My dearest,

I sat in a cafe in Paris writing in my journal today. I was surrounded by the most beautiful sights and sounds … and people, such beautiful people, while a history I have only imagined seemed to drip down the walls of every edifice.

And still I missed you.

I looked for my rose coloured glasses to go with the rose coloured light of Paris to remember you with but they failed me this time.

I wanted to remember your lips on mine, soft, then hard. Your hands gentle before gripping my hair to pull my head back as you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of my neck marking me as yours. I wanted to remember you as part of an us who were once so deeply in love, drowning in passion.

But I remembered the increased silences, the coldness, you slipping away and me becoming one more burden for you to bear in your already burdensome life.

So now I walk the streets of a beautiful European city and listen to voices that sound more like music than words. I order cafe and croissant and write long passages in my journal hoping that one day I will finally have written you out of my heart.

Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream”

― William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

The Roar Only I Can Hear 

allison writes

Image courtesy of Efes Kitap

Pay attention to your body and what it tells you.

But that isn’t always easy, especially at times when your body is rebelling. When it’s doing things that don’t feel good. That you feel you have no control over.

I’m in a dark room right now. Everything hurts. I want to sit at my computer to type this out, but I can’t physically bring myself to do so and emotionally . . .the small screen of my phone feels safer somehow.

I want to pay attention though. I want to fight this. Anxiety is wearing me down. I can’t manage it anymore. Control of it slips further and further away, like a feral animal through a gate in the night.

So this is what my anxiety feels like. This is me paying attention and putting it to words. This is my experience. It may not…

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Let’s call this what it really is SLANDER – the Narcissist’s attack on our integrity with backstabbing and the SMEAR campaign. We are damned if we do or damned if we don’t respond but basically the Narcissist gets away with abusive behavior and people believe them and WE are left having to fight to get our integrity back?

Source: Let’s call this what it really is SLANDER – the Narcissist’s attack on our integrity with backstabbing and the SMEAR campaign. We are damned if we do or damned if we don’t respond but basically the Narcissist gets away with abusive behavior and people believe them and WE are left having to fight to get our integrity back?

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…

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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

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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…

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Dreaming of New Orleans, Vampires and Other Ghosts

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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.

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I Was Trying To Remember When You Stopped Being You

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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.”
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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…

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