Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Not Allowed to Be A Girl!



                                                 [picture source]

This is part of my abuse that may weird some of you out. Be prepared, this is where the weirdness of my freakish upbringing really shows itself. I think it was insidious and evil. It really disturbs me now when I think about it. Even beyond sexual abuse, narcissists can use sexuality itself to destroy a soul.

Remember how I was an art teacher and majored in art education for my bachelor's degree? Well both my parents were against this. Later I would have my regrets worrying they were right, but if I had a healthy body, I would have gotten a decent middle school art teaching job. I did work in the field as an art teacher under a grant at a juvenile home which included art therapy for three and half years. Well one of the conversation was very odd we had, my father sneered at me, "That's a woman's job!" when I said I wanted to be an art teacher.

Now isn't that weird since I am and was a WOMAN?

But that is what I faced among my family. In many ways I was not treated as a girl growing up. It was really sickening. I am NO FAN OF FEMINISM, and maybe you all will see why.

 My father and mother in many ways seemed to be misogynists of the highest order. Obviously you all know I am no bra burning feminist, but there can be people out there who hate women.  Feminism and hatred of women can go together. I know some feminist readers may read this and not be happy at me saying this but there are the powers that be who have used negative aspects of feminism to enslave. My father I believe married the most masculine woman he could marry who was still "straight". He used to scoff at female tears as all manipulative feminine wiles. I realized my father hated women and hated emotions and femininity. This is why he picked the woman with no emotions and the hardness of the most stoic warrior on the planet off the shelf. He wanted to sleep with girls but hated girls.  My brother's womanizing ways was his own new thing but disrespect of women definitely is something he inherited from my father.

My mother was very hard like the hardest man, she did not cry, outside of cooking she explored no womanly arts. She wore only pants and very masculine clothing. Even the Mini-Me will only wear a dress for a rare 'special occasion' but otherwise dresses in Khakis and polo shirts like a man. Gentleness among the screaming and yelling was out the door. The worse aspects of feminism were shoved down my throat. I was told my career would empower me and that I was too fat and ugly to "marry well".

                                          [picture source]
                                         
My mother's best friend who dated back to high school was a feminist nun who participated politically in having women become priests and other feminist liberal agendas. Both her and his nun and other relatives when younger worked at this boy's military school run by priests and nuns which was notorious for the things you can guess many of those places are. Seeing the place listed on a SNAP forum creeped me out.

I learned about her extreme feminist proclivities looking her up as an adult but of course as a child only knew she wore more regular clothes then the nuns teaching me. She was the first canon lawyer in the Catholic church, she quit the nunnery and got a high level job in state education. Of course those connections were not used to help me get a teaching job. Growing up, she was one of those liberal nuns, who wore the plain habit. She would visit my family household all the time when I was in elementary school and she was my confirmation sponsor. A semi-rotund woman even in her youth, my parents emulated her, after all she worked with high level Bishops and Cardinals and was "connected". She didn't like a lot of my youthful religious questions or then burgeoning atheism but I could talk to her and thought she was at least a bit nicer then my mother. She was held up as a role model to me growing up. I was told to study hard, and basically become her, and that I should never marry or have children but focus on a career and perhaps even join the convent one day.

We would move away but my mother would remain in contact with Sister Feminist to this very day. She stopped having anything to do with me when she realized I was independent minded when it came to religion. I left the Catholic church when I was 17. She would not like the beliefs I have about Catholicism today or that I am a born again Christian today.

                                      [picture source]

As I wrote before both parents were very angry when I left the Catholic church, some of my family estrangement comes from that. However even after I left the Catholic church, my father would tell me I needed to be just like Sister Feminist. Both parents wanted me to be her. They were angry when I did not match her career mindedness or drive. They knew I questioned the system too and was not ready to become a papal bootlicker and were not happy. One day when I was home from college, I and my father got in a fight while we were downstairs cleaning the basement. He told me "Why am I helping you pay for college, when you could just join the convent and get your education for free like Sister Feminist?". I told him, that I had read enough memoirs on convents including Maria Monk, and not every nun gets a JD degree, they pick some to clean the priest's toilet instead and this is not via the individuals choice. He wouldn't listen but then complained, "Let the convent take care of you, you'll never get a job otherwise!" I pointed out then how I had left the Catholic church formally joining another church at the time. He said to me, "They don't need to know!"

I wondered if Sister Feminist may have been a lesbian but then she left the convent and was married twice, the second time after being widowed. She left the convent after 23 years in and told my mother she was tired of working as a lawyer nearly for free. I think about all this influence on my psyche at the time. I was paired up with Sister Feminist constantly who would visit and take me on trips to Catholic basilicas in the large city my family lived in. I remember one day she bought me this pink rosary.  When we moved away my contact with her became far less but the messages remained the same.

                                              [picture source]

My parents constantly told me I was too "ugly" and that I never would be married and no man would have me. That I was "too weird". Oddly at the same time they made extreme strict rules to guarantee these outcomes. I was not allowed to date like other girls or even talk to boys. Get too friendly or flirt with a boy and my mother would call me a whore. When one of my 13 year old friend's got pregnant she threatened to throw me out of the house. I would be a virgin into my twenties, but my mother treated me like I was out ready to prostitute in the streets. One odd thing I remember it is like my family wanted me to be a spinster by age 10.  By age 24 sans boyfriend, I met my husband at the age of 25, my family screamed at me for being an "old maid". The double messages hurt me badly.

I was not only dressed like a boy, I had to do a boys work. While my sister would be in the house helping my mother cook and prepare meals and dust, I was outside digging holes with my brother and father while wearing the t-shirts and dungarees.  I was kind of the extra worker, not good enough to be shown really how to fix the car which my brother was shown with both of them under the hood, but sent to fetch things and told to shut up. So it was like I wasn't treated like a girl but not a full boy either. I was expected to be as strong as a man, and back then before my health broke I did have some strength. This including carrying heavy boxes, heavy car parts, and moving couches.

My 6 figure earning parents didn't hire a moving company when they moved, they made me and brother move everything. When my parents moved 2 miles to a smaller house-well before my mother added on to it from our 6 bedroom country club house, they had some messed up house closing, where they talked a neighbor into storing our items in a large garage before the other house opened up. This means my brother and I had to move hundreds of boxes and items not once but TWICE. My sister didn't have to move anything.

I have noticed since joining Facebook, that all my young high school mates were married in their late teens and early 20s. Many are grandmothers today. I realized they were allowed to date and see boys and allowed to be girls and women wearing pretty dresses. Feminism was not used as a hammer on their heads and they weren't told to emulate a feminist nun as their role model because they were a bit on the heavy side. Even the fat girls got married and had children. I now realize how vast the divide was between how I was treated and my classmates.

What does it mean that I had to cry to get to wear a dress and never was allowed to wear a dress in high school? Oddly I had the favor of wearing my hair long while in elementary school and was saved enforced masculinity via Catholic school jumpers but when I hit junior high and we had moved out of the Catholic system, it's like my mother wanted to dress me like a little fat lumberjack.

                                              [picture source]

 I still remember my first day in public school, wearing a flannel shirt and Wrangler jeans, every class I walked into, the kids laughed and laughed some more. In high school, I got called "dyke" by some classmates as my mother forced me into too tight Lee Jeans and tailored shirts with tabs on the 3/4ths sleeves that I absolutely loathed. I was dressed like I was a would be transgendered person going from female to male but not by choice.  Jeans were the worse thing I could be wearing on a pear shaped fat body. I would cry for years for feminine clothes even some flat jelly shoes and be denied. Ugly sneakers adorned my feet just like boys wore too. I believe many narcissistic mothers wish to desexualize their daughters and dress them ugly so they are not competition. My mother did it to control my social status and keep it low. I also had severe neglect with clothing when my outfits became few in number. There were more then a few times when I only had two pairs of jeans to wear that fit or one or two sweaters.

I avoid jeans like the plague and the day I turned 21 and was out of the house threw them all in the trash and quit wearing them. When I was around 22-23 and buying all my own clothes I started wearing dresses as much as possible. I got stuck with a few cotton knit pants for work but in the mid90s I gave up wearing pants entirely on my extreme lipedemic body. I also started wearing jewelry and bows in my hair. My mother by the 1990s when I was wearing bows in my hair and flowered dresses would be disgusted. She would scream at me to wear pants and once even machined sewed me some pants, which I never wore or asked for. She was angry that I was not dressing like her. She was angry at me for being a failed feminist.

For some reason I look back and think "Why wouldn't she buy me any dresses even to hide my bad figure flaws?", Why couldn't I get flats or pretty jewelry like the other girls? Why did she buy me so many boy clothes?" Ugly fashions in Lane Bryant and other plus sized stores didn't help either. Those stores with their horrible clothing and never any casual dresses were the bane of my existence too.  I was forced to dress like a boy. Is there any wonder that I as a fully straight girl in high school got made fun of for supposedly being a lesbian?

                                             [picture source]

My mother would only buy me dresses to go to special family weddings. I remember owning 4 dresses from age 1-18 and that's it. I was not allowed to wear them on non-special occasion days, so some dresses I only remember wearing once or twice. My mother forced me to wear ugly nylons with the dresses and bought me dresses that were too short.  When I outgrew one red prairie skirt I had talked my mother into buying, this made me cry. It was hidden in my closet since my mother threatened to take it away since I wore it so much. Makeup-nylons, shaving, nail-polish, pretty bows, flowers were not part of my existence. I wasn't allowed to have these things. As an Aspie I preferred some comfort to painful fashion but this put me way behind the fashion and popularity 8 ball. I never went to any proms or formals. That was for "other girls".Ever notice how masculine Meg is dressed on Family Guy?

For some reason I was not allowed to be feminine. I don't know why. Even with the PCOS and being I was somewhat masculinized by PCOS, I did have high testosterone and a higher degree of body hair then other girls, that didn't explain the depths of their depravities. This made the issue even more complicated. They treated me like I was a boy and by the way things got even worse.

Being a shy Aspie, I did not date much. My confidence was nil from severe emotional, physical abuse. I almost was date raped by a friend of my brothers. Well I really was not on a date, my brother left his friend and me alone in the house when I was 14 years old and he was around 16-17. This guy was friendly to me but it was to set me up. He kissed me a few times, which I went along with, after all I liked him a bit but then he jumped me, saying "Lets have sex!" I was a virgin and scared out of my wits, he shoved me against the wall, and tried to take my clothes off. I fought back hard, as he laughed, but I was able to get away before anything more dire happened. He must have been a sociopath to try and jump a girl in her own house. What if someone had come home?

I didn't say anything to my parents. When I tried to tell my brother he didn't believe me or told me his friend was only horsing around. Having your shirt ripped off and your boobs grabbed crosses that line. This kid was a real sicko and didn't stay friends with my brother but for some months he would follow me around high school stalking me there. One day he disappeared, maybe he moved away but I was relieved.

So lets just say my experiences with boys was minimal or negative. Being the fat girl there was a connection with boys being the one's who teased me. My father was a raging brute that never treated me with any love or kindness. Part of me was very afraid of men. Sometimes I think it is a miracle I ended up married, but I digress.

So I didn't date at all in high school and in college. I was sexually attracted to men though. I knew I was in a quandary, because I was very attracted to men and I didn't think one would ever have me. I was not attracted to women. I had no interest in that side of things. My family when they realized I wasn't going to enter the convent or become a carbon copy of the wildly successful Sister Feminist then started in on me for not having a boyfriend.

                                   [picture source]

I didn't know this at the time, but I kept wondering why my mother hated this one close best friend I had. She would come visit me and my mother would huff out of the room. We would take trips together in our early 20s and while I was living at home before my first no contact, we went to a resort area for a week. I still have this friendship and we are very close but it is fully platonic. Back then I realized with my horror, that my mother believed I and this friend were two lesbians. Or maybe she didn't actually believe it but decided to cook the lie while knowing the truth. The fact we were roommates for 2 and half years help my mother build this lie with the family that I was a homosexual. My friend is not a physical demonstrative sort, I probably have only hugged her twice in the history of our friendship which makes this even weirder.

My mother told the entire family I was a lesbian. Why was my mother so fixated on naming me a lesbian when I had only attraction for men? This was her spiteful meanness. She knew it would drive a wedge in with the other family members. For a year, I was clueless while I was getting jaundiced looks and the family seemed even more disgusted with me.  I believe that many of them still believe I flirted with lesbianism to this day. This was one of her worse smear campaigns against me. When I got engaged to be married and met my present husband, I got my father on the phone, I told him, "I am engaged to ******",  He told me, "You have to be lying!"

Some years earlier, my father came up to me, this was before I met my husband, and he told me with woeful eyes and sighs, "I suppose we will have to accept that you are a lesbian, and if you want to bring your girlfriend home, we will allow it". I looked at him, and asked him, "Are you nuts? I am not a lesbian, I am not even bisexual!" He didn't believe me and I walked away.

My brother at this time actually got in a fight with both parents. He told me both my parents believed I was a lesbian and told him and that he argued with them and told them I was straight. He said to them, "She has a Play-Girl poster on the back of her bathroom door! The man wasn't naked in this photo but had a towel over his nether parts for this poster. Remember I wasn't a Christian yet, and had gotten this poster as a gift from a friend. They still argued with him. Isn't this absurd. These people really didn't even know me. At the time I was after this one young man my brother hated, and he told my parents this and that I had romance books at my apartment. I suppose my mother had to stick by her lies.

So growing up I was not allowed to be a girl. My father hated women. My brother learned to see them as sexual objects and not as human beings. The rest of the family elevated all the twisted crap of feminism. Women were not to be protected, women were to all supposedly have great careers that paid all the bills, women were not to be soft but hard as nails. I was supposed to become a super-feminist lawyer but keep perfect house like my mother and pop out grandchildren. One year I was a ready-made slut for even wanting to talk to a boy, and a lesbian for being too old and without a boyfriend. Career empowerment is what they stressed as they held me back and destroyed any idea of being taken care of by a husband or supporting me in being a female. It was all nuts! Even now the feminists still cling to the beloved corporate careers that only come to a very few! [see picture below]


Women who had feelings and love and care were seen as weak or silly. I got the double message of "Don't be a whore!" while forbidden to date at ages most girls are meeting even their future husbands and then abused and put down for wanting to be a virgin until I got engaged or met my husband. I was dressed like Paul Bunyan and then was yelled at for not being popular like one of the "Heathers". I was not given any true Christian values by my family when it came to dating or marriage.  I was dressed like a boy and denied all femininity in looks, thoughts and emotions. Mini-Me was allowed to be a girl, and I was not.

Today I am a woman. My husband likes that I am feminine. He told me he liked the bows I wore when we first met. I think the narcissists were evil to try to even take being a girl away from me!

"The Seven Types of Negative Parental Mirrors"

The Seven Types of Negative Parental Mirrors

"The "I Don't Matter/I am Invisible" Mirror by the Self-Absorbed or Narcissistic Parent My mother was the sun.  Everything revolved around her happiness, her comfort, her wants and needs.  If I wasn't meeting her needs, she didn't want me around.  She would become enraged over minor infractions.  I was sent to "sulk" in my room if I "didn't get my way" or because she couldn't look at me or be around me because whatever mistake I made was so awful.  Sibling rivalry -- I was selfish and jealous of my younger sisters.  If I did something mean, I was mean. If I wanted something for myself, I was selfish.  If I failed to show thankfulness, I was ungrateful and spoiled.    

She badmouthed people, cut them out of her life for months, sometimes years, then called them up when she started her next home business venture.  She would rant and rave about her coworkers and friends about things they said or did and why they said or did them; she knew what they were thinking, what motives they had, and how it all came back to making her feel bad."

This is a great article. Several of those mirrors would apply in my personal experience.

Two Steps Forward, One Back

                                                   [picture source]


The journey in being an adult child of narcissists can be a difficult path even after one has instituted "no contact". Do I regret my no-contact? Yes sometimes I have thought, "What have I done?" but knowing my nature, I lit the matches and threw them back on the bridges I wanted to burn down. This was to prepare for the moments of weakness that would hit. I have changed in the last year and 9 months probably more then in most of my life. ACONs who go no contact need to know there will be good days and bad days. I have spoken with people who went NC even years ago who spoke of the struggle of the "early years".

Good parts of my recovery

1. Getting to the nitty gritty of what happened. Admitting what happened. Many memories have returned too. Remember when I wrote about the Fat People Smell article? This is such a strange small thing but I had forgotten, repressed the years and years where my narcissistic mother told me I smelled and had "B.O". What did I remember? This happened almost every day with her wrinkling her nose at me. I was even struggling with OCD and over-washed my hands and body. I had "forgotten" how much of a daily thing this was. There has been the other return of memories too some very intense, and other smaller matters of an ongoing emotional struggle.

2. I am realizing that my illnesses are not my fault and deprogramming from the family using them to shame me. If anything my doctors say I am one of their most informed patients, and I did always know what my a1c was. It is important for patients to stay informed of their own medical conditions.

 I was scared recently because my diabetes scores jumped from the 150s-160s to 180s-to 190s or worse. I found out a new medicine I am on increases blood sugars in women for a short period of time and they go back down from my pharmacist. He told me to discuss this with my doctor, maybe wait some more months and this is written down as a matter of fact. If I have to go on insulin I will.

 All my life I have worked hard to stay alive. I have realized the depths of my abuse regarding being sick even more so. Kind people have given me mercy that the family never gave me. It is a miracle I am alive with what I have faced. Sick people with severe rare illnesses even if one had obesity that was unexplained or from an eating disorder, should have love and kindness not hatred and cruelty or being ignored and shoved away. What they did to me in ostracizing me for being fat and sick was unconscionable and it marks them as the kind of people they were not me. I am learning to take better care of myself.

3. I and my husband had grown closer. Our life is very difficult and the money problems remain a consistent severe worry but being away from the family pressures have helped. No more do we have all these people judging him and me, who had everything handed to them while we struggle for every little thing.

4. My boundaries have gotten better and I am not worried about people-pleasing. I still struggle being Aspie but I believe my communication with others is opening up where I can be more vulnerable and form closer relationships with the good people but I am also being more mindful in avoiding toxic ones.




The Difficult parts of recovery

1. This feeling of deep grief. We mourn the families we wanted to have but need to deal with the fact of what we actually ended up with. No Contact isn't always an easy ride. The things I am facing are difficult. What would you say if I told you at times, I feel this grief that scares me. I think this is something my mother did to my soul. I have remembered other times in life where it has cropped up.

It is a feeling of being untethered to the world, a feeling of no hope and a feeling that of intense sadness. It is grief times ten. It is like I don't belong anywhere.  It is the feeling of inner despair that rips my guts out when it comes to haunt me. Two days ago I had this feeling, I couldn't shake it. We were out grocery shopping and the feeling was hitting me, I kept thinking those people matter and belong somewhere and "I do not". These are the thoughts and feelings I have to CONSTANTLY battle to keep going. It does worry me why I am so plagued by these things. Intellectually I can understand what happened to me, but emotionally I need time.

 It has me look at other people and wish I was them and not me. I don't even know how to describe it to therapists, but I think inside it is related to not being loved as a child. It is a feeling that harkens back to the very beginning and something that has nibbled at my being for too long. There is no doubt that having a mother who does not love you is an intense loss and dealing with one who has no conscience complicates things When I am under stress for an extended period of time, it can come back. I fight it with prayer, trying to concentrate on different things and distraction but it seems to creep back.

I think this grief is something all ACONs can relate to. The empty hole inside that started from a childhood where no one used to embrace you, love you or show you any kindness. It can get hard for me still when I see people with their families, knowing they have a place of belonging. When one sees loving families in public, or elsewhere it can be very difficult for us. I do think this may be a loss we will all have to deal with, and accept as something that may always be there. We lost something that was very important for human beings.

2. Realizing the lost relationships with younger people in the family. This would be nieces and nephews and younger cousins. I hate this idea of losing them but what can I do? They don't realize how severely abused I was. They are too young to understand. They don't understand how they have been manipulated with relationships destroyed in the wake of my narcissistic mother and other wicked relatives. One could be abused and the new scapegoat and I can tell maybe is suspecting her mother cannot love, but my worry remains, "What if she becomes like her?" Knowing that because I had to walk away from abusers, that it is possible I will never see them again, has brought me incredible grief. I wanted to be a good aunt and was denied that opportunity.

Grief is Not a Mental Illness





Monday, March 30, 2015

Cannon Colossus

                                               From Pinterest: "On A Grand Scale Here is an old French postcard from my collection featuring Cannon, "The Dutch Giant," a man who weighed more than 700 pounds, and an obese woman. Due to their girths, these two were able to earn a living as sideshow attractions in traveling carnivals and circuses."

Elections 2016

Evil Family


This made me think of my family, except they get older. Satan is real not a cartoon but
many wicked families have literally invited Satan to dine with them.

My Favorite Song When I was 19



Reject Babylon, but this song has an interesting tune to it. Sailing away was something I wanted to do.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Narcissism in a Commercial: The Bankers Have Bestowed Their Favor!



This commercial is worthy of our disdain. It advances narcissism. Look at the woman who is proud of her high credit score. If I was 18 again, I would drop out of the credit system. It is one reason all the prices are higher then what people can actually afford. The other commercial where the dope has tattooed her credit score on her arm creeps me out, it makes me wonder when we switch to the cash-less society if they will have your credit score showing up on your mark of the beast.

 I am sure my credit score is in the negative range. The only credit card I could get would have 50% usury rates. I find it interesting in this society that we are judged for things beyond our control like a boss on a bad hair day deciding to destroy our lives via "at-will" employment.

This woman in this commercial is so proud of her "mammon" score. She puts her feet up on the surprised banker's desk. Doesn't she know with a few key strokes he could destroy her life and oops not register a few mortgage payments? Her snotty arrogance is how they advance narcissism in our society on some less then subtle levels.

Milquetoasts of the World: Men Abused by Narc Women



I saw a Dr. Phil yesterday where the man was totally controlled by his wife. He was dying of cancer but one could tell a foundation had been set where he was afraid and totally controlled by her to the point he had let all the relationships with his children be in danger. I had to admit I thought the man was very weak. His wimpiness was beyond cloying. Maybe he was afraid of her turning him into a toad, she looks like something that crawled out from the bottom of the house in the "Wizard of Oz."

One runs into these men who are the milquetoasts of the world going "Yes Dear", to the meanest wenches in the world.  Often the children and adult children suffer as Dad becomes a weak enabler to all the evil the narcissistic mother wants to conduct. The man's blindness to his wife's manipulations and even outright theft from his adult children is disgusting but even my father called me a liar when I told him my mother had stolen my identity.

I don't get how men can act this way. How can the man on Dr. Phil diss several of his grown children for his cold and evil wife? He is a slave to her defending her in thrall just like the broken down husband who does everything his wife says in "People of the Lie". Hell awaits for him in his weakness and turning his wife into his "goddess".

I have met men who have been afraid to meet with friends or even take phone calls because their girlfriend or wife may "get mad". Some of these men act like their wives or girlfriend are going to give them a big spanking when they get home and are shivering in their boots. Ever go out to dinner with a friend and have the one in the crowd who has his girlfriend or wife call every 10-20 minutes? It can get crazy. Some of these women want total control but sadly men give it. [This of course can go the other way too with women manipulated by controlling narcs]

In some situations the woman wears the total pants in the family, she is the one with the money and good job, while the man may be unemployed or underemployed and beaten down. Of course there are the "users" out there but some are men allowing narcissistic women to play a "mother role" to them. They want mommy to take care of them and they let mommy "punish" them. It weirds me out to be frank.  Some men escape when they realize their wife is a narc, they are strong enough to get out and even keep a relationship with their children but then there are the other kind.

My father was fellow narc, he would yell and scream, but when push came to shove, he allowed my mother to run the show. He never disagreed with her on anything important and while I remember stupid quibbling arguments, most of the time he was her mind slave. He made most of the money but let her spend all his money like water on her endless shopping. She controlled the money and put HIM on an allowance.

One never defended us from the other. He would always tell me, "Your mother is right". It bothers me more and more when I think about it. A strong man would have defended his daughter and said, "You are not going to abuse her anymore!" or later when I got sick, he would have told her to help me. It didn't happen.  He always did everything she said, and she actually laid out his clothes and helped him to dress every morning like she was actually his mother instead of his wife.

My mother's present husband who she married about 8 years ago is totally in control by her. She yells at him and he does everything she says. His whole position is to please her at all costs while she makes endless demands. Honestly seeing a middle-class man give up his entire house, and every possession except some of his tools, clothes, walking stick and gun collection to move in with and marry my mother was odd. I was not invited to the wedding, my mother picked the coldest day of the year in January to make sure I would not be there. He even gave up his church and religion to join hers. She didn't have to give an inch except she gave him a room in the basement. The last visit I was at her house, she was shouting at him to unpack something and look for something that was lost. I found myself asking "Why does this guy who has a close knit family, grown children in town and who had good jobs put up with this stuff?"

Sometimes when young, it seemed to be the "meaner" girls getting boyfriends and married faster. It was like "nice girls" finish last. I suppose often the narcissist women go after men more aggressively, they are not shy or holding back.

Maybe these men are marrying or living with a replacement for their narcissistic mothers. They let the more vulnerable around them be destroyed. They help the narcissists and sociopaths gain more power over others. I believe men should be loyal protectors. These weak men either knowingly or unknowingly are enablers and helpmeets for the wicked. Some definitely were abused themselves, men are just as vulnerable to the outcomes of abusive childhoods and the manipulations of sociopaths, but I hope they wake up, and realize the harm they can bring to others being in thrall to a narcissistic wife or girlfriend.


Sick


Sunday, March 22, 2015

The Gift of Narcissistic Parents: Shame and Codependency

 
 
 
You spend years with these lousy people telling you bad things about yourself. You never hear anything good but the following.....


"Your laugh is weird!"

"You smell !"

"You are a slob!"

"Why can't you do anything right?"


"You do everything half-assed!"

"You are stupid!"

"You said that wrong!"

"No one likes you!"

"It's still filthy!"

The criticism was never ending. When I look back and even think of the time invested in hassling me over the way I dress, spoke, looked and acted, it shows me how sick the individuals I called parents really were. Why didn't they spend time on their hobbies or leave me alone more? Destroying me was one of their hobbies. When I left the narcs, one main thought in my head was, "I am done being your worm". I knew I could not take it anymore. It was time for dignity. It was time for self respect.  Even my recent departure from other relatives was based on this, the parties involved simply had no respect for me. Without respect, honestly there is no real relationship with ANYBODY.



The constant criticism creates shame in the scapegoat especially and this sadly is what they control you with. In other words the shameless who are incapable of feeling the emotion create endless shame in their protégé. Children and young people need love to form a foundation for their identity and who they are. If love is missing, then they will not feel like they are valuable people. They are not shown mercy and understanding or given God's love either.  They are led into severe shame and often codependent behaviors, their relating to other people can be impacted negatively.

 Codependents are people who set aside their needs for the needs of others. Narcissistic parents can definitely groom children for future codependency. After all you are expected to read every nuance to meet THEIR needs lest an unexpected slap comes out of nowhere. You are trained to "earn", "work for" any crumbs of pseudo-love and attention. This is not how real love operates, it happens naturally.



This is where a scapegoat will be taught to neglect their own needs and to ignore their own feelings and emotions. Setting personal boundaries becomes impossible. They don't even know what a boundary is as they are crossed time and time again. It would take me years to learn to set boundaries.

They are led to desperate feelings in trying to control situations and people failing time and time again. When you have to "work" to get people to "love" you in narcissistic sociopathic families, you become very fearful of rejection and of being alone. This actually can work the opposite way you want it, in that others can find you clingy and too needy. The toxic can then take advantage too of your desperation. This was a problem for me in my early 20s. I took all comers out of loneliness. My Aspie eccentricities served as an odd buffer and protection in the dating world, so I didn't have bad boyfriends to contend with but I think of a long list of toxic people that I monkeyed with that the me of today would not even talk to.

 My health problems kept me from becoming too severe into codependency, severe medical crises if anything teach self care and boundaries that are required to be clung to even stay alive. I wasn't going to become the beleaguered jack or jill of all enabling trades because I simply lacked the energy but there are codependent traits, we must all be cautious of.

One thing I had to learned and I knew this was to be applicable to all relationships, is they were not to be one way, they were to be mutual. Relationships were not meant to be all work on one side, and one person doing all the giving and the other all the taking. All narcissistic relationships outside of the food or presents for show they may give you as a child are all inherently one sided.

Sadly the shame that narcissistic and sociopathic parents impart to us, makes us feel "unworthy" inside and like we have to work fervently and endlessly in pleasing others and begging for love and attention. This can affect relationships adversely. This can be a big test for the ACON especially as they step outside in the world as young adults. It is one way that many ACONs can end up in abusive relationships replicating the dynamics of their abusive families where predators will take advantage. As I have said, if you are trained to be the puppy dog always bringing the slippers in a hurry because you fear being smacked, this subservient stance to the world sets up you for abuse in the future.

 Sadly one thing ACONS all have to face when they get into adulthood is realizing that the unmet needs of childhood can complicate adult relationships.  You didn't have a solid foundation to build yourself on as a child and these effects are life-long and the only way to come through it is a lot of prayer and recovery.

The way to recover is finding one's integral worth in God and realizing that your needs matter. You have to validate yourself. Knowing one's self and asking yourself what you really care about and are about can be party of this journey. Self care is important to learn as well as setting healthy boundaries and learning to say No. When one realizes their worth as a human being, this helps to chase the shame away. Do not let people judge you as a person by material things. Unlike the narcissistic parents who lie to you, you do not have to be perfect to be loved.  Even being a 700lb Peep, I still should have been loved and cared about. I should have been loved as a little fat eccentric Aspie child.  Many people would have loved to have me as a daughter. The problem was not with me but who my mother was as a person.

The narcissists with their deadly weapons of coldness, hatred, abuse and constant criticism brainwash their victims the scapegoat to never think they are good enough. This I realized is the cloud I have carried with me through out my life. I prayed to God a couple months ago, and told God, I was tired of waking up with this cloud over my head feeling like I was "no good" and had "ruined my life". It made me depressed a lot. Even the poverty issues were part of this toxic stew. Maybe I am finally being shown the way out completely.  This is one lesson from my wicked parents I need to spit on and walk away from, this idea that I am at fault for everything. God in the Bible has mercy and grace for His children. I know He loves me even if I am poor and super fat even if they did not. Here we want to have grace and mercy for ourselves as well and not treat ourselves like our parents did, we want to follow Jesus's example in His treatment of others.

I am working on is releasing the false shame that was foisted on me and giving myself the SAME compassion I would give other people I care about. You enter the world thinking it will hate you like your parents did, and sadly their treatment sets the scapegoat up for the predators to basically have a party on your head. Nice and kind people do not shame you. If you have a good friend who loves you even if they may warn you of something it is not done with the hatred and shame that narcissist parents unload on their children. Be as nice to yourself as a friend would be to you. This can help change your thinking on how you treat yourself.



Think about the things they have used to put you in bondage. One of my nurses once told me, "you are in the state of health you have to listen to your inner needs, and that means resting when you are tired". So today I give myself the permission to rest and to remove their wicked messages from my head about me being "lazy" and "non-productive". That is her judgment not my own. My mother can tell the world I am a malingerer and a bum, but I know I am not.

They have handed me endless false guilt that needs thrown in the trash. The shameless not only unload the shame, the guilt-free without a conscience types load on the fake guilt. Narcissist parents form many emotional cages for their scapegoats and we have to take a saw to the bars and then crush the things flat as we walk free. My two biggest cages included......

1. Being told that I should be ashamed to be an artist and of my personality.

I kicked this one over at an earlier age. In fact if they had won this war, probably the me of today would not exist. I may write about this sometime, but art was a pathway out for me. They didn't like this. Perhaps I'd be another Aunt Scapegoat. In fact my first no contact had to do with this "battle". I think in terms of forming a self identity, they were enraged because this was a war I was winning. No matter my recent troubles, I knew my identity laid outside of what they had tried to turn me into.

Looking back I know they were trying to turn me into a narcissist. They would tell me all the time, "You are too sensitive". There was one time my father screamed at me, get this, for being an "idealist". He told me idealists were stupid, and would fail. Imagine that! What kind of parenting was that?

2. Telling me I was at fault for being super overweight and other health problems. This almost cost me my life in the long run. Most other parents in the world if they saw their daughter get so sick so fast, would not have sat there making rude comments about her legs growing bigger.  My narcs and sociopaths were able to go to town on me because of the special nature of my severe obesity coupled with my being an Aspie.  I think in some ways my recovery would have happened sooner via my love of art teaching and focus on giving to the community if my health had held out. When I got too sick and faced lay-offs and worse poverty, my shame only grew. It is sad, but I have faced that fact that with parents who taught me that everything bad that happened was my fault was one of their most damaging of messages. I don't want to walk around with the shame they gave me for my having several severe autoimmune disorders and other health problems. I'm done with that.

One thing that can be very valuable to the ACON going no contact is to explore these issues of shame and codependency and how the Narcissists and sociopaths have set us up to feel guilt and shame over things that are not our fault and have led us into negative behaviors that center around trying to "earn" love. These are some chains that need to be loosened as well. We can move on, daring to love ourselves, throwing their rules and messages they gave us in the trash can. We can refuse the false guilt and shame and unload the burden they have put on our backs.





Fat People Are Told They Smell



http://www.latimes.com/science/sciencenow/la-sci-sn-obesity-smells-foul-20150320-story.html

Smell-a-phobes can make people's lives hell, because it is so often used to abuse people. Sure there are street people or those who become mentally ill and can't wash, don't wash or are unable to, but no person on this earth was helped by being told "You stink!"

At one job, there was incredible bias and harassment shown to me. The me of today would pursue a lawsuit, but more often then not while at this job I was told "I smelled". I under went so much harassment and abuse at this job it was disgusting. Because of these experiences, I am paranoid about smelling, never miss a shower, sometimes shower twice in a day during the summer and never re-wear a piece of clothing ever. This means my laundry bills are incredibly high. We spend easily 120 dollars a month on laundry. Bullies and narcissists often will use "smell" because it can't be proven and only discerned to attack people and often for the fat person this will be a source of incredible abuse. When it happens in the work place it is the worse.

When I was at my residential job, there were probably some days, I got sweaty cleaning and moving around during the16-24 hour shifts in an overly heated house. We weren't allowed to take showers there. I showered everyday but today I know the co-worker who complained most about my smelling and got others including the clients to join in, was participating in extreme fat bigotry. It is a technique that works. Be caught on a 105 degree day with a little bit of sweat and weighting 400lbs and they will treat you like you are scum of the earth and feel smug while doing it.

This is one un-spoken thing fat people don't talk about too much.  I have to overcompensate to manage in society, while some people may run out to the grocery store in the morning without a shower, I would never dare. I would never dare re-wear a piece of clothing either.  This is what helps sell the idea of spraying chemicals on everything to cover smells. Frebreze is definitely helped out.

When I was in extreme poverty, in the ghetto, this was after I was disabled but the year before I escaped, there was one woman from the size acceptance community who visited me and told me, that I and my apartment smelled. She was so ignorant that she didn't realize I was screaming to the landlord on the phone everyday about the mice taking over the apartment and the fact they had poison in the walls and more probably dead mice in them. I know most people probably would have ditched that apartment and left, but for me it was living there or in the streets at the time. Water in the ghetto is not as clean as water elsewhere. Every time our rickety bathtub backed up, the water would turn black. Our bathtub has backed up a few times here and I have never seen that happen. It still scares me wondering what was in that water. Anyhow this was the water I was forced to wash my clothes in. Was there an odor I was no longer detecting? It was possible. My furniture was ugly, stained and used to the falling apart point.  While this lady was midsized, she was also upper middle class and had a job as a system analyst. While she pled that she was a liberal at the time, she didn't have one clue about what it meant to live in severe poverty.

She sent me a letter telling me, "You and your apartment stink!".

So back then I was getting it coming and going.

A reality about poverty, it's harder to keep things clean, my walls need painted in this apartment, but I can't afford to get it done, I need money to get the carpet ripped out, I bleach what I can, when I can, and hope it does not smell. It costs 100 bucks a pop to get the carpet steamed cleaned. I had it done last November. Money makes it easier for things to smell prettier. In my case being a severe asthmatic means no trash is allowed to fester more then 24 hours in here, and any mildew or mold has to be immediately stamped out.

I almost get flashbacks when everyone starts sniffing their nose around me. Unless someone is a close friend or my husband I keep a 3 feet away rule. My mother was a smellaphobe, she crinkle her nose up and one huge part of my abuse growing up was being told, "You smell!", "You have B.O!", "You're disgusting!". This never ended and continued into adulthood. I am sure there was a huge amount of fat bigotry involved. According to her, her own poo didn't even stink. Her constant offense at way-ward smells was never ending.

What gets me I have Aspie sensory stuff that makes me live in the shower and wash up more then other people. When I am sick, I will stand in a shower to comfort myself, I may need husband to help me if I am ill enough that day, but the heat helps take away pain. I will wash my hands even if I just touch pennies or money or feel something sticky and they are washed at least 20 times a day. I wash under my belly around 2-3 times a day.  I took a daily shower every day from the time I was eleven years old. During the summer I can easily be in there twice. In hospitals I have broke the rules and gotten myself into a shower even with an IV hooked into my hand. Oh I wash my hair every single day too.

Finding out about this smell and bigotry study was very interesting to me. How much of it is bias? Some may claim maybe fat people do have a different scent producing a very different metabolism? I don't know, they could study that. There could be health problems causing problems too. PCOS is known to cause grooming challenges. I know my sense of my own smell changed even when I was forced off a testosterone lowering drug [spironolactone] which I had been on for 15 years. However this said, wouldn't thin people even have some health conditions that affect them too?

I do agree there is massive bias towards fat people and the "fat people stink", is one major prejudice, that fat people are suffering under.

Anyhow I am glad the researchers are challenging some of this stuff.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Acceptance


I was in counseling the other day and the therapist told me I needed to have acceptance for my circumstances. Not in a "give up way" but in a way that accepts that this is reality to save myself from banging my head on the wall and swimming against the river so much that I'll drown.  I believe one can still make prayers to God for your heart's desires, but it made sense. There are things about our circumstances such as needing my husband for caretaking and many of the health issues. I came to more understand of what he is dealing with in caretaking for a disabled wife too.  I need to give myself permission to rest when I need to and not walk around with this feeling of constant battle inside where I am never at peace.

You Can't Control....


source

Some of the dangers of an abusive childhood is you come out and fall into the trap of codependent behaviors and thoughts. Thinking you can change or control people is one of those things.  Even when you remain stuck trying to get a narcissistic family to love you, that is codependent thinking and claiming control you do not have. Here we can know not just intellectually how they treated us is not our fault but in our hearts too.

Generational Narcissism: My Grandmother



                                       
 

There were major generational aspects to the narcissism I dealt with. Aunt Scapegoat, my mother's sister was the scapegoat of the previous generation, but what about her mother, my grandmother?

My memories of my grandmother are convoluted. I found her somewhat easier to talk to if we were both alone or on the regular phone calls I made to her. When I was in my early 20s, and I'd go on visits by myself to the relatives, she actually would tell me, "Your mother has major problems", and told me once, "Maybe you should write a book about how your mother treated you!". With my grandmother, all the family ideals came together, she was worshipped by everyone and some of the same dynamics applied, everyone wanted to please her, EVERY ONE. My mother's dynamics with the family are the exact same as my grandmother's where the family forms a nexus that rotates around her.

Her book idea for me is irony of ironies.  Before the smear campaigns by my mother were strengthened a few in the family behind closed doors would admit I was treated rotten. Only problem was it was never done in open. Looking back at that, the me of today, asks "Why did you stand silently by as the abuse went on?". She never contradicted my mother either. She never criticized her. She never stood up for me. She believed everything she told her too and did so even more.  Today I know the realities of generational narcissism, it ran like an evil thread through my mother's family. My grandmother was no innocent herself.

In my mind I question some of the better memories I have with my grandmother, buying eggs on a farm, times I spent at her house but I can't ignore how many of her qualities intersected with my mother's or some of the ill treatment and oddness of the latter years. Every kid wants to love their grandmother too, and since she was so idealized within the family, I never thought to analyze her or her actions until very later. I hope this makes sense.

One thing never let narcissists fool you this way. Some really do play Spy Vs. Spy. Good cop and bad cop. Good cop is still a narcissist who may mistaken for being on your side just because they are a little bit nicer.

My grandmother was no ally in a crowd either. She laughed too when the cricket came out and Uncle Narcissist played his games. One time I came down to visit when I was around 19 years old, and I was going to stay at her house but planned to also visit Aunt Scapegoat, and the Aunt that Loved Me.

 She decided to starve me while I was staying at her house to lose weight. What would one week do but she was insistent! She said to me, "You are too fat and only need one meal a day". When I was 19, I was still in the 200s, and actually had lost weight to the lower 200s at that time because I had worked at a camp as an arts and crafts director and counselor all summer. Unlike kind grandmas that would pile on cookies and goodies on their grandchildren, mine was the complete opposite. She wanted me hypoglycemic and on the floor. She wanted to give me only toast and coffee for the entire day and claimed that is all she ate. She weighed at least 200lbs so I didn't believe it. At the time, I argued and then just decided to eat out or at another relatives house when I got hungry. After all I was down there with my own car. She couldn't control what I ate.

More weirdness started on that particular starvation visit, as I was told not to call Aunt Scapegoat next door and told she was "too busy" to see me even though I drove 120 miles to get there. Aunt Scapegoat did not work. Were they already trying to hide the broken down trailer with no running water? I do not know. As a teen I was friends with Aunt Scapegoat where we even traded letters but that soon ended under these pressures. My grandmother copied my mother's isolating me from others. Perhaps my mother even instigated all this?

There are times of other meanness too, I remember. Now keep in mind my contact with my grandmother was far less then my mother. My grandmother lived in an old farm house, where to come down from upstairs, you had to go down this long tight flight of stairs, with no windows. They were pitch dark at night, since she lived in the country and there was a door at the end of them downstairs.  Her farm house was modernized and had normal electricity. She would not allow any night light. I was scared of the dark as a child and I was petrified especially when I had to go to the bathroom.  My family lived in large cities so even with all the lights out it was never pitch black. She actually expected us little kids, to "feel" our way down the stairs in the dark. As a teen I got smart and got flashlights that I hid from her upstairs to make my way down, but as child, I would almost tumble down those worn stairs and slid down them at least once or twice.

My treatment was grew worse by as I got older it never would be repaired. My grandmother would send me cards but major rejection set in for my weight and would only worsen after my severe weight gain. My mother and grandmother when they got together would become more cruel about my weight. One day the entire family ate sausage take-out pizzas and me a turkey sandwich because I am lactose intolerant. They started yelling at me for being fat and I lost it! I turned to them and said, "Look how you all pigged out on pizza! How dare you! My body works different!" Yes I cussed too. I was tired of being stomped on. Both would work in tandem against me.

 My family lived further away, 500 miles for a time, and 120 miles during my teens and later. However my grandmother had three adult grown children all living on the same farm road in a row.  Maybe it was the cheap farm land or maybe it was narcissistic dynamics and control. Have you ever seen a family where there were 4 houses in a row of the same relatives?

 My Uncle with his family lived a field and another house down to the left, the Aunt That Loved Me until 1987 when she died lived next door to her on the left where her and her husband before they divorced built a late 1970s modern home with bright orange counters in the kitchen. Aunt Scapegoat lived in her broken down trailer next door on the right.  A great-Aunt lived further down the road. Corn fields were intermingled with these houses. I was jealous of all the cousins who got so much family closeness as only had our rare yearly visits but maybe we were better off. I tried to get close to but what did I have in common with a woman that grew up on a dirt farm with 12 brothers and sisters, and who had 7 children, three of whom died before the age of 36? She considered me an over-educated book worm and dilettante.

Sad to say it, I now see my grandmother as a narcissist too. I haven't made up my mind about her being as toxic as my mother or not such as in her being an out and out sociopath. But I saw serious problems while growing up. I remember the favoritism she showed my mother. She would snipe about my mother behind her back but she had total respect for her and always gave in to her and let my mother run every show on every visit. My mother was the obvious golden child. If you are an ACON, in most cases you will see these obvious narcissistic generational patterns. Perhaps your family like mine has the scapegoats of the previous generations as well.

She praised my Uncle Narcissist who was her youngest son and piled food on him, including as many fried bologna sandwiches he wanted after his endless baseball games. She praised him constantly, his grades, his jobs, his work, his hunting and other skills were the best. He was not controlled and could do whatever he wanted coming and going as he pleased.  My "lost boy" uncle, she was generous with the food but basically ignored him while he said nothing. He still is one of the most silent people in the world. I don't even know him enough anymore to write anything good or bad. He seems a pleasant fellow who obviously isn't throwing his adult children out of his house. With my Aunt Scapegoat, the criticisms never ended. She'd shout at her for being fat, for eating a second plastic bowl of potato chips, for not getting a good job. Aunt Scapegoat was the designated "loser" while my mother and Uncle Narcissist were deemed the "winners. I would hear about stuff she did 20 years ago, every joint smoked and every visit to the bar. In my family total abstinence wins no favors either. Even those who never drink or drug can end up scapegoats.

My grandmother played favorites among the grandchildren too. I was not the most hated grandchild but second in line. That role was reserved for my brother. She would actually when I was alone with her, would tell me how much she hated my brother. Today I know this is sick, to tell a little girl how much you hate her brother. One time my brother had a fit when he was twelve years old while my grandmother was babysitting us kids, and she never forgave him for talking back and stomping down the road out of the house. When my brother was young, he had bedwetting problems which can be related to physical problems, and my grandmother would talk about the sodden sheets for hours and how disgusting it all was. Of course in this way she was not much different then my parents. Thank God I never wet the bed, they piled the abuse on and then some for that one. You would have thought the world came to an end the day he peed his sheets while sleeping on her floor.

Around a year before my grandmother died, I went to a family party that was held for by my mother's husband of a few years. It was a graduation party for his granddaughter but several relatives were all there. I sat by my grandmother trying to talk to her but she kept getting up to talk to my mother and other relatives and ignored me.

In 2005, there had been a family battle because the year before, I told my family I was against the use of embryos in stem cell research. Never disagree with narcissists. The small disagreement or wavering from their stances will earn their hatred. They nearly ripped my head off. Aunt Scapegoat called me a "Christer"! My grandmother sneered at me for voting for Bush. [actually I had already rejected both the major parties by that time] A shouting match ensued. They all turned on me. I didn't want to fight about it but move on to the next topic. It was a disaster. That day it seemed the hatred they had for me moved up another notch, but I had suspected since I had become a born again Christian, there was no love lost from around 2002 onward.

Anyhow back at the 2006 graduation picnic, I am sitting next to my 20 year old cousin, asking him how does he like college? I suspect this guy of being a schizoid, his Dad is the Uncle "Lost Boy", the silent stoic, and he literally just grunts at me, and refuses to talk to me. I have never seen him emote anything but anger and bored indifference.  Sometimes I wonder if I will see him in the newspaper one day.  He gives me the willies. He still lives at home with his parents nine years hence.

For years I had seen him on visit's to my mother's house and he would never talk. Him and his other very tall brother would sit there and eat and say absolutely nothing.  At 6 foot, 6 inches, he stared down at me. I trying to be way too people pleasing, say "Hey I liked college, so how is State U?" and I get another grunt. I wonder how this guy made it past the admissions office. He gets up to get another drink, and my grandmother comes back.  She looks at me, down her nose and says to me, "You know A**** s is my favorite grandchild, you are not!" "He knows when to keep his mouth shut.". "When he drives me to the grocery store, I don't have to listen to his prattling on". I remember saying something to her like "Well he doesn't talk at all, and he better learn to if he ever hopes to have a job of any kind when college is over." Inside I am hurt, how could she say that to me?  I and my husband leave the picnic early, I am fed up.

 One thing about my grandmother that used to astound me is she had no emotions, she never cried or showed fear either. It used to bother me as a child. She was just like my mother in these attributes. I saw her as less cold and mean then my mother but such things are relative. After all I was only around her in measured dosages. There were no hugs or kisses from her either.  I remember talking to Aunt Denial about this, and she would tell me, "Oh that's just the way they are" but this aunt who married into the family worshipped her mother-in-law. The same worshipful attitude people have towards my mother was the same for my grandmother. No one ever disagreed with her. No one ever bantered with her either. Where they afraid of her too like my mother?

 This was beyond old school reticence though, and when she got pancreatic cancer and was told she was terminally ill, in 2007 watching her wait for death like she was waiting for the bus, creeped me out. It was something that truly bothered me and still does. Some may tell me, well that is the older generation they were taught not to complain especially before the era of therapists and tell-alls but this was something beyond that. She just didn't seem to care that much. I've seen more stoic people die before, they keep quiet, don't tell you of all the pain they are in. I'm not stoic but know even when I am very sick, the natural inclination is to withdraw.

I'd call her on the phone on a regular basis, and she'd act like nothing was happening and talk about mundane matters. I couldn't go any deeper. There was one moment, near the end on the phone when I awkwardly tried to show her affection,  and told her, "I love you." and she said NOTHING in response, not even the polite "Thank you." or "Me too". This bothered me quite a bit.  Embarrassed, I scrambled to get off the phone. She was still wholly lucid at this time. I had to accept she did not love me either.

It would haunt me for some time, the way she dealt with death. It still does. I have faced almost dying before as people know on here, but a few years later around 2010, I would lose two close friends to death, and it was nothing like this. There were tears and goodbyes, and desperate pleas. I hope I did not fail them in offering them comfort though both these friends were far away. I still miss them but there was more of a sense of closure. With both friends, we talked about dying openly, I told them how I would miss them, I told them I loved them and received a response as long as they could still talk. One would have her sister send me photographs and pictures and the cards I sent her for the 17 years of our friendship. Another friend I talked about God to her.

With my grandmother, there was no emotion shown. At the age of 81, she had chosen not to go to extreme measures for the cancer. There was no regrets, or tears or even discussion of pain I saw. My families refusal to discuss health problems or share pain, only made my own pain and health problems far worse. This was 2007 and I had already dealt with my own health crises for many years.

I went to go visit her about 6 months before she died. She looked wizened and had lost a lot of weight but still was there mentally but without emotions as I describe. My mother had taken her into her home and hired hospice to come in to take care of her before putting her in the hospice center when she no longer could get out of bed. Now this was a very hard time for me, my husband had just lost his job, we were fearing homelessness and had just moved to where we live now after a year and half of employment.

Let's just say I was stressed out, and was having feelings about my grandmother dying. I don't like to see anyone suffer. Anyhow, my grandmother and other relatives are inside, and my mother and Aunt Denial are sitting outside on my mother's new deck that she forced her 70 plus year old husband to build for her. I sit out there, and they are discussing theatre shows and telling me to stop looking so glum. I said, "Well I am worried about my husband losing his job", but I shut up after that one sentence, because I figure my grandmother is dying and my problems are lesser. As they go on about their theatre shows--I forget the exact ones but its high priced ticket ones I never could afford my mother turns to discussion about the care of my grandmother.

Now this is a time where the veil got ripped off, I have discussed before.

My mother complains about my grandmother being sick, she is not cleaning her up or any of the hardcore stuff, but complains about the medications and insulin and having to maintain her sugars. She looks over at Aunt Denial and me, and says "She's taking too long to die!"

Some of my hugest regrets in life is not answering back and saying "What in the hell is wrong with you?" but I suppose my being no contact is a message of a sort isn't it?  I actually felt the earth tilt on it's axis. Perhaps this is the very day, I knew exactly what my mother was.  I always thought if anything since my mother was my grandmother's favorite, that she loved her in return even with some of the backbiting. In reality my mother who had spent a lifetime telling us how much she loved her mother, couldn't wait for her to shuffle off this mortal coil.

I would go into the other room. One thing about me, and my health, infection can settle in fast. And when I mean fast, it can come on within minutes. The doctors allow me to have emergency antibiotics, because I proved to them emergency antibiotics can mean the difference between a three week death's door, blood infection hospital stay vs. rest and being able to handle an infection at home. Stress and extreme emotional trauma can trigger infections in me.

I did not wrap back then and was not getting lymphedema treatment yet, that came years later. I go and cry in the bathroom tired of evil shallow women, suck it up and walk out to the living room where my grandmother is sitting and I feel these immense feelings of incredible sadness that are hard to explain. I put my legs up and notice with my horror, the "red spots" are there but say nothing to nobody.  Red spots on my bad leg mean an infection is coming. My grandmother sitting in her cancer wizened thinness looks over at me, and says nonchalantly "What's wrong with your leg, it's turning all red, you should do something about that!" as if it is all in my control.

That's one thing I remember from the both of them, the rude comments about my swelling lipedema legs, as if I woke up one day and decided to get huge giant legs. But what gets me is how she is commenting on my health conditions while she is dying of cancer like I am the one with the problem and not her. Anyhow thankfully I am able to bow out, tell my husband it's time to leave and act polite and tell my grandmother, "I am fine." I am lying of course. This is the last time in 2007, that I saw many of the other relatives too.

Three months later, I don't go to her funeral. For me it is an act of self preservation. I hope you can understand why.

 I don't have money to go anyhow. No one offers any. I feel like I will "die" if I go, and can't even explain that to anyone. Inside I feel this cold dark feeling regarding the family that has never ceased. I know my status in the family is lowered a few notches in refusing to come to the matriarch's funeral though I do order and send flowers that I can't really afford.

The Aliens


Bukowski is one of my favorite poets.

Of course I ask, are some of those people who look like they have easy lives just hiding their pain better? That may be possible for some of them. Don't begrudge the happy too.

I think of people sometimes as the "normals" vs. me but then that can set you up where you wouldn't get to know some great people letting your own "opposition" prejudices get you. For example if I told all thin people to jump in the lake. That would be insanely foolish.

There are times I wish I fit in and other times I don't. It is a strange dichotomy. Hey I wanted to be an artist at age 5 I kind of asked for at least a little bit of the weirdness. Also I had no control over what happened to me.



Thursday, March 19, 2015

Collection #2 Geodes and Rocks




I have a second collection of rocks which is smaller, I collected some rocks and gems before I started focusing on the stamps. Here are a few from the collection.  I love Geodes and above is what is called a thunder-egg too in the second picture. The last picture is of Dolomite.

Collection #1: Shells


I have a small shell collection, if I see an interesting shell, it is something I like to add. :)

Monday, March 16, 2015

The Cricket and Me







The above is a snippet and  the complete poem reads:

ODE TO ******

JIMMINY CRICKETS AND GOLLY GEE
********'S RECEIVED A COLLEGE DEGREE
SHE EARNED IT AT ********* IN ART EDUCATION
AND IS READY TO START ON HER NEW VOCATION.

IT SEEMS ONLY YESTERDAY SHE WAS A KID
AMUSING US ALL WITH THE THINGS SHE DID.
LIKE GURGLING AND COOING LOUDER AND LOUDER
WHILE HER BROTHER DOUSED HER WITH BABY POWDER

HER LOVE OF RAGGEDY ANN WAS LEGENDARY,
SHE WASN'T HAPPY WITHOUT HER DOLL TO CARRY
WHETHER SHE WALKED OR WHETHER SHE RAN,
SHE ALWAYS HAD A HOLD OF HER RAGGEDY ANN.

IN WILLIAMSBURG, SHE SUFFERED A SERIES OF SHOCKS,
WHEN SHE SAW HER BROTHER LOCKED UP IN THE "STOCKS"
SHE THOUGHT FOR SURE HE'D NEVER GET OUT,
POOR ****** WAS FRANTICALLY RUNNING ABOUT

WHILE VISITING IN OHIO, SHE CRIED THE BLUES,
WHEN A CRICKET CRALWED OUT OF ONE OF HER SHOES
SHE REFUSED TO TOUCH THE OTHER SHOE,
CERTAIN THEIR WAS SOMETHING IN THAT ONE TOO.

IT WAS EXPLAINED TO HER BY DEARGRANDMOTHER,
THE ODDS AGAINST ANYTHING BEING IN THE OTHER
AND WE COAXED HER TO PUT HER FOOT IN THE SHOE,
TRUSTING "HER GRANNY" AS A CHILD SHOULD DO.

I DOUBT IF WE'LL EVER FIRGET THAT DAY,
WHEN THE CRICKETS ALL CAME OUT TO PLAY.
SHE PUT HER LITTLE FOOT IN THE OTHER SHOE,
AND CRUSHED A CRICKET INTO A WAD OF GOO!

SHE ATE "DOLPHIN FINGERS" IN THE STATE OF MAINE,
BUT APPEARED TO BE IN SOME KIND OF PAIN.
SHE WAS EIGHT YEARS OLD, JUST A LITTLE "ZIPPER"
AND THOUGHT SHE WAS EATING "GOOD OLD FLIPPER"!

AT THE SEA AQCUARIM, "SHE SHOWED HER STUFF"
AND LET US ALL KNOW SHE WAS "TOUGH ENOUGH".
SHE HELD A SQUISHY SEA URCHIN IN HER HAND,
WHILE EVERYONE CHEERED TO "BEAT THE BAND

SHE RECENTLY, WAS AT A GIRL SCOUT CAMP,
TEACHING ARTS AND CRAFTS TO EACH LITTLE SCAP
THEIR TENTS WERE ON PLATFORMS THREE FEET OFF THE GROUND.
TO AVOID ANY CRITTERS THAT WERE CRAWLING AROUND.

WELL ******, FORGIVE US FOR HAVING OUR FUN,
YOU KNOW WE'RE PLEASED WITH WHAT YOU'VE DONE.
YOU'VE EARNED YOUR DEGREE AND WE'RE REALLY GLAD,
BEST OF LUCK FROM YOUR MOM AND DAD.

When I graduated from college in 1990, this poem was my present. My parents did not come to the graduation ceremony, I was there with one of my best college friends who I remain in contact with to this day and believe she drove me there. There may have been a dinner with a few office friends and family members.

 I suppose one could say there was some thought behind giving me a poem but the day I got it, I turned red. It was embarrassing. My stomach had a pit in it. These were the stories they told their friends and other family members of my strange habits when I was young. At the time, I smiled and nodded as they read it to a couple friends and family the night or week of my college graduation.

I was dying inside as it was read and the room laughed. Can you see why? The cricket tale is one they tortured me with for years. It was strange the whole thing wasn't even that funny to normal people. To an Aspie, the joke has fallen flat for 40 years. I never laughed at it but protested. One time I even sassily told them in my late teens, it just tells me I knew more then you at even that age.

A five year old child, me, finds a cricket in her shoe that crawls out and refuses to put the other one on claiming there is a second cricket in it.  During this event I am at my grandmother's house and some uncles, aunts, cousins and my parents are there as well as my siblings. I cry and refuse to put the shoe on. For some reason, I know another cricket is laying in wait. The family protests and yells at me to put the shoes on. "Its time to get going. You have to put your shoes on. " None of them shake the shoe or check it for me.  I relent and inside is a cricket waiting and I squash him into my bare foot as I put the shoe on. The memory of the feelers and crunch of the cricket's body are there in my brain still.  The family laughed and laughed some more.

The first cricket made me sniffle and worry, and the second made me scream and cry even more. Like many young children I am afraid of bugs. They would tell this story for years and years of my distress. A cousin of mine reminded me of this story when he plastered a picture of his Aspie son, screaming with his mouth wide open at the apex of a roller coaster hill by one of those automatic cameras. For some reason this was considered "funny", and I thought of the "cricket story". Now mind you, I do not blame the poet, he seems like a fun guy and he wrote poems for everyone in their office.

They don't have much more to say about me then me being covered in powder as a three year old, I actually remember that day,  or crying over the marketing name of a fish dinner at the age of eight?
The final line basically admits fun at my expense. Some may ask where is your sense of humor but consider this poem in the context of everything else. I am 21 years old when I get this poem. I am a young woman, they are frozen in time not even knowing who I really am.

I remember thinking at the time, "This is how they see me?" No that was worse, this was the surface play of "fun" Mom and Dad joshing their daughter. To outsiders, this was a "fun" poem but inside I was hurt, and no one knew. I hated that damn cricket and hated that stupid story.