Abusers, liars, narcissists, will all want their victims to keep quiet ~ Lilly Hope Lucario

Silencing is the hardest thing to overcome.

Healing From Complex Trauma & PTSD/CPTSD

Of course they do – they don’t want the truth about them exposed.

This will apply to all forms of abusers – mental, sexual, physical, psychological, verbal, spiritual and whether to adults, or children.

They know what they are doing is wrong.

If they hide their behaviour, or try to silence you, they DO know what they are doing is wrong. And the abuse is intentional and conscious acts and choices, to subject someone to harm.

The abuse was still a choice, they decided to make.

They will manipulate this ‘silence’ in a variety of ways….

Threats to the victim.

Shaming the victim.

Lies about the victim. Including lying by omission, lying by failing to tell the truth to others who wrongly believe/assume something about the victim.

Gaslighting – making the victim not believe their own truth, confusing them.

Blaming the victim.

Emotional abuse – eg saying the family will…

View original post 243 more words

How The Trauma of Narcissistic Abuse Changes Our World Views

Such a vital post for survivors of narcissistic abuse. I found it helpful, healing and reassuring.

After Narcissistic Abuse

Image

The word  “Trauma” is derived from the Greek term meaning “wound.” When targets encounter relationships with narcissists, what takes place is a human wound & trauma. When a person is wounded, there requires a time of healing; however scarring is often a result.

During times of psychic trauma, our belief that we are invulnerable to harm becomes shattered. Our defense mechanisms break down and we suddenly can’t function the way we used to. We begin to feel inadequate for not having the ability to process the trauma in a short time. Subsequent emotional arousal can reawaken the narc abuse experience that we feel the emotions all over again and realize that there’s an ongoing attack on those defense mechanisms; we’re attacked both within and without. The trauma of narcissistic abuse collapses our worldview and assumptions about life in one full blow.

Our assumptions about how we think life should operate…

View original post 1,703 more words

Dreaming of New Orleans, Vampires and Other Ghosts

Tags

, ,

I used to walk
down dark streets
where vampire ghosts
would congregate

just out of of sight
a step or two
away from murky
yellow street lamps

Their presence would leave
a kind of rich, dark
perfume in the air

My heart would beat
just a little bit faster
as I walked by
fingers crossed
against disaster

Until I looked up
into your dark eyes
slowly watching you
slowly watch me

Your spell was always
so much greater
than the rich, dark perfume
of congregating vampire ghosts

You’re gone now

But some nights
a yellow street lamp
will make my breath catch
my eyes close

and I can feel your hand
on my throat
Your breath
in my ear

The prelude
to my destruction

Those hellish, fiery,
passionate
divine moments
before my resurrection

I was remembering living in the French Quarter. I used to work the late shift at a book store. My shift ended at midnight. I would walk down Decatur to Esplanade where my boyfriend managed a bar called “Checkpoint Charlie’s.” A snifter of Gran Marnier was always waiting for me. More than once I thought I sensed a dark, seductive, alien presence. I’ve been back there so many times since then. I think he’s still waiting for me.

FullSizeRender (5)

I Was Trying To Remember When You Stopped Being You

Tags

, , , ,

It suddenly
dawned on me
the lies
and exaggerations,
the petty jealousies
you attribute to me
aren’t worth the hurt
they cause
because
you aren’t you,
not anymore.

The fact
that words
like sex kittens
and acolytes
aren’t words
I’ve ever used
or would ever
even think
of using
doesn’t seem
to matter.

(Except the word
acolyte does remind me
of a Fantasy Series
by Trudi Canavan
I once fell in love with.)

God knows
you can be
charming,
but I’m afraid
I can’t
quite imagine
you with a room
full of acolytes
hanging
on your
every word,
but someone
must think
it possible,
because you
wrote the words
and you would
never write
anything
that wasn’t true.

That I haven’t
thought about
your c**k
or your head
and whether
they’re just fine,
or not
doesn’t matter.

Unnamed groups
of followers
that in my
paranoid delusions
I think are
actually attacking me
doesn’t matter.

The fact that you
haven’t moved on
from what you desired,
from what you ended,
doesn’t matter.

Because you’re not you.

And the girl you attribute
all those actions to
is definitely not me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

retaliation

Retaliation is an act of revenge. Before you initiate retaliation on someone who has wronged you, consider whether he or she might have a ninja alter ego and a set of nunchucks stashed away.
The noun retaliation stems from the Latin retaliare, meaning “pay back in kind.” Notice the word kind in that definition. Retaliation used to have both good and evil connotations. Now, though, it’s important to read that kind as synonymous with type or sort because retaliation has since lost its positive sense. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “Man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.”
#GoogleIsYourFriend

The History of the “Black Dog” as Metaphor

Really interesting post. And no, Black Dog as metaphor for Depression did not originate with Winston Churchill.

A Prairie Populist

“A light seen suddenly in the storm, snow/ Coming from all sides, like flakes/ Of sleep, and myself/ On the road to the dark barn,/ Halfway there, a black dog near me.” – Robert Bly, from “Melancholia” in The Light Around the Body (1967).

Albrecht Durer Melancholia Albrecht Durer’s “Melancholia,” 1514.

Famously, Winston Churchill referred to his depression as  “the black dog.” Sitting on his lap, it haunted him. Like in Bly’s poem, it followed him wherever he went, but even for hanging so close to his feet some say it helped him lead the nation through war. For being an image so closely associated with the former Prime Minister, it is surprising then that the image of “the black dog” goes back centuries.

In an essay published on the website of the Black Dog Institute, an Australian organization dedicated to “the diagnosis, treatment, and prevention of mood disorders,” Megan McKinlay traces…

View original post 370 more words

Happy Birthday, Mr. Ferlinghetti

Tags

,

Today is Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s Birthday. He’s known for a lot of things but first he was a Beat Poet and then he opened a bookstore in San Francisco called City Lights.

This is a repost from some time ago.

I think I must have written this before the disastrous American Presidential Election of 2016. Today the $600 billion tax cut for the 2% masquerading as a new health care bill failed miserably. There is still a lot of work to do. There are still too many people without affordable health care, too many children living in poverty but at least we didn’t roll the clock back to much darker days.

As I read this again tonight in this time and place, I couldn’t help but reflect on how different my life is since I originally wrote it, maybe only five or six months ago. I couldn’t help but reflect on how different the world is. The changing pace of each day seems to be rapidly accelerating. We are all being pulled and pushed to be something greater, to create something greater.

However, this is a rambling memory of the day I first discovered his poetry, a very long time ago, a time I barely recognise now. Still… I catch myself smiling because I know I carry this little memory in my DNA now. It is as much a part of me as the air I breathe, as the beat of my heart.

Today, however, it has a special poignancy.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Ferlinghetti.

”We have to raise the consciousness; the only way poets can change the world is to raise the consciousness of the general populace.” ~ Lawrence Ferlinghetti

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s often forgotten as one of the great beat poets of the fifties and remembered more for opening City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco which is an amazing place. I’ve been several times now and I still regret not visiting it more.

When I was in my twenties Beat Poets made me think of Kerouac and Ginsberg. I knew of Ferlinghetti and City Lights Bookstore but I hadn’t read him.

One day I stumbled across this poem in an anthology of poetry in my local library.

He published it in 1958. I was probably 5.

I discovered it in the early 70s in the midst of the Vietnam War and anti-war protests, Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire in protest, and the civil rights movement and women fighting to be recognised and heard and LSD and music, so much music. The first concert I attended was to see Jimi Hendrix and then a little later, Led Zeppelin, in 1970. I had already lost my heart to a musician who would end up being the father of my child. It was a world in upheaval and tremendous creativity and alternative thinkers and hope and belief in our ability to create a better world and days of dark despair and colour everywhere. But most days you woke up filled with hope and determination and ended them with sadness and confusion or escaped for days in music and hallucinogens that made the world a prettier place.

And in the midst of all that I discovered this. I couldn’t stop reading it. I just sat in my library and read it over and over until I pulled out my journal and copied the entire poem in its pages. I think it was a defining moment for me. I don’t think I had truly grasped just how powerful words could be until then. I had an epiphany in my tiny local library.

So this one will always be my favourite Ferlinghetti poem:

I Am Waiting

BY LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

Original link from The Poetry Foundation website can be found

HERE

IMG_3093

 

Erin go Bragh

Hope…

Tintagel, Cornwall