The Sounds Of Silence

Silence is dangerous. It is emotionally unhealthy. It’s also unfair to suggest, imply or to tell someone that they need to shut up in some way because you are not comfortable with what they are sharing with you. I have to wonder how much of that implication given to silence has little to do with the person sharing and more to do with the person who doesn’t want to hear it.
~Kelli – The Ability to Love Recovery From Psychopathic Abuse (on WordPress)

What Crazymade Looks Like

Paula Carasquillo, creator of the blog Paula’s Pontifications which deals primarily with sociopaths wrote a blog which led me to discovering a video which allegedly has gone viral. Under normal circumstances generally I ‘Re-blog’ however, the particular posting which discusses this video on Paula’s blog is engaged in another discussion which I feel is off topic for the particular point I wish to make; however, I do wish to give her credit for at least providing a lead on this video. The hyperlink above will direct you to her blog.

The video may be difficult to witness, viewer discretion is advised:

For those of you who can’t see it…let me break it down for you…he’s FUCKING with her head…

FIRST…we don’t know what buttons he pushed because he only started recording once she began to ‘react’. It is clear he has been gaslighting her and doling out intermittent reinforcement. He knows this script, he knew exactly how she would react and he banked on it. This is probably a pattern for him. More than likely she hasn’t always melted down like this or else we’d have to question did he not know she was ‘crazy’ before he married her as he alleges to begin with? Sources report they have only been married since 2012. If I had a dollar for every time a victim has entered ‘the rooms’ with the words: “He called me crazy” or “He said his ex was crazy” I’d be a millionaire.

The video above is a prime example of the end results of AMBIENT abuse. It’s covert abuse and it’s oftentimes missed by the average person because there is a lack of awareness in the domestic violence community. Oftentimes victims are misdiagnosed when in fact they are in trauma and their minds have been shredded in tatters because the victim cannot identify what has been done to them, sometimes they’ve never been physically harmed and so it is that much harder to articulate or identify what has been done to them. This is often why victims stay in dysfunctional relationships so long. They can’t see it’s dysfunctional and the effect of the abuse has them believing that they really are the crazy ones and sometimes even believe they are the abuser in the relationship. In simple terms, this type of abuse is crazymaking.

The average person might not see the dynamics. Lets go through the script:

The scene opens at what I surmise is the precise moment following the ‘trigger’ or his button pushing.

We hear her in frustration scream: “I do ALL my shit to have a Saturday to hang out with my husband and yet ALLL your shit (unintelligible).”  He responds with: “All I want to do is get my tires rotated”

Now it’s clear this has to have been a longstanding problem between them. Most victims I have dealt with as well as myself have reported Narcissists do nothing but follow their own agenda. They make promises and plans and break them…they leave you waiting, anything and everything that is important to you must wait. Everything is last-minute, chaos, and revolves around them and their self-centered plans. If you want steak for dinner, they take you to a seafood restaurant. If you want to spend a day at the beach, they plan a ‘romantic’ day in the woods in 105 degree weather sans mosquito repellent. This type of activity with a covert abuser goes on constantly and it’s not because they’re dunces, it’s because it’s all about them. Over time, this becomes a challenge. They book all their time and when there is five minutes for some semblance of ‘quality time’ they make sure to book that up too with something that “MUST BE DONE” for THEM. If you dare to protest, you are labeled unreasonable or I dare say they might even project and call YOU selfish. This is what I believe is at work here. I’m gathering her meltdown is not so much because this ONE time she could not go to the lake, but rather they probably discussed this, she’s probably been the one BEGGING for some bonding time and of course he probably ‘Yessed’ her all week. She probably knocked herself out making sure things were done on her end so they could be free and enjoy the day and in true passive aggressive fashion, he never had plans to go to the lake in the first place, he just did not feel she needed to know he was getting his tires changed until SHE was in the car. Are you seeing the pattern here? Over time, this type of behavior gets to you.

She is by her reactions displaying evidence that a pattern of covert abuse by him has more than likely occurred for some time. These types of emotional reactions don’t happen right away, it is triggered via a slow campaign by the abuser. He is pinning it on her, and I suspect for the first time the whole week while they had these plans, he decided while they were allegedly en route to the “lake trip” (which turned into the tire trip she wasn’t advised of), ON THE ROAD for perhaps the FIRST TIME she’s hearing it he asks: “But how do we have enough MONEY to go to the lake?” AS if that is the reason why they are not going to the lake and AS IF by magic somehow TIRES are the new priority.

Affordability for the lake might be a reasonable concern, but not one anyone sane asks about when you are to the best of your knowledge (because it was discussed) en-route on a trip to said lake (that was pre-planned) that instantly turns into a tire rotating trip.  I can imagine there is probably a cooler she packed in there, a lil blanket for the grass, maybe she even splurged on some wine…she probably spent a nice amount of time trying to plan around some quality time, making sure the chores were done, and it means not a thing to him because he’s decided at perhaps mile marker five on the highway ten minutes from the house, they’re going to the tire shop! POOF! Just like that…and of course her ‘anger’ is unreasonable to him because well, he needs TIRES! He needs them NOW! Because…well…it’s about HIM!

So, she brings up the budget. I suspect from this teeny bit of evidence, they’ve probably spoken about the budget and they probably have a lot of issues with the budget, because well, Narcs are really shitty when it comes to the budget and there is never any money unless it’s for THEM. Financial abuse is a very common complaint in these types of relationships and she is probably even more frustrated because she probably made some sacrifice in order for them to enjoy this trip that is now last-minute becoming a trip to the tire place…she gets upset and now needs a smoke and if you’re a smoker you can appreciate how when in the midst of a meltdown you need that smoke (it’s an addiction) and now he’s going to enjoy watching her beg and squirm before he stops off at a store so she can cop some cigs…IF he even does that. The point has nothing to do with whether smoking is bad or not…he knows she smokes and she is an adult. He’s denying her ‘pleasure’ which is subjective, pleasure can be anything but what he’s doing is subtle torture. This is not about arguing whether cigarettes are necessary. Any smoker will tell you when we need a cigarette we need one. When we don’t have one, we crave it the same way a junkie would need a hit of heroin, so right now, in a way she’s being put into further distress. The time to quit smoking is not in the midst of psychological abuse and knowing she is a smoker, and marrying her under those conditions further validates that in fact this is a method by which he is controlling, abusing and torturing her. He is getting pleasure out of it, listen to his condescending tone.

She begins to cry and begs PLEASE…and he continues denying, pushing buttons, and says: “I haven’t done shit” and the average person might think that he hasn’t done anything to cause such an extreme reaction because we don’t see him punch her in the face, kick her, bite her, slap her…what he’s done is much worse, he’s destroyed her mind with intermittent reinforcement, passive aggression, button pushing, gaslighting and other forms of covert hostility and abuse. Her crime? She wanted to spend time with him on the lake.  His response: Humiliate her and post the video on You Tube.

He then twists the story and blames this outburst when he says (her reaction) is “All over a pack of cigarettes?” He knows he’s recording her and he also knows most won’t see what he’s doing and he knows damn well why she’s reacting that way, he thows cigarettes in when she’s upset over the disappointment of perhaps the 1000th time not getting her needs met, which in this case was an afternoon by the lake WITH HIM.  Normal couples share things and do things together, but he’s making her out to be a nutcase for getting upset that it’s not happening, and I’ll go as far as to say by her reactions EVER!  As he baits her, her emotions rise…that is how button pushing works. At no time during this interaction does he show any empathy, consideration, care or concern for what she wanted. He knows why she’s pissed, he doesn’t care and that is probably what has her even more distressed because it is hard when you don’t understand NPD or any of the AXIS II Cluster B disorders how someone who ‘appears’ loving and considerate can be so indifferent, callous, cold and not really give a shit at all about you.  It’s even scarier when you can see they are enjoying watching you squirm because they also get a lil glint in the eye that can be quite unnerving.  This is a perfect example of a Narc watching you drown and eating a cheeseburger. This woman might actually be very lucky they did not make it to the lake.

He engages in more psychological control…He then in NARC SPEAK says: “Now Really? AND you want me to take you to the lake?” Which is translation for: Now You’re punished!

She finally seeks a lifeline…she goes for her phone, some kind of connection…she is reaching out…she can’t articulate what is wrong but she’s showing she has the trait of a survivor, she’s not just sitting there, yes she probably feels crazy but she has that drive to reach out…She’s hysterical…I NEVER GET MY WAY!!! I NEVER GET MY WAY!!! I JUST WANT ONE DAY!!!! She has probably been emotionally neglected by him for a time and the cork has finally popped. Many tout ‘Independence’ but to have expectations of sharing and bonding is actually emotional INTERDEPENDENCE which is crucial in any relationship.  Many confuse the term co-dependence.  Personally I think it’s bullshit healthy people bond.  If we’re going the route of complete independence then why the hell seek a companion…do YOU!  Those who elect to engage in a relationship do so with the understanding that there has to be some kind of give and take, otherwise it’s called being roomates and the upside to being a roomate is you don’t have to screw them.  That is the distinction in case anyone is wondering.  You can be rejected but for so many times before you snap.

Someone reading this might ask: Well why doesn’t she just leave!? It might look really stupid to the average viewer, she might appear to be over reacting; however, the problem is she’s been brainwashed already and she cannot see what he’s doing. The intermittent reinforcement screws up the radar and so an abuser trains a victim to keep waiting. It’s like Pavlov and the dogs.  It’s conditioning.  They dole out a little here a little there and in good times you think maybe you are being too demanding, they give you just enough to think they are trying and so you begin to have hope again, then they drop you but you get trained to wait for the good times to come around again…and you buy their excuses for why they can’t meet you half way…because there is always some drama or chaos or pressing reason why they can’t but they make sure to tell you how much they love you and need you even though every day you are dying a little death…and you really believe them because they don’t seem blatantly cruel. It’s like chinese emotional water torture, it’s doled out in drops – the hemorrhage comes slowly…

She finally screams: “Goddamn! Why can’t you just do it for me? Why is it so hard???” and he’s Mr. Smooth and unmoved by her distress. HIS reaction is the one that is ABNORMAL…he’s enjoying it. To gain pleasure in another’s suffering is a key trait of pathological behavior. He continues to bait her…and drive her completely insane just by pushing her buttons…

She then tells him: “I’m having an anxiety attack”…he replies…”It’s not my fault” (projecting blame)…he knows damn well what he’s doing and he’s taping it too because these types of abusers know exactly how to play the game and come off smelling like a rose. For the camera he ‘confirms’ for his audience…”I haven’t done anything Whitney.” He minimizes her anguish and distorts the picture and suggests “This is all because I gotta get shit done to my truck.” (First he blamed her reaction on cigarettes and now it’s his truck – not once did he even care to register the issue was the lake even though she’s in tears over the LAKE!). When she counters that is not the case, he retorts: “This is my day to get shit done too.” Then projects “You’re acting like an 11 year old that didn’t get the toy from Walmart.” If I’m really good, I suspect that is the age where his disorder started and it might have been triggered by some scene where HE didn’t get the toy from Walmart, but I’ll reserve the right to be wrong on that one small insight. A lot of things can be revealed by what these nut jobs say, you just have to know how to listen and that only comes with educating oneself on how this disorder works. He’s literally laughing at her pain, he’s gaining great pleasure out of it. This is ABUSE.

The video continues and it seems that there are some other maintenance issues with her car and the house, she says something about “I have to get somebody to get the floors done” (or something like that). These types also abuse by neglecting to do things around the home, important things when it comes to maintenance and they let them go. Leaving a home in tatters to where that too becomes a form of abuse when it is in disrepair, especially since for most women a decent home is a woman’s pride.  Perhaps not all men are handy, but then the solution is to make a way, to either pay someone to do it, or figure out how to get it done, but for these types, it’s another level of control, abuse and power…it’s hatred. It’s not love.  They get off on whatever makes their victim MISERABLE.

She shares: “Everybody at work makes comments about you!” and he responds: “When they see this video they’ll understand”

And yes sir, we do understand…You sir are an abuser of the worst kind.  You are officially a viral mascot for pathologicals.

Learn the signs, if you’re here, you’re not crazy…there is help.  Feel free to reach out…or join me on Facebook

Background to this video can also be found at: THE BLAZE

Post Script: In the article featured in The Blaze about this video, it is disclosed that the victim was the recipient of a DUI. That does not negate the fact that she is a victim of abuse and it is quite possible she turned to drinking as a result of the abuse. Finally, let’s play “Devil’s Advocate” let’s say she really is ‘crazy’…she’s obviously in some very obvious distress. Does HIS reaction seem normal even within that context? Does he show ANY empathy?…or does he seem rather entertained?…


This post will not be as full of piss and vinegar as my previous posts…September will mark three years since the Narc and I broke up. Might be two years, I don’t remember…nonetheless, we talk about red flags, subconscious warnings, premonitions…whatever is your flavor there are a few dreams that have piqued my attention and so I thought I’d share a little bit about how examining dreams might be helpful if you’re into that sort of thing.

I remember when the Narc was first courting me, when he was hard and heavy with all the love bombing we’ve come to understand is part of his charade just beneath the surface, YES…there were RED FLAGS…they were waving, smacking me in the face left and right but did I heed the warning? NOPE! Kelli from Ability to Love (also on WordPress) shared some thoughts on why I think I fell prey to such a scam. While our childhood backgrounds differ, some of what she shared I could identify with. Very early into this ‘courtship’ which lasted about a year before we ‘sealed the deal’ I remember having a dream that he invited all my family and friends over because he planned to marry me and he was going to announce it to everyone; however, in the dream, he did not propose to me, he just went about these plans without consulting me and had everything arranged and I was sleeping in my bedroom and he just opened the door and told me to wake up that the party was ready and we were getting married and I protested. I then woke up and had a full-blown panic attack. I was left there scratching my head because yes, I was sweet on him but at the same time I felt he was bulldozing his way into things and it was going to fast and something just did not sit right with me. At the same time, having wanted to get married someday, I wondered in the back of my mind why it would alarm me because I reasoned dreams are symbolic and instead chose to cling to the ‘symbolism’ of his ‘taking charge’…I dismissed it all – but my subconscious was definitely on point. That was my fail….

I also remember a time when he was going through some drama with his ex-wife who had this habit of removing license plates from his car for some un-godly reason (probably cheating) suggesting that if he wanted to work it out he should go to his sister’s house and take a bit of a time out. I reasoned it would give her some time to think it through and give him some time to think it through with the hopes that maybe some time apart would bring them both to their senses. Those of you not familiar with my story, I got caught up in a web simply trying to be a friend; however, I was targeted because he was about to be dumped and he was at no exit and so he needed a safe haven to get him through…I was for all intents and purposes supply…and yes, I survived but the whole ordeal was very devastating because most of us cannot really grasp that there are folks that can target someone and be so good at it…I digress…I remember him throwing up all kinds of excuses for why he couldn’t do that – despite simultaneously convincing me HE was a ‘domestic violence’ victim and I found myself at my wit’s end because for a year at that point I listened to his tales of woe ad-nauseum and tried everything in the book to try to help him get to some type of self-sufficiency and slowly but surely without my realizing it, he was wearing me down. I remember he called me late one night after the umpteenth time he had been kicked out of his house and the police were called and “blah, blah, blah” and I remembered his talk of being ‘powerless over his disease’ and in a moment of snark I replied in a text message…”I have to realize I am powerless over your addiction to drama”…humph! Talk about out of the mouths of hot babes! I don’t even know where that came from but once again it was a flag smacking me dead in the face…did I even acknowledge what came out of my own mouth? NOPE!

Shortly thereafter I assumed the role of clean up woman….the rest of the story you can probably write because our stories are all pretty much the same…beginning, middle and end…idealize, devalue and discard.

The end like most everyone else’s was kinda like a hornet’s nest that was disturbed, I realized I was involved with a stranger. We never really fought much but that was because he did everything to avoid and so I sat on one end of the relationship thinking it was rosy and yes, there were a few bumps but nothing that was a deal breaker and he…well, he was just out there doing his thing…because that is what they do…THEIR thing, whatever that thing is for the moment, and they do it quite well and so you would never suspect, unless of course…it’s TIME for you to know…whatever it is they need you to know because well…you’re not perfect, and well…you know…it’s time to fall from grace. I think the most insulting thing out of all of it is perhaps the radical downgrade they expose themselves to because it stings just a little bit more when you see who they are and where their true comfort levels are which is revealed in the ‘new’ choices they make – it’s a smack in the face to see you wasted your assets on someone who had no value for them. Hindsight is always 20/20, it’s just the way it is…Acceptance takes time but it gets to be ‘all good’ once again.

When the trauma first started coming to the surface, I remember having these haunting dreams that he was still with me, and we’d have these intense talks – that is one thing that I believe had magnetic pull – he was good at conversation but I realize now in a way he was mirroring me which is why the conversations were so good. They are chameleons and are exceptional actors, most are quick on their feet and intelligent and so they can pick up things without you even noticing it. I think I missed that part the most, not realizing he was really just giving ME back to myself. There was also this little boy side to him that made you want to just nurture the shit out of him. They play you like that – they play on your compassion and your sympathy, they know how to get their needs met by any and all means necessary – they know what makes you tick. I remember him saying in the end when I was raging at him: “I know YOU – you don’t know me!” That should have sent a chill up my spine but I did not know what NPD was at the time, I just assumed he was talking out of his asshole, because they also have a way of appearing like space cadets, they can master the art of being evasive and so you can get signals crossed if you are unaware of the disorder and the tactics they use to manipulate you.

When we were ‘allegedly’ trying to work it out…translation: I was trying to work it out because he was on pure cat plays with mouse mode and I was the mouse. He said to me, in a moment where I admitted (foolishly) that We screwed up “That’s what I was waiting for, for you to admit that…and now I want to be totally honest and open, I want to know your triggers.” I shared with someone earlier today that in a way, there were some angelic forces guiding me through all of this because whether I could see it or not, I was doing things that would allow me to get away, be it to disgust him to the point that he’d be no longer interested in me, or be it to place some kind of line in the sand that he would not dare cross. It was not an aggressive threat but rather I was doing things in such a way that harm would be caused to the relationship that would be irreparable, except it was as if something else other than me was taking over and guiding my actions. I remember during this time dreaming that we were walking down a street and six-foot mountains of his dirty laundry were littering the streets. With all that I discovered, I can’t imagine a more literal dream because the dirty laundry was flying out the hamper faster than I could keep up with. It was one of those times where you did not dare say things could not get any worse because the more you said it the more you were proved wrong…let me put it this way…the only thing missing from this disaster was a hidden affair with a goat! The only reason why I rule that out is because I live in the city.

I had many dreams of mourning, of crying, of intense pain and longing…it cut deep into my soul…I was sad for a very long time, and I found comfort in my anger because feeling the anger was so much easier. But as time passed, as I shared with others, and as I wrote it got easier. I realized that while he had a disorder, there was something about me that made me vulnerable to this type of exploitation and once I began to deal with that things got to a place where I could manage. It’s still very much a work in progress but it has nothing at all to do with him. It’s not even about blame but rather learning boundaries and recognizing the soul suckers and the miserable people who also walk this earth and making choices that are to my benefit in terms of what I wish to engage in and what needs to be fed with a long spoon.

Last night for some reason my mind took a turn. Might be a trigger of some sort, something about the time of year or the weather and I got to thinking about the reality of what he did and how he did it, and resentment crept up. This was a dude who in the blink of an eye just totally up and reinvented his life, lied, and justified his fuckuptedness, cast himself as the victim and then snatched a new hootchie off the street then married her. Bonus points, she’s a white chick which normally wouldn’t be a big deal except in his case it’s just another badge he can wear being he is not a white dude. To him, this chick says: “Look at me, I scored a white chick!” It’s about image in this case, it’s not about love. It’s about making HIM look good. I understand that some might not digest this statement well. I don’t know how to express this without sounding racist but it is my reality and I’m sticking with it; however, in my defense I am tri-racial, my grandfather was white and very much a surrogate father to me so this is not a jab at ‘white folks‘ but a statement of how racism is also part of disorder and something Narcs can use as a means of exploitation as well. And it CAN go a myriad of ways because at the end of the day, racism in and of itself is now being touted as a disorder. I feel the need to elaborate a tad more on this because it’s important to me that I’m not misunderstood. I am not suggesting that interracial relationships are wrong or there is something pathological with them. I am the product of an interracial relationship as is my mother; however, when we’re dealing with disordered people, we’re not talking about normal human emotions we are talking about ‘drives’ and so in the situation I am sharing what appears to me are additional dynamics is the narc’s own self loathing whereby he is idealizing a ‘white’ woman as a means of a surrogate identity, a means of being ‘superior’ coupled with a subconscious resentment of his mother (a latin woman) and so this rejection is manifested by devaluing and discarding anyone symbolic of his mother and worshiping and idealizing (marrying) her polar opposite. Doesn’t matter who or what it is, as long as it is the polar opposite of his mother. My observations are he picks homely white women. He’s had ‘women of color’ others quite beautiful with no real major issues, but he will not marry them. Couple that with an unattractive woman whose self-esteem may not be where it needs to be and he drops a few lines and she melts like butter. He sucks her in, gets her to ‘feel sorry’ for him, all his baggage and his sad lot in life and we now have the perfect scenario for the ‘White Savior‘ – these are all theories I’m throwing out there…I could be way off. He could be the mascot for mental health and she could very well be the most self-assured woman out there but I’m doubtful of that, because Narcs target people with cracks and if I know this NPD as well as I believe I do, there is a crack in there somewhere with her, taking looks OUT of the equation. It might just be her ego needing some stroking or better said – purpose. I believe this is part of his disorder manifesting but I wish to make it clear I do not believe all interracial relationships are disordered.

Anyway, I got pissed because I took a long hard look at me and I was cluster fucked because it’s one thing to be rejected, but another to be rejected and tossed aside for a downgrade so for a moment I was peeved, forgetting the core issue is his alleged disorder…and it lingered, and just like an earworm it wheedled its way into my subconscious and I had another dream…but I think its’ a good dream even if on the surface it was a horror. But I know for certain I have turned the corner…

Last night I dreamt that the narc in ‘classic triangulation mode’ elected to hit me up for some filler supply and he wanted to do the ‘deed’. In the dream I did not come straight out and say “NO!” but I was firm in my resolve it wasn’t going to happen. The reason why in the dream I did not vehemently protest was because I do know you have to coax their ego or you can be subjected to their rage and so I did not wish to set him off but rather gently ‘re-direct’ but in my mind it was not gonna happen, I can’t even imagine ever doing the deed with HIM again the thought of it brings on nausea. While I am at a place of acceptance, it’s not so much that he is married, or that he hurt me, or any of those things but rather to me at this point he is dirty and I cannot even go there in my mind. So while he’s sitting there in the livingroom I walked to the kitchen for a minute and when I came back to the livingroom he was gone but there were a few maggots on the floor. For some reason in my mind the best method for getting rid of them was to use a can of Raid roach spray so I went back to the kitchen to get the can and when I came back into the living room there were tens of thousands of maggots crawling on the floor and they were carrying articles of clothing on their backs the way ants might carry a leaf. Just like in real life, I start screaming: “Oh shit! Oh shit!” Somehow instead of just spraying haphazardly, I begin to spray it in such a way that they are led out the door to my apartment…it was like a Million Maggot March out my door, I was like the Pied Piper of Maggots and they all slowly just exited my apartment and I shut the door and could care less what happened to them once outside. I then became concerned about eggs and so I went to a crack in the wall, and I sprayed it and then became concerned that perhaps there was something dead behind the wall and the dream ended.

I looked up what maggots in a dream mean and there are various meanings; however I found this one interesting…
Interpretation from

To see maggots in your dream represent your anxieties about death. It may also be indicative of some issue or problem that you have been rejecting and it is now “eating away” at you. You need to confront it for it is destroying your sense of harmony and balance.

In particular, to dream that you are stepping on maggots indicate guilt and impurity. You are trying to repress your immoral thoughts or behavior. On a positive note, this dream symbolizes your resilience, persistence, and your ability to bounce back from adversity.

I do believe I am way past the stage of ever hoping or waiting for any closure or apology from the narc. In fact, I’ve made it clear that given this amount of time, I don’t even care to hear it because if after all the time that has passed he never of his own accord had any conscience whatsoever to even think it was the appropriate thing to do, something is way wrong and I don’t need the lip service. I have had to achieve my own closure and do my own work and the truth is I learned very valuable lessons and today I clearly see how much I was saved from a lifetime of misery. I would never have been truly happy. EVEN IF he’s normal, he could not meet MY standards and I was willing to live a life inside a box that was not me. My spirit was not free when I was with him, all my energy went into trying to be perfect and please HIM, a pattern I developed long before he stepped onto the scene and it was MY shit to own. That does not excuse or condone his behavior, but I see clearly had my head not been slammed into the wall as brutally as he did it with his behavior, I would have continued to attract disordered and/or unavailable, needy men who were not strong enough to stand on their own. I realized relationships are supposed to be journeys, not based on rescues but rather shared experiences, that each person ought to complement one another, not replicate the relationship between mother and son. It is what narcs are most likely to manipulate and create but that is only so they can lash out later because the women in their lives regardless will always be the surrogates for the repressed rage they feel towards their mothers who either doted on them and created self-absorbed grandiose little monsters, or did not protect them from extreme abuse which caused them to develop the disorder as a means of self-protection. Either way, I am worth more than being MOMMIE to an overgrown adult and GOTDAMMIT I have my own ‘daddy issues’ to weed through. I needed to SEE this and that is what the Narc experience did for me…it SET ME FREE.

Those maggots in that dream in my house (the self) were the years of decay that existed and when I faced it, I said “Oh shit! Oh Shit!” boy did I say “Oh Shit!” because it all came up at once, it took over, it nearly ate me alive – but in the dream I did have power, I took control, I got all of it out and once it was out that was it, the door was shut on it…but I remain AWARE there is more work to do, there may still be something in there that needs to be rooted out (the possible dead thing behind the wall) but I am on the path and life could not be better despite everything that surrounds me. I own myself. I have no guilt or impurity for loving, or for who I am, or who I have been, but I do have resilience, persistence, and ability to bounce back from adversity. I believe each and every one of us who have been down this road have it…it takes time and it takes work. No more of that FIRE AND DESIRE bullshit!

It’s really good to see you again, baby
And I must admit you’re looking very, very, very nice these days
I guess life must be treating you well
Oh, me
Well, I’ve just been doin’ the same ol’ thing I’ve always been doin’
You know, I’ve got a new lady now
And it’s a little different then it was when I was with you
You know, I think back to when we met
The way I use to be and the cold way I use to act
But more than that. I think of how you changed me with your love and sensitivity
Remember when I used to

Love them and leave them
That’s what I used to do
Use and abuse them
Then I laid eyes on you

It was pain before pleasure
That was my claim to fame
With every measure, baby
Tasted teardrop stains, yeah

I was cold as ice long ago, baby, baby
I wasn’t very, very, very nice, you know
Sugar, sugar, sugar
Then I kissed your lips

And you tuned on my fire, baby
And you burn me up within your flame
Took me a little higher
Made me live again

You turned on my fire, baby
Then you showed me what a love could do
Fire and desire, baby
Feel it comin’ through

And I thank you, baby
Oh, how I thank you, baby
You taught me so much
And you showed mw so much and love and sensitivity
That since you’ve been gone I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before
You know it’s funny how a man can change
So quickly from a cold blooded person
Thinkin’ he’s God gift to women
Remember how I use to do that
I must have been crazy then
Remember when you used to

Love them and leave them
Oh, that’s what I used to do
Use them and abuse them, whoa
Then I laid eyes on you

It was pain before pleasure
Oh, that was my claim to fame
With every measure
Tasted your teardrop stains, yeah

You were cold as ice (Woo…hoo…hoo…hoo…), baby, baby
(I-I wasn’t, I-I wasn’t very nice, I know, woo…)
Sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar
Then I kissed your lips

And you (You turned on) turned (You turned on) on
(You turned on my fire) my fire, baby (Ooh…)
Then you showed me what a love could do (Woo…hoo…)
Fire and desire (Fire and desire)
Feelin’ good to you (Feelin’ good to you)

You turned on my fire (Fire, ooh…ooh…), baby (Oh, baby)
And you burn me up within your flame (You burn me, you burn me)
Fire and desire (Fire and desire)
And we’re both to blame, both to blame (Ooh…ooh…)

You know
I guess I think we both said a little too much today (No, ooh…hoo…hoo…)
After all Tee, you’re kind of with somebody else
I’m kind of livin’ with somebody (Ooh…ooh…ooh…)
But please do me a favor just before you go (What is it, baby)
Just put your arms around me and hold me like you used (I wanna hold you tight)
Tell me “Rick” (Oh…oh…) “Everything is gonna be alright”
(Everything, everything, everything is gonna be alright)
Put your arms around me
Put your arms around me (Ooh…)
Oh, baby (Woo…ooh…ooh…)
Oh, baby (Ooh…ooh…ooh…ooh…ooh…ooh…ooh­…)

POST SCRIPT: After writing this, I thought about it some more…that’s what you do when you’re doing some work…and I realized the ‘trigger’ was more than likely Father’s Day…I always shared the Narc was a mix of issues I had with both my mother and my father…they were not on the pathological realm, but like most grown ups there is baggage. I wasn’t looking for ‘Daddy’ I don’t believe I’ve ever looked for ‘Daddy’ but there were things about him, the admirable parts of my father and some of the dark side of my father that made him ‘familiar’ and so I think that also had to do with the lure towards him despite the bells going off early on, coupled with some Mommie things I also noted…those things the analysts like to say we keep playing out till we get it right…the repetition compulsion…and now that I think about it, I think the ‘trigger’ which set my mind back to resentment was Father’s day and yes, the resentment towards him was certainly aimed at him, but subconsciously because it all appears to be a complicated web in terms of how I got caught up…what my ‘drive’ may have been or my attraction to him…it brought the whole situation up again in my mind. It’s resolved now…I think the dream is my subconscious awareness that in this journey in life there will always be things we can tweak and work on, but I don’t view this as a lifelong scar. I believe life will go on, I believe it will be good, and I even believe that there is a shoe out there for me, in fact I think the next round is really going to be exceptional because I had this experience which brought me into a whole new realm of awareness. There is hope. If you’re going through it…keep going…

A Very Simple Conclusion…

My take and my take only…

I’ve learned that once you learn you can see…

If you’re determined then their crazy won’t touch you.

If you haven’t let go of your own control issues then you will have a ton to talk about, and most will get bored listening to you.

Except others who also have a ton to talk about.

I’ve learned that whether they’re happy or not doesn’t matter, because they’re skilled enough to get their needs met so will always be satisfied – I accept that it ‘ain’t personal‘ and just because thousands said it is, doesn’t mean that’s true.

They’re really not all that fascinating but in fact quite simple…

Mind your own business is my mantra today…

If the grownup’s never intervened I might have been in a better place much sooner…

Cie La Vie…





I choose Freedom and to love authentically…

A Work In Progress…


Many victims of NPD abuse struggle with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD).   Whether diagnosed or not, if you’ve been in an NPD abuse relationship, you don’t need a diagnosis or someone to ‘crown’ you with (C)PTSD, you just know something is not right. You could be in the middle of something innocuous nothing particularly plaguing you when all of a sudden out of nowhere, a sound or a smell or the way the sun is lighting the sky somehow triggers this anxiety in you that you cannot control and all of a sudden this fear of impending doom, danger or death overcomes you.  I remember when involved with the narc this happening quite frequently and I could not figure out why on earth or how this seemingly ‘loving’ person could bring up such intense emotions…love and anxiety all at once in the same breath.  I remember going food shopping and having panic attacks in the snack aisle and I could not for the life of me pin point what it was about Doritos that triggered me…I had no idea I was suffering from (C)PTSD, I just knew I learned how to mask it well and nobody knew about my deep dark secret.  On bad days, I would just elect to wrap myself up in the cocoon and the safety of my home, and if I had no choice in the matter, learned how to use anger and rage to diffuse it.  I blamed it on hormones and PMS.  I thought it was a side effect of my disability, and sometimes I would spiral for a bit into a depression, but was always able to bounce out of it.  I reason now that perhaps I’ve earned my disability Fibromyalgia and CFS.  That is not to say that I believe the condition is psychological but that years of overtaxing my body with stress hormones, battling (C)PTSD and not knowing it, eventually my entire endocrine and nervous systems decided it was time to shut down.  One can run themselves into a rut which is why they say, stress is harmful…I floated around fronting for 30 some odd years before my body finally said:  “Fuck you!”  I was rendered permanently disabled at 35.

It is unfortunate that our mental health industry, and our courts are not up to par when it comes to NPD abuse issues and the psychological devastation, harm and assault it creates in hearts and minds of victims; it is even more tragic that we live in a society that can only measure harm in terms of broken bones and bruises; however, it is my hope that someday, we will get to a place where psychological harm is recognized as an assault as legitimate if not more damaging than a punch in the face.  In the interim, I have every faith that we can and will survive. We will overcome if even simply because we “will’ it so.

I prefer to look at us as ‘pioneers’ in a movement.  Each and every person whether they are recently victimized or have time under their belts and are now survivors, whether they write as a means of catharsis, or for the purposes of providing support, validation and education to the harmed masses, we all in some way by default are actively engaged in a movement.  I so pray that at some point, everyone who is using their gifts, talents and knowledge to raise awareness can one day unify in some form or fashion as it is with the unification and joining of such forces that I believe someday we will get our moment of justice…patience and perseverance are virtues.

I have read an article on PostTraumaticStressDisorder and it discussed various theories in terms of the disorder.  What resonated with me was the following:

“Another theory suggests that the intrusive memories, flashbacks, and dreams associated with PTSD result from an inability to integrate the traumatic experience into a person’s belief system about the world. Many people wonder why the traumatic event happened to them or to someone they love. But it might be this constant wondering why that leads to an inability to forget the event.”

For some reason, after reading this the phrase:  “Lack of Closure” kept repeating itself in my head.  I’d like to think I’m dealing with (C)PTSD and not hearing voices, I can attest I did not answer the voice so in most mental health circles, I think I am still on the ‘normal’ spectrum.  Nonetheless, this article kept replaying in my mind as I seem to have had a bit of a relapse and it was only recently that I could really see that I do have issues with (C)PTSD and how they have affected my entire life.

I’ve shared that I lost my father at the age of eleven to a violent crime.  A gunshot wound. My father despite his faults was my world; however, he did have some faults, addiction being one of them.  With this, I learned early on that my world was not resting on solid ground.  I begged him and pleaded with him to stop drinking.  He wasn’t a violent man, and in my adult reasoning, I can conclude he was self medicating vast amounts of pain…stories that as punishment his father would elect to have him kneel on uncooked rice with a gallon of water resting on hands at the ends of two outstretched arms and if he dared flinch he would be whipped. There were other stories of abuse, and somehow everyone continued to behave as if this was all normal and acceptable.  The other part of abuse is shame and how witnesses also are conditioned to practice the art of denial and shove shit under the rug. It was suggested that for whatever reason, my father was the black sheep of the family. It may have been earned but I often wonder if anyone ever developed the insight to understand the odds they were all up against. At least half of his siblings suffered from substance abuse issues. I don’t believe bad seeds are born, I believe they are made. I also think denial is a mother fucker. It is apparent to me that many addicts are self medicating, but within the world of addiction also lies a vast amount of pathology…some forms more sinister than others.  Nonetheless, my reference point of addicts because of the relationship with my father did not include the awareness that some addicts suffer from severe and abusive personality disorders which is why twenty-seven years later when I met the narc and he shared he was an ex crack addict I did not raise an eyebrow…my father was prior to becoming an alcoholic, an ex heroin addict. My career with drugs was short-lived. I tried pot twice in college. The first time nothing happened, the second time, I felt the need to puke my guts up…that was the beginning and the end of my drug career. I drank for a time, but when I noted a pattern that it was something I lived for on the weekends, knowing my familial history on both sides, I dropped the habit with a quickness. I did however, take to cigarette smoking, as a matter of fact, I was such a square, I was a closet smoker for a long time. Smoking gave me a bit of a buzz until it didn’t anymore, and before I knew it, I was addicted.

There is no doubt in my mind, I know my parents loved me…the best way they knew how.  Nonetheless, as I look back, it takes a lot of strength not to hold resentment and misgivings for how inadvertently they managed to successfully fuck me up.  I need to be raw here, this is not an occasion for rainbows and butterflies…the key to healing is getting it out with no shame and letting go of the shame attached to ‘what people will think.’  I am who I am, I had no control over what I was subjected to, just as my parents were also victims of abuse.  There are no generational curses, those ‘curses’ are evidence of lives gone wrong because there is a history of pathology in our ancestry.   Just like herpes, mental illness and abuse is a ‘gift’ that keeps on giving until someone decides to draw the line, abstain and refuse to give in.  At some point, someone gets the great courage to put the pieces together and decides the truth must come to light one way or another if any future generations are going to have some semblance of hope and ‘breaking the curse.’  It’s not fair that such defects in the human psyche exist, but at a certain point one must resign to the fact that shit happens.  It’s what you do about it that makes one stand out from the crowd.  The true test of courage rests in being able to call a spade a spade, even when fighting what that statement may bring to light about oneself.

Such a journey is not about pointing fingers, making excuses, casting blame but rather understanding the whys and the hows so that one can move on.  A therapist might be helpful, but if one has enough insight and can stand to be honest with themselves, personally, I am not sure if a pill can replace the healing that can take place when one is willing to dig deep and take inventory.  FEAR is a formidable opponent but the enemy is actually within oneself and it must be purged one way or another or it will continue to haunt and color one’s life.  (C)PTSD cannot be cured but it can be managed…my personal theory.   I can read and absorb information just like a therapist can and when you are going through life on a beer pocketbook, sometimes it is more prudent to do the work yourself and find your truth no matter how intimidating rather than rest on the professional opinion of someone who essentially is placing a diagnosis on you based upon a checklist.  I think everyone has their own personal flavor of crazy…it just gets dangerous when it reaches pathological proportions.  We all have varying degrees of quirks, but then there are some walking around with vats of disorder.  Those are the ones to run from with a quickness.  You cannot heal, help, cure or rescue anyone but yourself.  If one is going to truly heal from NPD abuse, one has to get real…face the demons and cut the bullshit once and for all and make an honest attempt at detoxing from delusions.

It is hard, it hurts and there is nothing glamorous about such a journey, but it is one worth taking as the other option is a slow spiritual and emotional and/or physical death.  One can rather easily succumb to such deep dark despair that suicide begins to look like a viable option.

My truth is I was born to less than perfect parents.  This does not make me unique or special and there are many who have suffered much greater than I have and for that I remain humble; however, when dealing with pain, pain is pain. One cannot measure whose is greater or less than another’s…it is pain and it hurts.  It damages, it destroys, it wounds it paralyzes it renders one defenseless until there is a pivotal moment where one has no choice but to look it in the eye, face it and defeat it…persevere in spite of it.

In doing the work recovering from NPD abuse, I’ve done my share of reading.  There is a reason why in my case I believe I was drawn to such an abusive relationship – this is a conflicting thought as I equally believe I was targeted.  If what we know about NPD and/or psychopaths is true, then I think two forces were at work…an inherent weakness in me that he sensed he could penetrate and feed off of.  It was my ignorance that led me down the path of being a victim.  I could not articulate, nor did I see how previous blueprints were in place that left me vulnerable.  I was conditioned early on to accept shoddy abusive behavior from as early as I could remember; therefore, what defenses would I have?  It is invalidating and re-victimizing to tell a victim they should have known better, where would such knowledge come from if it was never taught?  Yet, victims everywhere continue to be re-victimized by those whose ignorance thwarts sensitivity in understanding.  I’ve come to accept that Rome wasn’t built-in a day and so I don’t think this writing will be a groundbreaking opportunity to change the way society views victims of all forms of domestic violence; however, if this helps one person come to terms then I think it will at least justify a spit medal.

My area of expertise does not lie in being able to cite the traits of the personality disordered, nor do I have a desire to want to master that.  At the end of the day, I know the general criteria for various personality disorders, it’s part of recovery boot camp. Nonetheless, in layman’s terms I can sum it up in that we were dealing with some very dark Fucked up individuals.  If the mental health industry would get on board with that jargon it might be easier for the masses to absorb and perhaps we’d all be better off for it. We’d no longer have to pile through thousands and thousands of pages of documentation simply because our mental health experts are too lazy to take a few steps beyond their textbooks to get to the crux of what is ailing their clients.  Maybe they’d get skilled enough to understand that the only thing that helps is letting victims purge and act out their recently traumatized brand of crazy without judgment.  Maybe it would help if they themselves took a pill as I certainly have sat in a few shrinks offices where they proceeded to label me with some brand of bullshit when in fact, I’ve discovered in hindsight they’ve had no clue all along.  In one instance, I felt as if it was my calling to console the shrink after I let out all that I held inside…feeling no less better or arriving at a moment of clarity…the only clarity being the bill I received for services rendered which did little to resolve the problem.  I walked around wounded for years, and I wish to God I knew in my twenties what I know now…but as they say, better late than never.

The first time that PTSD blueprint was created was on May 15, 1979 when my father, who for as far as I could remember I loved with all my heart, but who also inadvertently trained me to walk on eggshells, fearing his imminent death due to abuse of alcohol walked home after being shot in the chest to say goodbye to me.  Recounting that moment in time all over again is almost surreal.  I remember my mother was out of work, laying on the living room sofa, perhaps depressed over the loss of her job and who knows what else.  I know it was about three thirty pm as I had just arrived home from school and we were having a discussion.  I was sitting on the living room floor, the console television on behind me, Days of our Lives was on the air.  The universe I presume always has a flair for irony.  My father who was no longer with my mother, was painting our dining room and he stepped out to buy some paint.  Despite their separation, he always had a set of keys to our apartment with him, as he always picked me up from school except for this particular day, so at first when the doorbell rang there was no real movement by either one of us to go answer the door.  In fact we just both sat there somewhat ignoring it.  Next I heard the buzzer ring but with more intensity, there was an urgency to it and of course, we figured my father was busting chops, he had a penchant for doing that at times…to get on my mother’s nerves, or perhaps he thought it was funny.  For example, whenever our bookshelf would get dusty, he’d write in the dust:  “DUST ME.” He’d do a lot of things that were a bit off-center, but there was an understanding between them and I knew despite the dysfunction, they both did their best to make sure that I knew I was loved even if it was a bizarre kind of love.  I can’t quite say I was abused even if some type of damage was done.  I think the problem lies in my inability to find intent to abuse even though there were actions that without a doubt were abusive.  I am not sure anyone gets through their childhood without some gripe of one flavor or another.  It sounds like a contradiction to say that I forgive, even if somehow all that did go wrong still haunts me.  I believe my mother suffered from PTSD.  I believe she’s been misdiagnosed and has struggled with all sorts of anxiety and depression.  I believe (C)PTSD is the culprit just based on what I know of her childhood and the extreme mental and emotional abuse that took place in my grandmother’s charge, coupled with a father that demonstrated his love by ensuring that the financial aspects of survival were in place but left two young vulnerable children alone to fight the complexities of life with little guidance.  Out of respect for my mother’s privacy, that is about all I can disclose, her story is her’s to tell but I can say that knowing what (C)PTSD does to people, her violent outbursts, her fits of rage, her uncontrollable temper which I was in the line of fire of most of the time was to a certain extent beyond her control.  I know she spent years in therapy, I know she has a diagnosis of depression which can be co-morbid with PTSD, and at one time I even suspected bi-polar, except she’s been frugal as all hell and I’ve never seen her get to any semblance of a euphoric high.  I am not a doctor to diagnose but if I had to diagnose, I’d place my wager on (C)PTSD.  Of course, being raised in this environment, it is easy to see how in a way, my script was written without much chance of revision…until now.

Returning to that day in May of 1979, the day my father was shot, I remember that as I was sitting there with my mother ignoring the buzzer.  We also heard banging of the vestibule door and a lot of voices screaming “Open Up! Open Up! He’s Shot!” For a moment, that still did not register I don’t believe my mother would have me open the door to something as traumatic as that had she had her wits about her at that moment, but we were in some kind of surreal trance, it happened so fast and I don’t think it registered.  I looked at her, she looked at me and I ‘dutifully’ walked to open the door.  I got up and buzzed them into the lobby. We lived on the first floor.  As I opened the door, about six or seven guys were surrounding him and I could not make out what they were saying because I went into shock right there….I just remember hearing all kinds of chaotic conversations, my father stumbling in through the door, my mother screaming “Call an Ambulance why did you bring him here?”  “Why didn’t you call the paramedics!” I don’t remember seeing blood, my last vision of him was a blur I blanked all of it out and I just ran straight into my mother’s room and screamed, just screamed – no words, just screamed but somehow despite all of this happening in an instant, I heard them say “He would not let us call an ambulance he wanted us to walk him home he said he wanted to see his baby before he died and as we were walking him up the street he was calling to his mother (who had died months earlier) saying ‘Momma I’m coming’.  I don’t know how long it took for the paramedics to come, I don’t know if they wheeled him out or if he walked out to the ambulance, I screamed and did nothing but scream for the whole time, I never saw him, I never had the chance to say goodbye, I hate that I was robbed of this, I hate that I was in shock, I hate all of it and I lived with this my whole life and you would think that by now re-telling would not have me well up on the verge of tears but even writing this I am sitting here in tears and I haven’t figured out if it’s anger, or pain, or rage or being denied the chance at justice.  The son of a bitch who shot him lived across the street from us and walked.  No one would come forward.

No one would tell me who the murderer was, I probably passed the piece of shit in the supermarket a number of times, there was this faceless piece of shit that stole my father from me and he walked. Where is the justice?  Where does a little girl go to find safety?  Answers? Peace? Protection? Comfort? The moment I dreaded, the fear I walked around with for years, my father’s imminent death was now here and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it except swallow it and now I had nothing.  Moreover, this nameless faceless piece of shit was still walking around, perhaps saw me in the morning walking to school and had a big ‘ol laugh at my expense…I might even have known him and greeted him.  To this day I don’t know who he was.

I hate that I could have the best therapy money could buy and the best pills my insurance will cover and this wound will never leave…this psychological keloid will never be removed…

There was a ‘rough’ family that lived around the corner from us. They had a bit of a racket going, maybe even full blooded psychopaths.  My neighborhood was close-knit and everyone knew everyone else and so everyone sort of lived and let live.  There was a spoken code, you don’t shit where you eat…dope fiends if you knew them, served as neighborhood security…crazy I know, but I never feared walking home late at night as I got older.  I recall shortly after the incident hearing whispers and talks when it was assumed I was asleep and I remember my mother sharing with someone that one of the ‘rough’ family members from around the corner offered my mother the opportunity for street justice since no one with any real power was going to step up to the plate on the legal front to avenge my father’s death.  I know this tale is beginning to take a turn and sounds like a ghettoesque version of Shakespeare meets Bruce Lee but it is what my reality was.  To my mother’s credit, she had the strength to decline the offer…when I was about fourteen, I heard a rumor that the murderer who was a gang member was found dead in an abandoned building up the street.  I hope it was them that did it, although my better judgment tells me they respected my mother’s wishes and that this individual essentially got what he had coming to him.

At some point during the chaos, I recall my mother finally coming into her bedroom where I stood screaming.  I remember her slapping me and me just hyperventilating holding back the sobs.  I could feel my ears burning and the force of the slap was a hot kind of numb.  I don’t know why and this part may be imagined, but she might even have had me breathe into a bag.  I don’t remember changing out of my uniform, I don’t remember how we got to the hospital, we had to have taken a cab.  But I do remember getting there, and perhaps my memory serves me as incorrect, but I remember my father’s brother coming to the hospital briefly to provide certain documentation but then he left, I don’t remember seeing him at all after that until the funeral.

I do recall my mother’s brother coming to the hospital and sitting with us.  We sat in the waiting room for hours.  At a certain point, my mother decided to go back home to check on the house. Given all the drama, for some reason she feared that someone might try to break in while we were gone.  I stayed in the waiting room with my Uncle and we just sat there in silence.  At about nine pm, the surgery was over.  My father was still alive at that point, and I walked down the corridor with my uncle and watched them wheel him into an elevator transporting him I presume to recovery.  Nothing was said, no information was shared, I just got to see my father wheeled from a distance to an elevator and my uncle and I returned to the waiting room.  About ten minutes had passed, actually ten minutes had passed because I remember looking at the clock and it read ten minutes after nine.  At that moment, the doctor called my uncle over and I felt this sense that my father was dead I felt something run through me it was a charge it could have been premonition, maybe his spirit didn’t flow through me, but I remember that sensation and when my uncle returned poker faced, I looked him dead in the eye and said:  “Daddy’s dead right?”  He denied it and told me everything was fine.  We continued to wait as my mother had not returned and we sat there in silence but I knew it was a lie, I knew my father was dead.

Shortly thereafter, my mother returned, and my uncle pulled her aside and there were some whispers going on between them, I then had both my uncle and my mother return poker faced…and we all rather robotically made our exit from the hospital.  No one said anything, we just walked down the ramp, through the opened parking lot in silence.  About a third of the way down the parking lot, my mother collapsed in tears.  I had never ever seen my mother break down.  This was a woman who was 5’10 with one hell of a temper, a bad ass for sure…who was reduced to a helpless child right there before my eyes. I took all of this in, but remained somehow removed.  It was if I was outside of my body witnessing all of this, and I watched my uncle try to console her.  She pulled it together enough to get to the curb where we hailed a cab.

Next thing I remember, we all sat in the living room my mother my uncle and I just sat there for a few moments in silence, the light from the dining room illuminating the living room.  My mother and my uncle looked at each other and my mother said:  “Your Uncle has something to tell you.”  Then he said, “Your father died.”  I felt nothing.  I felt numb.  I just took it in for a moment and immediately looked at my  mother who now began to cry again and I remember hugging her and telling her: “Don’t worry Mommie, we still have each other.”  But I felt nothing.  We packed overnight bags, and went home with my Uncle that night.  I don’t remember much of the next day.  I don’t remember talking or saying much, I don’t remember feeling. Everything seemed like it was in suspended animation.  It was as if my being were detached from my body and I could perform actions and speak when spoken to, follow whatever commands if any but I had no soul, I had no depth of feeling, I had no color, no hue, I was a walking shell.  I remained this shell throughout the entire ordeal up to and following the funeral.

I remember only one thing about that funeral.  I sat in the back of the parlor the entire time.  I remember my fourth grade teacher coming to the wake.  She sat in the back of the parlor with me.  I don’t remember anyone else there at all.  I remember her sitting with me and telling me not to grieve, that my father loved me, and that he was now always going to be with me.  I remember her telling me that he was sitting in the corner over his casket and was keeping watch over me, that he would always be with me and protect me.

I am remembering so many layers that existed before this, how I never felt safe.  How in some ways I always felt it was my job to keep everything on an even keel.  To not excite my mother to the point where her rage would be directed towards me and how to try my best to be extra good so that maybe, just maybe my father would stop drinking.  It bothers me that I can’t recollect a time between my mother and I where I felt I could be myself, where I felt safe, warm, protected, pampered, and somehow some way, I feel as if I learned early on how to be this perfect little girl.  Of course, my mother reminds me this wasn’t the case, I don’t know if it is invalidation, selective amnesia, but the truth is, I was not a bad girl, I learned how to occupy myself, I remember being very young and I presume my mother suffered from insomnia as I remember her rising rather late in the day on a number of occasions.  I don’t remember her working until I was about seven years old.  Again, to be fair, I can’t and I don’t fault her for anything that has gone wrong between us.  Fighting my own demons, I know how hard it is to fight to function barely enough to get through the day, and I believe she has beat incredible odds, I just think that by the time she became a parent, she was spent.  I know I wasn’t planned, I know that if she could escape having me she would, I know that by the same token she’s glad she had me, but she had no tools or experience from which to draw from when it came to the nurturing department.  I believe in her trauma, I became the ‘surrogate’ parent, the chore girl, and I spent a lot of time alone in isolation.  What saved me was that in my teens she allowed me to visit friend’s houses who did have normal families and it allowed for a respite.  I also had a grandfather who saw that my other needs were met in terms of the material and he and my uncle served as my ‘advocates’ when my mother got a bit too much out of control.  Nonetheless, very much like my mother, history repeated itself where by at the age of 12 I started to get an allowance from my grandfather which allowed me to ‘take care of myself’ and so I became in a sense independent of my mother.  My mother has certain misgivings about this; however, I think this is what saved me, as it gave me an outlet and opportunity to at least distract myself and not feel as trapped or deprived as I would have been had I not had what my grandfather could provide.

I just remember being a child and constantly being in fear of my mother, there did not seem to be any warmth, she was self-absorbed, and in her own world.  She’d come home from work and be in a terrible mood ALL THE TIME and after a while, I learned how to con my way out of this, but it was not without  consequence.  I realize now, she would lock herself in her room in seclusion, probably to minimize the amount of rage I could potentially be subjected to.  PTSD is a very strange creature…you never know when it will erupt, it takes all you have to keep in in check and I only became acutely aware of it, as I had successfully suppressed it up until the Narc blew the lid off the pot.  I haven’t quite figured out if that should result in a thank you or a fuck you…but either way, one thing I do know is true – for as much as he might have tried to destroy me, he can’t light a candle to me…and I have gotten my own revenge without having to really try, as the illusion has been shattered, and I can’t bring myself to respect him or pity him but can only shake my head and view him as an insignificant pompous ass who for all his feigned grandiosity, is the epitome of all glorified ghetto existing in the body of what can only be termed, the world’s oldest teenager.  There is no redemption when it comes to him, no way he will ever be able to bring sexy back in my eyes.  For that I remain grateful; however, the Pandora’s box has been opened, and I’m on the path.


Where to Now St. Peter

Elton John

I took myself a blue canoe

And I floated like a leaf

Dazzling, dancing half enchanted

In my Merlin sleep

Crazy was the feeling

Restless were my eyes

Insane they took the paddles

My arms they paralysed


So where to now St. Peter

If it’s true I’m in your hands

I may not be a Christian

But I’ve done all one man can

I understand I’m on the road

Where all that was is gone

So where to now St. Peter

Show me which road I’m on

Which road I’m on

It took a sweet young foreign gun

This lazy life is short

Something for nothing always ending

With a bad report

Dirty was the daybreak

Sudden was the change

In such a silent place as this

Beyond the rifle range

[repeat chorus]

I took myself a blue canoe

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Some Wolves Walk on Two Legs

The ‘love’ won’t be justified – I accept it…

My revenge is knowing that at the core

My sin lies in his envy…

His projected disgust my reality…

The irony…

The pain was played to my advantage…

Filler isn’t a soul connection…

Nor is it useful

His projections vs. my power


He hated that –

And I get pleasure out of that…

I was indeed a hot mess…

My ego slapped the shit out of me…

GROWTH never comes quietly…

It kicks your ass around the block…

Tosses you under the bus then says:


There’s choice…

Society has no sympathy for ‘victims‘…

It is eat or be eaten…

Somehow in between chaos Grace appears…

While she hides the gods are making plans…

I was spared from the fallout…

Someone saved my life…

The new one is so FUCKED…

While she plays alone…

Infidelity is Abuse

EXCERPT: Infidelity:  Not a Pretty Picture by Kay Rutherford, PhD, LPC, NCC, RN

Infidelity is a patriarchal way of controlling women. My work with infideled clients is very sad and thus, I share what I have professionally and personally learned: the basic premises of infidelity, the resultant trauma symptoms, infidelity’s abusive patterns, the societal acceptance of infidelity, and suggestions for counselors who work with infideled clients. My research is substantiated with interviews, an extensive bibliography selection, a trip to SubSaharan Africa and the results of a recent Women Studies class. In each section I compare the patriarchal control of women in America with that of SubSaharan Africa and the growing AIDS problems. As I tell my clients…there is almost always more to the story and it is usually not a pretty picture…

Infidelity Is Abuse

Infidelity is abuse because the characteristics of the unfaithful are like those of a batterer and the symptoms of the victim are like those of the battered. Sitting in on battered women’s groups, I heard the same things-women wanting to go back, full of anger and rage, saying they’d rather be beaten than wonder where their partner was sleeping at night.

The infidel has a sense of narcissistic entitlement exhibiting a pattern of behaviors that encompass more than just “the incident.” The damage he causes-to partner/s, children, family-never seems to hit home for him. He continues to blame her, something, or someone. He feels his actions are not his fault. He uses phrases that absolve him of responsibility and portrays innocence, “I’m holding her but loving you,” “She came on to me,” or “I need to have my needs met.” In actuality, it is all about him. He can only go to his own hurt, not others’. Some feel that infidelity is caused by sexual compulsion…

I recently heard a police psychologist refer to a client’s sexual addiction as self-soothing behaviors-a definite euphemism for dangerous acts which expose victims to much physical, psychological, emotional, verbal and spiritual abuse. “Chronic infidelity is abuse,” therapist Bancroft (2002) reminds us (I say any infidelity is abuse), and “twenty-five percent of abusive men cheat on their partners.”

Jennifer and Burt Schneider (1991) say the sexually addicted person  numbs out with sex, blames his partner when she is not sexually satisfied, and his bedroom is usually “a nightmare” for he will not let her sleep until his needs are satisfied. Bancroft disagrees with the label sexual addiction and tells us, “Infidelity is not sexual addiction or compulsion, it is sexual abuse.” [READ MORE]

Abuse-Can Be Subtle and Deadly

Rarely am I left with ‘nothing to add’…Phenomenally written, covers and explains all the points and exactly how this happens, and what it is…word.for.word – one of the best pieces I’ve come across if not in a long time, I’d dare say ever…succinct without anything extra…just laid out there…A MUST READ…

Abuse-Can Be Subtle and Deadly. (Lady With a Truck)

Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents: The Echoes by Beth McLarnan


Although the process of healing is difficult, it is possible for the Echo to find their voice and live a healthy life. If their therapist or counselor is familiar with the narcissistic family system, it is not difficult to spot an Echo client who displays ACOA symptoms, but whose childhood seemed “fine”.

What prevents someone who was raised in a narcissistic family from becoming one? It is the presence of an adult in their life: a teacher, parent, aunt or neighbor, who,knowingly or unknowingly, loved, and accepted them. If there was one person who did not get mad if they made a mistake, or did not expect anything in return if they did the child a favor, then through this healthy “mirror”, they could see themselves reflected as valuable, unique and loveable. They could experience being “good enough”,  just as they are. It is this same positive parent-child model that will help heal the adult child of a narcissist. Not tough love, not behavior

modification or psychoanalysis, but a healthy, truthful mirror of the client‟s inherent beauty
that is not based on what they do, but who they are. The beauty is flawed, imperfect, and prone to all sorts of mistakes, and miss-steps; but these are to be accepted, and learned from, not feared. That is the truth that will finally set the Echo child free…[READ MORE]