O.M. Grey's Blog

“Every once in a while I get the opportunity to read a piece of work that makes me think, ‘This is the one the will put this author on the map of the reading world.’ Avalon Revamped is that book for O. M. Grey. It deals with some horrific truths and should be read by every person on the planet. It is a great adventure, with serious underpinnings that elevate it into a higher realm of genre literature.” ~ C. L. Stegall, author of The Blood of Others

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Although this book was written and published back in 2013, it’s as relevant as ever in this age of #MeToo. I wrote this in the aftermath of rape and sexual assault. It was cathartic for me to write about a powerful succubus whose raison d’être was to punish sexual predators and deliver justice for their victims.

I call this a “sequel of sorts” to the Amazon Gothic Romance Bestseller Avalon Revisited because it has some of the same characters and is set in the same world, but the tone and scope is quite different. It stands alone. The two books represent my personal evolving perception of sexuality and sexual violence.

For many years I didn’t promote this book because on one had I was barely functional in the aftermath of my rape and on the other I felt a lot of shame that I wrote about sexual assault…five years before #MeToo.

Women were not believed. Not supported.

Survivors were systematically silenced. Blamed. Shamed.

In the subsequent years I would lose everything because of the assaults, including my identity, my writing career, my sexuality, and my husband.

Perhaps now in this time of #MeToo, I can once again be proud of my work.

Available on Amazon in Kindle & Paperback formats.

Copied from my personal blog.

Although this blog has the history of posts chronicling my experiences over the past 8 years.

The past few months have been many things.

Inspiring. Validating. Triggering. Infuriating. Gratifying.

Of course, I’m talking about the growing #MeToo and #TimesUp movements. At long, long last, survivors of sexual violence, abuse, and assault in all its forms are not only being heard, they’re being believed.

Although I’ve been moved to write about this many times, I’ve hesitated, as I’m hesitating now. Even as I type, I’m questioning whether I want to open this up again. I feel ashamed and like people are just so weary of this story…

Well. I’m weary of it, too. Exhausted, really.

A few weeks from now will be the 6th anniversary of the day my close, trusted friend raped me. He wasn’t the first, as I would come to realize in the subsequent years of recovery and loss, but his was the most violent, which ultimately made it impossible to dismiss or minimize, as I had been trained to do over a lifetime of gradually intensifying sexual violence starting when I was about 8 years old and continuing until I was 42. (See: The Boiling Frog Principle of Boundary Violation)

I tried to do those things after the rape. I tried to minimize it and dismiss it. I tried to blame myself, to understand and make excuses for him. I tried to find a reasonable explanation for his choice to punish me with rape.

Ultimately I couldn’t, not after 9 separate sexual assault professionals heard my tale and description of the event and said, “um… that was rape.” Later durning the endless hours of reading articles on sociopathy, rape trauma syndrome, PTSD, survivor stories, and so much more, I learned that only 27% of women whose experience matches the legal definition of rape consider themselves rape victims/survivors.

The summer of 2012 taught me why. It taught me why I sometimes still wish I had dismissed it instead of accepting it:

It’s traumatizing.

Once you accept your (non-stereotypical-stranger-rape) experience is actually rape or sexual assault, it often opens up this Pandora’s Box of previous experiences: “Well, if this is rape, then that time in 2011 was rape, too. And 2010. And 1997, 1996, 1994, 1992, 1989, 1988, 1987….”

You suddenly realize that you’re not just now a victim of sexual assault, you have been for a very long time. Some toxic mixture of rape-culture rhetoric and denial for survival kept you from realizing it. I think back to those early days when a doctor or professor or friend or lover or stranger perpetrated some level of sexual misconduct, and I remember how people responded if I mentioned it.

“Welcome to being a woman,” a close relative told me after I divulged that a college professor was trapping me in his office and forced my hand to caress his erection, telling me that he all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck me every time he looked at me in class. (Adams)

“What were you doing there in the first place?” a partner told me when I explained how a friend didn’t heed my hesitation and indications to stop. It was my fault for being there, so it wasn’t rape.

“She’s just being vindictive,” Steampunk organizers said behind my back when I told them about Elemental’s assault, while saying to my face, “I believe you but our hands are tied,” then celebrated him as a Guest of Honor.

“Have some compassion!” a PTSD therapist told me, chiding me that I was judging my rapist too harshly. That he must be in incredible pain to do something like that. She said my ego was the problem. It was because I thought that rape was a bad thing that I was struggling so much with it.

….a few of the endless stories of how I was silenced over the years. How that total lack of support or belief would become as traumatizing as the assaults themselves. Or should I say, re-traumatizing, as is everything that comes after that. The police didn’t believe me and said I was just trying to cover up an affair with the accusation. My community didn’t believe me, although they knew me and not him. They still took his side. They said I was vindictive, lying, exaggerating, etc. etc. etc.

All those things deepen the trauma and the shame. It is meant to silence the survivor, but I will never be silent again, even knowing what I still risk by speaking out.

Last year I pulled many things off this blog while I was looking for work, as I was concerned that my personal entries would hurt my already-difficult chances at finding remote work as a middle-aged woman, and I regret that now. I put them over on my OMGrey blog, which is where I process the last of the sexual assaults. On there you can see my evolving (conscious) understanding of consent and sexual violence, something my nervous system has always known, thus the C-PTSD.

Around that time, I also created a blog called The Order of the White Feather, which was a place to address Rape Culture head on. There I suggested a way to handle a situation where someone comes forward with an accusation or story of sexual violence: #BelieveHer.

Although my suggestions didn’t take hold at the time, I’m so pleased to see that’s finally starting to happen on a cultural level. Today I read about how a judge sentenced a serial sexual predator to 175 years in prison after making him listen to the women whose lives he irreversibly altered. Each day I read about another woman coming forward and being heard, being believed. Each day I read about another predator facing social and professional consequences, and that’s where it must start. We as a society must hold them accountable, just as we’ve started to do.

I can’t help but wonder if I spoke out now, if anything would’ve been different. I wonder if I speak their names now, if I would publicly and officially throw my voice into the #MeToo ring, if the Steampunk community would now actually boycott Elemental. If my former community in Austin would ostracize Bost the rapist. If The Atlantic would fire Grady, their correspondent.

I haven’t yet regained that much belief in people. Support of your community can either be the start of healing the trauma or it can be what deepens the damage. For me it was the latter. For so many survivors, it has been the latter. Frankly, I’m not sure I have it in me to fight that particular fight all over again, as it will still most likely hurt me while the perpetrators aren’t even questioned, let alone held accountable socially or professionally.

So I still say a huge FUCK YOU to the Steampunk Community for their complicity.

Same to the Austin Poly Community.

You are nearly as guilty as they are, and you know who they are. I’ve named them here. I’ve named them before. Nothing changes.

However, in this age of #MeToo, I dare to hope there is a new dawn for survivors of sexual violence. Perhaps finally the default can be what I proposed all those years ago: #BelieveHer, #QuestionHim.

For me, hope is still truly too dangerous to embrace.

—-{—-{@

I haven’t posted here for a long time, as I don’t have much to say anymore. . . but I felt inspired because earlier today when I scrolled back through this blog a few years. Although I was reminded just how much these experiences have changed my life, my career, my goals (I’m a different person now), one thing did catch my eye. It made me feel proud of a book I wrote back in 2013, one I’ve been ashamed of because the content is so triggering and centered around sexual assault.

My inspiration to speak out again today and write this blog post came through this quote from author C. L. Stegall about my book Avalon Revamped:

Every once in a while I get the opportunity to read a piece of work that makes me think, “This is the one the will put this author on the map of the reading world.” Avalon Revamped is that book for O. M. Grey. It deals with some horrific truths and should be read by every person on the planet. It is a great adventure, with serious underpinnings that elevate it into a higher realm of genre literature.

Although it didn’t put me (as O. M. Grey) on the map, that’s partly due to my inability to market it properly and partly due to the shame I felt around telling those stories.

Perhaps now in the midst of #MeToo, it would received well.

Frankly, I doubt it.

In the mean time, I will continue to survive and to thrive as I travel the world.

/Rambling

TW: sexual assault, rape, PTSD

“It’s horrible and shameful that women in 2017 still live with the constant threat of sexual assault, but it’s a reality we don’t have to accept quietly.” (Source)

A friend shared this Bored Panda article on my Facebook wall today:

“Guy Left In Tears After Trying To Grope Woman, But Not Everyone Agrees She Has Right To Fight Back Like That”

So many don’t understand this is *sexual assault*. I didn’t even understand that myself until about 5 years ago. We are socialized to accept such behavior as normal, and if we react at all, we’re shamed and silenced for “overreacting.”Sexual violence occurs on a spectrum, where even the slightest offense is too much. It is assault.  

Once I consciously accepted what my body had known for over twenty years (thus the Complex PTSD), I realized that I had been sexually assaulted across the spectrum multiple times, mostly by people I knew and trusted. Acknowledging that was like another assault. It was traumatizing. 

Whether someone grabs your ass, crotch, or breasts without consent or doesn’t take no (or indication of no) for an answer, it’s sexual assault. 

Period.

If there is penetration into your body (mouth, anus, or vagina) with any object, including but not limited to a penis, fingers, foreign object, no matter how slight or for how long, it is rape.

Period.

We (as women especially, but also covering the spectrum of gender) have been socialized to accept so much sexual violence (pretty much anything falling short of extremely brutal stranger rape) as acceptable behavior. So much in fact, that only ~25% of women whose experience matches the legal definition of rape consider themselves a rape victim.

This is what is now known as “rape culture.” It’s a society that minimizes and normalizes sexual assault. 

It’s a society that *socially* puts the burden of proof on the traumatized rather than questioning the accused.

It’s a society that not only accepts sexual assault and its perpetrators but celebrates them (John Lennon, Bill Cosby, Michael Jackson, etc.)… The USA elected a sexual predator for president. 

It’s a society that doesn’t believe victims when they come forward (even en masse and/or with witnesses and overwhelming physical/video proof) and then shames victims who choose not to come forward (to face further abuse). 

It’s a society that makes excuses for the perpetrator, aka rape apology, like “s/he probably didn’t realize,” “s/he was confused/drunk,” “but s/he’s so nice to me/never hurt me,” etc.

It’s a society that blames the victim or target of violence: “why was s/he there at that time/alone/etc.?”, “look what she was wearing?”, “why didn’t s/he fight back?”, “did you say no?”, “did you say no forcefully enough?” 

Ad nauseam. 

It’s a society that has tens of thousands of untested rape kits. 

It’s a society in which only ~14% of perpetrators ever see the inside of a courtroom. One in which only 3% of sexual predators ever spends a single day in jail. 

It’s a society in which ~80% of sexual violence is perpetrated by someone the victim/target knows. 

One in which 1 in 3 women have or will experience sexual violence. Personally, I think it’s much higher than that, as I’ve yet to meet a woman over the age of 15 who hasn’t been groped against her will, let alone finding it difficult to think less than 50% (of women I’ve met) who’ve experienced attempted or completed rape.  

All this starts here, with things like this article. The fact that so many still question whether or not this woman had the right to defend herself against assault tells me we still have a long way to go.

Filed under: Trauma & Recovery Tagged: author, fear, grief, healing, misogyny, o.m. grey, olivia grey, rape, relationships, sexual assault, sexual violence, shattered

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I did it. Today I said goodbye.

With a lot of love and kindness, along with the frank reasons behind it, I told my love farewell. Of course, he left me weeks ago, for the second time in two months. As you read in my last post, I was truly hoping for a 3rd chance, but it’s clearly not going to happen.

Last week, I apologized to him. Yep. That’s right. I sent him an apology email for trying to help him with his medical struggles and mental health. I said that I understood that sometimes fantasy was the only thing that got him through another day of excruciating pain. I said that I understood how so much pain must make it difficult to speak let alone to anything else, like participate in a relationship. I told him it was okay to dream about a future together.

(Note: we’re emailing and texting because I’m still in Europe and he’s refused to talk with me on the phone or video chat for weeks now. We’ve been in limited, but daily contact ever since he apologized for breaking our commitment 2+ weeks ago)

He responded with gratitude for my understanding and kindness. Then he asked me if it’s just okay to fantasize or could a future together be a reality.

I really shouldn’t have answered that question, just like he ignores at least half of the questions I ask….

But I did.

I said it was absolutely okay to fantasize, and as far as it being a reality, the best we could do was to work every day toward making it a reality, dealing with the things as they come. This in the middle of another very loving email full of support and understanding.

That answer upset him. He said he “felt rejected,” like he was “second best,” and that he was “a hostage.” I had no idea what he was talking about. I tried to call him to clarify/explain/???, but he wouldn’t answer the phone. I texted him and he got very cross with me and told me to give him space.

For the past week I’ve been reading articles on loving someone with Borderline Personality Disorder, how to deal with them day to day and not take their erratic emotions personally, etc.

For days after, I dealt with more push-pull behavior. From him barely speaking to me one day to sending nude photos the next. From idealizing me again and telling his family how much he loves me to him shutting down a few hours later because I asked him something as innocuous as “Is your life back to normal” (after the move) and “Are you all settled it?” Apparently these questions really upset him because he doesn’t want to talk about his life because it’s “never normal.”

Completely understandable.

Had he said that as soon as I texted, that would’ve been fine. I would’ve empathized, apologized, and gone to another subject, but instead he goes silent for 30 minutes. When I ask “Did I lose you?” over Google Hangouts, he says, “I have to go to sleep now.”

o.O

So I asked if my question upset him (‘yes’) and to please explain why because I was only making polite conversation, etc. etc. etc. . . but after everything else, I finally accepted reality today.

I told him to sleep well, then I blocked him from Hangouts.

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For two weeks I’ve been revising a “farewell” email, never quite being able to send it because I couldn’t let go of hope. I couldn’t let go of him.

Today I sent it, and it’s breaking my heart because he will be in so much pain when he reads it. I regret having to send it and give up the hope of some chance. Of course, hope is a dangerous drug. I’ve learned that the hard way. I’ve let hope die before, but it’s so temping, so beautiful that I let it come to life once more.

Now I’m paying for it.

The pain for me comes and goes; there will be a lot more of it in days and weeks to come. I know the drill of loss and grief. I’ve survived worse. Maybe I’ll find one again that it’s more sadness and confusion than pain.

Still I remind myself that I didn’t leave him. I didn’t break our commitment. I didn’t shut down. I didn’t abandon him. …. he did those things.

I’m just finally accepting it.

Please be kind if you comment. It’s difficult to break that betrayal bond, as we all know. Once you already have PTSD and a history of surviving emotional abuse, sometimes you still can’t see it when everyone else can. The worst is when you can see it, but you are powerless to do anything about it.

As I wrote over a year ago:

Lie to me once, you’re gone.

Deceive me once, you’re gone.

Betray my trust once, you’re gone.

Tell me I’m too intense or too needy or too emotional, you’re gone.

If you play Jekyll & Hyde games or are afraid of commitment or intimacy, you’re gone.

If you’re aloof, inconsistent, uninvested, unengaged, unavailable in any way, keep moving.

I have neither the time nor the patience for you. No second chances. Not anymore.

I’m not playing this bullshit game any more.

I’ve gotten really good at cutting people out of my life over the past few years, even people who meant the world to me. When they consistently bring me more tears than smiles, they’re gone. When they even breathe like a misogynist, they’re gone. When they aren’t true to their word, they’re gone. If they objectify me, they’re gone.

I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. Even though the loneliness sometimes feels as if it will consume me, I would rather be lonely alone than lonely in another relationship.

I would rather no one call at all than to wait around for an uninvested man to recognize my worth.

Respect me, or keep walking.

Cherish me, or keep walking.

Engage fully with me, or keep walking.

Embrace everything I am, or keep walking.

He lied to me. He deceived me. He betrayed my trust. He was aloof, inconsistent, and unengaged. He definitely did the Jekyll/Hyde bullshit quite well, and quite often, too.

Over the past three months, he’s put me through the idealize – devalue – discard cycle 5 complete times. Nothing was going to change. It would only hurt me more and more, and it seemed to only be hurting him, too. In fact, at this point, the most loving thing I can do for him is to let him go, especially if he feels like “a hostage” of my love.

I certainly felt like a hostage.

Today, I set myself free.

-_Q

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Again…I rise.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships, Trauma & Recovery Tagged: borderline, borderline personality disorder, breakup, covert narcissist, emotional abuse, farewell, goodbye, heartbreak, heartbroken, hope, how to survive the loss of a love, loss, love, manipulation, narcissism, narcissist, narcissistic personality disorder

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I’m sitting here on the banks of Luzernsee in Lucerne, Switzerland, and if there was ever a place to be heartbroken and confused, this is it.

The only beauty that compares to the Alps are the Scottish Highlands, a different sort of beauty. Dark and wild, rather like my soul.

I’m heartbroken and confused because I’m still sick with this virus, an affliction caught from a severely personality-disabled person who refuses to get help for either his mental or physical ailments.

…and I refuse to give up on him, but I must find a way to do just that.

I’ve heard it a gazillion times. “You can’t help someone who won’t help themselves,” but it’s never really hit so close to home for me as it has these past weeks.

Yes. The saga continues. It’s my pattern, after all.

After NJD left me again two weeks ago, he was back in contact days later with apologies and regrets. I told him I wasn’t ready for a reconciliation, not after being discarded twice. That I needed some time to think, and he needed to address some of his mental and physical health concerns before we could try a third time.

He agreed because he really can see a future together, and sometimes I can, too. I want to see a future together. I want to have a meaningful relationship again, and it was so so so good when we were together for those two weeks…

His kindness and vulnerability stays with me. His promises stay with me. The comfort I felt with him stays with me. After being without a home for nearly two years, he is my home. He is my hope, too.

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Perhaps that’s what’s has infected my heart. Hope. That dangerous emotion that deludes one into thinking things could be different, be better.

Hope blinds us to reality, because the reality is this:

He has demanded I give up my travels, my life, and my dreams to come take care of him, repeatedly.
He has not offered one iota of support or comfort to me or my concerns.
He has not taken any steps toward recovery since I left for Europe, in fact he’s going backwards and getting worse.
He has lied to me, deceived me, manipulated me.
He has abandoned me, broke promises, and hasn’t once done what he said he would do. Actions != Words.

Yet he consumes my mind and fills my heart with hope.

He is delusional and living in a fantasy world, but then maybe so am I.

My therapist says I’m not delusional. She says I’ve been so starved of love my entire life, and especially after the recent traumas, that I hang on to any frayed piece of affection or love-crumb tossed my way.

Apparently I hold onto that frayed rope for dear life.

When a relationship obviously won’t work. When I’m faced with abuse and manipulation. When I’m tossed aside like garbage not once, but twice…I don’t leave.

I try harder.

I think if only he can get some psychiatric help, we can work.

…if only he can manage his pain, we can work.

…if only I’m patient and supportive and loving enough, it can work.

Then when he doesn’t take control of his health, when he doesn’t make an appointment with a psychiatrist, a therapist, or even a doctor, I try to do it for him. I say to myself:

If I can just help him out of this pit of depression, like I did when I was there…

If only I can give him a leg up, then we can work…

etc.

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Here I am in one of the most beautiful places in the world, an intelligent, vibrant, compassionate woman, yet my mind and heart are with a disabled, dying man in Eugene.

I’m not talking about the physical disability. I’m not talking about the amputated leg or advanced neuropathy or the vascular damage. I’m not talking about the weakened heart or loss of muscle.

I’m talking about his disabled will to live or to even try anymore. I’m talking about his apathy and denial. I’m talking about drowning in depression, loss, and grief. I’m talking about creating fantasy futures because it’s the only way he knows how to survive.

During one of my enabling moments, I contacted a physical therapist who specializes in people with diabetes, including amputees and those with diabetic ulcers, hoping he could help my beloved out of his pit.

This was his reply:

The depression and self-isolation is the yellow flag that makes the possibility of improvement questionable…

If he wants to truly change this, put forth some effort, and start taking care of himself, then there is an opportunity, although slim, to bring him back.

He has a considerable problem list with the cardiac, diabetic, and amputation histories…

Without addressing , in addition to the physical aspects of his care, there is no little to no chance for improvement…

Very often patients with advanced diabetes are very apathetic, despite their poor state of health, and therefore is difficult to motivate them to improve their overall health condition.

This was a dose of reality for me. Still, I don’t stop. Not a week later under my next rush of enabler delusion, I wrote to a therapist who specializes in trauma recovery, personality disorders, and grief counseling.

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From what I’ve read about codependency and enabling, I’m hurting my beloved worse by trying to help him. The best thing I could probably do for him is to leave him alone, but I haven’t been able to let go yet. I keep trying to help.

I’m getting there. I keep setting boundaries and deadlines for myself, and each time I come closer. Again, I will try not to help until (if) he asks for it. It’s so very hard to see him in so much pain and do nothing at all. The hardest thing for me to do is nothing at all, but that likely is what will help him the most. Until then, I am a crutch. I am what’s keeping him from “rock bottom,” the place where change (if it’s going to happen) will happen.

My beloved has a deep case of learned helplessness. Someone has always done it for him, usually his mother. Now that she has passed, he’s been trying to “get his hooks in me,” to capture me in order take her place as caretaker and nursemaid under the guise of a romantic relationship.

Still, I hold on to hope. I know better, really. Hope and I have a love/hate relationship, and right now I hate it once again.

At the end of hope is life.

At the end of hope is me.

I’m looking deep within myself to discover why I can’t let go. Why can’t I tolerate walking away. What keeps me from going into NC and staying there?

Compassion? Pity? Love? Desperation? Guilt?

How much longer will I devalue myself by waiting for something that will never happen?

I recently found this list of how a healthy relationship looks, because apparently I don’t know, since the answer to every. single. question (but one) is a resounding NO in this case of this relationship. Of course, most people who have healthy relationships had them modeled for them as a child. The only kind of relationships modeled for me were dysfunctional at best and abusive at worst.

Does your relationship support your growth?

Do you feel better about yourself being with this person?

Can you really be yourself?

Are your needs as an individual separate from your partner supported?

Are your needs within the relationship accepted and supported?

Do you feel Secure, needed, and wanted?

Do you trust your partner?

Does s/he trust you?

Are your friendships respected?

Do you feel listened to?

Are your thoughts and feelings important to your partner?

…and yet, I think of him there in his room, alone with his cats, and I wonder if I should give up a year of my life to try and help him out of this pit of depression and self-isolation. I’ve actually considered canceling my petsits and going back to Eugene, to do what he demands in the hopes of helping him.

If I did that, I would not only hate myself, I would resent him as well, for it would always be on his terms, his needs, his desires, his everything. I would disappear.

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It likely wouldn’t change anything anyway because he has chosen self-isolation and neglect for decades, so he will unlikely choose self-care now, even if love is at the other end.

Not me. I choose life, at least until it does me the kindness of ending. I will live as fully as I can when the jaws of depression don’t have me in their dark grip. While he wants to clip my wings and lock me in a cage, I want to fly. I rise, again and again.

I fucking rise.

My therapist says he is an anvil around my neck, and I think she’s right. In fact, he a better metaphor might be an albatross.

My friends say that he would suck everything out me, including the very marrow from my bones, and I think they’re right.

My Zürich hosts says that he is a virus, and I think she’s right.

The moment I let go of it was the moment I got more than I could handle

The moment I stepped off of it was the moment I touched down.

~Alanis Morissette, “Thank You”

….and yet —- I look at my phone to see if he’s written. . .

I’m getting there. . .and when I do, I will find myself again.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships Tagged: betryal, borderline personality disorder, codependent, deception, diabetes, enabling, fantasy, heartbreak, hope, lie, lies, life, living, loss, love, manipulation, narcissism, reality

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I was wrong. Well, at least partly wrong, which is known to happen from time to time.

Last month, I wrote an angry, ranting post about RED FLAGS and Covert Narcissism, but what I failed to see were the Borderline aspects of this severely personality-disordered individual, who I have come to deeply love. My compassion for him is endless, and I wish him the absolute best in the time he has left.

I’m not in the least bit angry anymore. I’m sad and concerned, but we are apart once again.

Before I tell my tale of foolishness and pain, I’d like to preface this by saying that my heart and mind are with him in his struggle. I’m so pleased we were able to share some tenderness, intimacy, vulnerability, and kindness. It was very real for me then, and it still is now.

Yes. That’s right. Even though I wrote about the dangers of it in my Covert Narcissism post, I fell for the HOOVERING technique used by Narcissists, Sociopaths, and Borderlines, alike. I knew it was hoovering when it happened, but I justified it because I really, really wanted to meet him in person again after 32 years apart. After what we shared before Christmas, and as heartbroken as I was when he did a 180 the day after Christmas. After such a lonely, painful New Years. After two weeks of the silent treatment, I tried to make amends and apologize, just in case, not wanting to lose him from my life again. (Additionally, I really didn’t want to go back to CA and spend two weeks with my soon-to-be-ex-husband before I headed back to Europe.)

Communication was opened briefly between us, then he told me to leave him alone, as I explain in more detail in WARNING: RED FLAGS AHEAD, so I did and went immediately in No Contact mode (NC), the only way to survive and recover from narcissistic abuse. Blocked him from email, Facebook, phone, etc. Deleted all his pictures, all his emails, all his texts. Tried to deal with the loss.

I called my therapist when I got the “Please leave me alone” email. That’s when she said my reaction, which was sobbing heartbreak, was normal for anyone when they’ve been mind-fucked by a severely personality disordered person.

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One problem with gmail, sadly for me, there really is no way to block someone from getting in. You can set a rule to move emails to the trash, but if you see it in the trash… which I did, you look (unless you have way more self-control in the matter of love than I do).

I hoped, and ultimately I fell again.

Frankly, my first reaction was to laugh, really loudly. I was on my way to Portland from visiting a dear friend in Salt Lake City, so the neighboring room at the Hampton Inn in Boise, Idaho must’ve thought me insane with such explosive laughter.

This time, however, I wasn’t the delusional one. There in my Gmail Trash sat an email from my long-lost-friend-almost-lover with the subject line “Plan B.”

Delusional isn’t strong enough a word for the contents of this email. It revealed a mind completely out of touch with reality and a level of selfishness I had rarely seen. His proposition was that I give up traveling (i.e., cancel my 8-month trip to Europe and disappoint/betray all my hosts counting on me to watch their homes and pets), get a job (to support him, I suppose), and get an apartment with him. He said he needed help with his debilitating illness, and it might as well be from someone who loves him. He had to move in with his sister, now that his mother had died, and he really didn’t want to do that. He had a little income from disability and a little more from a wealthy uncle, so I wouldn’t even have to work a full time job if that level of income continued.

There wasn’t one iota in that email of how this arrangement would benefit me other than inheriting his cats and some $10k worth of silver when he died. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice or compromise at all. Not even a little bit.

He said “let’s first meet in person” (which was all I ever wanted to do) and if we didn’t “absolutely hate” each other, we could move forward with this “Plan B.”

I thought about it awhile. I knew it was hoovering. I knew it was the selfish, desperate plea of a severely ill person, but I really wanted to meet him. After all, I care for this person, probably because I’ve romanticized him for 32 years, but also because I have a lot of compassion for his plight. Plus I wanted to close this open door that’s beckoned me back for decades.

I responded that I’d still like to meet for coffee, and we could make any subsequent decisions after that. I worded my email in a way that was not agreeing with the terms of his ridiculous proposal, but that I was willing to meet and see what unfolded from there.

My therapist was dumbfounded as to why I would go back into the lion’s den. She asked me why I would invite someone back into my life to be abused again. She said this is why my heart is always shattered. When I see Red Flags, I don’t run like other people, I *try harder,* and that is due to a history of abuse and trauma which has caused my C-PTSD.

It’s something I have to do, I told her.

My mother was shocked and confused. She asked me why I would go back to someone who had already hurt me so badly. Why would I set myself up to be hurt again?

It’s something I have to do, I told her.

I spoke with a friend who also has survived Narcissistic Abuse more than once, and she was very worried, too. Of course everyone was worried, and they should be. I was playing with fire, and I was going to get burned again.

TL;DR: I did.

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My narc-survivor friend and I came up with a list of things we thought he would try, from our experience with narcissists, to see if we were right. I went in with the premise of learning more about the narcissist in his natural habitat, as it were, hopefully so I could see the next narc sooner the next time, because apparently I haven’t learned yet. I was leaving for Europe in a few weeks, so there was only so much more damage he could do, especially because I rather had his number now. (Justify * Justify * Justify)

Frankly, something inside me truly did have to do this. It was as if I physically could not will my body or convince my mind to do anything else, and I tried…

Yep. I’m fucked up. I know it.

I thought we would meet for coffee, and if it went really, really well, have sex, since I had just recovered my ability to have sex again, in part thanks to him and our flirtation. I also needed to do that for my next step in healing from that rape 5 years ago.

I was so happy to have my sexuality back again, so happy to not be as terrified, so happy I could be alone in a room with a man without having a panic attack! Plus, I knew my old friend had been through so much pain and loss, I wanted to bring some tenderness into his life and into mine, if only for a few moments. It would be healing for us both.

I went in protected, eyes wide open. Skeptical. Guarded…. but I went in just the same.

I didn’t expect to fall in love, but I did.

Of course I did.

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After he tearfully apologized for leaving me the day after Christmas, using the explanation that he was so afraid his heart would be broken that he “pulled the trigger first,” I opened up more to him.

When he showed empathy at the news I was losing my job, I opened up more to him. We discussed possibilities of a future together. It was such a great fit. Such such such a great fit.

He was amazing, really. Kind, sweet, compassionate, tender, scared, authentic, communicative, real. He was willing to have difficult discussions. He was willing to try new things. He was willing to let me help him set up a self-care regimen. We had so many laughs together, expressed so much love and tenderness, and even had moments of deep passion.

It was magical.

I helped him get his overwhelming medical files in order, got him to a few appointments, helped him heal some diabetic ulcers and did research on diabetic neuropathy, tended to his recently amputated leg, found an amputee support group, made appointments with specialists, and got him started on a new self-care regimen, including a healthy diet and natural supplements that could slow, if not stop (if not partially reverse) his progressive neuropathy. I enjoyed helping him, and he felt loved. He felt like he wanted to recover again. He had a renewed hope that he could have a full life again.

During a very intimate moment together, he tearfully confessed that he had just been waiting to die for so long, that he never dreamed he could experience such love and tenderness and joy again. That I was the best thing that has ever happened to him.

I had never experienced such a profound, vulnerable, intimate moment with any man. Yes, he was rather remarkable. I could identify with his sensitivity and intense emotions because I have them, too.

Throughout these two magical weeks together, we were inseparable. If we were in reach of the other, we were touching. Neither of us had felt so much joy or such intimate vulnerability in far too long. It was healing for us both.

But…commitments had been made before I had reconnected with him, and I keep my commitments. I had to leave for CA to file for divorce, and I had already pushed that back as far as I could, then get on a flight to Switzerland on Feb 3rd for a month-long housesit. After that, England for 6 months of housesitting.

My new boyfriend cried as he asked me not to leave, again. He was angry and referred to his (delusional) email about what he expected, that by coming there I had agreed to give up Europe and stay with him (living in his sister’s house) until we could find a place together.

I had it so bad for him that I actually considered it. He felt like home. They all felt like family. It felt right….

Yet, I don’t take commitment lightly, and I told him so. His sister must’ve talked with him about how he couldn’t ask someone to change their entire life, because he was supportive after that, speaking positively about our future and how we’d make it through. Then, he wanted to make a commitment of our own. Insisted, really. He wanted to buy me some special expensive jewelry so I’d be reminded of him while I was gone.

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I was uncomfortable with this idea because he wanted to spend up to $1000, and it just didn’t feel right, especially because I live very simply and I don’t wear expensive jewelry. When I told him as much, he teared up. I cradled his face and asked him what he heard me say, because all I said was that I didn’t want a $700 necklace I’d never wear. We compromised on a set of promise rings, and we made a commitment to each other for 6 months. It would get us through the time apart until we could meet in July, after he was walking again on his new prosthesis. We would meet me in Scotland to celebrate his 50th birthday. It would be his first time out of the country, and if things were still so good, we could be handfasted there as the next step. Handfasting is a traditional “temporary” commitment lasting a year and a day, like a trial marriage.

He bought me a beautiful sapphire ring and himself a lovely Blue London Topaz ring. We made a promise to each other and had a little private ceremony that last night together as the moon shone through his bedroom window and the lights of Eugene spread out in the valley beneath us. It was lovely. I thought we might make it, at least until July.

I drove away on January 31st and headed down to my house in CA. My soon-to-be-ex-husband and I (still on good terms) had a logistical divorce talk, we drew up our own agreement, and I met with a divorce counselor to fill out the official paperwork. I did this all in two whirlwind days, including packing for an 8-month trip abroad and getting a consolation mocha or two. On the morning of Feb 3rd, we swung by the courthouse and filed the divorce petition before he drove me the 4 hours to Oakland Airport. From the moment I left my house in N. CA until I reached my final destination in Zürich, I had been traveling for over 30 hours straight. I was exhausted.

I lost my remote tech job two days later.

Before I left Eugene, I had warned my new boyfriend that I would likely crash when I got settled in Zürich, and he had expressed how he would be there for me, especially since I had done so much for him. But when it came down to it, me and my needs went right out the window, and it was all about his demands for me to return home. Just as I had feared, he was turning into Mr. Hyde once again. He referenced that lunatic email, the one where he asks me to give up everything and he gives up nothing, and said that’s what he needs.

Struggling with my own C-PTSD, the stress was overwhelming and I crashed. I was scared, jet-lagged, triggered, and in desperate need for some support from my partner, the same support I had given him for weeks. He couldn’t/wouldn’t provide it. He showed me no empathy, no compassion. He dismissed me and minimized by struggles and worries. He, too, was struggling with intense emotions, perceived abandonment, and excruciating physical pain all at once.

His sister once again intervened on my behalf, reminding him he can’t ask someone to change their entire life. Then she explained to me how he’s been isolated so long that he doesn’t know how to relate to others well. That he can be a real “selfish douchebag” (her words).

It gave us a stay of execution for another week.

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I spent most of that week in a dark depression, sleeping between 14 and 18 hours a day with the help of Lorazepam and Valium, alternately, in tandem with OTC sleeping pills and my normal anxiety meds, both trying to recover from jet lag and dealing with an obviously failing relationship. He and I vacillated between pleasantries to expressions of love to him demanding I return home again or falling back into the silent treatment, always over text. He didn’t want to video chat or even talk because his physical pain was so great.

It was a tumultuous week.

Of course, I had no one to blame but myself for going back to him. My pain and despair was my price I paid for the second chance, yet I survived. It’s what I do…but there was more to come.

Jump to this past Sunday, February 12, the fifth anniversary of the rape. Things had gotten back on track over the two prior days once we talked out the roller coaster of the past week, and I thought things were good. I thought once again that we could make it.

Ultimately, though, he broke it off again…right between my rape anniversary and Valentine’s Day. Rather a dick move, really. He had confessed to deceiving me and telling me a flat-out lie during a very intimate, vulnerable, virtual encounter over text (half a world away, what are ya gonna do?), and it really hurt me. I felt betrayed and a little violated, but I wasn’t angry. I was quiet and sad as I tried to process and express my feelings.

He was angry that I felt hurt and deceived, and he was really angry I said it was deception and he was a liar…even though he had just “confessed” because he “didn’t want to deceive me” (further). He revealed one lie during that encounter before confessing another (ongoing) lie as well.

Angry at my reaction, he said this relationship was too stressful, too difficult.

I gently reminded him how just 5 hours before he was expressing deep love for me, saying that we would walk hand-in-hand on this journey together, how we were such a great fit, how we had such a beautiful future and wonderful things ahead. Telling me (yet again) how I was the best thing that ever happened to him. Telling me again how we would travel together and build a home together in Portland.

I had told him how he felt like home to me. That I hadn’t had a home in so long, but he felt like home. He had said he wanted to be my home, a place where one feels safe, a place one could travel from and return to, a place where one was loved and accepted…

I reminded him of those things, and he said, “I felt it at the time.”

o.O

I reminded him of the commitment we made to each other, and the reason people form commitments is to survive difficult times and painful discussions, learning more about how to relate to each other as the relationship develops. This is what a relationship is, I told him. There are joys and sorrows, there are laughs and disagreements, there is passion and grief, there is tenderness and there are misunderstandings. A committed relationship means we face them together, hand-in-hand, remember?

He said, “I’m backing out of the commitment.”

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Two weeks.

He couldn’t even keep the commitment he insisted on for two weeks, let alone 6 months.

It doesn’t surprise me, really, although it deeply saddens me. It’s no wonder he hasn’t had a relationship last more than 1.5 yrs in his entire 50 years of life. Tumultuous ones they must’ve been, too. It’s also no surprise he hasn’t had a relationship in over 10 years with behavior like this. It’s truly no wonder at all…

I asked him to be really sure about breaking this off because we couldn’t come back from it this time. I couldn’t do this a third time. I told him I’d have to block him from everywhere for my own protection (NC).

He said he was sure.

We told each other “I love you,” then “goodbye.”

C’est tout, encore.

On that fucking date of February 12th, it had been two months and two days since we reconnected. In those two months, he had left me twice, threatened to leave me and/or shut down another 3 or 4 times, expressed deep love for me and then devalued me, flat out ignored things he didn’t want to answer or talk about, demanded I give up my entire lifestyle to move in and take care of him, and so much more.

Yep. I think my therapist hit it right on the nose: severely personality-disordered person.

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Still, I’m not convinced he’s a Covert Narcissist, although he certainly has some serious narcissistic traits, I think he suffers either from Borderline Personality Disorder (hate that term) and/or a very severe, untreated case of Complex PTSD. I know the latter is true, but it might share some comorbidity with the two personality disorders as well. Borderline Personality Disorder, more accurately described as Emotional Regulation Disorder, shares many traits with Complex PTSD.

Spending time with this very sick man, my compassion and love grew for him. Even with this recent Jekyll / Hyde move, even with the manipulations and lies, I know he is very sick, and that’s not his fault. What was done to him was not his fault. His mental disorder is treatable (if it’s not NPD), and I can only hope he finds the treatment he needs, because beneath it, he is a truly remarkable, kind person.

In fact, I’m in awe of what he has survived. The strength it took to endure everything from horrific childhood traumas to the degenerative and painful effects of an insidious disease like T1 Diabetes astounds me. I’m impressed by his ongoing courage to face what is yet to come: learning to walk again on a prosthetic, more invasive surgeries (he had quadruple bypass last year), constant care and vigilance with ever-present ulcers (or he could lose another limb), and grieving the recent death of his mother and best friend.

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Eilean Donan Castle, Scotland

I would’ve been proud to walk by his side through it all, despite the mental illness and psychiatric injury, for I also struggle with mental illness caused by psychiatric injury. I would’ve been with him through it all, indeed.

Still, he ended our relationship again, and it is likely for the best.

At least for now, and probably forever.

Perhaps he is a covert narcissist after all, in which case he is incapable of empathy and it would be torturous to have a relationship with such a person, but if it’s untreated C-PTSD or even BPD, there is hope for him with a proper diagnosis and effective treatment. If he can find his way to that treatment, there could be hope for us.

Strangely, I’m not shattered (yet), just mostly sad, concerned.

Perhaps it hasn’t sunk in yet.

Perhaps I’m content that I closed the open door after 32 years.

Perhaps I know there was nothing more I could’ve done.

Perhaps I know it wasn’t anything I did or didn’t do to cause this break.

I don’t have to spend the next weeks blaming myself or questioning my every word or decision.

For I didn’t lie, I didn’t deceive, I didn’t run, I didn’t break our commitment, I didn’t choose this.

I merely loved.

In the end, I don’t regret those two wonderful weeks during which I got to know my long-lost, very special friend, as I came to love a remarkable, albeit severely ill, human being. I’m not angry with him. I don’t hate him. On the contrary, I care deeply for him, empathize with him, and truly, deeply love him.

Although we’ll probably stay apart, I cherish the time I spent with him. I’m glad I gave into that absurd hoovering, and I’m thrilled to have shared such tenderness, laughter, joy, and love with him.

I wish him peace, love, and as much joy as he can tolerate on his difficult path, even if he chooses to walk it without me.

Love to you, NJD, always and forever.

May you find peace.

-_Q

Filed under: Romance & Relationships, Trauma & Recovery Tagged: amputation, anxiety, author, borderline personality disorder, bpd, broken heart, c-ptsd, covert narcissist, diabetes, fear, heartbroken, honesty, hoovering, intimacy, jekyll hyde, loss, love, narcissism, narcissist, narcissistic personality disorder, neuropathy, npd, o.m. grey, olivia grey, passion, personality disorder, psychosis, ptsd, relationships, romance, shattered, type 1 diabetes

Hello everyone. It’s been nearly three years since I killed off O. M. Grey, but I will be posting on this site again. For the past few years I’ve been writing on my personal blog, but the need to find new employment has made it impossible to vent, process, and write about such highly personal things on there anymore.

Although this is the first day I returned to write on this site, I will populate this blog with articles from my personal site and set them on the day they were originally posted. Some posts will appear on both blogs. Sometimes I will refer to myself here using my real name rather than Olivia (O. M.) Grey, but I’m sure you’re all smart enough to follow along.

The Grey Ghost has returned, and she’s got a lot to say.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: blog, blogging, omgrey, relationship, relationships, vent

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Yesterday I wrote a very personal rant on a recent whirlwind mind-fuck by a severely personality-disordered person. I thought I could tell the signs of Narcissism and Sociopathy, but I forgot about Covert Narcissists.

Now I know. Rather, now I remember.

Covert Narcissists are even harder to spot than Narcissists and Sociopaths, thus the “covert” part of the description. Some experts believe the Covert Narcissist is actually a subset of Borderline Personality Disorder, another Cluster B Personality Disorder.

The Love Bombing is the same, although with Covert Narcissists, much of the seduction and manipulation of the highly empathic and sensitive person consists of pity and victimization. Covert Narcissists are perpetual victims, have extremely low self-esteem, and feed off the adoration of others, that is until some perceived insult or threat makes their target no longer worthwhile. This entire cycle is called the Idealize – Devalue – Discard Cycle.

I’ve written about Narcissism, Sociopathy, and other forms of Emotional and Sexual Predators on this blog, so you can read up on those experiences / lessons there if you’d like. As in that post, which still gets hundreds of hits daily, despite my two-plus-year abandonment, because so many people find my painful experiences helpful in their own lives and relationships, I hope these recent posts will give you all some further insight and foresight into the veiled world of Narcissism so that you may not feel the heartbreak I do. So you can recognize it. Each time, I recognize it sooner and sooner, or rather — reveal it by being authentic, open, and compassionate. Still results in heartbreak and betrayal/trauma bonding, but the sooner you see it, the less pain there will be.

For the rest of this post, I will take excerpts from other articles and link to them. For examples of how this latest (Covert) Narc used Love Bombing / Idealization to capture my adoration and love (read: narcissistic supply), and how it quickly and inevitably (with a Cluster B disordered person) led to a drastic and painful devaluation, followed ultimately by being harshly discarded, read my rant WARNING: HUGE RED FLAGS AHEAD

First, there are clear behavioral distinctions between a false and authentic self. The Narcissist / Sociopath have false selves to cover the cavernous emptiness on the inside. This is sometimes easier to see in an Overt Narcissist, with their haughty arrogance, charm, and grandiosity (think Trump), but it manifests in a different way in a Covert Narcissist.

COVERT NARCISSISM – or the Shy Narcissist…

Covert Narcissists dangle their vulnerability in front of you as bait, just waiting for your good nurturing mothering/fathering instincts to kick in and rescue the poor little lost child they are presenting to you. As soon as you reach out a helping hand, their jaws snap shut on you…

-Coverts are quiet, insecure and passive…

-Coverts are marked by failed ambition, chronic feelings of emptiness, fragility, low functioning and when depleted can frequently sink into outright depression…

-Coverts are known for presenting themselves as vulnerable victims who can even use that vulnerability as a hook to bait you in!

You will never see them coming, they will flaunt their vulnerability in front of you to capitalise on your compassion, they will flatter and charm you with their “shyness” to get close enough to you that they can get their fangs deep into you.

All the flattery of the initial meeting is a phase in which they are sizing you up, quite possibly full to the brim with boiling envy and narcissistic rage that you have something that they “deserve” to be given the purpose of which is to learn your weaknesses and vulnerabilities so they can drain you dry.

(SOURCE)

A Covert/Shy Narcissist will have grandiose fantasies but will also be plagued by a feeling of unworthiness and thus shame for even having fantasized about his or her greatness. This type of narcissist, is likely to be characterized by an incapacity to sustain ambitions or to pursue even attainable goals with full dedication, yielding to others rewards that he or she may legitimately deserve. The final result is often significant masochistic self-damage, self-pity, feelings of hurt, and depression.

(SOURCE)

Covert Narcissists are perpetual victims, using pity and sympathy to reel in a kind, empathetic target. You are their savior. Their inspiration. Their new lease on life.

One of the most common characteristics of an introverted narcissist is a sense of “withdrawn self-centeredness”…

Narcissists are often oblivious to, or dismissive of others’ thoughts and feelings. Even when you tell them how their attitudes and actions are generating adverse consequences, their response will be more about themselves. Such is the self-absorption…

…some introverted narcissists are “exquisitely sensitive.” They tend to be affronted by any signs of real or perceived slights, and handle criticism poorly. In the face of negative feedback, some introvert narcissists will defend with an increased sense of superior smugness and dismissal (fight), while others will respond with sullen withdraw (flight).

As mentioned earlier, part of the introvert narcissist’s insecurity is the inability to genuinely connect with people. To this extent, the aloofness and/or smugness serve as a defensive mechanism keeping people away, lest the narcissist is exposed for her or his interpersonal inadequacies.

(Source)

My recent “ex” was extremely self-centered with his health and struggles, understandably, but he showed absolutely no empathy for me and mine. No empathy is the hallmark sign of a deeply disordered person, especially a Cluster B personality-disordered person or a sociopath.

He took great offense at some innocuous comments and reacted irrationally, immediately causing him to withdraw sullenly and threaten flight. Of course when I bent over backwards with apologies and empathy, it must’ve gotten him drunk on Narcissistic Supply… keeping him around for a little longer until the 3rd perceived slight, which apparently caused such Narcissistic Injury and Rage, the Devalue/Discard happened immediately after.

His inability to connect with people became increasingly apparent during our relatively-short interactions. With only 3 significant relationships in his 50 years, and none lasting over 1.5 yrs (even in his technical 4-year marriage, they were separated after 1.5 yrs). He has very few friends.

The following is the typical path of a “relationship” with a Narcissist or Sociopath:

1) Love Bombing / Idealization;

2) Narcissistic Injury / Rage;

3) Devalue / Discard;

4) Hoovering (possibly)

LOVE BOMBING (more links to descriptions of Love Bombing in my RED FLAGS rant post)

Love bombing is effective, as it moves the relationship forward very quickly. You might spend 10 hours talking on a telephone conversation. Or might receive constant text messages during the day. Numerous emails, or Facebook contact.

This is mind control. The message that you receive is:

He is really keen on me
He is really like me, we have so many common interests
You have known him for far longer than you actually have

It is important for the sociopath to move the relationship forward very quickly. If he didn’t you might notice that there is a lack of friends from his past. You might notice that he doesn’t actually have a job. You might notice that he doesn’t actually earn what he says he does.

His motive, is always control. By love bombing you, he effectively, in a very short space of time, has control over you. Ownership. He isolates you from other people. You can, within a very short space of time, feel that you have been with someone for 3 years, or that have that feeling that you have known this person all of your life. This gives you the false impression that this man is your soul mate. Someone special, that you do not want to let go of. It feels good.

(Source)

What Love Bombing Looks Like (other examples from my recent experience here)

At first, it’ll all seem too good to be true. You’ll spend hours talking, and maybe you’ll get sweet little texts all day long. He will “like” every Facebook status you post, and maybe even comment on them all about how amazing/smart/beautiful, etc. you are…

He will say all the right things, and it’ll just feel like you truly know him within days or weeks. You’ll feel like he understands you like no one else ever has, and no matter how smart you are, you’ll fall for it all – hook, line and sinker…

This will lead to the inevitable next step – he starts mirroring you; that is, he will start “reflecting back to you” exactly what you really want to hear.

This is because, by becoming your ideal man, he gains a tiny bit of control over you. He can only gain the control if he has your full attention – and he knows the best way to get it…

Narcissists play on our insecurities, and they tend to be rather attracted to empaths (mostly because they’re easy targets as they tend to be very in touch with others’ emotions – the narc uses this to their advantage)…

(Source)

Through this tactic, the N can have his target under his spell quite quickly. It happened for me in two weeks, although there were also moments of Narcissistic Injury (see below) where he freaked out irrationally over perceived slights/insults around sexuality, 3x in 10 days. Shut down. Withdrew. Became cold. It took a lot of soothing and apologies from me to bring him around the first two times. The third and final time he went into full Devalue/Discard mode:

IDEALIZE, DEVALUE, DISCARD CYCLE

The relationship cycle typical of extreme narcissistic abuse generally follows a pattern. Individuals in emotionally abusive relationships experience a dizzying whirlwind that includes three stages: idealization, devaluing, and discarding…

Ultimately, the person with narcissism discards his or her dating partner, who served as a source of narcissistic supply to fuel the ego of the individual with narcissistic issues. When the target asks for compromise, reciprocity, empathy, integrity, honesty, and boundaries (all healthy and valid requests that people with extreme narcissistic qualities generally do not engage in), the person with narcissism may decide that the target has lost his or her luster and is tarnished—no longer the “perfect partner” to fluff the ego feathers. Inevitably, the discarding occurs when the person with narcissism either disappears or orchestrates his or her own abandonment by engaging in some form of egregious emotional abuse. The outcome is often shocking for the survivor, unclear as to how someone that he or she fell so deeply in love with could throw it all away.

In most cases, survivors of narcissism were able to offer empathy, compassion, authenticity, honesty, reciprocity, and compromise during the relationship. People with narcissistic tendencies are drawn to such empathic, deeply feeling people and know that, on some level, they personally are lacking in emotional depth and substance. By being in a relationship with such a nurturing, loving person, the person with narcissism is able to consume that person’s authentic love and extract narcissistic supply.

(Source)

As I write in my RED FLAGS post, he was telling me he loved me one day, at the end of a two-week cycle of love bombing, and the very next day he told me we were absolutely incompatible and discarded me.

As I mentioned, these narcissistic injuries caused narcissistic rage, which in an Overt Narcissist can be violent, angry outbursts, but in a Covert Narcissist

NARCISSISTIC INJURY — the RAGE and why the Devalue / Discard often begins.

Having anticipated the praise as fully justified and in accordance with (his) “reality”, the narcissist feels that his traits, behavior, and “accomplishments” have made the accolades and kudos happen, have generated them, and have brought them into being. He “annexes” positive input and feels, irrationally, that its source is internal, not external; that it is emanating from inside himself, not from outside, independent sources. He, therefore, takes positive narcissistic supply lightly.

The narcissist treats disharmonious input – criticism, or disagreement, or data that negate the his self-perception – completely differently. He accords a far greater weight to these types of countervailing, challenging, and destabilizing information because they are felt by him to be “more real” and coming verily from the outside. Obviously, the narcissist cannot cast himself as the cause and source of opprobrium, castigation, and mockery.

This sourcing and weighing asymmetry is the reason for the narcissist’s disproportionate reactions to perceived insults. He simply takes them as more “real” and more “serious”. The narcissist is constantly on the lookout for slights. He is hypervigilant. He perceives every disagreement as criticism and every critical remark as complete and humiliating rejection: nothing short of a threat. Gradually, his mind turns into a chaotic battlefield of paranoia and ideas of reference.

Most narcissists react defensively. They become conspicuously indignant, aggressive, and cold. They detach emotionally for fear of yet another (narcissistic) injury. They devalue the person who made the disparaging remark, the critical comment, the unflattering observation, the innocuous joke at the narcissist’s expense…

Narcissistic rage is not a reaction to stress – it is a reaction to a perceived slight, insult, criticism, or disagreement (in other words, to narcissistic injury). It is intense and disproportional to the “offence”.

Raging narcissists usually perceive their reaction to have been triggered by an intentional provocation with a hostile purpose. Their targets, on the other hand, invariably regard raging narcissists as incoherent, unjust, and arbitrary.

This below quote describes perfectly my recent ex’s reaction.

a Narcissist is over sensitive to anything that may cause a Narcissistic Injury. They are always looking for slights, and these may not necessarily be real, but only in their own perception of the world and those around him. They go on the defensive, striking first before you can further injure them. They will devalue you and reduce you to nothing in their eyes in order to lift themselves up and protect their own fragile sense of self. Narcissists in this state are desperate, irrational, and incapable of seeing things outside of their own point of view.

(Source)

NARCISSISTIC COME BACK AFTER NO CONTACT (aka HOOVERING and Why I Burn Those Bridges in Public)

The only way to get over a Narcissist is to go into No Contact. None. No Facebook. No email. No Twitter, Instagram, texting, calls…. no anything. BLOCK BLOCK BLOCK. It’s the only way to break that betrayal bond and to clear your head of the royal mind-fuck you’ve just endured. The only way to recover your balance and even identity.

Often, however, a narcissist will return to old, discarded narcissistic supply when they’re running low or lost their alternative source. This is called HOOVERING, like the vacuum cleaner. They suck you back in with more Love Bombing, promises, apologies, etc…

So this is one reason why I publicly post personal rants and such. It reduces the chance they’ll come back because they know I will expose their narcissistic ass. The other reasons are because it’s cathartic for me to vent/express myself as part of the process to shake the aftereffects of narcissistic abuse as well as to soothe my anxieties. If I block them and publicly expose them, it’s so unlikely they’ll come back, I’m not as nervous when I open my email or pick up my phone, fearing there will be something from them.

The Narcissist has no real identity, only an illusion of themselves built on their ability to control other people.  When they lose said control, this illusion is shattered.  This explains why they shift into turbo gear when you implement No Contact.  No Contact makes the Narcissist feel small, worthless, and powerless.  They whip themselves into a frenzy because they need your supply to maintain their false image.  When you go into No Contact mode, you are shifting the power to yourself, and the Narcissist loses their sanity because they’ve lost not only their God-like power, but also their emotional punching bag. …

Think of how you feel after being fed upon by the Narcissist and discarded.  You’ve been emotionally and financially abused and cast-off like a paper bag from McDonald’s.  You suffer from PTSD/C-PTSD, Trauma Bonding, Stockholm syndrome, crippling self-esteem, and depression.  The reason you feel this way is not only because of how you were treated, but because you’ve effectively internalized the way the Narcissist feels about himself.  This explains why they must devalue and discard their victims, because once they are no longer able to absorb and internalize the Narc’s self-hate, the Narc is forced to find a new receptacle.

A Narcissist’s Love Letter

When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I love the way I feel when I’m with you. I love myself through you. I love seeing myself through your eyes. I love seeing myself through my eyes imagining how I look through your eyes. I love having someone new to tell my stories to, to express my opinions, and to share my profound theories and beliefs about the important things in life. I love hearing myself say these things as I imagine how they sound to you, and how enthralled with me I imagine you are.

When I say I’m in love with you, I love having someone beautiful to wear, like a new outfit. I love the way you feel on me. I love the way I feel about me when you are with me.

When I say I’m in love with you, I love not being alone. I love not being that tree falling in the forest. I love having a full-time, personal audience.

When I say I’m in love with you I mean I love being your mystery, your riddle, being what keeps you up at night, your obsession. I love being your altar, your sacrament, your icon, your miracle. I love being your answer. I love being the object of your sacrifice. I love being your pain.

When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I’m in love with being your sun, monopolizing your orbit, being your gravity, keeping you drawn back to me no matter how hard you try to jump or fly, keeping you down. Keeping you mine.

When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I’m in love with breathing your air, sucking your blood, eating your dreams. I’m in love with being your drug, your dagger, your suicide note.1

When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I love the story I can tell to my next lover, about my ex-lover, about how beautiful things were, how intense, how storybook, what a couple we were, and how you gradually, inexplicably, painfully, bit by bit, disappeared.

(Source)

Yep.

It’s been very helpful to me to read these articles today as I’m processing my grief at losing who I thought was a good man, a good friend… but in actuality turned out to be a highly disturbed, severely personality-disordered person. These articles pretty much outline and explain the beginning, middle, and end of our very short relationship.

Heartbreak and confusion are valid and natural responses to narcissistic abuse.

Thank you for reading my public emotional processing.

Another Warning: Total Cathartic Highly-Personal Venting Rant Below…

I see them sooner these days, that’s for sure. But I have a tendency to still make excuses for too many of them because, like Mulder always says, “I want to believe,” and as Spike said, “I’m love’s bitch.” I want to believe because I’m kind, compassionate, emathetic, trusting, naive, and foolish in matters of the heart.

I want to believe because I’m lonely, so very lonely.

For someone who had always held a special place in my heart, I really did want to believe in him, but the RED FLAGS were there from the beginning. We even talked about some of the things that concerned me, when he was still speaking to me. I told him how I was concerned he was expressing love so soon, that I was afraid I was just a fantasy, a distraction from the grief and loss. That I was thrilled it was so wonderful and we were sharing so much… and afraid it would end as quickly as it started. I knew something was rotten in the state of Denmark, but I wanted so desperately to believe.

As you read in my poem, For Just A Few Moments, things between us were going so well. I suppose, too well, for I did suspect Love Bombing (2, 3)**, but after what this person had meant to me in the past, I wanted to believe he was just passionate like me. That he was genuine and authentic. That he was honest and self-aware. That he was real.

He sure seemed to be for two weeks. We shared intimate details and vulnerable stores. We bared our souls and hearts and accepted each other for who we were. His expressions of affection got deeper, more serious. . . and then he told me “I love you” on Christmas Night. He had been hinting at it for a few days, over the moon about our reconnection and how well we got along, talking for hours upon hours, projecting a future together.

I totally bought it hook, line, and sinker.

Why?

In part because of our former childhood friendship and my guilt over breaking his 16-yr-old heart and all the effort I put into finding him over the decades, but it was mostly because of what this man has endured. So. much. loss. and illness. I thought anyone who has survived all that must be authentic, must be real, must be brave and strong. There is no room for pretense with all that going on.

I did suspect he might be a narcissist since I was attracted to him. Because, you know me…I’m a fucking narcissist/sociopath magnet, but he passed every narc-test I threw at him. He was kind, sweet, open, communicative, funny, vulnerable, honest, cute….

Maybe it is real, I told myself.

Maybe I found one of the rare genuine people left in this fucking world. 

Yeah. Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

The Red Flags I Ignored To My Own Heartbreaking Peril:

No long-term relationship lasting over 1.5 yrs, and he’s nearly 50
Only 3 relatively serious relationships, ….and he’s nearly 50
Quick to fall in love and express deep emotion (again, it’s possible as I’m quick to fall, too… but then I don’t turn on a fucking dime and shut them out)
Juvenile language/attitudes toward sexuality
Described himself as an “Egotist with Low Self Esteem” – excellent definition of a narcissist, especially a covert narcissist (1  2 * 3 *).
Delusions of Grandeur, like working for the Library of Congress when he doesn’t even have a HS Diploma
Lived with his mother for the past 7 years (although understandable due to illness)
Runs/Hides from grief and pain. Cannot face uncomfortable emotions.
Freaked out over perceived slights 3 times in the span of 10 days and shut down. (again, understandable because of the overwhelming grief and loss… and there I am making excuses again)
Despite an insidious physical illness, he doesn’t care for himself. Obvious self-sabotaging and self-destructive behaviors.
He showed no empathy for me when I was hurt and triggered, despite the fact that I bent over backwards to soothe him when he was hurt/triggered/freaking out (all about *perceived* sexual rejections/criticism, because I certainly did neither).
TURNS ON A DIME = JEKYLL / HYDE BULLSHIT (see below)*

Seriously, Olivia? I mean, I fucking wrote about this SIX YEARS AGO! When will I learn?

And what do I do ??? Do I walk away? Do I slowly back away? Do I cut him from my life? Do I run like fucking hell in the opposite direction?

No.

— I give him every opportunity to be reasonable, to re-open communication, to come back to me. To “give us a real chance.” To meet me after all these years apart. To withhold a final decision until we can meet in person. To honor his word and be a friend.

Why? Why the fuck do I do it? (refer to list at the top of this post)

How much longer am I going to devalue myself and put up with this type of abusive behavior?

*JEKYLL/HYDE BULLSHIT: When friends heard the story of my heartbreak, they said he was “cray cray” and that I not only dodged a bullet but a whole spray of machine gun fire. Others asked if I really wanted to “take all that on,” IRT his debilitating diabetes, excruciating neuropathy, loss of limbs, heart troubles, etc…

Yes. Yes I was.

My friends listened to how he expressed LOVE one day and planned our future together, asking me if I could be a good parent to his cats (at the end of a two-week whirlwind of talking and texting for hours upon hours and sharing vulnerable, personal stories) and THE VERY NEXT DAY says …. “We are not at all compatible. I wish you the best.”

That’s it. C’est tout. Nada. Not another word.

I was confused. Thrown. Blindsided. Heartbroken. Frantic. In short, as my therapist says, behaving in exactly the way anyone does when blindsided by the mind-fuckery of a severely personality-disordered person.

*LOVE BOMBING – He actually said these things, and his behavior backed them up until he slammed the door in my face without an explanation or the courtesy of a discussion:

You came into my life at just at the right time. (the day we reconnected)
Your eyes are just as sparkly as they were 32 years ago.
I’m falling for you. (less than a week into our reconnection)
Is it possible to have deep feelings for someone you hardly know? The answer is yes. (less than a week into our reconnection)
Some of the things you say to me just make me want to say ‘I love you’ when you say these things to me… (a week into our reconnection, via video message)
I appreciate the things we shared. It’s a wonderful thing, especially because it was so unexpected. (a week into our reconnection, same video message)
I’m looking forward to meeting you in person, very much (same video message)

— something he now refuses to do (ANOTHER RED FLAG)
I don’t want to project too far into the future, but could you be a good parent to ?
You have been such an inspiration. You’re an angel on one hand.
Now I don’t only want to learn to walk again, I want to hike and dance again, too!
You give me hope. I want to recover again.
We are a Christmas present to each other.
When I see you, I’m just going to hug you for a long time. You’ll have to tell me when to stop because I won’t want to let go.
Thank you so much for never giving up the search for me.
I almost asked you to marry me the other day. (a week into our reconnection)
On Christmas Eve he tagged me on Facebook saying “loving thoughts to  for bringing me hope and joy” (three days before he discarded me)
Even if *you* (because there way no way he would) decide not to continue down this romantic path with me, I would still want to be your friend and in your life
If I didn’t hear from you one day, I would rack my brain to think what I said wrong (the day before he discarded me)
If you left me, the heartbreak could give me a heart attack, but you’re worth the risk

(two days before he discarded me)
I’m going to work hard to get my hooks in you

(at least 4-5x, including THE DAY BEFORE HE DISCARDED ME)

Ridiculous, I know. I can read these now and see how fucking foolish I was to believe any of it. Just a little hyperbolic, that’s all, I told myself. Still, I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe in him. My childhood friend. A man who knows trauma like I do. A man who has had a shitty 7 years, like I have. A kind man. A sweet man. A gentle man. An expressive man. A progressive man. A funny man. (*cough* total mirroring *cough*)

I wanted to believe in romance and love again, and he made me believe…then jerked the rug out from under me. Slammed the door after spitting in my face and kicking me to the curb.

Still, I missed him, pathetic and lonely as I am. I missed the promise and possibility. I missed the affection. I missed flirting. I missed sharing my day with someone for a damn change. I missed talking to another human being.

I missed feeling loved.

Plus, I couldn’t bear the thought of being denied the chance to meet him in person again after 32 years. I would’ve done nearly anything just to have a chance to have coffee with him, to reconnect and put this obvious misunderstanding behind us. Fucking pathetic.

I read these words over and over from Post Male Syndrome: “Understand that if your ex was truly someone that was worth missing, he would have found a way to exit the relationship without…making you question your value, being hot and cold, … mind f*ckery, mixed signals, disrespect, etc. He would have found a way to respectfully communicate so that at the very least, you felt a sense of clarity despite natural heartbreak.”

….but still, I couldn’t give up on “love” that easily. I had to try to bridge the communication gap, to understand, to explain, to save a friendship….

I reached out twice in the subsequent two weeks (why? because I’m a fucking fool for love), trying to explain the first time … because surely it was just a misunderstanding… and apologizing the second time, taking most of the blame for his freak out just to try and re-open communication, to try and understand how this seemingly-perfect-for-me-genuine-kind-loving-sweet-tender man turned so cold in an instant and threw me away like garbage.

Hint: Idealization and Devaluation, the trump card of Cluster B. 

Well, I’m not heartbroken anymore (well, I actually am seriously heartbroken). Now I’m just fucking angry. Really, really angry.

Angry at him for being such a coward and dickhead, and angry at me for making excuses for him for so so so so so so long… just because I wanted to believe. Just because I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt… Just because I wanted to believe all my friends were wrong. Just because I wanted to believe that he was just misunderstood, traumatized, hurt, confused, etc. etc. etc. etc.

Just because I wanted to believe he just needed some tenderness, some understanding, some hope.

Just because I’m so fucking lonely.

Then today, after re-opening communication yesterday. After I thought we could make our way back to understanding and at least friendship, which was all I ever wanted before his Love Bombing, he says….”I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but please leave me alone.”

He doesn’t want to hurt my feelings?!?!?!?! Fucking seriously?!?!?!

He spewed grand proclamations of love and dreams and hope and future plans for two amazing weeks, talking on the phone for “6 hours of love” (as he called it) at a time, and then tossed me in the gutter and slammed the door in my face… but he doesn’t want to hurt my fucking feelings?!?!?!

So now I’m not only heartbroken, I’m fucking furious. At him. At me. At hope.

That fucking dangerous emotion HOPE.

This is what I get for hoping.

This is what I get for trusting.

This is what I fucking get for believing.

Perhaps one day I will learn, but I doubt it because I want to believe so much.

…. and you wonder why I’m a misanthrope.

Fucking cowards. I’m sick to death of them. You NJD are now on the left side of my semicolon. Good riddance.

Once again, from the ashes of my burned, scarred, fractured heart…

I FUCKING RISE.

In less than a month I’ll be in Switzerland, snowshoeing in the Alps; then the U.K., walking all over London, riding across Cumbria, and kayaking in the Highlands; then France, then Germany, then Denmark, then Ireland, then, then, then, then, then…

I live my life. . . I don’t just wait to die, and It’s A Magnificent Life. I embrace beauty and pain. I embrace joy and sorrow. I fucking LIVE. I fucking FEEL. I fucking LOVE.

Olivia rose again. Yes she fucking did.

—-{—-{@

If he or his family sees this, they will likely be hurt and humiliated. Welcome to the fucking club. He brought this on himself. Plus, the one thing you never want to do…. scorn a triple scorpio with a blog. Reap what you sow. Face the consequences of your actions. Besides, if he’s so done with me, he shouldn’t be reading my blog. Fuck you.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships, Trauma & Recovery Tagged: author, borderline personality disorder, broken heart, covert narcissist, grief, love bombing, narcissism, narcissist, narcissistic personality disorder, o.m. grey, open marriage, personality disorder, relationships, romance, shattered [image error]

For just a few moments

I captured your heart

A sweet, brief reunion

After decades apart

For just a few moments

We talked through the night

Sharing stories and thoughts

Of both darkness and light

For just a few moments

Our souls intertwined

Our hearts dared to hope

And joy filled our minds

For just a few moments

I let down my shield

You let yours down, too

For just a few moments

I thought it was real

My sweetheart, my darling

My muskrat, my dove

Your sweet gentle kindness

Grew quickly to love

You coaxed me to fall

Right alongside you

For just a few moments

It surely felt true

My battered heart so scared

To go too far in haste

But, after thirty years

Time we shouldn’t waste

For just a few moments

You made me believe

In love and hope and joy

For just a few moments

You made me believe

In you. In me. In us.

Then I watched you leave

An instant, a breath

The blink of an eye

Silence. Discarded.

You left me to cry.

I tried to reach out.

I tried to amend.

You shut down completely.

No lover, no friend.

I don’t understand.

I racked my brain ‘why?’

No reason. No cause.

I can’t say goodbye.

After searching so long

After finding you now

I can’t let you go

Please, tell me how.

For just a few moments

I laid myself bare

A future of hope

Adventures to share

For just a few moments

I had this nice dream

Where I sure loved you

And you sure loved me

For just a few moments

I believed in it all.

A foolish young schoolgirl.

Nothing more, after all.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships, Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: heartbreak, heartbroken, loss, love, love poetry, olivia grey, omgrey, poem, poet, poetry