-like high I’d been riding on due to all his attention.

Okay, fine. Not only was my obsession becoming unhealthy, one day back in December, I was horrified to realize my intellectual Aspie obsession with a disordered man’s mind had developed into a massive infatuation. I was realistic about it though; I knew it was just a ridiculous crush. Not for one minute did I ever have any desire for it to materialize into anything but a pleasant mind diversion for myself alone.

For awhile that’s exactly what it remained. But some of my friends told me I had been taken in under his dangerous spell and to be very careful. They thought my obsession combined with the fact we were in direct communication was unhealthy and dangerous. I’m also afraid I might have driven off a few good friends due to my obsession. He’s not very well liked by some of my friends, and for good reason.

I understand I am not the first or the last person this man will have this kind of effect on. He’s charismatic and has a strange charm and many of us find his brilliant but disordered mind enthralling and exciting. These are exactly the same qualities cult leaders have over their followers and we all know how dangerous they can be.

The man’s works do have value though. He is a good writer and has a brilliant mind and if you keep your distance from him, his writings and videos can be valuable to us as ACONs and survivors of relationships with narcissists. Many people say his writings have changed their lives. I’m sure they are telling the truth. He gives good advice to abuse victims.

But that’s as far as it goes. I don’t agree with all his opinions and can understand the dislike some people have for his writings too. He’s pessimistic and dark and offers little to no hope for people suffering from NPD. His self hatred is so evident in his writings. He paints all narcissists as monsters because of his self hatred and that view has permeated the entire narcissistic abuse community, whether they like him or not.

While it’s good to think of narcissists as inhuman monsters when you’re trying to leave or disconnect from one, it’s actually a very toxic philosophy because this sort of negativity and pessimism demonizes a group of very sick people and gives them no hope, even those with insight who want to change, and they do exist. I’ve seen boards and blogs for narcissists who actually want to get well. Maybe they’re in the minority, but they’re out there–and they hate being stereotyped so negatively and offered nothing but hopelessness by a man who has turned his own malignant narcissism into a kind of performance art.

I was foolish and got way too close due to my morbid curiosity about what made this tragically disordered man’s mind tick. Like others have been (and who had warned me in advance), I was drawn too far inside this man’s darkness. A wise person will not go up to a poisonous snake and start trying to pet it, because the snake will bite you. Stupidly, I allowed myself to get too close to the snake and got bit. Duh.

Just because he writes material for victims of narcissistic abuse and some of it can be of value to us, doesn’t mean he’s a nice person. He is not a nice person. He is a narcissist. That should be enough warning right there.

I’m trying to move on from this experience. I appreciate what he’s done for this blog. His help in the beginning was invaluable and I’ll always be grateful to him for that, as well as teaching me so much about the way the narcissistic mind operates. He was a great teacher to me, for as long as that was possible. I will still continue to read his written material, but only as one among many others.

There is a Buddhist proverb: “when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” I believe he had a purpose to me, and his purpose has been fulfilled. But there will be other teachers. There already are other teachers–all of you who share your experiences with me on this blog. I value each one of you.

I have learned you will never be able to really understand the narcissistic mind. I tried, using his mind. The Poster Child of NPD. I tried to get as far inside his mind as it’s possible to go for someone who’s never actually met the person. I read voraciously, did my research, read interviews, heard stories from insiders who do know him, devoured his journals and poetry. I was so drawn to his disordered and undeniably fascinating mind, almost against my will. He had drawn me, as he has many others, under his powerful spell. But once I gained a kind of entry to his mind, it was like entering a hall of smoke and mirrors. I just kept getting more confused and disoriented and found that instead of my questions being answered, even more questions arose. Questions that led to more questions but never any real answers. That’s what happens if you are foolish enough to attempt to figure out what makes a narcissist tick. You will never figure it out but feel like you are losing your own mind in trying to do so.

I’ve been licking my wounds and feeling a little down because of what happened, and there you have it, folks. That’s the reason I haven’t been posting like a maniac. Please don’t judge me for that.

I love this blog and love my community of supporters and readers, and my TRUE FRIENDS. Soon I’ll have forgotten all about what happened. It won’t matter to me anymore. And I’ll be posting like a maniac again.