Just Be Positive

I needed something from the world (which in formative years- meant my mother whom I counted on to soothe and support me) which I did not know how to ask for.  I needed shelter from the barage of sensory overload and tools and skills for regulation – a safe person and place to turn to for rest and recovery, from a world which overwhelmed me at every level.

My open expression of unmet need and failure to hide discomfort opened the door to being othered, dismissed, banished, erased, and demeaned. Because I lacked the experience and language to comprehend and process this or handle it effectively myself, I persisted in a variety of ways to be understood, to seek consolation.

The things I could count on (but not grasp/articulate or benefit from) were belittlement & dismissal and/or toxic positivity:  offerings of overly simplified solutions to issues/needs more complex than anyone was willing to consider. I was encouraged to lighten up and to JUST choose a positive attitude.  “Hey, here is a book on how to win friends and influence people.”

I can think of no thing which made me sicker/ more depressed in my life than the widely shared belief that I am wrong, different, bad at a cellular level. Patently unlovable. A sub optimal human.

Being disempowered, and cast out was devastating and drove in me, some powerfully unlikable reactions and behaviors. Living in a state of sustained sleep deprivation, with an overactive nervous system, surrounded by and needing to rely on formidably insensitive people, did not work out for me.

It is insisted that I was not abused (just an impossible asshole and treated accordingly). But is there evidence of an absence of abuse? 

Why a Smear Campaign?

Today, my therapist asked why my sister or the boys’ father might want to undermine me and damage my credibility. The simple answer is that I refused to submit to them.

A narcissist seeks to “punish” anyone who openly questions them by directly expressing clear limits and needs. They may pretend to be genuinely curious about helping or understanding, but their true intention is to diminish, silence, and erase their target.

Standard Smear Tactics:

  • Smear campaigns often happen as a form of retaliation for speaking out about or questioning offense to unjustness or unwholesomeness.

I understand that a smear campaign arises from entitlement, a need to be right, control the narrative, and protect one’s status and image. Someone with strong narcissistic traits meticulously curates their public persona to present only as successful and accomplished. Their methods of implementation vary.

  • Lies and Distortions: Spread rumors, exaggerations, and lies about the target. 
  • Use Personal Attacks to Avoid Substance: Attack the target’s character instead of discussing or working to address and resolve clearly identifed and communicated issues at hand. 
  • Gaslighting: Twist words and create confusion.
  • Shift blame: The narcissist will shift the blame onto the target to avoid accountability for their own unfortunate behaviors. 
  • Stonewalling:  Silent Treatment.  Refusal to engage or acknowledge requests to have open dialog about the issue.

Note: I did absolutely present as an insane person.

Unhinged from a highly sensitive and dysregulated nervous system, and without anyone to shelter or teach me self-soothing techniques, I experienced literal nervous breakdowns from sensory and emotional overload. In typical gaslighting scenarios, my sensitivity and inability to manage it were exploited to justify brutality and judgment against me, presented as evidence of my supposed wrongness. “Clearly, she is crazy.” I lived in a constant state of destabilization and panic. But if I am deemed “crazy,” does that make cruelty acceptable?

Painful Reminders

Today marks the date of my mother’s birth and the continuing birthday – holiday season.  

I have been reflecting on my mother’s financially heroic rescue of me (even while she and I were in our own state of brokenness) – When the boys’ father could not force me into foreclosure via withholding support, he demanded his name removed from the mortgage.  My mother co-signed a refinance.

He had insisted we sell my condo to purchase OUR home with his name on it (with zero dollars of his own to offer) while also requiring a wedding and a ring which cost more than I was comfortable with and which he had no money to contribute.  But the only actual issue was my failure to lighten up and go with the flow.  You know, be grateful.  After a lifetime of being devalued, to be used was the most I dare hope for.  

My entanglement with him never not hurt or felt scary, ever.  It was familiar  “home”.   It was the love I was raised on.

My mother’s ongoing aid during our divorce disturbed his efforts to defeat of me (his need to win and put me in my place) while also pulling from her estate (my sister’s due).  

My sibling and the boys’ father had a vested interest in dividing me again from my mother, fueled by the mutual inability to effectively gain dominion, respect, fear, or dependence from me.  

True, I am the common variable in those failed relations.  I get that. Like a moth to a flame, I sought the precise dynamic I was groomed for.

Imagining my female progenitor and sibling high-fiving over my well-earned ongoing anguish is devastating.  See, they along with father of my sons, demonstrated a shared drive to be in charge of my suffering- either the cause or the solution.  

While they must remain emphatic that I was “not abused”;  choosing words and behaviors which are righteously diminishing and knowingly damaging, is in fact abuse.  Covert abuse is a means to control, demean, or harm another person without direct confrontation or physical violence.  Covert abusers use strategies such as gaslighting, silent treatment, triangulation, evasion, blame shifting, word twisting and partial incomplete truths – triggering feelings of fear, confusion, doubt, shame thereby targeting a  victim’s sense self-esteem, autonomy, connection, security, and well-being.

As always, I qualify- The poor treatment and handling of me – I contmplate and share about this in order that I may process and heal as I do the work to retrieve my spirit. Sharing is in no way an attempt to excuse or justify harmful choices. There is not a malevolent choice by me, which I would stand by or defend- or deny. Unpopular choice, yes. Upsetting, yes. Ruinous/black-hearted, no. ***Disclosing the particulars of my experience, is not an act of blackheartedness.

Fallout from The Love Bomb

As for more more more, apparently that is exactly what a love bomber wants you to want and count on.  I hate to use that word, because it makes me sound vicitmy and even more lame than I already do.

First, I would like to share that the woman he dated before me, was recently hospitalized after a suicide attempt – claiming the despair of his love bombing and discard were the final straw.  I assumed she was crazy and too fragile and unsuitable.  He would clearly not ever do that.

Things which are making me feeeel mad at the moment:  

For starters, I did not find his profile attractive or compelling, not his picture, not his words.  He picked and pursued me. Relentlessly. I literally said NO thank you right out of the gate.  

He handled my rejection beautifully with charm, humor, grace, and humility though.  So, I was inclined to continue chatting — and then – meet.  

He was shorter than I liked and requested in my profile, and he lied (by two inches) about his height which I came to laugh about and forgive and accept because when a person showers you with constant expressions of love in all of the ways, what does height even matter, or religion, or politics? The most thoughtful gifts and generous emotional offerings and direct and repeated expression of a promised future together made me feel a way I had not felt before.  What I failed to recognize is that this was a man who will say and do whatever is needed to get the results he desires.  I saw this in his interactions with others and thought him so clever and in charge.  Not realizing that is WHO HE IS.

His fundamentalist faith, his politics, his hairiness, his necklace, his stupid gun, his very strong southern accent, his sometimes-unfortunate grammar, some of his clothing, his inability/refusal to deliver physically what I begged for over and over.

No no no.  right?  

He was not what I was seeking and also not who he said he was, but –  I was blinded. He literally cast a spell on me. What I did not recognize was that he was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and it had little to do with me, in fact it opposed all that I openly stated I wanted and needed at this time.  

My vision for US was to visit once a week and see where it went, no sleep overs, no trips, active disinterest in marriage or cohabitation. (I said all of that in my profile) I don’t thrive with so much proximity, even to my most favorite people.  I am not wired for that.

I accept how much solitude and space I need to recover from daily life on earth.    What he heard:  Challenge accepted: I will get her to agree to what she clearly has decided and plainly stated what she does not want.  This man is an influencer, a rain maker, a leader, a hustler.  He shared on our first date, that he is the good kind of narcissist.  I have found nothing on the internet or in therapy to substantiate that such a thing exists.

From our first meeting, he blew me up 24/7 with messages of love and ideas for our future together, meals, trips, a home….Literally around the clock, even in the hours of the night when most people were sleeping.  

He would occasionally say I am so glad you picked me and I would laugh and reply:   I did not pick you, I surrendered to you.  I would not have picked him and assumed it was because my picker is broken, and I only know how to pick the most unsuitable and lacking partners.

He gifted me and fed me and improved literally any and everything around my home and yard (without suggestion or request by me).  Everything he touched turned to gold (including me, I thought) I treasured our physical expression because it seemed to flow from our amazing soul connection.  So, while not offering the physical release and relief I craved, it was beautiful and surely my lack of release and relief was due only to my defectiveness.

I hate the reality and still it is true.  He made me feel loved and special and safe and seen for all of the hours, days, weeks, months.  I experienced security and trust and then an actual chemical dependence on him.  THEN- Without a fight or a conflict, like a switch that was flipped, he retreated.  

So first the heartache over the loss of what he made me want and believed we had, then – the shame of knowing this could serve yet as more proof to my family of my unworthiness as evidenced by the results in my life.  The secondary feelings are twice as impactful as the pain from the actual wound. This is called secondary trauma.  There is the initial trauma, then there is the trauma of how a person is handled and supported and viewed.   It has been deeply ingrained in me to believe when a person acts in ways which are unwholesome or hurtful, that I have caused or imagined or earned that.   

I absolutely am traumatized by this.  Trauma— when an experience or event is too big for a person to process and move past.  What is traumatic for one person is often not for another.  My trauma response is often characterized by being both adrenalized and paralyzed at the same time.  The adrenaline cortisol dump wreaks havoc on my mind and body.  No sleep makes it virtually impossible to recover and stabilize.  

I did not try on a ring but this song!!!

You told me I was the one you couldn’t live without
And the way that you said it, I believed it like a vow (like a vow)
Maybe I got carried away, and baby, that’s fair
But you can’t call me crazy ’cause you carried me there
The way that you said it, I believed it like a vow
Don’t mean nothing now

We flew to the sun but that high didn’t last
It didn’t work out, I ain’t even mad about that
I’m sure I’ll get over you being gone
I just feel stupid

God please help me set aside everything I think I know about myself, love, connection, and especially You: for an open mind and a new experience with myself, love, connection, and especially You.

Blessings and Privilege

If you were blessed in any of the following ways, in your upbringing and formative experience, you were privileged.

Felt loved, seen, heard, safe, welcomed, protected, valued, worthy of good things

Had a person in your life whom you could count on for unconditional kindness

Had confidence in any one thing about yourself

Had a person who intentionally supported safety, wellness, connection, and peace for you

Believed that you were capable of creating change and achieving good things

Enjoyed a nourishing connection to a family member, community, group, god, team, hobby, passion, strength or talent – faith in anything good- a loving higher power

Had an adult in your life who was deeply interested in who and how you were, intentionally seeking to know you and– who believed and communicated to you: “You have what it takes”

Had an affirming adult to comfort you in times of distress

Could count on wholesome guidance and direction from someone in charge of caring for you

I was privileged (my life made easier by things I did not earn or create for myself) in the following ways:

A house in a safe area, clothing, food, orthodontia, education, access to intellectual enrichment, an able body- which was also tall and thin (though it was often the source of mockery and abuse), an ability to learn in traditional ways, not being black (I do believe in white privilege, only I was also not considered white, growing up)

I firmly believe I would trade any of those to have been loved deeply and fiercely and undeniably by any person whom I relied on to teach me about myself and love and belonging- to have been safe and free to want, feel, and dream for myself.

The right people will see you. The right people will hear you. The right people will feel you. The right people will do right by you. Surround yourself with the right people.

A New Low

For the past months, intractable insomnia has drastically diminished my ability to function. Circling the drain is the best I can do. My therapist encouraged me to address chronic back pain, which is compounding the sleep issue and overall unmanageability. I have avoided this for financial reasons.

This is absolutley a new low. I can live in sustained financial and emotional duress on little to no sleep.  However, with incapacitating back pain made worse when seated or lying down— I.  Lost.  My shit.  I AM NOT OK with 24/7 being awake and in pain. 

I cracked- phoning Favorite-I wept: “I am going to say some shit to you that you are in no way equipped to handle.  I need a fkn break from my body and mind.  THIS cannot continue.  I want to go to the ER and beg to just be put under.  But I am afraid— terrified of waiting too long in an uncomfortable chair, surrounded by overstimulating overhead lighting while surrounded by people using speaker phones, before being strapped into a shitty cot in a taxing position, only to leave with a huge bill and with no answers or relief.”  She listened like a champ, offering to bring me dinner or have me over. I visited and we(she) determined that me going to sleep that night, with whatever drugs it takes, was essential. Then, she raided her parents no longer used medications- for my pain mangement plan for the following day. This brought much needed laughter and hope.  I have not used any of her parents painkillers-out of fear for the side effects.

That night 1.5mg of my expired clonazepam delivered 6.5 consecutive hours of sleep.  Unconsciousness was brilliant and my back pain was eased from having rested.  Ah- The gift of a new day rather than just a continuation of all the days which came before. With a recovered-ish mind and body, I enjoyed the endorphins of fervently and successfully facing down tasks which called for some level of executive function, unsure of when I might again benefit from the energy and clarity from a night of rest.

With my neurology, brain chemistry,and metabolism, I am made ill, almost immediately, by substances/medications used to sedate, calm or numb, or reduce pain– For me, vertigo and vomiting are 99% guaranteed.

Add to this my younger son’s 16th birthday last week- and a lack of resources to take him out to eat or do a special thing.  No gift, no celebration, no photo. Horrifying evidence of my judgeable worhtlessness and joylessness. It is beyond painful and still true, that I can not provide more OR be different. And I fail entirely at masking the pain of this. AND – my younger sons’ birthday also marks a landmark betrayal and trauma (compliments of his father and my sister) from which I have not recovered and am also expected to “get over”.

So in true C-PTSD fashion–first the hardship, and then the ass kicking secondary feelings of shame over an existence which substantiates (by my family of origin’s code) that good people are happy, comfortable and rewarded.  AND THE non-good and unworthy will face unhidable struggle and despair.

We'll figure it out together is a love language- Steve Maraboli Phototext

Several Things

Several things occurred last week to escalate my despair.  And the thing which hurt the most, was the secondary feeling.  You see, any time, I am in pain, or struggle or suffering, I recall how my family or origin would view this as not only what I deserve, but as what I cause and earn, or simply manufacture.  

Any observable overwhelm: pain, discomfort, need, sensitivity, or limit of mine which inconvenienced them/called for some level of heightened consideration- went into the pot of:  She is a pain in the ass, ungrateful (as evidenced by her inability and unwillingness to just be happy and comfortable and to go with the flow), manipulative, difficult, impossible.  WE shall reduce her to a more manageable size.  She is unmanageable.

The family system and culture- by labelling me pain in the ass, could collectively and comfortably diminish, disregard, and banish me…once it was established that I did have it coming, right?  Will she ever learn that those needs, limits, struggles, pains are hers to manage and bringing them out into the open, shall only increase her suffering (by her own hand—it is her choice).

The system demands a certain posture and kissing of the ring, which I cannot manage or feign, and this was regarded as a breach of the highest level.

I am attempting to practice radical acceptance and self care today. The Closer I am to Fine says it perfectly.

You better watch out, better not cry, better not pout

What if?

What if I had grown up with even one single person who saw me, heard me, was kind and compassionate and DECIDED that I was worth understanding, worthy of peace and comfort and sheltering?  What if, just one adult in my life had chosen to concern themselves with exactly why I felt so overwhelmed and pained literally all the time?  Instead, this sensitivity and lack of resilience was labelled and “treated” as:   a bad attitude, negative, ungrateful, angry, difficult, manipulative, overly sensitive, pain in the ass. 

My neurology is such that I feel overwhelmed by most all sensory input.  Things which dont even register for some hit me in high definiton at a cellualr level. In response to this: I now live a life of near solitude in my home; my bedroom specifically, which is not unlike a sensory deprivation chamber, dim lighting, mellow color scheme, 68 degrees, silent, orderly, and if any scent at all, lavender.  Loud noises, overhead lighting, big or repetitive movements are not allowed in my bedroom.  At last, I have a protected and safe space. 

I am not unaware that my sensitivity is na lot for others.  My HIGH sensitivity is not a choice or a crime or proof of wrongness. In addition to neurodivergent wiring: difficulty sensory processing and constant state of overwhelm (My nervous system feels under siege in the presence of most others— speaker phones, cologne, clicking pens, bright lights, or any visual, auditory, or olfactory chaos.)  This state of constant overwhelm calls for more rest than most typically require, yet I rarely sleep or rest, and this leaves me especially vulnerable to emotional impact.  

I imagine lil Magda – constantly overwhelmed by the food smells and consistencies, loud voices and music and incorrect temperatures (my body does not regulate temperature-I rarely sweat, no matter how hot-and am prone to heatstroke and then also feel chilled when humidity is present- if it is warm) Does this make sense or feel relatable to most others? No.  Is it convenient and fun for anyone? Absolutely no. Does it make me bad?  Also No.   

Add to that gaslighting and shunning which flowed in response to these unhidable discomforts of mine.  The ongoing message:  If you are unhappy or uncomfortable, that is on you, do not burden us with it.  You have either caused, imagined, or brought on any claimed pain.  Oh, and fuck you.  Smile godammit.  Your failure to arrange your face and attitude to one of pleasure is proof of lack of gratitude and assholery.  Fix that or fuck off and pay the price.  

You say you’re cold—instead of a blanket or jacket, we will offer a thermostat reading.  You say you are hungry, instead of a simple low sensory impact snack, you a get cold dismissal with an offering only of the time of your last feeding as evidence of your lying about hunger and an attempt to manipulate or seek attention.  You need a bathroom, nope, you just went. You are sad or afraid (overwhelmed and don’t understand why because you are small and lack the language and understanding of yourself).  Look around, everyone is happy.  What is wrong with you?  Why must you ruin everything?  When will you learn?  You. ARE. The. Problem.  Get different. 

Family of origin people and the person I once married would insist I was not abused. Would that also mean that their behaviors and treatment of me were not in fact not abusive? Hmmmm

Emotionally abusive acts and acts of emotional neglect and abandonment are in fact abuse.

Bob Goff Love Does

More More More – PLEASE

Month after month of:

Serenity + Flow- easy and magical flow- we were convinced this has not been done before, that we invented this way of being together- as we have neither witnessed nor experienced a connection like ours. Fluid Connection- How is it possible for only the most beautiful energy to flow through and around us, completely unrestricted and unbound? None of those familiar feelings of judgment, resentment, irritation, anxiety

Effortless conversation expanding in all directions

Easy and bellyaching laughter- unbeatable eye contact and smiles, inside jokes and language

The only thing dramatic about us – the intensity of the love – our utter disbelief- Ours – a blessed connection, precious but not fragile

Shared experiences as each of our love languages

Expansion

Mutual desire and yearning for each other’s presence, ideas, voice, touch, scent, taste- at each of the sensory levels- we delight in each other

Kindness, genuine and overarching interest in each other

Easy pivots and adjusting – Tenderness – Erotica (a thing we discovered together)

Beautiful kisses, hugs, touches and all forms of physical expression

Thoughtful surprises:

Books, Random Treats, Flowers, Candy, Snacks, Favorite beverages, Candles, Soaps, Spices, Blankets, massages that were wanted (and never creepy and one sided)

Household projects, improvements, repairs, songs, memes, tumblrs, recipes, animals, waterfalls, shows to watch

Motorcycle rides – Sunrises and sunsets – Meal after beautiful meal

Shared visions of and desires for a future of more of what we were already doing

Best friends and more

More more more -Please

All this with a man whom I did not pick. At a time when I was actively seeking only scheduled weekly dates. My picker is broken. And then…I surrendered to a man and a connection, I could not have chosen or even envisioned for myself. I surrendered to him. Showing up all the hours in all of the ways -day after beautiful day. Days, weeks, months flying by with a man whom I actively and with repeated efforts tried to NOT choose.

Recovery introduced me to surrender (acceptance- leaning in) rather than force (instead of my will- thy will be done).

I remain lost and confused about my ability to choose. Because my choosing has consistently rested on beliefs and feelings and perceptions rooted in my brokenness (all the lies and myths, I was raised on, the things I was taught about my own worthiness and lovability and capacity for loving and sustainable connection) and resulted in attachments which flow from that very dark place.

I CHOSE the man I married because the dynamic was familiar(like of the family)- disconnected, volatile, fragile, scary- affirming of all the worst things I believed about myself.

I chose my next LTR because, he was kind and honest…but still missing a type of connection I was dying for. I thought that connection was the price to pay for someone who would not actively harm, betray or take from me. Therapy allowed me to understand, I was allowed to want more and capable of more and worthy of more, that I was not an ungrateful monster for desiring more

Wax Play?

I have been struggling to share about the untraditional nature of my relationship, which is by far the only profoundly satisfying one I have known – a magical combination of both calm and wildly exciting. Who knew that this was a thing?

Because of my love for candles, O gifted me three nice candles in the most whoelsome peaceful scents. And with regard for my unique wiring and thus an appreciation for high impact tactile experiences, he super surprised me with what were advertised as low temperature candles designed specifically for wax play (not a thing which I had previously known and am more than happy to explore with him).

Anyway, we established a color code (green, yellow, red) to indicate comfort levels and limits. He began dripping wax on my back from the black candle, which I think was supposed to be the lowest temperature, of the three. The very first drop felt not unlike second-degree burn and was an immediate CODE RED+, which we found hysterical.

O continued adjusting the candle to find a range/distance which was hot, but not dangerously so. But, with each drip still CODE RED(ish), he was like  “It seems I would have to actually stand on the bed to get the candle far enough from your body to avoid burning you.”

So, we tried the other two candles- both the blue and the red were each just as immediately skin searing as the black one.

O visited the vendor’s website for reviews and tips or things we could do differently-  And literally almost all reviews for this product line were in all caps: DO NOT BUY!!!! – some even including photos of blistering and scalding as a result of wax play with these candles.

I suppose we will need a different kind.

On a less fun note, I must express my gratitude for my program of recovery which helps me deal with the boys’ father who has given our older son(with a license for less than a year and has totalled a car) permission to travel alone (in a sixteen year old vehicle) to Kentucky(7+hours) to race and to camp. That neither of us could get to him quickly in the event of car trouble or physical injury, begs all of my old fearful and reactive behaviors to kick in. I feel desperate to tell his father about himself.

Sharing here allows me to resist. I am proud to have expressed my concern with grace- no judgment (or demand) to him. I suspect if he changes his decision, he will claim it is to accomodate me which is farcical to anyone who knows us. It would be because it has been made clear that the responsiblity of any resulting problems will undeniably rest squarely on his shoulders. It will probably be fine. I however, am disinterseted in making decisions which could prove otherwise. I look forward to the relief of some solid wax play. I would like the wax so hot that it, if one degree hotter, would damage my skin. Asap. #sensoryfreak