Thursday, August 30, 2012

Even More Daily Strength

By God never let it be said I won't give credit where credit is due. I went to the DS and as usual clicked the first post I came to and here is what I got. This woman has a clue. The others there, as well as MN's every where could learn something from her.

I am new to this site and how depressing it is !! I haven't seen my Son for 6 months and it hurts like hell but I Love him with all my heart and I will never give up on him. I am getting on with my life and I remain positive that one day things will turn around. I won't expect an apology, I will let him express his feelings, if he wishes, and do my best to understand. My door will always be open for him...He's my Son.

I think I will see if she might want to adopt me.
54 year old construction worker seeking mother like substitute to fetch beers and wash under wear while cleaning cat puke...........
No that isn't right.
39 year old architect who loves moon light walks on the beach, whispering sweet nothings into soft ears, and is more than ready to be a man who will listen to a woman's hopes, and share her dreams ...wait I am petitioning for a mother not ...
OK......I need to snap out of it.

Of course the lady gets a 10 comment pile up of the same old song and dance. I give her three months and she'll be telling them about what a waste of space he was. How he had a scholarship to MIT but wasted his life as a co-founder of some lame produce company that is so short sighted that their product mix is limited to selling only one type of fruit. Apples. McIntosh apples at that.

Here is one:

Positivemum ~ there is nothing wrong with keeping the door open. Just remember that while that door is open a lot of negative can walk right in too! Self-doubt.....self-hatred.....confusion......anger.......bottomless sorrow.....depression....etc....etc....etc.

And here is another:
My door will always be open too. My daughter has been in and out four times. Only next time she will only be coming for a visit and will not be moving in. It hurts me too, but I am tired of cleaning up after a 35 year old and paying her way every time she wants to move back with us. She is angry at me because I told her she needed to grow up and find some respect or move out. I hope it turns around someday but she chose the silence. I did not.

And here is one I am adding only because the poster is a smoking hot blonde.

How did I turn it around? I put the focus on me and all the good things going on in my life instead of constantly obsessing over my son and the estrangement. I joined a gym and found physical fitness, running and healthy eating.

And might I say an outstanding job, and well done at the gym.

I think their credibility gap comes because they all think they have class. And that class comes by surrounding yourself with a bunch of up tight bitches like yourself and every one commencing a circle jerk of every one assuring every one else that you all have class. That class is a function of wealth, real or imagined, and what level on the pecking order a person can plug themselves into and not stand out.
I've known homeless people with more class than the whole lot of them. Even the crazy ones. You can medicate crazy. They have yet to find a cure for status seeking dumb ass bitch.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Queen Bitch.

Just when I thought I was out. They pulled me back in.
I just had to go over to the Daily Strength.
It's like watching a train wreck.
You don't want to do it. You might see a head roll out.
How gruesome!
But you have to. You might see a head roll out.
How cool would that be?
Some woman is looking out for her daughter by terminating her as a beneficiary on her life insurance. And we all know this means wills and any sort of asset.
I got the same thing when I went NC.
Que sera sera.
I can't spend that money swinging from a rafter turning blue. Which was looking like a pretty good deal by the time I left.
I can't make much sense of her post. But look at her next to last sentence.
How do you disown someone who is estranged from you? 
And that's the point you fucking c**t.
She disowned you first.
Breaks your fucking heart doesn't it? To always have the last word.
Then be denied the coup d'etat.
That's what she is pissed about.
If a personality disordered person disowns their child, but the child will never know, do they still get that little smirk?
I think not.

My dh thinks I've disowned Ed because I changed my insurance policies etc. I feel im protecting her from being homeless. I told dh to keep money 10 years so when she is homeless she can have it. 

Ed is with bf with 5 kids paying for everything. He is uneducated. His ex wives same. Bf has lots of family she has only sister who she hates and who doesn't like her. When Ed needed help from bf family guess what zipp and I mean he has LOTS OF RELATIVES . She was on her own BUPKISS nada . Dh stepped up to plate. Brought her sandwiches drove her to work. They are more than happy she is looking after bf and those kids. 
I think I'm protecting her he says no. Ppl should be able to make their own mistakes. I can't buy her love been there tried that. So I felt this way since many middle age women find them selves in bad straits she will have a cushion. 
How can you disown someone who is estranged from you. She won't even know when I'm gone.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Challenge Accepted!

My first real job after I was old enough to get away from chopping cotton and picking okra was sacking groceries in a store in town.
This was before the electric eye doors that whoosh to one side. The ones that let a person walk in and out without fear of death or dismemberment.
What we had then were pivot doors that swung to the inside. The opening mechanism was engaged by your weight depressing a button underneath a plastic mat in a metal frame flush with the sidewalk. What passed for safety a precaution was a button on the inside. If any one stood on the inside, their weight depressed a button and deactivated the primary button on the outside.
 It worked well enough. The prevailing thought was that if you were stupid enough to stand next to a door that could suddenly open up and whack the bejesus out of you, you get what you got.
They were hard to activate. You had to really be centered well and be deliberate about where you stepped.
It took thirty five to forty pounds to work this contraption.
Which is to say that most toddlers couldn't.
About once a week I would watch some kid at the check stand veer away from his mother.
The woman with the lucky strike dangling from her mouth and kiting a check.
Her kid would bang around the check-stands like a pin ball, before ricocheting towards the doors and get hemmed in like an addled dolphin stranded in Cape Cod.
Invariably some customer would walk up. They would see the kid.
They would stop for the kid.
They would wring hands and gnash teeth.
Someone should do something!
Some body should just DO SOMETHING! about the travesty that is about to unfold.
That some body just won't be me.
And they would hang their foot in the air like the karate kid, and step on the mat.
Schwing goes the door.
Whacks the kid in his head
And all hell break's loose.
The kid was never any worse for wear.
But to hear him/her you would have thought they just got the news that Santa Claus died.
The mother would jerk the kids arm out it's socket.
Apologies and nice nice's were exchanged.
And the kid got shoved in the trunk with the groceries.
I never knew if this was a sign of the times.
I have always said that my parents treated me and the Sisinator like we were suitcases.
Just useless appendages that they were waiting for evolution to dispense with us.

Or now I wonder if this was crazy shopping mothers crossing path's like two air masses of disordered thinking, and the kid just got sucked up in this vortex of dysfunction like Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ?
None of this would raise an eyebrow back in the day.
Now it would now end up on the evening news.

Monday, August 27, 2012

For the reasons out of our control.

I am sitting here avoiding any sort of productive endeavor and thinking of the brick wall of no contact. And how estranged parents portray our relationship to outsiders. How they say they gave and gave and gave blood, and money, and would continue to give but we arbitrarily just up and walked out.
We just had a little snit like a baby that doesn't want it's strained peas, and so we shoved them all to the floor.
I don't know that many people that would walk away from an ATM that is shooting out cash. Like we would  get tired of stuffing our pockets full and walk away.
Sorry folks. I have to go work for a living so someone else will have to enrich themselves by standing here  breaking their backs shoving cash in a bag.

At least my mother doesn't resort to the ATM tactic. Everybody she knows is aware there is some bastard like son that lives in the shadows and that my mother didn't have jack to do with who he became.
That doesn't stop her from the back end tactics.
Oh me and Q were chugging along so fine until his ex wife #2 poisoned him against me. She's part of the reason my ex-wife is my ex-wife. And my ex never said a bad word about my mother until I went NC.

We wouldn't spend years after trying to make sense of what happened if we are as cold and calculated as they.
We would have slammed them with the devalue and discard just as hard as they slammed us..
Like more D&D is the thing that will get a person back in line after a life of abuse.
We may have gone no contact but we don't like it.
And that's what they don't get.
They say,"I treated my kids like shit but I paid them well for the time they were tied to my whipping post." "What more can you ask for?"
You can't put a price on sanity. But if my sanity is directly proportional to the time and distance I put between us, then so be it.

Every thing is a game to them. Even with their sons and daughters. Even with us their has to be a clear cut winner and loser. I can't say who won or lost with my mother, but no one I know of will get any where near her. 

I took my mother to a funeral for a friend of hers in 2007. The obviously distraught daughter came up and said she was glad to see my mother.
My mother did a little curtsy and said ,"this old thing?"
"It's just something I threw on at the last minute."
I was mortified.
With such a glaring example of their detachment, I still ask myself if they are that out of touch with reality.
Do they really believe their own bullshit ?
The answer to that would be yes.

8 L.A.P.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Pretzel logic and the dude.

 Elena K's latest post made me think of my mother's pretzel logic. She can blame somebody else for something you just watched her do.  And if you are stupid enough to ask her how she can proffer that as the truth you get a  ten minute Rube Goldberg explanation until you give up and leave the room.

How can a person that carries themselves in a way that screams they are above reproach, sit there with a straight face and just say whatever pops into that limitless reservoir of fabrication they call a head. 
She's done it all her life.
Somewhere in the past she crossed a line and at that point she was allowed to carry on. 
Oblivious to rolling eyes and people biting their knuckles to not laugh in her face. She sold it and people kept buying it.
I am betting it was the guys that wanted to nail her. I know the lengths a man will go to get a girl in bed. Although with the Barbarian the length was as far as the nearest parking lot.

  I  in the spirit of "after narcissistic abuse" I am beginning a series of stolen self help video so Acon's can remain sane. If you can't go NC here is the next best thing.
As this scene unfolds notice how "The Dude" baits the N in a clever design to get just what he ultimately wants from the N.
He becomes exactly what it is that pisses the N off, and while the narcissist is foaming around and biting their tongue, he takes what it is that he wanted.
This tactic is the only way to win with a narcissist. 

Why Michelle? Why Now?

Just so people don't think I am as mean as it may look with all my tacky diatribes against some woman I will never know.
It's because she sent me a nasty little bit of e-mail with what is supposed to pass for a cease and desist citation. And how I had been reported to the proper authorities and that she would no longer deal with me but that now I would have to answer to these authorities
Just one thing.
Never heard of Michelle. Never heard of ANA.
In all my live long days I had no idea what she was talking about.
It's part of my new zero tolerance against narcissists.
Fuck with me and I fuck with you back.
Michelle. Next time do a thing called due diligence.
She reported me to the "proper authorities" and I don't know who she is.

So take your shit and put it up on a wall.

7.5 L.A.P.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Flock of ANA Seagull's

Good day.
And may GOD'S peace be with you.
I am the Reverend Kerry Dababi and the host of this blog is allowing me to speak here in an attempt to ease  the tension and senseless attacking of face book healers.
These conduit's of healing are infinitely talented. 
Much more so than you.
 Copying your work allows sites like Michelle's ANA to spread the word.
The word that counts. 
I say unto you

Can Michelle not embrace your words as hers and all just get along.
What is lost on the source blogger is that it matters not if they receive citation for their work.
It matters not if a link to the source is given.
It matters not if the person borrowing the content passes it off as their own.

What matters is that the word gets out.
The healing word of the apostle. 
It matters that people receive affirmation in their life.
It matters if these befuddled victims are emboldened to take charge of their life.
LEAVE their abusive dates and give their hearts and souls over to the almighty lord.
And to Michelle of the ANA.
Michelle ANSWERS to this higher power.
She humbly HANDS her heart and soul over to her maker and becomes his agent walking the earth.
She ACTS on his behalf.
To deny and MOCK MICHELLE is to mock our LORD AND SAVIOR.
SHE has all the rights and duties here.
As if she sat NEXT to the LORD on his THRONE
Addressing Michelle IS to ADDRESS GOD!
The WORD of MICHELLE'S shall NOT be questioned on this earth.
HER WORD is just as his...
Hallelujah and Amen?
Can I get an AMEN?
HISTORY! is replete with  those that QUESTION the hands of an angry GOD!
I say WOE to the those of little FAITH.
Those that embrace FALSE prophets.
Those that REJECT Michelle and her divine WORDS.
For THEY shall PERISH from this earth.
Mark this very day and remember.
This day is the day you cleave your life in two.
That one day you were able to come into Michelle's light.
Embrace her powers.
And the next you turned your back on the sun that is Michelle.
Chose to never again experience her beatific grace.
You unbelieving abdominal murderers and whore mongers.
TAKE the mark of the beast.
Embrace it.
Be cast into the LAKE OF FIRE.
Be tormented DAY AND NIGHT!
Michelle will extinguish your filthy ways.
You of the mark of the beast.
You and the whores you lay down with.
Michelle hating demonic sacrilegious unholy heathens.
That Michelle allows you to breath her air on her earth.
 You should crawl to her on your knees and wash her feet.
You make me want to VOMIT until my toenails fly out of my MOUTH.


HA HA Fuck you dizzy bitch!

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

ANA Luncheon Planned to honor Florida Fundraisers.

A potted meat,  mustard and biscuit luncheon is planned to honor two Florida ANA members for their  innovative fundraising ideas and for thinking quickly on their feet. 
The luncheon's keynote speaker will be Carl Childers.

Honored guests are Ms. Woods and Ms. Lofton, interviewed below..

Monday, August 20, 2012

She says he says, but she could be lying to me, and he could be lying to her, so I can’t believe her, even if I could believe her. JKintz

My mother had a pathological need for 24/7 male attention. All squeezed into the eight hours her husband was at work. She spared no expense. Spent us down to our last cent to have game on.
In back seats. In motels. In front of her kids if she could swing it before the old man got home.
Getting what she wanted as soon as she wanted it wasn't enough. She had to thrash us like wheat stubble.
Like an artist signs a portrait. She had to personalize her betrayal with her own brand of mind fucking.
Expecting my mother to take the high road was like balancing a pork chop on a dog's nose and expecting him not to eat it.

I went no contact with her and caught up with my sister. We did what we had done forever. And that was to trash her. How we used to watch her and wonder if this time was going to be her time to blast us. You never knew when she would go off because you never knew what would set her off.  None of the adults ever stood up to her. It was just easier to let her go.
So my sister brought up an exception. Sis was living with my grandmother and I had moved out a couple of months before. I worked at a grocery store and never made it up on week ends. My mother lived with her new husband and never made it up during the week.
What my sister said was different about this time was that my mother was so nice it was creepy.
In the best of times she was stand offish. But this time mom was syrupy and sweet.
I thought nothing of it and Sis kept talking about it. I asked her about what time period this was and this is what she said.
It was during the time after you moved out from grannies and mom was paying your rent.
I had no idea what she was talking about.
She said you know, when you were working graveyard and going to college. Mom was afraid you would nod off driving to the farm so she set you up in your apartment.
What the fuck?
Yeah! Don't you remember for a few months she helped pay your rent so you could stay in town and not drive out after you worked all night and went to school all day?
She never gave me a dime.
I paid for my apartment!
Sis said the Barbarian pulled in like the queen of fucking Sheba and yammered on about being a caring mother and how wonderful it is that she could provide for me.
No Shit!?
I had no absolutely no clue what the fuck she was talking about.
So I thought and I thought. I lived with her after the stroke and I remember her spilling to me that she almost got caught with this family friend she was screwing under the table and her and him renting a place to fuck.
OOOOoooooooo. I get it.
My step father must have found a receipt, or cancelled check for her love shack and all hell was about to break loose .
 She not only used me as an excuse to cover her ass. She parlayed it into some great press.
She could have at least told me to cover for her. And I would have. I had no allegiance to my step father. Plus she made me look like some schmuck that couldn't pay his rent.
Just another cluster fuck from life with the Barbarian.

My sister connected a lot of dots for me. Any off hand comment by or about the Barbarian can not be dismissed. Every thing that woman does has some noxious utility. For her.
You just have to listen and let it drift into the puzzle.
What makes no sense now, will if you give it time.
I can't take any high roads now because of this obsessive need to sort through it. I want to make a list and  rank her offense's in descending order.  Then maybe draw a line somewhere and say here, when I work through and make it to this point, I will relax and put the rest behind me.
But there is so much shit I can't list it all.
It also begs the question of what else am I clueless about?
Every answered question puts two more in it's place.
I am not one of those guys that thinks ignorance is bliss.
I am one of those guys who wants to bitch slap people who assault my dignity.
She doesn't possess a single redeeming quality. Every moment of her life has been a determined effort to smear her filth on every one around.
My flagging faith in the great hereafter makes me want to administer come up-pings on earth, while I can still get my hands on her, lest she not be held accountable in the after life.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

A rebuttal from Turlene about ANA.

Hi ya'll. My names Turleen. I was e-mailing that Q fellah and he said that maybe I ought ta just write something and he would put it on his blog there for me. I am a member in good standing over yonder at that after narcolipsism abuse website and you might remember me from a few years back when I was the inspiration for the Trash Talking Turleen doll and I made a little bit of money off it but when they didn't really sell that many dolls there that Hasbro company they wanted their money back cause what they paid us was suppose to be something called an advance and seeing's how they didn't sell any of them dolls there they paid me more money than my commission woulda been.
Here is a picture of that doll they made. This might jog your memory a little smidgen.

Well anyways my boyfriend Harley already spent all that money up and we liked to have had a big old court battle over it so I went up to their office and had negotiations and drinks and we just settled out of court. That's how I ended up with Bobby Harley Earle so I still came out on top of things.

  I like to tell folks he is named after the motor cycle but really he's named after his great great grand daddy Jebidiah Harley Earle. I think its funny that he got three first names but no body much laughs about it so I just keep my mouth shut these days. Seeing how Harley ain't even really his daddy. 
Any ways I read that mean post Q wrote about that girl who has that site on Facebook there about the narcolipsistic people and I wanted you to know that he is WRONG. 
Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. 
My husband is narcolipspatic and he used to be mean to me all the time. He got real mean after he was driving Harley Sr's station wagon and went and drove up into an underground parking lot while Harley Sr was standing up and pissing out the back window and that bar there that keeps people with campers from driving in just about took his head clean off.  He never forgave himself for that. Even after they reduced the charges from intoxication manslaughter to intoxication assault and he only had to do six months at the ranch as part of his shock probation.  After that Harley got all mean about things and that there site was like a two by four over a muddy creek for me. And ya know how that Q fellah always talks about how narcolipsistmatic's can't be cured? Well I cured Harley of it simple. I just waited till he passed out one night and sewed him up in his sheets and beat the shit out of him with an iron skillet and he didn't give me no more trouble after that. 
Here I gotta picture of me and Harley Jr. when it was that we first got married..

I was pregnant with Raylene then. Harley says this picture shows the beauty of life's creation in a tasteful way and not at all like that pregnant woman sex porn site he prescribes to.  I wonder if he would like it if he knew Raylene's daddy was really Ray from the pic 'n' sav  who I accidentally had sex with when Harley Jr. was down at the ranch on that intoxication assault charge. 
That was a long time ago. Here's how little Raylene turned out.

I swear there's something wrong with that child. I didn't know it but me and Ray are first cousins and no body told me that till after it was too damned late to get an abortion. I spent a lot of nights worried if that child would come out with two heads but she come out fine. Some doctor said she has FAS but she ain't fast. She is pretty damn slow.
Well I gotta skeedaddle here cause Charlene Harley and Waylon Harley need to be fed and Harley I and II oughta be in directly from work.
You just remember you need to believe none of what you hear and only about half of what you see. Especially when you are talking about a city slicker like that Q fellah.  Q is a cute bugger. I don't have a picture of him but I am pretty sure he is little Waylon Harleys daddy and I got a picture of Waylon Harley if you wanna see it?
I would sure like it if all ya'll prayed to baby Jesus with me to save the soul of that misguided blogger who we won't mention by name cuz baby Jesus you all ready know who to aim your taser like lightening bolts at already.
Just stun him baby Jesus.
Just stun him and me and the ANA squad will take care of the rest of your godly work down here on earth  and you won't even have to break a sweat.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

After Narcissistic Supply.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said. "The louder he talked of his honor, the faster we counted our spoons."
 It's hard enough to gauge a person's character when the two of you are in the same room. People can be  such masters of deception that you could fall for just about anything. So think about the abundant opportunities the internet provides for disordered freaks to become anything they want, whenever they want.
Who would do this?
 I can't tell you. I don't know if personality disordered people know they are disordered. Or if they just do what they do and find themselves where they find themselves. Like water seeking its own level.
Some are more transparent than others.
Some are never found out.
But this one here is the lollapalooza of bat shit loons. This is straight out of the " I am not really a healing type chick. I am really the morbidly obese guy you saw on the Discovery channel that had to be surgically separated from my couch and winched out through a hole in the roof that firemen cut with a chain saw and now I have nothing better to do until they preform the surgery to cut off all the folds of loose flesh after I lose the projected 686 pounds to be at my target weight" files.

There is nothing wrong with your monitor. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. Michelle controls transmission. If you want volume, Michelle will give you volume. If you want it softer, Michelle will make it softer. Michelle controls the horizontal. Michelle controls the vertical. She will make it shake, rattle, and roll. If she wants you to be shaken, rattled, and rolled. Sit quietly while she controls all that you see and hear. Get ready to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery of:

"Michelle's..... After Narcissistic Abuse"

After repeated communications with Michelle notifying her of ethics violations for the use of writing that belongs to others, she has responded by.........
Drum roll please.
Not doing a goddamn thing outside of turning her Narcissist survivors for Christ goon squad on the bloggers that insist that they be properly credited for their work.
Her henchmen commenced a campaign of slander against these authors, as well as giving their e-mail addresses to spamers and Nigerian bank fraud perpetrators in retaliation for asking that their work be properly cited or deleted.
The author's work was denounced as having no value. Even as she refused to take it off her site.
But with the right amount of feel good platitudes, the end can justify the means.
All platitudinal smarm comes compliments of the ANA site. I am merely re-posting it without her permission. Just like she did to get it there.
Here is a good example of Michelle's philosophy and unshakable morals.

Atta girl Michelle. But practice what you preach. 
Luv.... you talk the talk but you ain't walking the walk. 
It's ever so nice that your altruistic nature shines like a beacon in the night
 to guide the great unwashed to your island of Christian teachings.

Be careful what you ask for Michelle.

Her bastard boyfriend yanked the covers over her head and made her savor every whiff !!
Like writing a post of your own.

Visit her face book page and you will see why she steals her content from others. After she was admonished about thievery, she spent a week peppering her stolen posts with words of her own.
Such as this.

Proximity, in child custody with a narcissist, should NOT be a question when both parents can behave themselves. With a narcissist, that point is rendered MUTE by the very fact, that narcissists CANT BEHAVE THEMSELVES.

I'll just let that one stand alone.

Narcissism is a broad spectrum of behaviors. On a scale of 1 - 10, Healthy Narcissism is a one, and Pathological Narcissism, or Narcissistic Personality Disorder, (NPD) is a 10.

One gooooooood. 10 baaaaaaaad

It is very typical for a target to feel the following feelings:
SUFFERING FROM PTSD (which in itself has a whole host of symptoms: intense fear, nightmares, reliving the pain, great sense of having no future, impending doom)

I believe it was Sigmund Freud that first hypothesized the "utterly sad syndrome" and his protege Carl Jung identified the "Toxic-ally dumped upon" complex.

LAZY POLICE, WANTING US TO BRING THEM IRREFUTABLE EVIDENCE OF ABUSE, IS NOT OUR JOBS as victims of domestic violence. We're going to TELL THE TRUTH, Bring you as many facts as we can, and if the rogue cops arent LAZY & MISOGYNISTIC, then THEYLL INVESTIGATE the crimes & put these predatory perpetrators behind bars, where they belong! 

Women should be able to send a man to prison with the wave of a hand. 
It's not like a woman has ever ....ya' know .......

I am in the process of putting together a type of crisis response team – and to make resources available to provide an immediate band-aid to triage our wounded. Please know in advance, I send up an open and infinite prayer to God that you receive hope & protection immediately – that you feel his presence and loving arms around you – so that you know you are not invisible, ignored, nor alone.

If your boyfriend tells you it isn't the dress that makes your ass look fat 

I am sure this will sound like I have some vendetta against this chick. And you would be right. She could have cited her sources. And that would have been the end of it. Instead she turned her zombie like followers on the people who questioned her ethics.
 I am fortunate to have found a place on the internet.
 I feel it is my duty to expose people who's actions do not live up to their words.
Here is the compassion you can expect from the people who hover over "After Narcissistic Abuse."

 I just read your accusation on their page about stealing your posts. To be honest you sound more like a narcissist yourself than a victim. And as far as people stealing what you's the internet. If you put it on here people can steal it so get over it.

A fine example of Christ like thinking.
Hey JC!
The Romans have you nailed to a cross. It happens. Get over it.
So her followers know she is a thief.  Michelle put a call to arms out and they all heeded the new messiah's word.

Michelle. I have hired a celebrity spokesman to deliver a message to you.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Trading Queens.

I hate people that trade queens.
Personality disordered people love to trade queens.
Trading queen's is a chess reference. Each person having their queen in check by their opponents queen is like the mutually assured destruction that kept the US and USSR from annihilating each other for decades.
I use this to describe social interactions with others that make me feel safe enough to open up more than what would ordinarily make me comfortable.
As long as people think rationally.
It works.

It starts with the other person (my mother) telling me something personal.
Which leads me to tell her something personal.
And then having my candor thrown right back in my face. 
Knowing now that every word out of this person's mouth is a lie. There was no trading of queen's. I just handed her my piece.

She lured me into the open, clubbed me like a baby seal, and acquired yet another missile in her arsenal to blast me with forever more.
One can never under estimate the chutzpah of politicians, men of the cloth, and the personality disordered.
There is no shortage of closet bound politician's working like beavers to destroy the rights of gays.
No lack of fornication condemning preachers, wallowing in whore house's.
And you have my mothers involvement in a murder.
You might think that a person who lured a man over to her house and killed him wouldn't have a lot to say about much of anything anyone else has done.
Things that pale in comparison.
That killing a man and stuffing him in his trunk for some unsuspecting slob to find later, would give this woman a sense of shame. Or at least reservation when judging others.
To that I would say this.
Guess again.
She is and was the absolute most unforgiving, shit stirring,  bitch on wheels I have yet to see.
It sucks that any serious conversation with a sociopath NPD has to be approached like peace negotiations. That no matter how much knowledge you have of a person's reprehensible actions, they will take it to the mat each and every time you engage.
Why should you need leverage? Why shouldn't a person be able to say what is on their mind?
Especially if what is on your mind is, "I don't like you following me around the house and badgering me for hours at a time. Knock it off."
And not having things pitched up to the next level.
Which is exactly what happens.
Oh you haven't seen badgering yet mofo!
Even then...
Jeez why am I bothering.
Those that forget history are doomed to repeat it.
This is a quote from FDR before he met with Stalin at Yalta.

  I just have a hunch that Stalin is not that kind of a man. ... and I think that if I give him everything I possibly can and ask for nothing from him in return, noblesse oblige, he won't try to annex anything and will work with me for a world of democracy and peace.

We all know how that turned out.
If your narcissist is the regular kind of narcissist.
That is they come with a head as hard as a Bois d'arc Stump.
Just give it up and develop an exit strategy.
You'll never win.
Go no contact.
If my mother denies committing a murder in which I was scheduled to testify at trial, what hope do you guys have?

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

There is no after narcissistic abuse for kids.

In the hedonistic sins of the flesh my mother indulged, and in my fathers own hedonism, (what else could you call someone so consumed with another that he would give up his life rather than live without this person), never once was there any thought given to the children of this unholy union.
Not once was there a glancing consideration that these children might yearn for the creature comforts the parents wasted in their bid for adult satisfaction they felt they were owed.
As soon as my parents one upped each other beyond the need for us to be hostages in their war, we were relegated back to being mere spectators in their undoing.
Who the fuck operates like that?
I read about the poor slobs who get involved with an NPD woman. Those dumb fucks rarely stick around long enough to drag kids into the deal. Same with women.
Unfortunately most of these people have children from previous relationships.
If you enter into a relationship with a personality disordered person I have a lot less sympathy for you than I do the children you brought into the world.
First time the guy with the Corvette and the Bill Clinton hair cut fucked your best friend should be the last.
But you guys go back for more and more and more.
Then whine about the trauma.
If you guys think you have PTSD, go see what your lifestyle does for your children.
You can run if you want.
Where do your kids go?
The kids that have to sit and watch the bouts of adults gaming the shit out of each other. Watching one adult drive off with their affair partner and slinging gravel all over the house.
They are the emotional pit stop of the deranged fuck left behind that has no audience to pander to but his/her kids.
The kids are stuck in this loop from the day they hit the ground until they have the wherewithal to get away from the loons.
They are beyond the relief afforded in paint by platitude thinking. It's burned onto their hard drive for ever more. And it will stay there because they will never be sure about the next guy/girl you bring home.
So you guys that went steady with a narcissist, you really don't evoke a lot of sympathy.
Some due diligence is in order before you drag the next narcissist into your child's life.
How about some catchy phrases for the kids and the collateral damage they become from your love life?

"Too bad you have to watch your father weep uncontrollably because he peeped in the window of his girlfriends apartment and saw her giving his best friend a BJ but you don't matter as much to me as my pride."


"I'll fix dinner for my kids AFTER I cut and paste a bunch of mindless feel good bullshit on a site run by a pathological sociopath. I've already got a mother so fuck off."
I guess that won't fit on a poster.
I vowed that this blog would never become a source of dissent to people suffering from a PD's abuse.
But the dating Jesus freaks of the world have cordoned themselves off and are now attempting to capitalize on, and demonize every one that doesn't fall into their clique.
Sorry. These rants never end up where I think they are going.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

The shining.

I don't know what my great grandmother thought of me. I wasn't about to get close enough to her to find out. She walked through the house in these old shoes that were like bricks strapped to her feet. They served the same purpose for me as the bell on a cat's collar does for small birds.
She would try to ambush me.
In silence.
But she was too deaf to know how much noise she was making.
During the school year I was stuck in town. I would walk home each day, fix a snack and watch TV.
So one day I'm at the house. The barbarian was unaccounted for.  Just like I liked it.
I am standing with my back to the stove and someone came in and stood behind me. There was no sound of a door, and no one said a word.  I turned around and they were still standing there.
Except for this.
I couldn't see a thing.
But they were still there.
I didn't see anyone.
I didn't hear anyone.
But there they were.
The feeling was so intense that I waived my hand through the open air where I should have seen someone.  And I kept waving my hand there because they kept standing there. It was like standing in front a  klieg light. I could feel this all through me.
It was 40 years ago.
Of all the mist that obscures the past, this is all clear as a bell.
What ever else it was, it was pleasant.
This was long before I consumed any mind altering substances.
It was a feeling of acceptance and harmony, and of being at the right place at the right time, and all of that and none of that and the English language doesn't have any words for this feeling.
It was there.
And it was there.
And then it was gone.
Just like that.
What was the most remarkable experience of my life was gone as quick as it came. And it all made complete sense. It made enough sense that I turned back around and thought what a strange thing to have happen.
And I carried on like nothing had happened.
I didn't forget. It was something no one could forget. But it dovetailed so nicely with my mortal perceptions that questions never came.
It is what it was and what it was is all that there is to it.
About 30 minutes later the phone rang. It was the barbarian and she had stopped off at the farm. While she was there my great grandmother had some episode. She was 89 and it wasn't a surprise. But her death coincided with the shining to the second.
I don't know what else to tell you. This is another of those things that got shoved under the rug.
I never publicized it.
The first time I trotted it out I was trumped by my mothers manufactured crying jag.
If I intended to share this with any one,  my intentions went the way of my story that night.

In memory of
Edna Mae McDonald
1883 - 1972

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Hen Fruit.

The gals over at DS just can't do anything right. 


You are making breakfast for your estranged (unreasonable, demanding, irrational) child and ask, "What do you want for breakfast?"

Estranged child says, "Two eggs, one fried, one poached."

So you make breakfast, set it in front of your estranged child who looks you straight in the eye and says (here it comes)..."But you fried the wrong egg!"

And that, my friends, is what we are up against. We will fry the wrong egg every time because they're gunning for us. We will fry the wrong egg because you simply cannot win this game.

One observation about the chicks over on Daily Strength is that they all had their kids tell them to fuck off.  Over here in Blogacon, we have all (most of us) told our parents to fuck off.  They can't understand why their kids won't associate with them. Most of us wouldn't go back there if you held a gun to our head. 
This isn't a coincidence.
They are clueless.
Their kids have got clues for them.
They are too busy shouting them down to listen.

 I almost feel bad for some of the people there. I  mock them and ridicule them. But I don't really know if they are straight up or not. You know some of them have to be.  I went there and the FIRST! thread is the the purple text below. She lays it on pretty thick. She cried for three hours?
I didn't cry for three hours when the Dallas cowboys muffed what should have been their third super bowl win in a row.  

It's all in the tell. Read them through and there is always that crack that lets you know it's all bull shit and a pack of lies. 


Double reverse histrionic punt fake. On three. Ready break. 

And swish.  I couldn't make this up if I wanted to. 
Here is more.

I am completely alone. I have another daughter, my youngest, who unfortunately made some wrong choices and she is in prison; some other pain that I have to deal with. On top of that, my mom is 93 years old and was hospitalized 3 times during this summer and I have not been able to go see her because she lives in the Islands and since I am taking care financially of my daughter who is in prison. I dont have enough money to fly over there. 

Since when do people in prison pay rent? That's how we got the phrase three hots and a cot. It's not five star accommodations but the price is right. I doubt if her daughter has any bills on the outside. Most people get out of jail and start over.  I am thinking the no contact daughter is the scapegoat and the one in prison is the golden child. The scapegoat is called everything but a C***. The golden child made some bad choices and unfortunately is in a women's prison. Surrounded by hundreds of other women. Savage, sex starved women taking showers.  Naked even.  

I got sick to my stomach. Honestly, my grievance is not that she wanted to re establish a relationship with her ex husband. My grievance is how she changed from one day to another from being the loving daughter she was to this monster who despises me. I am also apalled at how she is disregarding her two oldest children, not taking unto account what they feel and think. I think I am going to contact a therapist. I dont think I can deal with these by myself. I have always been a strong woman. I have dealt with cancer, loosing my job and eventually loosing my home, my daughter in prison, and many other things, and I always had the opinion depression was a luxury that I couldnt afford. This time, I feel as depression is here and I have to get help to deal with it.

So this is really about her daughter hooking back up with her ex-husband.


Their father died about 14 years ago and I have raised them by myself for 30 years now.
Is this new math? Or does having two kids make six months equal a year? 
Your mum is so fat that if there was a circle of people with radius xpir^2, she could sit in the middle and sit on everyone.

Why is it so hard for them to walk away? I have gone no contact and as much as I piss and moan it's not because I lost this magic relationship. It's my anger for all the years I wasted on a person who would just as soon see me dead so she ramp up the drama and crocodile tears and fake grief and be the martyr forever more. And do it without any fear of me around to tell people what a lying sack of shit she is.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012


You gotta watch where you step when traversing the minefield of pop psychology. Their reliance on slogan's and feel good drivel is window dressing to hide the fact that you are just as much a target for the bookseller, as you are for the nut job you are seeking shelter from.
"Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die." 
Sounds really good. 
If this is true, then anger is like jumping off a tall building and landing on the person you resent so they end up shitting in a plastic bag for the rest of their life. 
"Anger, is like poisoning your cat and waiting for your neighbor's cat to die." The end result is one less cat in the world. And his cat is not the cat that keeps puking on the throw rugs.

" It's not anger that is the enemy. It's what people do with the anger that counts."
I still want to write "Barbara  is a fuck pig" in a 5000 point font using "round up" on her front lawn.
But it would be wrong.
One website listed a song to run through your head if you feel you are losing your temper. It's called:
"Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."
 I wrote a song of my own. It's called:
"Let there be anarchy and let it begin with me forcing the cat down the toilet and flooding the apartment downstairs.
It's a therapeutic thing to do, a therapeutic song to sing. and it's therapeutic to let your unsuspecting step daughter go in there without telling her there is 20 pound's of spring loaded fury waiting to be liberated.
I could get used to unmitigated anger.
Maybe sociopath's are on to something.
Maybe I should join the Barbarian's way of thinking.
After you divest yourself of empathy, compassion, warmth,  feelings,  loyalty, truth, fidelity, reliability, devotion, honesty, respect, selflessness, and integrity, everything else is a piece of cake.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Karma's a bitch.

My sociopath mother has a problem with the prospect of cremation. She thinks it is a sin to wantonly destroy this planet's only source of pure, naturally occurring beauty.
To deny the world this time capsule of beauty, would be to throw mankind back to the dark ages. She must be available to be exhumed and studied by future generations. Only the Barbarian can serve as a benchmark for the women of the future to aspire to.
She is well aware of the void her passing will impose on the world. Those people whose live's have been  forever changed by her consummate beauty and refinement. It's her duty to assure these people that the beauty that sustains them now, will never perish from the earth.
She must  archive and preserve this resource so freely given to her by the very hand of god.
And she must never falter in the quest to have her remains judiciously prepared and preserved. The one of a kind portrait that is her face,  painted by the hand of god, can never be replicated by mortal hands. Only the  original will be sufficient to draw from in the future.  And these generations must know that the comfort and joy derived from her beauty in the past, will last forever more.
One can only hope that this will soothe the anguished crowds  that will take to the streets, weeping and rioting, at the news of her death.

Pull this leg and it plays jingle bells. No one alive has ever been able to figure out what go's on in that head of hers. Not even her.
My mother has her funeral bought and paid for. She has her dress and casket. All top shelf.
The casket is a hermetically sealed behemoth.  Air and water tight. Bug, varmint, and Jehovah's Witness resistant.
She will have the freshest corpse money can buy.
She is busy locking in contractual agreements for immunity from invading bacteria, mold, and insects.
Only the insects have yet to sign letters of intent.
One thing about air tight caskets.
By keeping air out, a sealed casket, in anything but the most frigid weather, becomes a crock pot that turns the body into a smelly toxic stew.
Formaldehyde buys three days of unfestered viewing of the body.
But for the long haul, a sealed casket is a self basting cooking bag.
Preventing entry of the elements also prevents exit of the elements.
So the casket becomes a pressurized canister of formaldehyde, methane and just a lot of garden variety stank.
And when it eventually leaks, and they all eventually do, those liquids are expelled with great force.

Karma IS a bitch Babbs.
Karma is a bitch.
I hereby rescind all threats made expressly, or implied, to light my mothers head afire like the Hindenburg.
I won't do a thing.
I will sit back and have a cold beer, in the hot sun, knowing that under my feet she is baking like a pie.