Believe the asshole the first time the asshole speaks asshole

Senior portraits of my sister and me.

Senior portraits of my sister and me.

The unfortunate thing about dealing with mean people like narcissists and sociopaths, is that, as good people, our faith in human kindness makes it difficult to believe that mean people are mean deep down. But it’s a lesson we must realize sooner rather than later.

When I was 17, I got into a girl fight. It was New Year’s Eve 1989. I was a senior in high school. My sister was a junior in high school. I was the designated driver that night (like I was most nights) and attended a party at the home of friends who were already graduated from high school. (No adult supervision is the point I’m making.)

Sometime close to midnight, my sister walks into the party crying. It seems she and her friends had tried going to another party, but they were turned away because the girl who lived at the house where the other party was being held didn’t like her. (I’ll call the girl “Shayna” for lack of creativity.)

My sister passes along this account:

After my sister and her friends were denied entry, they turned to leave Shayna’s front porch. Shayna pushed my sister from behind and hit my sister over the head with her Coors Light bottle, knocking my sister off balance and sending her down the porch steps. My sister’s friends helped her to her feet and they all left a little stunned.* My sister, being the kind heart she is, decided to go find me, her big sister, to handle Shayna for her. (Thank you, sister.)

Nearing midnight, myself and a few of my friends pulled up in front of Shayna’s house. Knowing the laws of trespassing even at that young age (kids aren’t stupid), I asked a friend to go knock on the door and to let Shayna know I was there. She did. Shayna came out on the porch and yelled a few expletives at me. I let her finish her shouting. (If you had seen how angry she was flailing in her mini skirt and boots, you would have let her spew too.) Once her diatribe was complete, I had one question for her (which I asked standing approximately 10 yards away from her). I asked:

“Shayna, why do you hate me and my sister so much? What have we ever done to you?”

What does the asshole answer? Something I will NEVER forget. She shouts:

“Because you’re ugly!”

Well, most teenage girls would have gotten their feelings hurt by this. After all, Shayna had been the homecoming queen for a brief moment in time, she was pretty popular, was a cheerleader, and had once dated a football player. Her opinion mattered to a lot of people. But “a lot” of people didn’t include me.

I was raised by a mother who filled all four of her daughters with love and kindness every day. She told us we were beautiful and smart every single day. The opinion of this asshole wasn’t going to convince me that my mother was wrong.

Instead of continuing this ridiculous discussion, I threw my hands in the air and said,

“You’re right, Shayna. I am so very ugly. Now that we have that cleared up between us, maybe you will leave me and my sister alone.”

I chuckled under my breath and started walking to my car. Suddenly, I was struck on the side of my face by none other than Shayna’s cowardly brother. (I had dated the guy for like 10 seconds years before. I broke up with him because he wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box. I guess he still held some resentment.) The blow threw me to the ground and into Shayna’s yard. I brought myself up onto my hands and knees. I looked up, and Shayna was coming after me like kids go after candy when the piñata bursts.

She kicks me (while I’m down), and I start rolling and crawling as fast as I can to the edge of her yard. She kicks me again. I roll into the chain-link fence. I try to get up, but my long hair is tangled in the fence. I am stuck. As I am pulling and pulling on my hair in hopes of ripping myself free, I look to my left and see Shayna bracing herself on the fence ready to kick me in the face. I can’t move. I close my eyes and anticipate the pain. It never arrives. I open my eyes, and Shayna is on the ground. Someone had knocked her down before she could annihilate my ugly face and make it even uglier.

I was immediately helped up and rushed away from the scene by a friend I will never forget.

Even though she gave me an answer as to why she hated me and my sister, I couldn’t accept that someone could hate another person so much for reasons that made no sense. Today, however, knowing what I know about narcissists and mean people, I have accepted her answer. Not because I think I’m ugly, but because I know some people will always choose hate over love and there is no explanation. It is what it is. I think we all know who the ugly one is. 🙂

Namaste!

*This detail of the assault was added to the original blog with permission from my sister, who believes she suffered a concussion and remembers little that happened afterwards. 

Never, EVER pity a narcissist

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Understanding that narcissists are driven by shame caused by abandonment doesn’t mean we should pity them.

Individuals with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) behave as they do as a result of the trauma of abandonment in childhood. But does that mean we should feel sorry for them and brush their shitty behavior aside because “they can’t help it?”

I say, “Absolutely not!” If anything, we should make them more accountable for their behavior and call them out immediately.

As a person who has suffered from the trauma of physical abuse and violence and intense emotional abuse, I hold no one to blame for my bad behavior or poor choices. It took me many, many years to come to terms with what happened to me at 18 at the hands of an abusive boyfriend and several months to deal with the emotional abuse I suffered at 38.

My early refusal to face the trauma and instead tuck it away resulted in a number of mistakes and self-harm over the years: bulimia, alcohol abuse, delayed education completion, career delays, family planning delays, marriage counseling and separation. I stunted my own growth in so many ways and caused pain for my family and friends. But I never blamed anyone except myself, and I actually forgave my abusers.

I struggled to understand what I must have done to cause someone to treat me so poorly. No matter how long I spent punishing myself for not doing X,Y, or Z, I never reached a place of healing. I never forgave myself for blaming myself.

Finally, I learned that the victim of intimate partner abuse should NEVER be blamed. EVER! Not even by ourselves. How can you blame yourself for being caught unsuspectingly in an ambush? You can’t. Domestic violence/intimate partner abuse is an ambush. It’s not a two-sided disagreement that goes wrong like so many believe. The abuse comes from no where except a dark and ugly place within the abusers twisted and delusional mind. Once we start believing and realizing this and stop blaming ourselves, the healing begins.

Back to the narcissist. Why blame him? After all, he was ambushed, too. He was abandoned, neglected, or in some way abused as a child. He can’t help himself, right? He needs guidance, right?

Wrong! Not everyone who is abused, neglected, or abandoned ends up being a narcissist who abuses and tortures others with actions, words, and deeds. “Suffering” as the narcissist does is a choice, just like my suffering was MY choice. However, unlike me, the narcissist refuses to acknowledge the damage done and continues to blame and shame everyone, including himself on a subconscious level. It’s a recipe for a sad existence and one that can’t be pitied. Otherwise, you will get sucked into the mess like I did and threaten your own sanity. (Trust me. You do not want to do that. No martyr can fix a narcissist.)

A person can only be guided and directed for so long. That person must choose to accept who he is and what happened to him in order to change. The narcissist refuses to acknowledge his past for what it was: shitty and out of his control.

Instead, he glorifies his childhood and distorts EVERYTHING! His true self is too ugly for him to face. His mind is so warped and focused on material and outward appearances and perceptions that his true self is lost in the abyss of the narcissist’s mind.

But what the narcissist fails to realize is that as he glorifies his existence through his storytelling and over-dramatic hand gestures, good people can see through his act. We see the sad, lonely boy who desperately wanted a normal childhood free from abuse and abandonment. We see a boy inside a man’s body begging for acceptance and love. In the end, unfortunately, due to his unbending control and abusive nature, we can do little else but walk away. We are added to his long list of people who chose to abandon him. According to the narcissist, we left because we can’t handle the truth. The reality is that we simply choose to love those worthy of our love, and the narcissist is truly unloveable.

Peace!

Why the sociopathic boy is like Josh Powell (in my opinion)

Susan Powell and her boysIn early February 2012, I began writing my story of abuse and eventual escape from the boy, the sociopath in my book. One of the reasons I started writing and telling my story was because I had a sinking, gut feeling that if the boy wasn’t stopped, he could one day do exactly what Josh Powell had done to his family. Murder them!

If you are unfamiliar with the Powell’s story, I provide their story below (taken from abcnews.go.com) interjected with parallels and comparisons (in red italics) of my life with and knowledge of the boy.*


Josh Powell and Susan Cox, each the children of churchgoing families, met at a church function. They were engaged when Susan was just 19 and married in 2001.

“At the very beginning they were, you know, happy, holding hands, hugging, kissing each other,” said Susan Powell’s sister, Denise Cox. “You thought [they were] a perfect couple, a very happy couple.”

The boy was always very affectionate with me in public in the early stages of our relationship, and he often proclaimed to me and others that our love story was THE PERFECT love story that I should write about it one day. Many of his friends agreed that he had finally found his soul mate, THE ONE who would make him happy forever.

Those who knew Susan Powell said she was warm and open — qualities that endeared her to her neighbors in West Valley City, Utah, where the couple had settled several years after their marriage. Josh Powell was not as popular.

“We all love Susan and we tolerate Josh because he comes along. It’s part of the package — that’s how most people felt,” former Powell neighbor John Hallewell told “Nightline” recently. “She was always worrying about other people, where Josh was always the opposite. He was only ever concerned about himself, which made things, sometimes, a little difficult.”

After I escaped the boy, my sisters, family, and friends told me how they really felt about him. Many used the words “controlling” and “manipulative” to describe him. Others used words like “needy” and “crass” and “rude” and “obnoxious.” I laugh now, but one friend even described the boy as someone they wouldn’t cry over if he got hit by a city bus. Everyone agreed that when the boy started to talk, they couldn’t wait for him to stop talking.

Susan Powell’s parents, Chuck and Judy Cox, found it strange when Josh Powell refused to drive his wife to the hospital when she went into labor with their first child, insisting that her parents take her instead because he had to finish something.

He finally did show up at the hospital two hours later.

“And what he had to do was, he wanted to back up his hard drive before he left,” Chuck Cox said.

Thankfully, I did not have a child with the boy. However, I did suffer a miscarriage which he convinced me was my fault do to my drinking, my depression, and my lack of interest in wanting a child with him to begin with. He was convinced I somehow wished the child dead because I didn’t love him the way he NEEDED to be loved. Delusional.

After escaping the boy, my family and friends expressed their overwhelming relief. They worried that if I had stayed with him, married him, and had his child that the boy would isolate me further and eventually have me committed to a mental health hospital.

Graves said she watched as her younger brother, Josh Powell, “faded out.”

“As the, the years progressed, I saw him go downhill, you know, slowly at first,” she said. “He kind of just regressed a little bit. And then the last few years before Susan’s disappearance, it just seemed to accelerate and he seemed to get worse and worse.”

The boy’s abuse and control was slow and insidious. Toward the end, right before I left, I witnessed a crack. The day I moved into his home, he helped me move in my boxes and my things. As more and more of my things started piling up taking over more and more of “his” space, I visually watched his face change and grimace and crease, like a shape-shifter from a horror film. At one point during the move, I stopped him in the kitchen and asked, “Are you sure this is what you want? You want a life with me and my son? You seem to be burdened right now. Or am I just paranoid and imagining things?” The boy claimed he was fine and that I was just imagining it. He was just tired, the boy explained. I wasn’t convinced. I kept my guard up. Thankfully.

Friends said Josh Powell became so controlling of his wife, it became legendary among those who knew them. She had to get his permission just to use the family car and had to follow a strict procedure in order to spend any money.

“He would give Susan an amount of money — and on grocery shopping, he also had a spreadsheet that she was to look at through ads and find the cheapest price of things,” said a friend, Michelle Oreno. “When she went shopping, she came home and she had to enter every single item into that spreadsheet. And if she spent more than a couple of cents more on a can of beans, Josh would really yell at her and get angry.”

Josh Powell wouldn’t even let his wife spend money on socks, insisting she knit them instead, said Denise Cox.

Luckily, I was not married to the boy and made my own money. I paid for my own car expenses, gas, clothes, insurance, student loans, food, and other expenses. The boy hated that I wasn’t more dependent upon him. He insisted that he help me with my expenses by adding me to his cell phone account. He said it would save us both money. In my naiveté, I agreed, not realizing he wanted to have me on his account so he could read and access my text messages and my phone log. He was monitoring my phone activity daily through AT&T’s online account system. Even though I secured my actual phone with a pass code, the boy could STILL access my phone log. It was torturous for the boy to see that the only other man I called or texted on a daily basis was my son’s father. It drove him bonkers knowing I was talking to a man I had married and now shared co-parenting responsibilities. The boy accused me daily of sleeping with my son’s father “every free chance” I got and that I would surely leave him one day and go back to my son’s father. Wow! Can we say masochistic and self-fulfilling prophecy? 

She said her sister considered leaving Josh Powell but didn’t do so for fear of what would happen to the couple’s two children, Charles and Braden.

“When I told her to leave with the kids, she told me that he had told her, ‘Over my dead body will you have those boys. They’re mine,'” Denise Cox said. “The boys were a possession to him. They were his possessions.”

Again, I didn’t have a child with the boy (thank you GOD!) But he had a dog he purchased with his previous live-in girlfriend. He admitted that it took him a long time to finally “kick her out” because he feared she would want to take the Shih-Tzu. Even though the dog had been originally purchased for her, the boy became closer to the animal because he rarely worked and was home more to take care of the puppy. He got attached. He got obsessed with this poor dog because the dog was this living and breathing thing that the boy had complete and utter control over. He WAS this animal’s master. And he used the dog to control EVERYONE in his life. Believe the myth that the way a person treats his dog and uses his dog against others is an indication of how he will treat and use his own children. If a man is possessive and controlling of his dog, he will be possessive and controlling of his child. I envisioned a sweet little girl being forced to do as Daddy says or else. Children have their own minds and they grow up and start using their minds. They aren’t like pets who remain dependent for life. His child would have surely grown to hate him. I’m certain of that. Who would want to bring a child into this world that would grow to hate her own father?

Josh Powell wasn’t the only man creating havoc in Susan Powell’s life. She told friends her father-in-law, Steven Powell, made a pass at her and tried to fondle her chest.

Susan Powell’s friends told “20/20” that Josh Powell didn’t defend his wife against his father.

“They had a very heated argument about Steve where she was talking about him and Josh would kind of excuse him, [saying], ‘That’s just my dad. You’re blowing things out of proportion,'” Oreno said.

It wasn’t the boy’s father I was worried about. I was worried about his mother. She dressed up as a witch for Halloween every year, and the only thing different about Halloween and any other time of the year is that she wore the costume in October. She was the boy’s accomplice in many of his strange rules and controlling behavior. And she FOOLED a lot of people. She hid behind a deep, dark family secret (which I won’t tastelessly expose here). I refused to trust this woman with ANY of my personal feelings about ANYTHING. After all, I know what she did to and how she talked about his ex before me.

Josh Powell himself may have suffered at his father’s hands.

In my opinion, oh, never mind.

Documents obtained by “20/20” from Steven Powell’s 1992 divorce from his wife, Terrica Powell, paint a disturbing picture of Josh Powell as a severely troubled teenager under the thumb of an abusive father.

Terrica Powell wrote that Josh was exposed to pornography by his father at a young age, that he once tried to commit suicide during his early years and, most shockingly, he threatened his mother with a butcher’s knife after she asked him to do the dishes.

The boy’s mother ran a little street kiosk in the streets of Mar Del Plata, Argentina when the boy was a pre-teen. The boy claims someone fondled him in this kiosk while his mother was oblivious to what the man was trying to do. I find the story almost difficult to believe. I, however, believe SOMEONE had been fondled in that kiosk. I do not believe it was the boy. I believe he over heard this story about another little boy in that kiosk. Another little boy he knew. Another little boy his family knew. But that is JUST my opinion based on my perceptions of how he told his story. (Again, I am a just a deranged drunk and highly depressed, so I have no idea what I am talking about.)

She said Josh Powell’s father had “explosive behavior” — including severe spankings — that hurt the son. Yet, the teen also sought his father’s attention and approval.

Terrica Powell declined a request for an interview.

No one in the boy’s family would ever talk to anyone, even if a murder is ever committed. They are all in denial and are all delusional, in my opinion. They will just flee to Argentina. 

Josh Powell claimed his wife had her own faults. In a 2011 interview with “Good Morning America,” he accused her of erratic behavior and said she once left the house in her underwear.

Josh Powell tells a really good half-story, doesn’t he? So does the boy. He liked to tell his family and friends that I also went nuts one night, threw a chair at him, and left his house without my shoes, my purse, or a coat. He forgot to mention what led to this:

It was near Christmas. I received an out-of-the-blue text from a friend, a male friend, wishing me Merry Christmas. I began responding to the text when the boy stole my phone out of my hands. He held my phone above his head spewing hate at me and calling me a whore. I continuously jumped to try to reach my phone. Of course, I couldn’t reach it. He is 6’3″ and I am just 5’6″ a difference of 9 inches! Frustrated and angry, I grabbed a chair and threw it in his direction in hopes of distracting him enough to get my phone back. Instead of hitting him, it hit the wall. In his rage, he grabbed me and threw me outside in the snow without my shoes or my coat (or my phone). I had my car keys in my pocket and drove off. I was deemed crazy by the boy after this incident. Why would I be so crazy and violent and throw a chair at his wall? Why would I leave without my shoes? Why would I leave without my driver’s license, purse, belongings? I MUST be crazy to do such a thing. And domestic violence is “tasteless.”

He defended himself, too.

“People who know me know that I’m a good dad,” he said. “I work hard. I put my sons first. I was a good husband. I took care of my family.”

The boy talks like this, too. He tells his friends that all he ever did was love me. He has a home and a car and takes care of his dog. He’s a good dog owner and was a good boyfriend, DAMMIT!

Still, years after his parents’ marriage collapsed, Josh Powell was facing the meltdown of his own relationship.

Before Susan went missing in 2009, the couple had begun counseling, said Graves, but it wasn’t going well.

“It was clear to the counselor that there was no progress being made,” Graves said. “Josh wasn’t doing his part. And so the counselor was frustrated, Susan was frustrated. They weren’t getting anywhere.”

Graves believes that Susan Powell was finally ready to call it quits.

“I think her intent was that they were going to get a divorce,” she said. “If this last-ditch effort of counseling didn’t work, they were gonna get a divorce.”

I was too afraid to tell the boy of my plans. I knew weeks before I escaped that I was going to leave. But I allowed the relationship to deteriorate to the point that he would agree I was nuts and would leave me alone long enough to ‘let” me leave. The weeks leading up to my escape, I feared for my life and slept with a bread knife under my side of the bed. Who sleeps with a knife under their side of the bed? Crazy people, I guess, huh?

Susan Powell was reported missing Dec. 7, 2009, in Utah. Josh Powell was the only named person-of-interest in the disappearance, but he was never charged. He continually denied involvement in his wife’s disappearance and later moved himself and his sons to live with his father in Washington state.

If anything had happened to me or my son, the boy would have fled to Argentina. He and his Shih-Tzu sitting in first-class licking himself. 

The couple’s two sons were placed in the custody of Susan Powell’s parents after Steven Powell was arrested on charges of voyeurism and child pornography in September 2011. Steven Powell has denied the charges.

The boy continues to deny any abuses he inflicted upon me or my son. To him, everything he did or said to me was because I deserved it and asked for it. My son was a spoiled brat, and I was nothing but “a drunk whore and a bad mother” and deserved to be treated the way he treated me. But he tells his family and friends he loved me “so much” and loved my son and that all of my claims are the lies of a drunk and depressed woman. He’s upset with himself for putting up with me for as long as he did. (He is delusional!)

A judge ruled earlier this month that Josh Powell could not have custody of his sons until he underwent a psycho-sexual evaluation.

Powell attacked his sons with a hatchet before igniting an explosion in his home last weekend, killing himself and his boys, officials have said. Powell locked a social worker out of the home before the explosion.

The day I learned Josh Powell killed his children, was the day I realized that I HAD to keep writing and never, ever stop writing and sharing my story. How many Josh Powells of the world can we stop? If I can stop just one, I’ll feel all of my writing and efforts have not been in vain. The boy and his family have accused me of being tasteless and classless. If telling the truth is tasteless and classless, I am tasteless and classless!

May Susan and her children continue to rest in peace.


*Don’t try using this blog to put together the pieces of who the boy is. I have not used actual names of people, places, or animals. But some of you already know who he is because you know me and you met him. And some of you know who he is because he informed you about this blog thinking it was too incredible for anyone to believe. Thinking he could hide behind it and continue to declare me crazy and a drunk and depressed. Lucky you! I bet you don’t think it’s funny, though, do you? Not because you think I’m lying, but because you know the boy, and you know he is seriously disturbed. Hopefully, you won’t try hooking up any of your friends with the boy.

New cover for a new, revisited version

Cover: Escaping the boy: My Life with a Sociopath RevisitedPaperback copies of Escaping the Boy: My Life with a Sociopath Revisited are now available for pre-order through the Xlibris site. (The e-book will be available for the Nook and Kindle and all other e-formats soon.)

Why “Revisited?” Well, after publishing it through Amazon and Kindle Direct Publishing as an e-book ONLY and receiving great feedback about what could make it better, I revisited it and made it better. (I hope.)

I added a new Preface and introductory chapter on Identifying Narcissistic Sociopaths. I also expanded the Aftermath chapter and added an Afterword, which speaks to the growing and silent epidemic of domestic violence and intimate partner abuse.

Together we CAN get the message to more victims, survivors, family members, and all supporters interested in ending DV/IP. No one is alone in this battle, and there is hope to reach inner peace and happiness in this lifetime.

Namaste!

NO MORE: My Post, Your Support, and The Healing Process

NoMore.orgI found an amazing organization a few weeks ago: NO MORE. NO MORE’s goal is to bring more awareness to domestic violence and sexual assault in hopes of ending it for good:

“NO MORE is a simple idea with the power to unleash new, major  attention to the people all around us who are hurt – directly or indirectly — by domestic violence and sexual assault every day and every minute.  We all know someone who has been touched by this violence but still, domestic violence and sexual assault remain hidden and misunderstood.” (from nomore.org)

NO MORE’s website site provides a toolkit of images and messages to anyone with a blog, website, Twitter, Facebook, and any social media account or outlet to spread the message. All you need to do is fill out an online form to request the toolkit. I requested my toolkit last week and was asked if I would be willing to write a personal account of why I support the NO MORE campaign. I did. And they posted it on their site.

For me, sharing what happened to me has been empowering and has brought me back to me. Not everyone can share their experiences with domestic violence/intimate partner abuse or sexual violence. I share because it helps me heal and find internal; peace; I have no interest in anyone’s pity. I share and continue to share what happened to me because being silent helps no one, except the tormentor/abuser.

I ask you to support NO MORE by requesting a toolkit. You don’t need to be a victim/survivor. Just someone who is tired of turning a blind eye to suffering that is happening right under our noses every day. Namaste!

Paula’s post on nomore.org

Namaste!

Why I blog and “The Addictive Blog Award”

addictive-blogAddictions can be bad. But if you’re addicted to reading my blog, that has to be good, right?!?

I was honored with this award by www.SexinMiami.wordpress.com, a blog that I am addicted to and have been ever since the first post I read six months ago. You can read more about why she blogs here.

Award Rules:

  1. Thank the person awarding you.
  2. Share a little about why you blog and how the journey started.
  3. Paste the blog award on your page.
  4. Nominate 10 other bloggers you feel deserve the award.

Why I Blog:
I started blogging in 2005, just after I discovered I was pregnant with my son. We were living in Colorado, but our family was back east in Florida, Maryland, New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. It wasn’t easy to travel and share the joy we were experiencing as expecting new parents, so I started my blog (originally on Blogger. The horror! Hehehe!)

My family enjoyed the images and my postings, but they never commented. (As a blogger, comments and “likes” boost me. They’re important to my writing energy.) So, without these seemingly little (but HUGE in my mind) things, I felt like I was doing a whole lot of writing for nothing. My posts became fewer and fewer, and my motivation had deflated completely by 2008.

Unfortunate events, twists and turns of life, and basic desperation to be heard and understood provided me the necessary motivation to begin blogging again in January 2012. I was full-steam ahead but blinded by so much I had been holding inside and couldn’t decide where to focus. I wrote about yoga and abuse and sociopaths and alcoholism. People and bloggers quickly started following me and commenting and kept me REALLY motivated. I was connecting with others who had experienced similar pain, frustrations, and road blocks in life; and they “got me!” It was empowering and overwhelming.

Fast forward six months. Today. If not for this outlet, I wouldn’t have been able to unburden my mind of so much pain and discomfort. I never would have been able to find the passion and courage to write and publish my book “Escaping the Boy: My Life with a Sociopath” or apply for consideration to become a staff writer with The Washington Times Communities.

My blogging experience has blessed me with life-changing energy and a desire to be a better person. As noted in the About section of this blog, my life is definitely not rainbows and butterflies, but I have learned through writing and sharing that I am not alone in my struggles to find and maintain my happiness. I’ve also learned that it’s okay to fall down as long as I am willing to ask for help getting back up. There’s nothing more powerful than community, and the blogging community has helped lift me higher than I ever thought possible. Thank you, readers and followers. Namaste!

I’m Addicted to these Blogs:

http://katybrandes.wordpress.com/

http://mysociopath.net/

http://itsallaboutmenow2012.wordpress.com/

http://ruthsippelpace.wordpress.com/

http://justiceforraymond.wordpress.com/

http://iwonttakeit.wordpress.com/

http://buckwheatsrisk.com/

http://blametheamygdala.wordpress.com/

http://kimberlyharding.wordpress.com/

http://ladywithatruck.wordpress.com/

Living Inside Out Loud

Living Inside Out LoudIt’s official! My biography and column page for Living Inside Out Loud are live and ready for my first submission to The Washington Times Communities. I’m so excited to write and publish my first story, hopefully, by the end of this week.

I am determined to bring more awareness to the connection between personality disorders, domestic violence/intimate partner abuse, and PTSD to as many people willing to read about it. I’ll be providing many references, resources, and expert testimony in each article. Stories will be more formal than my postings here but will hopefully add credibility to an otherwise overlooked social and family issue.

Namaste!

http://communities.washingtontimes.com/neighborhood/living-inside-out-loud/

It’s Published! “Escaping the Boy: My Life with a Sociopath”

I have been on hiatus from my blog (and WordPress in general) for the past week but for a good reason:

I finalized and published my first book to Amazon!– Escaping the Boy: My Life with a Sociopath. I hope all of my dedicated blog readers, friends, and family will get a chance to review and share my story.

A little about the cover illustration…
I took this photograph (below) in October 2008 while wandering the avenues of Père Lachaise Cemetery (French: Cimetière du Père-Lachaise). Although I was with someone, I was alone. I was drawn to Eva, as I affectionately refer to her, and saddened by her. Is she Eve? Is she every woman caught between good and evil? She was definitely me on that chilly, fall morning nearly four years ago. I chose her for my cover illustration because I think she was always intended to be front-and-center.

Namaste!

Cover image: Escaping The Boy (copyright 2012)

Cover illustration by Paula Carrasquillo

The alcoholic who wants to quit but is afraid of AA

I admit that I was VERY reluctant to attend Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings. Many reasons formed the core of my thinking and prejudice against AA:

1. As a child attending church, I remember whisperings about AA meetings interfering with choir practice or other evening events at the church. I read the AA pamphlets near the Sunday bulletins and thought, “People must really be desperate to come together into a room and talk about how messed up they are.” Little did I know, I would be one of those messed up people.

2. I thought God was going to be pushed down my throat. Even though I was raised Lutheran and even received holy communion each month until I graduated from high school, I kind of stopped believing in God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit when I was about 13. I wasn’t going anywhere near a program that required me to “just have faith” before receiving help.

3. When I was 25, I was arrested for DUI. As part of my probation, I had to visit an alcohol monitor and attend classes on alcoholism. While attending the classes, I met many repeat offenders who were also active in AA, yet they were still drinking. It made zero sense to me: “Why go to AA meetings and continue to drink. That seems counter productive and hypocritical?” Just made me think AA participants were just liars.

4. I felt like The Big Book qualified the organization as a cult. And cult members do crazy things like commit suicide for their cult causes. (Remember Jim Jones, Heaven’s Gate, Waco? Well, if you don’t remember, check out this site: The 10 Most Notorious Suicide Cults in History.) I wanted no part in killing myself. I was desperate but not THAT desperate.

These were all really great excuses to keep propagating to myself and others. But they got me nowhere. So why did I finally go? Why did I finally take that first step, so to say?

I wanted (and still want) to live a full life free from the chains of alcohol and the destructive nature of its effects. No excuse should be more powerful than our desire to live, love, and laugh. Namaste!

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