Tag Archives: Passive/Aggressive

Coining a New Phrase

Doesn’t everyone at some time or other wish they could be the one to coin a new phrase? A phrase so very catchy that soon everyone is saying it? Just me? Whatevs.

Today’s New Phrase, or rather acronym, is EPS – Entitled Penis Syndrome. Surprisingly, Urban Dictionary has no listing for this particular acronym, so Yay!

What prompted me to invent this new term? I’m so glad you asked!

There’s a sign that hangs on the back door of my office that states the two parking spaces directly outside the door are for my company’s survey crew. This sign is 24″ wide x 36″ tall and is bright yellow, white and black. It’s not small, and it’s not the only sign – there’s a slightly smaller sign in red and white that states the same message. The reason those particular two spaces are reserved (the parking lot has 12 spaces and is private, for my company only) is because the Survey Dudes back in and load & unload the trucks directly through the door and into the back room of the building. Because of the high rate of (tweaker) crime in this crappy small town nothing of value is ever left inside the trucks. In fact, two of the Survey Dudes take the trucks home every night so they are never parked behind the building when business is closed.

So. On Monday some young man* drove into the lot and carefully backed his pickup up against the back door, got out, locked the truck and began to walk towards the Big Town Hero next door. I know this because I was out with Sabu and just returning to the office and I saw him.

“Hey!” I said/shouted, “that spot is reserved. You can’t park there.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Uh, no,” I said, a bit louder now. “That spot is reserved for the survey crew and you need to move your truck.”

“I’ll just be a minute!” This time with a dismissive hand gesture at me without even turning around.

“So if they come back and don’t have a spot to park to unload the trucks, well, you’ll ‘be back in a minute’ and they can just wait for you?” I asked, getting really angry now. “Way to be an asshole!”

“I said I’ll just be a minute!” He finally turned to face me.

“You can see there’s a sign right there on the door and still you’re gonna park there, huh?” I might have had steam coming from my ears, I was so pissed at this entitled little shit.

“So what?” Another dismissive hand gesture and he was around the corner.

I seriously thought about keying his truck, but that wouldn’t have been in character for me – I much prefer to commit crimes no one can blame me for.

I went inside and asked Kyle if we had any recourse when someone parks in the clearly marked reserved spots.

“Was it my brother?” he asked with a grin.

“I hope not – I called him an asshole…”

Amanda had a better solution, though – she has printed up a little flyer, bright green, that clearly states the parking spot is reserved by City Ordinance and violators will be towed. They get ONE warning. Hah! I was quite happy to put that little missive under the asshole’s windshield wiper.

Let me just say here that there is A LOT of parking in front of Big Town Hero and he could have parked on the street all along the block, or across the street, or any number of other places. He was not disabled, and if he had been, well, there are MANY places he could have parked that would have been closer to his destination. He is just an Entitled Asshole.

BUT this was not the only piece of assholery I saw on that most irritating day of my week. Lest you feel I’m being sexist with my new catch phrase, I’d like to coin another: EBS, which can only stand for Entitled Bitch Syndrome. Why would I need yet another acronym to describe asshole behavior? Because, as I was driving Sabu to the dog park** a young woman in a red car rolled down her window, tossed out a napkin and then rolled the window back up. She actually tossed a napkin out of her car window into the street, in full view of a dozen or more people, and went merrily on her way. Who does that any more? How difficult would it have been for her to keep the napkin in her car until she got somewhere she could properly dispose of it? I would have run her down if I could have gotten over into that lane, but, alas, it was a futile thought.

Gahhhhh! That’s only the start of the assholery I’ve been witness to this week, but it’s all I have time for at the moment.

What say you – did I overreact?

* Funny how “young man” now encompasses any male under 30 in my mind.

** Srsly? When did I agree to be a dog chauffeur? Seems like all I do is work and pick up dog shit and hair all day.



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For the past year and a half I have been physically free of the narc but every single day I have heard his voice in my head. We argue about everything and I always win. I know, it sounds crazy, but I’ve feared that one day I would see him drive by or he would stop by my office and provoke me into causing a scene. Irrational, I know, but he has been so entrenched in my head that there was not much I could do.

Last week I saw that he had a new blog post up – I visit one of his blog friends and he’s in the sidebar. He was back from his epic sailing trip. I read the post. I visited his flickr page. He has found someone new! Her name is Heather and she can drive the boat – he has a short video to prove it!

As the pictures scrolled by I found myself smiling. Really smiling big. He’s found someone new! He won’t be coming after me, slithering into my life, embarrassing me at work or harassing me on the street! He is now otherwise occupied!

OMG I could not be happier! I fairly bounced out of the office (you don’t think I’d waste precious “spare” time at home with surfing the ‘net, did you?) confident that he was at last gone forever.

And you know what? I haven’t heard his voice in my head since then. Thursday, I think it was. Glorious silence! No internal arguments, no debates, no imaginary scenarios playing out day after day.

I think I’m finally free of him.

That evening I was walking Sabu and spied a new neighbor, Stan, walking his dog, Blue. Yowza! What a hottie!

Whatever, you may say, but I haven’t looked at a man and had any impure thoughts since I left the narc. I almost feel like I have a new lease on life. Hard to describe.

And, no, there is never going to be anything between me and Stan – I’m feeling free, not insane πŸ™‚

ETA: Jackie wondered what they look like and I’m feeling just bitchy enough to add this picture and a bit of commentary –

14540483858_8b25b6d7d6_zFrom left to right – Chuck (I’ve mentioned him before) Chuck’s new gal, some really tall dude, Heather and the Narc. There’s a better pic online, but I chose this one so I could tell a little story.

The last time I saw her, Chuck’s wife of 30 years was losing her marbles. She was lucid sometimes, but it was clear she was going downhill fast. I’ve searched for her death notice online but did not find it. There are quite a few pictures of this couple (the narc calls she and Heather “crew” for their sailing trip – two boats, one couple on each boat) that show they are much more than just friends. I find this repugnant – if the wife is no longer mentally present in the marriage it’s perfectly OK for a man to take a lover, but let a woman do the same thing and she gets all kinds of crap thrown at her. Loyalty, ’til death do us part and all that. Hypocrites! Anyway. There ya go.


Posted by on July 29, 2014 in I totally Rock!, Narcissist, Narcland


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One Year Ago Part Four

A year ago I was posting about how I hate curry (one of the top posts on this here blog, strangely enough) and pissed off at the narc’s efforts to pry every penny he could out of my bleeding corpse.

I was fighting the narc’s indoctrination, the voice in my head that dictated my every move based on what would or would not please the narc on any given day. He was making preparations to go work on his boat, leaving me alone for a few days and I had planned my escape. I was tied in knots, anxious not about my escape plan, but about how he would react and the possible consequences.

That Thursday, Awana and I traveled over to The Valley and found my home and had her hauled back to The Coast where I set about making modifications and moving in. The narc was due to be back some time between Sunday and Wednesday, but I knew it would be sooner because he was always hoping to catch me doing something he didn’t approve of, and that was pretty much everything.

Everything that could be fit into Awana’s van and my car was moved out of the narc’s house on January 20, 2013 and of course the narc had to try to make a scene when he came home to find my Fuck You note, but I handled it okay and was able to spend my first night in my very own space with not too much stress. I didn’t die or have a heart attack or have to explain a nasty public scene or any of the other horrible things the narc had trained me to worry about.

So much has happened in the past year, and all of it has been good. Or at least a Learning Experience πŸ™‚ No catastrophes, I’m not living under a bridge or starving or in some kind of danger as the narc told me would happen if I ever didn’t have him to “carry” me through life. I have a good job, a warm place to live where everything is just the way I like it, I eat what I want, watch TV, spin & knit, go to the dog park, anything I want to do, any time I want to do it. I can talk on the phone with anyone I choose to with no interrogation afterwards. If a friend invites me out to do something I can go with no worries about narc consequences. I can visit friends and family at any time, even staying overnight with no worries that I’ll have to pay a price when I get home. No one is forcing me to eat or do anything that makes me unhappy. No one is laying guilt trips on me or beating me with words or denying me basic comforts like heat in the Winter. No one is beating my dog or threatening me.

I woke up today (again) with an indescribable feeling of unreality. As I looked around the dim room (it was not even 0630, damn you, Revy!) it felt like a dream and I was afraid I would soon wake and find myself back in that narc-made hell. But, no! This is my life now and it is fabulous! Can’t say that enough!

There was a Big Storm on Saturday, making travel unpleasant so Awana came over on Sunday to stay for a couple of nights. We went thrift shopping, out to eat, watched part of Dexter Season 6 (LOVE me some Dexter!) cooked, and generally amused ourselves doing what we like to do. And you know what? I can do it again today, or tomorrow, or next week. It might not sound like much to those of you have never lived in the shadow of a narc or similarly disordered person, but just being able to cook a meal of my choosing at a time of my choosing, letting the dog lick up the drips, listening to my choice of program on the radio, it’s all still a bit unreal and feels like an amazing luxury.

On Monday I deleted the old email account and changed every name and login for every account I’ve accumulated over the past 10+ years. My old ID is gone from the internetz.

Life is good!


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One Year Ago Part Three

Last December was a very bad month for me. The narc was amping up his abuses because I finally had a handle on his tactics, a look behind his mask, and he was not happy at all.

November ended with a fight about moving some plywood, of all things. He got mad that I didn’t jump up from my desk where I was doing paying work to help him before he needed to ask. The argument went round and round until I just didn’t care any more and shut down, refusing to respond to him at all. He pretended to “make an effort to change” which I knew was just another tactic to bring me back in line.

Because of my wonderful readers and lots of internet research, by December I knew I was dealing with a person with Narcissistic Personality Disorder and that there was no cure, no hope, and no reason to say with the asshole. I started to turn his conversational beatings around on him, refusing to play his games. I admit I found it thrilling, like poking the tiger in the cage at the zoo. Now that I was no longer emotionally invested in the relationship, I didn’t care if I made him mad and said what I really felt with no regard to what he might think. It was Sofia Uncensored. He hated it. I reveled in his hate. His anger and switching tactics only fueled my own anger and determination to get the hell out.

When he could no longer move me to tears or talk me into submission he changed his approach: suddenly he was helpless, unable to keep his finances in order, broke, sick, depressed, unable to remember a host of little things from one day to the next. He became a toddler again and he expected me to pick up his slack and take care of all his needs.

I had money in my bank account and a plan for the next time he left town, but he seemed determined to not leave me alone. I tried my best to keep from rocking the boat while standing up for myself – not an easy task. I didn’t want him to kick me out before I was ready to go, but I had a backup plan just in case.

And then Christmas was upon us, and he did his usual gift thing. I bought him clothes, careful to choose exactly what he said he wanted. He took back some clothes that he had given to me and whined constantly about how he felt like he’d been taken advantage of all these years by “everyone,” including me and that was why he wasn’t where he wanted to be in his life and why he could not be happy and treat me well. He was laying the guilt on thick at every opportunity.

I was angry. So very angry. I was very impatiently waiting for him to go out of town again so I could put my escape plan into motion. I was keeping many secrets from him and I felt justified in doing so because of his lies and manipulations. I no longer loved him. I did hate him with a red hot fiery passion and I knew that hatred was the primary force keeping my head above water, paddling slowly forward, looking for an opening to get away.

In less than a month I would be free. That last month was the hardest to endure, but I made it and have been narc free for almost a year!

Thank you all for traveling along with me on this journey.


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I wasn’t going to post today, but this just landed in my inbox (yes, he’s still blocked):

I was diagnosed with PSTD on Monday, also chronic depression. The counselor, who is an expert in both, says I’ve been affected this way since my first accident. The official psychiatric diagnostic manual requires about five indicators from a list of about fifteen. I pegged the chart, with all fifteen. Good news is, this fine woman tells me she has cured every case of PSTD she has had, which includes five years of treating soldiers on a base in Southern California. A cure means a 100% healthy emotional life. Hard to imagine.

Today I went to the Lincoln county mental health clinic to see what they have to offer. They are much closer than the other option, which is an hour away, in north Lincoln City.

Some nice people here. And I think visits to them might be covered by my insurance. I’m not one to change in mid-stream, but we’ll see. I talked with a counselor for an hour and every few minutes, she’d politely interrupt to say “that’s another symptom of PTSD”.

The psychologist I visited today has a note on her white board that says “be grateful to everyone”. I am grateful to you, for kicking my ass so hard I finally did something.

Hope all is well for you. Give Sabu some love from me, please. 

Ain’t that sweet? 11.5 years of torturing me has led him to this epiphany today. He’s grateful. He has an official diagnosis.

Big fucking deal. I told him all of this years ago, but my opinion isn’t worth the paper he uses to wipe his ass, even though I was living with the fallout and begging him to do something about it.

Is this supposed to be an excuse? An apology? An open door to reconciliation? WTF? Am I supposed to feel guilty for leaving now? Should I now view leaving as a great humanitarian act instead of the flight for my life that it was? “100% healthy emotional life?” Should I go running back for that? Again, WTF?

I can’t tell you how pissed off this poisoned missive makes me. No diagnosis in the world excuses the way he treated me FOR YEARS! He doesn’t get to nod and say, “well, I suffer from PTSD and depression and that’s why I was such a dick to her. She should have stayed and helped me…” Oh, hell no!

Fuck you, narc. Fuck your “diagnosis.” Fuck your finally taking my advice and getting insurance and treatment. Fuck you for thinking you could interrupt my Fabulous with your narc bullshit.

Just. Fuck you.


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Why can’t I just say no?

M called me on the phone this afternoon. Like an idiot, I picked up. Still haven’t told him that I’m moving and had it in mind to slip it into the conversation. Naturally, the whole conversation was about him and I didn’t have a chance.

Just one little tidbit from Saturday: he has been complaining about money for years, how he never has enough and needs me to give him more. So we’re sitting in my car at the bus stop* and he starts and says, “I should make sure I have some money before I get on the bus!” whips out his wallet and fans it open to show a bunch of bills. “I have a wallet full of twenties, so I guess I’m set!” he says with a grin. WTF? Infer what you will. I went from asleep to pissed off in about half a second. Wheeeeeew…letting it go…

Anyway. So he calls this afternoon. His friends in Olympia sold him B’s car. She got a new one and they gave him a good deal.** He made it back alive and had a favor to ask. Would I be the legal owner of the car? You see, he can’t own more than one car or he won’t qualify for the disability claim*** he has been working so hard to get. He wants me to put the registration in my name and add the car to my insurance policy until he can sell his truck. IF he can sell his truck. Lots of open-ended mumbling.

Here’s where I should have just said, “no,” and stuck to my guns, but I did it once before when we were still living together and it was no big deal.

Obviously the situation is a bit different now and I have many reasons for not doing it. For one thing, I would have to put my actual address on the registration and I have not updated that info with the DMV. The registration would have to travel with the car and I don’t want him to have it. And who would pay for the insurance? And what happens when I move out of town? Would the insurance company have a problem if there was an accident and he was “borrowing” my car in another county? All of these things were running through my mind as I was trying to come up with an excuse to justify my “no.”

Gah! These knee-jerk, make-it-work-if-you-can reactions are making me crazy! His reaction to my hesitation was predictable: the reasoning voice telling me that it was totally legal and nothing bad would happen, asking why I had reservations, what is the problem (increasing volume, hard edge to his voice) aren’t we friends? Don’t I trust him? and on and on for about five minutes.

I said over and over that it just didn’t feel right, that there was an alarm bell going off in my head that told me it was a bad idea, and he kept pushing. Finally he backed off and said he had something else to ask.

Srsly? He is expecting money from selling some boat hardware that will be coming from New Zealand. Would I give him my PayPal info and deal with the money and give it to him? You see, he can’t show any income and is worried that if any cash goes into his checking account it will be detected and he won’t get his disability claim.

Sigh. I said that the best thing to do would be to set up his own PayPal account and get a debit card and use that to spend the cash if he didn’t want to make deposits to his checking account.

I mean, really? Not exactly laundering money, is it? But close, right?

Oh, he was not happy about that at all. By the end of the conversation he’s fake crying and I feel like puking from the stress of continued “no”s. He got nothing, so it’s a victory, but damn! What an exercise!

Received this e-mail a couple of hours later:

I’m sorry about the turn our conversation took today. It’s obvious you are working on being reasonable and congenial with me despite our problems. I want you to know I’m very grateful for that effort.

There is no one I trust more than you to attempt any dual ownership agreement on a vehicle. Once I got over the disappointment, it’s obvious why you wouldn’t want to do it – the whole thing is predicated on the possibility that nothing bad will ever happen, which is a long-shot gamble. I went ahead and insured and registered it in my name and will see how things work out. It may happen that I sell the truck and problem solved.

Much love, 

He called again later but I sent it to voicemail. Imagine my surprise when the message was an apology. He said that I was right to deny him and he’s sorry to put me in such a position, that it’s his problem and he was wrong to lay it on me. The first message cut off (there’s a limit on the length of voicemails with my carrier?) so he had to call again to finish his apology.

It’s exhausting.

* Lest you think I actually did him a favor for nothing, I want to set the record straight and say that I did it because it meant that I knew he would be out of the house and I could go get some stuff without having to deal with him and his continued requests for sex. I ain’t stupid πŸ™‚

** I know, right? He can’t pay the property taxes or his boat moorage fee, but 6 months later he can buy a used car? And he has no job or legal income? And he had the nerve to lecture me when I came up with the money by working seven days a week? Right. Asshole.

*** I’ll say it again – dude is pretty fucked up physically from a couple of nasty accidents and I really have no problem with him getting disability payments. It’s not much money, so it’s not like he’ll be living large if he gets it. I do not, however, want to be involved in any illegalities related to getting that claim approved.


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A New Message…

Thank you all for confirming my belief that he has not changed (who can completely change their personality in less than a week?!?) and will not change and I am better off without him.

The FOG machine has been rolling on ‘high’ this last week, that little niggling doubt creeping around the edges of my brain, saying, “be reasonable. He never actually laid a hand on you. He has been struggling so much with his own demons – you could be supportive for a while longer, be the bigger person.”

Intellectually I know it’s a lie, but my training at his hands is like a knee jerking under the doctor’s hammer. That is why we stay, why we go back, why we give chance after chance to these losers.

I turned off the computer early last night and missed this from him:

I am completely at your mercy. You know I love you, possibly more than anyone ever has or will. You also know I am sorry to have broken your trust and will do anything to win it back. If you decide to leave me for good, that’s your choice and I will not pursue you. But I believe with all my heart we are soul mates and to lose each other would be the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. I am not pressuring you, only speaking from my heart.

See? We are “soul mates!” He is going to let me be in complete control! No one will ever love me like he does! He is so very sorry and filled with remorse! No pressure…

What a load of crap! Today is a new day and I am not blinded by FOG this morning. I will get whatever I can into Awana’s van and drive away with a clear conscience and a light heart. I will need to go back for the rabbits, but I am confident that they are safe for now and have a much better living situation than I can give them at this point – they are not young and a major change of environment could be disastrous for them. There is a Fiber Event this weekend where I may be able to find someone to take them in, so there’s that.

Now I’m off to spray some lubricant on the black water tank drain valve. I started a new blog, Travels with Towanda and will move the RV living posts over there when I have the time and energy.

Thank you all for your comments and support! If I hadn’t found this online community I’m not sure I would have had the strength to get out. XOXOX to all of you!


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Narc Update

M has been love bombing me with e-mail, pretending to be the man I fell for. If I were a different person, I might be tempted to go back, at least for a trial, but I am a bitch and only laugh and/or shake my head at his antics. Here’s an entry from Sunday –

I’d like to share with you some things that have influenced me over our time together that have been poorly understood, if at all. Maybe this will give you some insights.

When we moved to SH, I asked you and H (my son, who was 14 at the time and a very difficult teenager) if you wanted to do this and even asked H repeatedly. But when things started not working out so well and H realized he didn’t want to be there (or maybe anywhere else, who knows?) I took his attitude too personally as an insult, which was magnified by how he treated you, which made me so mad I could slap him. I thought then that I was fighting the good fight for my woman, but know now that you two had your ways and you grew to understand each other, whereas I was left out because I was too violent and not tolerant enough for sympathy or understanding.

When we lived in the duplex and H and I had our first physical fight, it was over something he said to you, in his way, that tripped me to madness. I still thought I was doing the right thing for you. When we lived on S–Place, one day when you and I were going somewhere and we doubled back and found H on the phone, from which he was restricted, we took him with us a a punishment. He planted a good one in my face at the door on the way out, which shocked us both and he began his journey back to being a decent human that day, I saw it. He was a new kid, not a boy anymore. But I refused to forgive him and carried my anger about how I felt he had cheated me and you of our happiness, for a long time, perhaps until just recently when he now treats me with respect, despite myself.

The two of you (H and you), as well as your mother and your sister have a facial expression that says “fuck you, stupid human”, which you all have focused on me for good reason and no reason at all (your sister and mother). I have come to react instinctively to that look, as an adder who’s tail you just stepped on. The day I told you to go fuck yourself was just such a day, with that same look and even though I deserved it in every way, I would not back down. My relationship with your son has been predicated on my reaction to that look and for that I am deeply sorry today, because I think he has forgiven me for treating him like a shit, while I have not forgiven him (until very recently).

My father told me from the first time someone tried to beat me up in school that I should never start a fight, but always finish it. He is a stupid man to have engrained that in his boy. I have never hurt anyone in anger until I wrestled H to the carpet and have never been hit by anyone but him. But I have the tongue and sting of the adder, there is no doubt. At one time you applauded me for this, which didn’t help, I can tell you now. I am not proud, but ashamed of how I’ve been on those occasions in our relationship when I lashed out at you and H, deeply ashamed. I had no right, have no right, to insult those I love for any reason, even if I feel hurt myself. The only way to win a person’s love, is with love. I have always known this, which is, I think, how I won your heart. I can tell you today that the man who loves has won out over the adder. Because at last, the snake has bitten his own tail.

See there? He is a Changed Man! The cause of all our troubles is that my son and I look at him wrong and he can’t help his reaction. H and I have a way of joking and talking fast around a subject to avoid hashing out something painful, to minimize the awkwardness of the Teen Years and M was just too hurt by that to behave like a human being, and it’s not his fault. He was trained by his father to behave that way.

Whatever. Nothing gives him the right to treat me or my son in that way. What he saw as disrespect was in fact a man-child trying to establish his place in the pack (as all male children do) and M was unwilling to remember his own struggle and help H to develop appropriate responses. What M created was a very angry, sullen teen boy who felt threatened all the time as M judged every move he made and H was always found lacking, no matter how I defended or explained him, no matter how hard he tried – nothing was ever Good Enough for M.

It’s surprising that H has become such a polite, well-mannered man, gentle and empathetic who seems to harbor no animosity towards M.

And this yesterday:

I am 200% committed to communicating with you. This week has been a sledge hammer to the head and a spike to the heart – much of what I’ve said and done to you over the years has been a big mistake, the biggest mistake of my life, no contest. You are much more important to me than anything and I mean anything, including my own selfish demands that I’ve put out there as so essential.

I’m a fool. I can do better, much better. Not even sure how I got off on the wrong track, maybe it was arguing with H all the time. Anyway, I hope to get another chance, though I can hear you say I don’t deserve it. The beast in me died this week, I assure you. You struck him a blow through the heart. The man that’s left is your old lover and he still loves you, more than anything, more than ever.

Another assertion that he’s a changed man! I suppose this is where I fall all over myself to apologize and take him back unconditionally, right? Dr. Jekyll was always a charmer πŸ™‚

He was supposed to be gone yesterday and sent this early in the morning:

It would be good to see you and chat, or not, as you please. You will find a man much changed. One thing is, this is the first time in 46 years I have not had at least one dog, if not three, so I’d love to see my friend. I know I’m always going on about that dog, but I love her.

He misses the dog? How sweet! He did nothing but complain about the dog and how I was always letting Dog Discipline go by the board, how I was spoiling her, ruining the training that he had done. The fact is, he is far too brutal for a dog of this type. A complacent Labrador would have learned very quickly to do what he says and stay out of his way, but a dominant herding dog (Australian Shepherd/Border Collie) is not a dog you can beat into submission. She must be convinced that it’s a good idea before she is willing to comply with the wishes of a mere human – she knows her job and will not be sidetracked. He has never understood that, or he refuses to acknowledge that she needs something different than his heavy-handed notion of discipline.

And there’s more:

It is I who must thank you for your patience. I realize now that I have been far on the wrong side of your comfort level for a long time and misinterpreted everything. You have again and again given me more latitude than you have ever offered anyone. It grieves me that now that I finally get it, I may not get a chance to show good faith.
I am sincere. As you once loved and trusted me, I hope you can find your way to do so again.

This in response to a note I sent thanking him for his patience and understanding as I sort out my issues. Trying to keep Mr. Hyde at bay until I get my stuff back.

“On paper” he sounds good, right? Saying all the right things, having an apologetic attitude, promising to respect my feelings and giving me time to sort myself out. The underlying message, however, is that I will be coming back after I come to my senses once more. That ain’t gonna happen.

He will be gone for about three hours tomorrow. I have spent the day dithering about what to do. I could borrow or rent a truck and just make a clean sweep, but there won’t be much time (he is making sure to give me short notice to try to catch me when I’m there, but I see through his plan) to get my stuff out and I don’t really have any men to rely upon to help out.

I could just take my car and stuff what I can into it, but it means leaving Granny’s table behind (the only thing that I really can’t live without) but that would mean Mom would be hopping mad and would drive over here to take it back and goddess only knows what would happen then πŸ™‚

I found myself unable to make a decision, frozen in a state of deer-in-the-headlights, hearing his voice in my head chastising me for whatever I decide to do. My stomach was in knots, head whirling, just…frozen. He has trained me well, and that pisses me off.

And then Awana called. We talked about the options and she offered to let me borrow her van – bigger than my car, no need to rent or borrow a truck, probably big enough to get the essentials out of M’s house, but small enough to (hopefully) not raise his ire too much. If I drive it myself, she won’t be associated with this whole mess so he can’t try to find me through her. He won’t recognize the van so my getaway should be clean.

I want this to be over, but I don’t want to freak him out so that he does something rash. When he left his wife (he and I worked together but were not involved at the time,) according to him, it was an amicable break – he still talked to her, finished up the repairs to their house (she bought him out) that he had agreed to, even watched her dog on occasion. There didn’t seem to be any rancor, he seemed calm and reasonable, but then again, I only saw what he wanted me to see. At the time I thought it was admirable that two people could break up with no anger or harsh words, just a gentle parting of the ways. I wonder now how it really went down, while hoping that he and I can have the same sort of parting of the ways.

Awana says that as long as I have a reason to go back to his house I am still involved with him. She is advocating a Clean Break, sever all ties, make a very clear statement that he and I are over and move on with my life.

I find myself immobile, not hoping for a reconciliation, but at least something less than a war or smear campaign. I want him to get on with his life, find his own happiness so that he will leave me to find my bliss with no bad feelings hanging onto my coat tails.

Is any of this even possible with a Narc? Am I just making myself crazy over something that is never going to happen and I should just wake up and get on with it?


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“Hoovering” is a term that describes the way a Narc (or similar) abuser tries to bring the victim back into the fold, make them feel sorry for the Narc, or heap obligations onto them until they are vacuumed right back into the abusive situation. I’ve been familiar with this term for the last few months and I have let myself be drawn back into the abuse in the hope that if I had the knowledge to call him on his bullshit I could fight back and he would see what was happening and understand that he needed to change if we were to stay together.

Obviously, he is not interested in my feelings or what I need to live a fulfilled life – it’s all about HIS needs and wants and I am nothing more than a means to that end.

Today went pretty well, considering how it started. Since I was already up, I put on some thermal bibs and (after Awana and I took the dog to the dog park for a much needed romp) headed outside (it wasn’t much warmer inside anyway) and put insulation on the water hose and attempted to hook up the drain hose. Yep. I need more drain hose. It wasn’t even close. The box may say the hose is ten feet long, but it won’t stretch that far and it has to be loose to drain properly.

I gave up and went to work where it was (obviously) slow enough to allow me to blog. I did a final e-mail check because I planned to make a quick trip to Fred Meyer in the hope that they carry more drain hose and then I wanted to come home and veg in front of the TV with a silly movie and just not move or think until early tomorrow. I am tired. So very tired after so many short nights in a row. Fatigue has caught up with me and I need some serious Z’s for the next two very busy days.

This toxic missive was waiting in my inbox. The subject line is “furniture” so I knew I should open it. (Bold are my comments):

When you come on Thursday, I don’t know what you intend to take, so I thought I’d make a list of what I’d like to keep and one of things we own in common that you might want.
Bed not a chance I want that
Old cedar chest (my clothes box) His
Couch His
Recliner chair from D His
Coffee table (TV table) His
Can I have the old Pfaff sewing machine? It’s the only machine that will sew heavy canvas goods and I could use it to make money. It was given to me by a mutual friend and I really want it. What say you?

You are welcome to the treadle, if you want it. Not a chance – it’s a POS and I have no room for anything that is not useful
The rugs are yours (I assume you don’t want the old rag in the bedroom.) Really? He bought them. I think this is a ploy to see how much space I have
If you have room for the dining room table, please take it. Glass top. I hate it – it always looks dirty and it’s his
You are welcome to the coat rack next to my desk, if you want it. Again, not a chance. It’s his.
Please chose any lamps you want, but please leave me a couple, one for the bedroom and one for the living room (if you like the old lamp you fixed, please take it) There are a grand total of three floor lamps in the whole place. I did buy two of them, but neither is a prize and I have plenty of light thanks to all the built-in lights in Towanda. No thanks
The foam pad you covered was much too big for the boat, so I brought it back and it’s yours Manky old foam, even if it is covered in nice fabric is still manky old foam good for nothing here
The antique dresser and mirror next to the bed is yours Nope. He has a great story of how he acquired it to store for a friend who is now dead. I hate it as the drawers are all messed up and hard to open and close
The big leather chair and ottoman are yours, if you want Not a chance, even if they would fit through Towanda’s door
You are welcome to the old rocker, please take it. Again, nope – it belonged to his grandmother and is so uncomfortable that no one can sit in it for more than three minutes
The armoir -or portable closet, don’t know what it’s calledΒ  πŸ˜‰Β  is yours, I’ll empty it. It’s a wardrobe, dickwad, and we’ve both called it a wardrobe since you bought it. While it is nice, it will not fit through the door here, so nope, not interested.

I miss you so much it hurts deep. You are all I had to live for. All else is just fluff and filler. I told you a couple weeks ago I would do anything (and quit doing others), anything to make you happy and make up for what I’ve done and I meant it. Whatever. So very many promises, so very many lies. I’m done. Furniture will not lure me back, nor will even more promises that you never intend to keep.

My physical reaction was immediate and violent – nausea. I nearly hurled onto the shop floor. My gut squirmed and I had such a strong feeling of revulsion you would think I had just swallowed mayonnaise. I detest mayo. And eggs. This was eggs covered in mayo and forced into my mouth and down my throat. Harshed my mellow, Itellyouwhat.

I closed the shop, heart heavy, a cloud of gloom hanging over me. I knew it was just a knee-jerk reaction that he has trained me to have, so I began to talk myself into a better place. I am just so tired today.

Dragged myself to the store for hose and Awana (A from here on out) called. Just what I needed. That girl can heap abuse on a man πŸ™‚ I feel loads better now, but very tired.

I will answer his note tomorrow and cancel Thursday. I will reschedule for next week and send a list of the things that I want, which are all mine, no question. I don’t want his shit, material or psychic.

My reaction to his e-mail tells me that I am not ready to face him even if it means his next contact might be to tell me he’s burning my stuff in the yard. I can let it go with no pain. I’m out, I’m whole and I’m not going to be hoovered back by that asshole. Ain’t gonna happen.

And three people said they loved my hair, so, yeah, I still rock! πŸ™‚


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Where was I?

Sorry for the two week hiatus. The shop where I work was getting a facelift that was supposed to take only a few days but turned into a marathon crap-fest that ensured I had no internet access for the duration. There is still much to be done, but I’m back online so I’ll continue the story where I left off –

When I got home, the first words out of his mouth were, “I’m sorry…” All contrition and despair and pity. It was another typical apology with him “explaining” why he does what he does and me telling him (once again) that it ain’t gonna fly and the only solution is for me to move out.

He added a new twist this time, though, saying that there was no reason why he couldn’t pick up the slack at home since I work all day. There is no reason for me to come home and have to do household chores every day that he could easily take care of. It’s all bullshit, of course, and I at least know it.

He also admitted that it is wrong for him to take his frustrations out on me, but he just can’t help himself (yes, it did turn out to be all about him) and that he is bitter because he’s aging and he never got over losing his legs.

Full stop. What? He was in an accident when he was 26 (he’s now 59) and he never got over it? He tells me on a regular basis that I need to “get over” what other men have done to me – that he’s tired of paying for the sins of other men, blah, blah, blah. So he’s taking out on me something that happened when I was still in grade school and that is somehow okay? I call bullshit!

The way I see it, we both have baggage, but the difference is that what happened to him was an accident that no one could have prevented. What happened to me was done deliberately, with evil intent. Yes, we were both victims, he wears his scars on the outside, I wear mine on the inside. Yet somehow his baggage entitles him to abuse me even more? After I’ve pleaded and begged him to stop? After I’ve told him countless times that he is hurting me?

I have NEVER belittled him for his past injuries and the limitations he now has on his life. I have never told him to “get over” anything except his obsession with cleanliness that borders on pathological at times.

What a hypocrite.

Anyway, we’re still in a holding pattern. He is doing his best to act like a normal person, talking softly, not starting stupid arguments, staying off my back, etc. I am doing my best to stay calm so that he will feel confident enough to leave town so I can get the hell out of here.

His mask is cracking, just as I know it must as we near the middle of the month. I have been working longer hours at the shop to get it ready to re-open. Nothing extreme – I leave around 9:30 AM and return between 5 and 6 PM. I am available by phone at any time, so it’s not like I’ve fallen off the planet. I arrived home at about 7:30 last night after having stopped off at the grocery store to find him eating some fried potatoes (my favorite!) at the kitchen table.

I breezed by, set the groceries down and put my bag away. As I was putting the groceries away, he made some comment about me being “a fucking hour late!” and how I would never accept that from him and I could tell he was winding up for a fight.

“The shop always closes at 7:00 on Friday. Saturday, too, and I stopped by the grocery store. I’m not late,” was my calm reply.

That shut him up and he did not try to start something after that.

Now, a more naive woman would take that as a sign that he really is working hard to change, I mean, two whole weeks without a blow-up is quite an achievement, yes? For aΒ  normal person, maybe, but for a Narc, it’s only part of the game.

I have to admit to taking advantage of his new attitude – on Tuesday I was tired and off work and had a bit of a headache. I spent the entire day reading and dozing on the couch and he didn’t say a single word about it. I was kinda hoping he would start something, but he went about his day very quietly and left me alone. That has never happened before and I must say it was very nice.

It’s all bullshit, but at least I got something out of it πŸ™‚


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