Wild Horses


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Hanged, Drawn, and Quartered by Matthew Joseph @fotodudenz

I sit down to write and my mind flash floods, making my thoughts and fingers stumble and preventing anything too coherent or well written from rendering itself here.  I keep pushing myself to write something, anything, just TRY to get something out, dammit!

The Wild Horses are here… dragging me away in a drawn and quartered manner, tearing me to shreds for the past five years.  I’m giving into them.  I can’t exist with this pain anymore.  I can’t accept the injustices, the lies, the twisted exaggerations…  I can no longer.  It’s as if I struggled through it all, all my life, simply to not exist anyway.

Those Wild Horses are here.

Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones


The Long Recovery from Narcissistic Abuse

This week on Facebook, I’ve gotten a few notices for “My Moments” from 6 years ago. 6 Years ago, I was escaping an abusive relationship with a malignant narcissist. When I look at those pictures, I am flooded with many memories of what my struggles were at that point in my life. “Struggles” is the […]

via Reflections on My 6 Years Post Recovery from Narcissistic Abuse — After Narcissistic Abuse

(Reblogging an article here isn’t how it used to be…  I apologize to the authors of the articles I attempt to reblog for my clumsy attempts to share your words.)

Several lines in this article really grabbed me, but this one in particular really punched truth in my face (bold and italics are mine)…

“My level of fear after ending the abusive relationship was directly related to the psychopathy of the person I let into my life. The narcissist that abused me, threatened my life and launched a legal smear campaign to defame me. All attempts I made to protect myself were met with disbelief and resistance because those who were in a position to defend me were manipulated and taken in by my abusers honed skills to  manipulate, lie and confuse.”


The Daddy Issues Accusations 


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I’ll never forget the first time a therapist suggested to me that I wasn’t realistic about my “dad’s part” in my childhood abuse. I was furiously defensive. My daddy had never abused me!! Dr. Patty caught me off guard though when she said, Don’t you feel some anger at him for not protecting you from your mother, though? 

Um, NO! My dad loved me and that’s all I ever wanted from a parent. It’s not that my dad never punished me, he did when I deserved punished. It’s not that he “didn’t protect me”, it never once occurred to me that anyone would be brave enough to take on Darlene! Meanwhile, I realize now the game she played with our fear of her. She just filled my head full of awful things he’d done to hurt her (none of which ever rang true to me even at just 4 years old) and then she’d tell my dad horrible things about me. This part never occurred to me though because as a child I couldn’t imagine my own mother would tell lies about me to anyone, much less my dad. 

But she did. And I never corrected them because I had no clue my dad didn’t know the truth of whatever latest ordeal she’d put me through. And I assumed he knew the truth and that he would spend our brief, precious moments together showing me love and laughing together so I could get the strength to return to mother and better try not to upset her. 

He didn’t know what was really happening though. He only knew her lies and in my childhood trusting innocence, I never told my version of events; never even fathomed that mother would just change the story so I’d look worse than I was and she’d look far better than she was. 

It’s like when I was molested at school, it never occurred to me to complain to an adult. After all, an adult did it so he couldn’t be wrong, I had to be wrong. I had to have deserved it. I had no right to dispute any adults choices! Darlene effectively enforced that so thoroughly that I was too spineless to ever feel I had any rights to protest other people’s actions against me. 

Because of this, I never blamed my dad for not protecting me. And it’s obvious that my entire life, I was an easy victim to the world because I had no sense of having and right to even be here, much less rights as a human being for respect or dignity. Probably why I was an easy target for rape and abusive men. Spineless creatures with zero sense of self worth are the easiest to prey upon and mold to accept the abuse. 

My daddy loved her more. I’ve been aware of that for many years, but he loved her more only because he never knew the truths of her and he knew all my truths, good and bad.

Only once did I think he started to get a clue of her truth. His pastor preached on abusive parents. And after the sermon, daddy bought me a book called Toxic Parents and brought it to my house, as though something had happened and he saw a glimmer of truth in my life struggles stemming from the abuse. He didn’t say he understood or believed and I didn’t ask any questions because my dad’s loyalty was fierce and I never wanted him torn in the middle. I knew he had blinders she’d carefully sewn on his eyes and he was most comfortable with those blinders. I never had the urge to rip those off completely. I loved him too much and as hurtful as his devotion to her in spite of it all was to the little girl in me, I understood it better than most and I adored him for that quality of unconditional love. I had no real interest in changing that or hurting him by destroying his carefully plotted necessary false idea of her. 

As my daddy was getting older toward the end, he’d become not quite senile, he was still cognizant and clear mostly, but his fears for and about me became irrational and confused. In hindsight I see that he knew his time was coming and he wasn’t scared about anything at all… except for me and my children.

I didn’t realize it at the time of course, I thought he was just being irrational and controlling. I wish so much I could have understood why before he passed away, but I did not. And one of our final talks was him apologizing to me for his irrationality and saying to me, I’m sorry baby, but I promise you I’ll do it differently. You tell the girls that “they’re gonna see a BIG change in papa. I won’t do this to y’all again.”

And of course I had been very angry with his recent irrational actions but I could never stay mad at my daddy who always owned his mistakes and apologized immediately for them. So I knew he recognized his mistakes and I was relieved and grateful for his apology. 

I could never stay mad at my daddy. He was too genuine and good down to his soul to ever hold any mistakes he made against him.

Darlene attempted to take that apology after he died and make that her story with my dad. And amidst a huge amount of bizarre and random discrepancies surrounding my dad’s death related directly to my mother and my sister, I know she’s lying with dramatic poetic license. She makes stories up all the time because she needs to be seen as the victim she made me into. She must be seen as the sparkling angelic “victim” of her actual victims.

There will never be recompense or exposed truth of her lies. She’s told them so long to do many people now that I know even she believes they’re truths now. 

Sober Saturday Night


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Heard this song the other day and it really grabbed me.

Sober Saturday Night by Chris Young

It’s particularly prophetic to me for many reason regarding my daughters.  My oldest’s allegations were that I drank too much.  I really was drinking more than I should have,  even prior to my daddy’s passing.  My children weren’t neglected, they were actually rather indulged for the most part, not that that makes occasional intoxication acceptable, but I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, paid bills, helped them with homework, loved them, and worked a job. They were old enough to have some regular chores, but I very rarely made them do chores.  Most of my first 16 years were doing chores, so I was a sucker for “Momma can I please go to so-n-so’s house even though I’ve not cleaned my room/done the dishes/whatever”.   I never wanted my children to remember their childhood and teen years as missing out on fun because of chores.

But I digress…  I suppose I want to make excuses and justifications and prove that I really didn’t drink much more than the average person and yet I also don’t want to sound as though I didn’t sometimes drink more than I should have…once my children were taken care of…because I did drink too much the once or twice a week I had drinks with friends when my teenaged daughter’s were either in bed or at their friends’ houses.Was I a neglectful momma from it?  No.  Were my children abused? No.  Was I a “mean drunk” by any means?  HELL NO!  But all the same, I definitely overindulged occasionally and I should have put that in check and not excused it merely because my children were still safe and well cared for.

Regardless, after the exorbitantly exaggerated accusations after my dad passed and when I trusted the two narcissists, my mother and my ex” with my kids while I was planning my dad’s funeral, and Lexi had decided from hours of them bashing me for things I never even did as a child, that she “WANTED TO LIVE WITH HER DAD!”, suddenly I was (quite literally) the WORST MOMMA EVER!, an ALCOHOLIC!, and my poor eldest child suddenly claimed she’d been ABUSED/NEGLECTED!!! for years in my care.

Two weeks prior to this, my youngest had dedicated a song to me and left me a note  saying she “didn’t know how she’d ever gotten through everything if not for her momma” and my oldest, Lexi, and I had gone for several trips to the beach to discuss life and laugh, and work out her problems with friends at school and boys and her sister…etc, etc…  But now, overnight(after only a week of time with her dad and my mother), I’m an abusive, neglectful, alcoholic HORRIBLE person and an even WORSE mother according to Lexi. I’d “LIED TO HER HER ENTIRE LIFE!(still no clue what this lying was)” and I “HADN’T EVEN BEEN A GOOD STUDENT AS A KID !!(I’d been an Honors student from middle school through high school, so I don’t understand this one either).

So…wild accusations start flying a few days after we returned from burying my daddy out of state.  Now, Lexi’s calling me a slut and screaming she had “HEARD ME IN MY BEDROOM AT NIGHT HAVING SEX WITH MY FIANCE ALL THE TIME THREE YEARS AGO” and I’m the most vile, awful human being who’s ever lived.

Needless to say, I drank way more for a few months after this ordeal and my daddy was dead and my children had gone to live with their dad.  And then, I suddenly felt guilty every time I had anything to drink.  I started wondering if I really WAS an alcoholic and maybe couldn’t see it.  I went for alcohol counseling and assessment and was turned away because the professionals there determined my habits “did not indicate a dependency on alcohol”.  Still, I felt guilty (even with no children in a 2,000 mile radius speaking to me) having anything to drink.   I couldn’t use it as an escape as I had before this because I analyzed and criticized myself for ever sip I took.

So, I quit drinking completely for a year.  I went to a two week long intensive Christian retreat where I knew they’d criticize my prior drinking whether the “professionals” thought it was a serious problem or not.  I confessed all my drinking to these people who believe demons inside us cause these things and they exorcised those demons from me.  After two weeks, their assessment was that I suffered from an “unholy level of grief” regarding my childhood, my dad passing, and my children leaving me after making hideous wild untrue accusations.

“Unholy grief”

Ya think?  I mean, I didn’t even begin to touch on the two violent rapes I’d endured, the full stroke and paralysis of my left side,  my childhood abuse or lack of love in any actual depth, nor my abusive romantic relationship with my children’s father…. Yeah, I’d say I had/have some unresolved “unholy grief” going on pretty much from birth and as a state of being really!

So, I do have a glass of wine once in awhile now still, but it takes me about two weeks to drink a bottle of wine because the guilt and insecurity I feel everytime I try to enjoy a glass is overwhelming. It pretty much has ruined any enjoyment, either actual taste or the numbing of my heartache if I were able to drink a few more than I do.

It doesn’t matter though.  Lexi doesn’t want me in her life whether I’m drinking anything at all or not.  Which sadly, after my crucifixion for “drinking” is exceedingly unfair.  Yet, it also gives me the validation that it was never really about my drinking anyway. She was looking for something to hang me/ hate me for and if she had to lie or grossly exaggerate, she was going to.  So, she could care less if I drink ever, every day, or not at all.  It was never about my drinking.  But, it worked.  I’m sober as hell, no matter the constant hurt I can’t escape from day or night, waking or sleeping… I’m fucking sober for every second of it all.

I’ve never used drugs, so I can’t turn to that. And now, I can’t have sex or romantic relationships, I can’t drink wine for a brief warm fuzzy mental escape. Which was my only escape ever in my life, from the pain of it all. Music was another escape I used most of my life and I can’t even enjoy that now. Most music, except classical, I shared my love of it with my children and my daddy.  So, music I love now tends to just bring on “unholy grief” and nostalgia that I want to avoid throwing the salt in those wounds…. So, there’s nothing.  I literally have no escape of any sort.  I’m forced to endure every second of unwanted, abused, unloved, unlovable abandoned, orphaned, and worthless smother, daughter, sister, human being that I am. Every sharp and agonistic, hopeless and un-fixable second of every minute of it.   That’s what monsters like me (who don’t understand how or why they’re monsters) deserve, I suppose….?

So, now I’m a lonely old lady all alone with my dog who can’t even enjoy a glass or two of wine.  I can’t even give myself permission to drink a bottle of wine and numb my pain/grief/loss/PTSD/etc. even for a few hours.  Nope,  there’s no momentary numbing of the pain for the unloved, unwanted, and completely abandoned mother/daughter/human being.

I get to feel all the pain. All the time.  My children, my mother, and my ex saw to that.  There will be NO escape from my pain except death. And I’m pretty sure that’s because they literally all would rather I were dead.

So this song, although clearly intended toward a romantic love that was lost, very much reminds me of the loss of my children and that I’m sober even though I never really had a problem…and that they all saw to it that I would feel EVERY SECOND of the pain from my past, present, and hopeless future, without any reprieve except death.

And I’m working diligently on giving them (and me) that final solution.



Art for my daughters


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I came into contact with an artist from Sweden who sketches such cool stuff. Her name is Lena Wennbo. After looking at her sketches, I adored her simplicity and thought my daughters would really like her stuff as well. I contacted her and requested she do a sketch for each of my daughters. I sent her a photo of each girl and told her to just sketch whatever she felt inspired to…

She named Lexi’s sketch “Royalty” and Savannah’s is called “Reaching”.  I found her insight from just looking at a photo very interesting.  I’ve always thought if Lexi were a color, she’d be the most beautiful blue and she’s a child who was born with a natural quiet sense of elegance and grace which I associate with royalty. Savannah’s implies her natural creativity and independent sense of self. Savannah has always danced to her own unique rhythm and creative flair.  I adore that about her!


“Royalty” for Lexi by Lena Wennbo


“Reaching” for Savannah by Lena Wennbo

I would like to print and professionally frame them as gifts for my daughters to keep forever in memory of me, but I no longer know where they live, so that’s impossible.  Since I received them in email format though, I can at least send them via email or have a friend email them for me to each of them.

I’m very excited about how she captured the essence of them so easily.  They are perfect!

Why We Tweet


An open letter to twitter spouses, bosses, and family

We know you don’t understand. You don’t understand why we are addicted. You don’t understand why we write such private things in such a public forum. You don’t understand why we don’t hide our identities. And because you don’t understand, you may be prone to judging us. To thinking that what we are doing is wrong — ethically, morally, or some other -ly. By writing this letter, I hope to help you understand.

At its simplest level, you can think of twitter as a diary. I know it is not a perfect metaphor, but let’s start there. You certainly understand why people keep diaries. Expressing your thoughts and emotions in poetry and prose is cathartic. You may have kept a diary yourself at some time of your life. If you did, then you know how it helps you sort out your…

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Narc swirls and unmistakable patterns


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I’m seeing a pattern here. 

1. Narcs lie because they get off on it. 

2. A relationship with a Narc ruins your health, both physical and mental. 

3. Narcs sponge off the woman/man they claim to love.

4. Narcs wait until you are completely charmed and reeled in and then start disappearing or mentioning other women, or throwing you off balance.

5. Narcs often take satisfaction when they have driven a woman/man to a mental break-down or suicide. 

6. Narcs are charming and difficult to forget. They give us highs we’ve never experienced, and once they know they ‘have’ us, discard us, or keep us around like a second option. 

7. Narcs never say sorry in a genuine manner, only with qualifying or sarcastic additions to twist the “apology” inside out. 

8. Narcs will ill speak you the way the ill spoke the woman in their previous relationship making themselves out to be a victim. 

9. Narcs are incapable of introspection. They have a small range of emotions such as lust, greed, rage, and sadistic satisfaction at knowing they have the power to hurt others. 

10. Victims of narcs often wonder if karma will get them as they seem to land on their feet. 

11. The truth is Karma has already got them as they are troubled souls having to look for new supplies to feed their broken egos and wounded selves. Their karma is they will never be happy. They will get less happy as they age and their charm starts to look ridiculous and has no impact on potential supplies. 

12. The best thing about having had a relationship with a narc is that we get to examine our own childhood woundings, to reflect, to get insight into ourselves, to understand that we are survivors, and if we are determined and stay the course with the no contact rule, we CAN heal and thrive again. We also learn that the greatest love of all is with ourselves. Once we learn to love ourselves, to stop waiting to be ‘saved’, we will attract amazing people in our lives, not out of need but out of joy. 

13. The other good thing about no contact is it teaches us how strong we can be. If we can go no contact, we can quit smoking, we can quit drinking too much, we can run that 5k, hell we can run a marathon, we can give up bread, we can finish that novel, we can start that business, we can laugh with our friends, we can help those who are less fortunate. We can find ourselves again. 

15. Its a blessing to have survived a narc as we see just how capable we are of loving others, of moving mountains. If we can do it for them, we can do it for us. 

A single sentence 


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Some days I want so badly to scream my story from the rooftops and just throw every sordid (and possibly boring!) detail into the air like confetti .

Other days, I wish there were even one person in my life who knew it all already and I wouldn’t have to struggle with words and sordid (or boring!) facts and stories at all.  I realize at this late stage in the game after all the damage has been done and my eyes have finally and painfully been pried wide open to the truths of it all,that is no longer a feasible possibility or option. 

So I challenged myself to try to wrap the whole thing up in one sentence…just one solitary sentence that might somehow encompass the feel of the whole thing.  The entirety and bitter irony of my entire life to this exact point in time. 

And this is my sentence:

They cut off my wings then crucified me because I couldn’t fly… and blamed me that I couldn’t grow them back from their mangled feathery bloody stub-bits that were  left behind. 

Angel vs. Devil / Nature vs. Nurture? 


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I read an article that made sense of my specific experience with parental alienation. My children were turned against me at 13 and 15 and while quite vulnerable due to the recent sudden loss of their beloved Papa. I know the level of pathological narcissistic qualities my mother and their father have. I realized while pregnant with my first child that I had indeed gotten into a relationship with the male version of my mother. They are cunning and confusingly efficient narcissists.

I grew up in desperate fear of turning into my mother or of sharing any similar traits as she. For many years I vowed not to even have children when I grew up because the fear inside me of being a mother like she had been was not worth the risk. I would rather die than treat any child the way I had been treated! For many years, I wanted to be a nun, thinking if I devoted my life to serving God, I could never hurt anyone like I’d been destroyed by her. 

I’ve pondered so often if sociopathy is genetic. How much of narcissistic personality disorder is narure versus nurture. When I become unexpectedly pregnant and realized my baby’s father was pathological like my mother, I really worried. I worried that I would have a narcissistic child. I vowed daily that I would love and protect my child at all cost; that my child would know joy and understanding, fun, compassion, kindness, security, self esteem, encouragement, and love, love, LOVE. 

So although the sequence of events was more horrific and painful than I have words to describe even, I have never once blamed my children for their cruelty and lies intent on destroying, demeaning, and tearing every single thing about me to shreds. I know the evil that was pulling them to do such things. I know it personally and I know it well. 

I also know my children after raising them alone for 13 and 15 years. I know their hearts and their souls, their struggles and their loves. Or so I thought…

After the extent to which they have gone to assist in crucifying me, my character, my parenting, my career, and even my own childhood, I’ve had terrible moments when I wondered if I created monsters. Had I loved them too much?!?  Was that even possible?!?? No. I just can’t believe you can love a child too much. You can’t possibly give children too much understanding or compassion. They’re children! Perfect, innocent, loving, amazing children whom are entitled to all the love, compassion, and understanding in the world! 

Maybe the vicious streak was severe parental alienation and narcissistic brainwashing? Maybe it was genetically predisposed for them to be cruel and discompassionate? Maybe all the love in the world wouldn’t have been able to soften their souls when they got old enough to think like their father and grandmother that kindness and emotion are nothing but weaknesses to prey upon? Mere vulnerabilities of “weaker” people who are to be destroyed if possible and perhaps for no other reason than that you can destroy them because if they’re foolish enough to trust and weak enough to love another more than they love themselves, then they get what they deserve when you stomp on them and laugh in their face as they cry in pain? 

That’s how narcissists certainly think. I’ve researched a great deal on nature versus nurture with narcissistic personality disorder, but I’ve come to no definitive answer. I only know my children weren’t abused or ever shown anything but love and compassion and accepting their actions against me has been the bitterest pill I could have fathomed ever having to choke down. I’ve rather believed it was brainwashing and survival mechanisms for them. That they were victims of this abuse exactly as I and maybe worse.

It’s hard to fully accept that when I see that my oldest is possibly a pathological liar with a vicious streak of cruelty that I’ve only seen in her dad and my mother before in my life. A hateful, punishing, extremely selfish nature combined with a quick and easy willingness to lie to get whatever she wants. 

It’s painful to realize the level of this. And it’s been much easier to blame the narcissists that abused me in my past for her ugly behaviors than it is to blame her and allow myself to wonder if she is a sociopath as well. 

I’m just not so sure anymore though. She has embraced cruelty and manipulation and lying at a rapid and efficient rate as to actually be frightening and deeply unsettling to my soul and wrenching in my heart when I picture her the first 15 years of her life… so precious, so kind, so sweet and loving, so easy going and sweet natured that I literally thought of her many times as an actual angel on earth and I couldn’t believe after so much abuse and terror and heartbreak all my life that God had deemed me fit to raise a child so perfect and precious and angelic like this one. And then one day a few weeks after burying my daddy, she was my abuser. 

This beautiful, amazing sweet child of grace and love like I’d never known in my entire life, lies without conscience for no purpose other than to hurt and smear me as a human being, as a mother, and as a daughter. She is cruel and vicious and literally laughs at my pain. She seems to actually think watching me suffer loss as a mother is funny. She has crucified me like Jesus and burned me at the stake like a witch in Salem without a trial or even honest accusations. The more I hurt it’s almost like the more it feeds her fury and cruelty!! I’ve known two people like that in my life… two sociopaths… her father and my mother. 

Then I read this article and suddenly it all became painfully clear.