Tag Archives: toxic people

Denial Gets You Nowhere

4 Jul

I moved to Eugene under the impression that it’s a progressive college town and a hippie mecca. It didn’t take long to learn that its days of being a hippie mecca are … pretty much over. I know this isn’t the 1960s or 70s but still, hippies are still a thing on the West Coast, and they were still a thing in St. Louis, at least in the 1990s.

In the past week or so, I’ve discovered disturbing things about Eugene via Nextdoor. I’ve learned that white supremacists are organized enough in Eugene to be making sure that no yards have Black Lives Matter signs. It got me reflecting on my impression—that started not long after I moved here—that while Portland has radicals such as anarchists and socialists, Eugene is more about liberal Democrats. It can be a bit frustrating.

On top of that, denial among white people in Eugene is apparently a normal everyday thing when it comes to local white supremacists.

I posted a link to the GoFundMe page to help Isiah Wagoner, the black activist who was supervising the Children’s March when a white supremacist deliberately ran over him. This was after I read about how the driver gave him the finger before stepping on the gas and aiming for Isiah Wagoner. This was obviously intentional… and yet the cops let the psycho free. Meanwhile, Isiah Wagoner is in the hospital—hence the GoFundMe page.

The only comments I’ve received for posting this on Nextdoor were a couple people claiming that maybe he isn’t a white supremacist. The second commenter even made some bizarre comment, suggesting that it wasn’t intentional and that maybe he was distracted… because people are pulling people out of cars?!?!?!? Um, no. So with a roll of my eyes, I found the original Eugene Weekly article and copied and pasted the url into my post about the GoFundMe page.

Denial isn’t just a river, especially with closed-minded fools.

Boundaries

14 May

I’ve been a reject and a misfit all my life and always will be, and I do have to accept that. However, I do NOT have to accept toxic people in my life. I do not have to accept them whether they’ve been in my life for a long time or come into my life in the future. They have NO right to be in my life. They have NO right to verbally abuse me. They have NO right to project their traits onto me. They have NO right to gaslight me. They have NO right to have any contact with me or to take up any of my time, attention, or energy.

Shove Off, Narcissist

4 May

Oh, look, my inbox contains an email from Mindfucking Psychopath, who still believes he’s entitled to have contact with me. Nope, still incorrect. I can see the beginning of the message in the subject line, and it looks like a pseudo-apology at best.

Actually, despite the above sardonic tone, my reaction to merely seeing that in my inbox put me in a murderous rage. No, I am not ready to read a message from that narcissist who used some of the same manipulation techniques as the narcissistic sociopath who gaslighted me for six years.

No, Fuckface is NOT entitled to project his majesty’s traits onto me. He is NOT entitled to gaslight me. His belief that those closest to him have to walk on eggshells or let him lash out at them–or walk around on eggshells AND let him shower them with verbal abuse anyway–is bogus and always has been bogus.

No, he has NO right to have ANY contact with me. His delusions of entitlement are bogus, always have been, and always will be.

While I do regret texting with that narcissist and thereby getting into a fight with the parasite, I do NOT regret blocking his majesty’s phone number and social media accounts. I do not regret going No Contact, as I did with other toxic relatives years ago.

I DO regret that it took me this long to finally stop having blind and stupid loyalty to that narcissist. It seems ridiculous that it lasted as long as it did.

Since a narcissistic sociopath gaslighted me for six years and I broke up with her in 2016 and have learned a great deal from that experience, it was inevitable that I would FINALLY stop having that blind and stupid loyalty to that self-entitled parasite. His delusions of entitlement are as bogus as those of the narcissistic sociopath.

He should be grateful that my blind and stupid loyalty lasted so long—but instead he’s outraged that it’s finally gone. He didn’t deserve that loyalty, had no gratitude for it, took it for granted, and destroyed it. It’s never returning. Good riddance.

So yeah, while I’ve certainly gone through afflictive emotions and have been depressed since he lashed out at me via texting, days before social distancing became official here…. I certainly learned from this experience. My days of letting him lure me back into a false sense of security–my days of assuming he has a right to be in my life–are permanently over.

I’m sure I’ll read and respond to Mindfucker’s email at some point, but not today. Not while I’m in a rage. I intend to meditate a lot this month and read at least one self-help book and hopefully get back to reading a Buddhist book by Sharon Salzberg. After all of the above, then I should… probably… maybe… be up to reading Mindfucker’s email. That could be a month of meditating and reading. At least.

And I need to actually do this meditating–formal sitting meditation, not just tell myself to do it. That’s not only my usual informal meditating first thing in the morning and last thing when I turn out the light at night. I used to be seriously into meditation the first few years that I got into Buddhism; it was normal for me to meditate at least an hour a day, occasionally as many as three hours. I got out of the habit when I moved many states away.

I’m creative and suck at time management, so it’s easy to procrastinate and prioritize writing and sewing over meditating. But if I’m going to read that email without going into a rage and without writing an enraged reply, I need to get back into intensive daily meditation.

This pandemic would have been stressful enough without verbal and psychological abuse. The fact that Fuckface pulled that shit right before I began social distancing means that this social distancing has not been easy for me–it has involved a great deal of rage and brooding in addition to emotional sponge general pandemic anxiety. That’s another thing he isn’t entitled to: creating so much trauma.

He has no right to have any contact with me. In fact, his majesty isn’t entitled to a reply email. I don’t owe him anything, especially not even more of my time, energy, and emotional labor.

Bad Roommate Dream

27 Apr

My lower back is a bit achy, which might explain why I dreamed that I was a witch who put a curse on an enemy, giving them an achy back.

I had a dream in which I had two roommates. One of them was this rather conventional blond woman. She and I were in the laundry room, I think, and she owned the house we lived in. She was bustling around and having a monologue…. during which she said, “You’re a lazy roommate, but at least you can afford to pay the rent.” I froze in shock. She kept talking. She also continued bustling about and soon left the room.

At some point, I had processed enough to be walking around the house and grumbling. “If I’m so lazy, how do you explain the fact that I’m writing the first draft of a 90,000-word novel in only one month?! Oh, yeah, that’s really lazy!”

Next I was out and about in an urban area on a gray day. I parked in an alley, I think. I needed time to process, and now I was furious at the judgmental roommate and knew I’d be moving out as soon as possible.

I found myself at what may have been a yoga studio—an event was going to start soon, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t staying for it. I was walking in the opposite direction from everyone else in an alley leading into the yoga studio. Someone skinny paused in walking to do a yoga pose right there on the spot in the middle of the alley. I wondered if I could still do that yoga pose and knew better than to try it in front of others. The accusation of laziness was fresh in my mind.

At some point, I was one of three women who were wandering in an alley kind of lost. I wasn’t sure where my car was and was trying to remember where I parked. I ended up, still in an alley, where there was a concrete-looking building with a lot of clutter, junk, and people standing in line. One of them was a woman I had been walking with in the alley. Even though she was in line and I was in the alley and intended to continue searching for my car, I was still talking with her and vented about my asshole roommate. I may have said something about how I was going to start packing up and searching for an apartment today.

I woke up in a foul mood and remembered an occasion when a bunch of toxic relatives had, as usual, broken into my house and sat around my living room and accused me of being lazy. I was shocked and speechless in reaction. This was a time when I was working a minimum of 40 hours a week at a thankless job… and when I wasn’t at that job, I was writing, sculpting, or meditating. How does that fit the description of “lazy”? I was writing, among other things, a 500-page novel about those same relatives who thought themselves entitled to break into my house and take their personality disorders out on me.

Nightmares during a Pandemic

7 Mar

I dreamed that I lived in a large Victorian Queen Anne house in a fairly rural area. The house had a wrap-around porch and a stone foundation with a basement. Because the house was built on a slope, the basement had an exterior side door.

At some point I had a visitor who was a friend.

Toward the end of the dream, I heard people on the front porch. I was in the basement and didn’t want to talk to them. I wanted to hide. I slipped out of the basement side door without locking it and ended up… where? Under the front porch? On the porch? It seems like I ended up on the wrap-around porch, which doesn’t make sense if I was trying to avoid people whom I thought were at the front door.

Wherever I was, I witnessed a group of about six people slip in through the basement door I left open! They were breaking into my house.

Enraged, I went after them.

I went into the basement and grabbed a long piece of wood leaning against a wall and, yelling, “Get out of my house!” or something like that, charged at one man. A struggle ensued, with me pushing his throat and him against the wall while the others watched (or ran away?).

A male friend or acquaintance of mine came up behind me and tried to be the voice of reason, I guess. He said, “Don’t kill him! You’d end up in prison!” I just felt angrier.

 

I dreamed that my brother and I were in a car in a parking lot. We were having a conversation… and we may have been talking about the past, when we lived in Indiana.

He said something about Britney Spears. Confused, I knit my brow and said, “But… I don’t think Britney Spears was around in the 80s.”

Completely out of the blue, he yelled at me—how typical—I don’t remember what. His rage made no sense and creeped me out (what else is new?). He got out of the car.

I recovered from my shock enough—only after the asshole got out of the car—to become enraged and, giving him the finger with both hands and yelling repeatedly… well, something very vituperative that I won’t repeat hear. He ignored me

 

(Last night I was revising one of those autobiographical novels inspired by toxic people. That could well have triggered that dream, even though it was a different perpetual playground  bully. I am so sick of empathy-challenged perpetual playground bullies who harbor a bizarre delusion that they’re entitled to use me as their doormat/verbal and psychological punching bag and that it’s somehow magically my duty to be their doormat/punching bag. I was sick of them before the 1980s ended.

Haedrig

28 Feb

I have three very affectionate and sweet cats who are attached to me. And then there’s Haedrig, a. k. a. Asshole. Yeah, I just changed his name to Asshole.

I adopted Haedrig at a cat shelter when he was two years old—thanks to a narcissistic sociopath frenemy who picked him. Of course I couldn’t say no to a cat. If I hadn’t been under her influence, Haedrig would still be in that cat shelter, because he has a… difficult … personality. He doesn’t bond with humans. Sure, he can be cuddly, though it took him years to reach a stage of letting me pet him for more than a minute before scratching me or at least lunging at me. Occasionally he still does that.

You might think he simply doesn’t trust humans. True, but guess what: I’m the one who has no reason to trust him, not the other way around. He has repeatedly proved himself untrustworthy.

On the evening of February 24, I opened the sliding door and left it open, as I headed for the laundry room (which is only accessible from the back yard). I have a cat fence in the backyard, and my indoor cat Haedrig is the only one who’s never climbed the tree in the back yard to get out of the overpriced cat fence. (Do I regret not hiring someone to custom build a huge catio instead of getting this cat fence? Absolutely!) Even with the cat fence, I don’t regularly allow Haedrig in the backyard—sometimes he gets out through the kitchen window if I leave it open because another cat is sitting on the windowsill. Until this week, I’ve figured it’s okay if Haedrig is inside the cat fence.

After I left that sliding glass door open and did my laundry chores, I didn’t see Haedrig in the backyard, not for a second. I would’ve expected to at least see him slipping under the low deck, but no. Inside, I closed the door … and forgot the possibility that Haedrig might be outdoors.

The next morning, I woke at 7 am and realized that I hadn’t seen Haedrig all night and didn’t see him now. He always spends the night at the foot of the bed. Alarm bells sounded in my head: I remembered leaving the glass door open for a few minutes. Even one minute is enough for him to sneak out, and he’s quiet and fast. I concluded that he was in the backyard, and I opened the kitchen window. I went outside… and not only didn’t see him but also had a strange sense that he wasn’t in the backyard.

I reported him missing on the HomeAgain website (he’s microchipped) and on the Nextdoor app.

The following day, I spotted Haedrig: on the front porch! Of course, when I opened the front door, he ran away. If I’m standing and holding a door open for him, he runs away, unlike any other cat I’ve ever met, and I’ve lived with cats all my life. I caught another glimpse of him, dashing under my car in the driveway. Uncomfortable with doing this, I propped the screen door open and left the front door open… for twenty minutes. I figured that if I wasn’t close to the door, he’d get indoors. But he didn’t. So I continued leaving the kitchen window open, as long as I was at home and it was daylight.

Yesterday he finally came in through the kitchen window, and I watched as he scurried away through the living room. I figured he was headed upstairs (he was) and I dashed to the kitchen, where I shut the kitchen window. When I reached the top of the stairs—and expected to see him curled on the foot of the bed or slipping under the bed—instead I saw him just past the threshold of the sewing room. We made eye contact, and he turned around and dashed for the sewing room closet… where I’d left the panel to the crawl space open so that Virginia could come in and out of the crawl space without waking me. (She’s very vocal.)

Haedrig entered the crawl space.

I used my phone flashlight to peer into the crawl space and couldn’t see him… and  remembered that somehow Virginia can access that crawl space from outdoors. I’ve told myself she has magic powers. But it turns out that the crawl space has an exit to the outdoors somewhere, and cats can use it to get in and out, and Haedrig the cat from hell figured out Virginia’s trick. This utterly infuriated me: he had actually been inside the house… and yet he managed to get back outside! This is when I renamed him Asshole.

Last night, I intended to set up cat traps with canned tuna as bait… but I figured if the kitchen window was open and the other cats got outdoors, I might catch one of them. Plus last time I used a cat trap, I caught a cute baby possum. Besides, Haedrig ate in the kitchen before running up to the crawl space, so he wasn’t as hungry as he could be. I decided to put off the traps for one night: the kitchen window remained closed all night, and I opened it and the gate to the cat fence this morning.

I was upstairs when I heard a meow. I exchanged a startled look with my cat Gabriel, who also heard it. That meow didn’t sound like anyone except… Haedrig. I’d not only closed off the closet panel leading to the crawl space, but I’d also closed the sewing room door. (Normally it’s wide open, but thanks to Haedrig, I’m keeping that door closed until I can find a door for the closet. This house is quirky.)

I pushed aside the panel to the crawl space—and sure enough, I saw Haedrig. I descended the steps and closed the kitchen window and the back gate. Back upstairs, I saw him out of the crawl space, greeting Gabriel… and he saw me and dashed back into the crawl space, further proving that Asshole is the perfect name for him.

My new strategy: keep the kitchen window closed and the crawl space panel open so that he can only enter that way. As soon as I’m between him and the crawl space panel, I put the panel back, put craft supply bins in front of it, and close the sewing room door. Also, if he’s not in the house by sunset, I’m setting those cat traps.

Why has this situation been so infuriating? Well, I’m a cat person—really, I am. As I mentioned, my other three cats are sweet and affectionate. They come back inside happily, purring at me and plopping in my lap. They don’t avoid me.

Not so Haedrig. I’ve taken care of him since 2015, no thanks from him. He’s a bit like that narcissistic sociopath who chose him: an arrogant, self-entitled, and remarkably ungrateful mooch. At least he has the excuse of not being human, but still. If he’s going to eat cat food in this house, he’d better stay in this house and not avoid me, the person who feeds him and takes him to the vet. Respect and acceptance are needs, not luxuries, and this asshole deprives me of both, just like… a narcissist or a narcissistic sociopath. I finally have no toxic people in my life. It’s not the sort of behavior I’ve ever previously experienced with a cat.

After adopting him and discovering that he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me, I still felt it was my responsibility to give him a home… and yet sometimes, such as today, I wish I hadn’t adopted him in the first place. If it weren’t for that narcissistic sociopath, I would have allowed a shelter cat to choose me.

A Use for Trolls

27 Feb

I’m not sure if this will be small parts of a larger work—probably—but I could put trolls into fiction, with tiny roles. Bit parts. Bit parts…with little bits. Here’s an example, using today’s troll:

The enormous green troll grabbed by the ankles a smug and arrogant white boy, a ninth grader who skipped class that day. He’d been known by his classmates to harass girls since kindergarten and often wore a red baseball cap with white letters saying, “Make America Great Again.” The troll lifted this boy up into the air and swung him around. The boy’s head kept thumping against the ground, and he became unconscious, his smug smirk fading.

Disappointing Cat-Sitter

6 Jan

In the past, I’ve had local friends to cat-sit for me or to exchange cat-sitting services. During my last few years in Portland, I had a frenemy who–though it was a nightmare to be close to her–was a good cat-sitter who spent hours with my cats. (True, because she was sitting in front of my tv much of that time, I received receipts from Amazon video for episodes of The Walking Dead, a show she knew I dislike.)

During my month with family in Phoenix this December and early January, a professional cat-sitter took care of my cats.

I was at the farmer’s market and was in the process of purchasing groceries, when my brother handed me his smartphone and said that my cat sitter called him. I found this very odd; why didn’t she call me instead of him? I also assumed it must be an emergency, since she had said she would communicate via texting.

I took the phone, and next thing I know, this human I hired was castigating me for not answering messages I never received. Meanwhile, I was trying to pay for my groceries via square, and the seller had to ask me at least twice what my zip code was. I must have missed half of what The Cat-Sitter from Hell said, because I paused to give him my zip code before I continued listening to her arrogant and condescending lecture.

At first, when she was blowing up at me for not answering my phone or text messages, I assumed she meant there was a huge emergency and she’d been calling and texting in the twenty minutes since I left the house and began walking my brother’s dog toward the farmer’s market. During that time, my phone was in the bag at my side. I don’t constantly, 24/7, keep my phone in my hand with the volume full-blast. I made the mistake of saying, “I didn’t know you were trying to contact me. My phone is in my bag.” I glanced down toward the purse I was carrying.

In response to that, the bully blew up at me, going on about how I’m her client (who would have guessed, since that’s not how you should treat people who are over-paying you) and should have read the guidelines and follow them and I shouldn’t be leaving my phone in a bag (as if I left it in my suitcase and ignored it since I arrived in Phoenix) and blaah blaah blaah. I went into shock and reverted to being the little girl whom my narcissistic and sociopathic relatives conditioned decades ago. It didn’t occur to me to tell her off right back.

When I said, “You said you would text me,” she continued her tirade, claiming that she’d been texting and calling and emailing. If someone texts me, I receive a notification. If I’d gotten any text notifications from her, I would have noticed. I double-checked my phone and confirmed it. “The last text message from you was on December 8.” She then started rattling off dates that she had allegedly texted me, but I definitely had no such messages, and I had no voice mail messages from her.

My brother then mentioned that he tried to call me yesterday and the call went straight to voice mail. Still in shock that someone I made the mistake of hiring was giving me a condescending lecture and lashing out at me, I quickly realized that I was having a phone problem, and I spelled this out to her. She was somewhat mollified but didn’t apologize. I repeatedly said I’d call Sprint and find out what was going on, and that it must be my phone service.

Throughout this phone call—outdoors in public, surrounded by people and attempting to purchase groceries—I was profoundly agitated. By the time I hung up, I was deeply shaken and wished to hide. I didn’t want to be around humans. I was in this state for the rest of the day, and the indignation and fury didn’t arrive until the evening. It takes a while for shock to wear off, something that toxic humans use to their advantage, because otherwise I’d be able to promptly tell them off.

It seems she was primarily trying to contact me because she didn’t find the huge plastic bin full of kibble, even though I put it in what I thought was an obvious spot.

My brother or sister-in-law suggested that I turn off my phone and turn it back on again, so I did that. Apparently by flying to a different time zone, I stopped receiving calls and text messages.

The cat-sitter eventually gave a gruff and brief half-assed apology in a text message that I did receive; that is, after I turned my phone off, waited a few seconds, and turned it back on, it was flooded with messages. Meanwhile, she should have apologized a lot more profusely than that…not that I’ll ever hire her again under any circumstances. Her arrogance and self-entitlement are extreme, like that of every narcissist and narcissistic sociopath I’ve known; ditto countless white males whether or not they have personality disorders.

It wouldn’t have occurred to me that my phone wasn’t working properly. I had been surprised she didn’t text more frequently, but I guessed it must be a good sign, that everything was going smoothly. I didn’t assume that she would text me every single day, so it didn’t seem suspicious. In short, I didn’t know that my phone wasn’t working, and my having a technological problem is no excuse to lash out at me. I had once or twice considered texting her to see how things were going, but I told myself that she had a very busy schedule and I didn’t want to come across as high-maintenance. I really, really dislike this person and can’t believe I hired her as my cat-sitter—but she had good reviews on Yelp and seemed highly qualified.

On the phone, I was too shocked and confused to point out that her behavior was inappropriate. Toxic people are very fortunate that they typically render me shocked and confused.

I didn’t dump a sociopath, move away from Portland, and practically become a recluse so that other arrogant bullies could give me condescending lectures and castigate me for things beyond my control.

People should treat you with respect if you pay them money…of course, they should do so whether or not you pay them. This should be a no-brainer. This situation further confirmed that humans who have little or no empathy think it’s okay to treat empaths, or at least empaths who are not white males, like crap. Good job making sure I remain jaded.

In hindsight, I should have asked more questions before scheduling with this cat-sitter. It wasn’t until the appointment one week before my trip that she said, “I don’t have time to stay this time of year. I have too many clients.” My outgoing cats need a lot of attention. When I returned, they’d gained a lot of weight and were desperate for attention, suggesting that they spent the month eating and sleeping.

It looks like it will be a long time before I leave town for more than two nights. I still don’t feel ready to make new, close friends; the very thought brings up horrible memories of that frenemy. When I get back into foreign travel–or just visit family in Phoenix: I need to either hire another professional sitter or have reached a stage at which I’m close enough to at least one or two local friends with whom I can exchange cat/dog sitting. But narcissists and narcissistic sociopaths are the humanoids who are drawn to me, and I absolutely want no more such monsters in my life.

Creepy Couple

7 Jul

Aside from the Creepy Vibes couple sitting to my left, The Merry Wives of Windsor at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival was beautiful. The costumes! The Elizabethan stage! (Yes, it was different from the New Globe, particularly the modern seating, but the stage itself was quite elaborate and half-timbered).

I’m finally reading up on empaths and have confirmed that I definitely am one and that it certainly explains a great deal about me (and about the toxic people drawn to me). I do wonder if it’s common for empaths to have a lot of relatives who have Cluster B personality disorders (sociopathy, narcissism, and borderline personality), or if that was just bad luck and/or terrible karma. If it was karma, then perhaps I was a serial killer in a previous life. The people I most need to have No Contact with are the ones who are most drawn to me and the ones who are extremely easy to find.

But I digress, perhaps because I don’t want to write about those people and would rather write about anything else. But the book on empathy I’m currently reading emphasizes journal writing and such.

The seats are assigned (no groundlings in that theater), and as soon as I got to my seat and sat down, the woman seated on my left gave off hostile and judgmental energy. I didn’t hear her exact words, or I don’t remember her exact words, but she asked her husband if they could sit in the two empty seats to their left, despite the little detail that this was about half an hour before curtain and she knew, or should have known, perfectly well the seats were assigned. I clearly sensed that she didn’t like my sitting next to her. I didn’t do anything to her, and I took a shower and shampoo and put on deodorant before driving downtown from the hotel that afternoon. I had a creepy sense that she was judging me because I’m fat, and that she’s a fatphobic misogynist. Just because this narcissist is shaped like a twig doesn’t mean that all women should be shaped like twigs. Her husband did tell her that they were assigned seats. But that wasn’t the end of it.

 

Who knows, it’s possible that because of how I was dressed, she assumed I was a dirty hippie, despite my lack of stench or cannabis aroma. And maybe, especially with all my exposure to sun lately, she was hostile toward me because she’s overtly racist and/or anti-Semitic. However, I sensed that she was just overtly fatphobic, and life has taught me that I should take my instincts and impressions seriously. If I had done so while I associated with The Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy, I would have dumped her years earlier than I did. (For that matter, one of these books on empaths says that empaths can almost seem to read minds. It’s not literal mind reading, and it doesn’t involve understanding the words going through someone’s head, but it’s more like a basic sense of what they’re thinking.)

 

As though the creepy narcissist beside me thought I was deaf, she said “her” a few times and made it openly clear that she disliked me for no valid reason whatsoever. She even switched seats with her husband at one point. Meanwhile, the last two people in our row were the ones whose assigned seats were to the left of the Bad Vibes couple; to make it easier for them to pass me, I sat up stiffly and pushed my Nepalese bag beneath my seat and generally made myself as small as possible. While her husband sat beside me, the cunt said something like, “She doesn’t seem to be in the way, after all,” (again, I didn’t catch the exact words), and so—to my dismay—they switched seats back.

 

The reason I call them the Bad Vibes couple rather than only describe her that way was because they both came off as negative, bitchy humanoids who complain about this and that, and they both struck me as misogynistic. Reading the program, he learned that, horrors, a woman would be playing the role of Falstaff, so he had a fit and ranted about it. She joined in. They both seemed to think that because it’s been a long time since women weren’t allowed to perform on the English stage, and this is the twenty-first century, that casting cisgender women in male roles is inappropriate. They clearly had an extreme belief in gender binary. They both kept going on and on about it, and she barked in her raspy, jarring voice, “We should file a complaint! We should file a complaint!” (Yeah, I’m sure the people who work at the theater wouldn’t think you’re close-minded assholes if you complained about such a thing.) If they had seen the all-female cast of Much Ado about Nothing that I saw at the New Globe in, they would have pissed their pants.

 

The narcissist wouldn’t leave me alone, either. While her husband was gone for a few minutes, she gave me a creepy look and didn’t say anything to me. She had no problem talking about me insultingly and in the third person right in front of me, as though she assumed I was deaf or hard of hearing, but she couldn’t talk to me while we were the only two people sitting in the row. I had my program open in front of me and found it difficult to focus on it, especially while the two of them were bitching. (Their harsh, hostile, negative voices drove me crazy.) While it was only the two of us, the tension made me very nervous, but I was not about to start a conversation with this toxic human. As long as her husband was there, she had no problem with talking to him about me and giving me nasty looks and giving off toxic vibes.

 

I sensed that she didn’t consider me a real human being, but something subhuman.

 

At the beginning of the performance, actors were on the stage and addressing the audience. They referred to audience members in certain parts of the audience. In response, I turned toward that part of the audience, as did many people, and I chuckled. The harpy next to me looked me up and down, from head to toe, in a very openly rude and creepy manner.

 

By then, the two of them had succeeded in putting me in a bad mood, since as an empath I am an emotional sponge. But that last bit creeped me out the most. I get nervous if someone just looks at me with a neutral facial expression rather than a smile. In contrast with this rude cunt, I never looked at her directly; though in hindsight, maybe it would have been satisfying if, while she was giving me this creepy and insolent look-over, I had suddenly turned and stared right back at her. I did see her well enough to know that in addition to being skin and bones, she had very plain features and obviously dyed too-bright titian hair, so I know for a fact that she’s no beauty queen herself.

She wouldn’t shut the hell up and frequently talked to her husband throughout the performance, as though to make absolutely sure she reminded me that her creepy and distasteful presence was right beside me. She even exclaimed aloud, as though she were a teenager, “This is so cool!” Indeed, she and her husband seemed like perpetual junior high brats.

 

If only I were in a position that I could, like Mad King Ludwig of Bavaria, arrange to be the only audience member watching plays! (The closest I’ve experienced is being in the sparse audience during dress rehearsals.)

 

Respect is a very important need, not a luxury. Just because a pile of excrement sits beside me doesn’t mean I don’t deserve respect. Maybe if the parasite had any empathy at all, she’d know that treating an empath in such a hateful and rude manner means that the empath knows that you’re hateful and rude toward him or her.

 

I tried not to let this ruin my enjoyment of the play. I paid as much for my ticket as that narcissist did. Probably more, if her husband paid for it. And yes, I intellectually know I shouldn’t take things personally and that it doesn’t matter what toxic, arrogant, and judgmental humanoids think. But intellect and emotions don’t always match up.

 

I have decided that I need to not be around many people tomorrow. I’ll just check out of the hotel and head home to my cats, who will be happy to see me. Well, okay, three of them will be happy to see me. This is about taking in the energy and moods of other people and having a hard time in crowds and in public. I guess the real reason I need so much solitude is less about being introverted and more about being an empath. I had meant to take advantage of the hotel pool one more time before checking out and afterwards going downtown and having lunch at a pub, but now that doesn’t sound as appealing as being alone and heading home to my cats. Cats and dogs give you unconditional love.

 

Especially after all those years with The Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy, I have had more than my share of soulless monsters projecting their soulless monsterhood onto me.  It may seem like the fate of empaths, but now that I’ve started reading up on empaths, I surmise that’s mostly if you don’t understand boundaries and know how to psychically protect yourself from toxic humans. I’d better keep studying up on empaths and learn quickly. That is more practical and wholesome than becoming a total hermit, with no contact with other humans, never mind how tempting that can be.

Creepy Dream

17 Feb

I had a dream in which I was in a small, ugly, brown-paneled room with a frenemy–we were sitting at a long counter, and I was listening to her monolog. Actually, a bit before that, she saw me putting something in my bag, and she said in an annoyed voice, “Oh, no, I have to call my sister.”

I wondered about the way she said that in such an annoyed voice. First she was an old friend who was about fifty percent friend and fifty percent frenemy; then she became the Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy. As though she read my mind, she decided to explain to me why she didn’t want to call her sister/disliked her sister. After she started talking, she turned into someone else, a pasty-faced white girl with shoulder-length, straight-ish brown hair. She wasn’t pretty.

She started to explain how it all started with her sister, who, as it turned out, was adopted (at least, that was the story she was telling me). She said that at the orphanage (which I pictured like an animal shelter, with her sister and lots of other children behind bars). She claimed that her sister was a brat from the start, and that at the orphanage her sister reached out and grabbed her parents.

While she was speaking, she wrinkled up her nose in disgust at this memory of her sister. Even though she didn’t look like Audrey, in the dream she pretty much was Audrey. That is, by now I knew she was extremely manipulative and unpredictable and volatile and that she was a pathological liar.

As she spoke, I wondered if she was lying about her sister and if she really was an orphan–this was the first time she claimed that her sister was adopted. I found myself wondering if everything she ever said about her sister described herself instead. This came to mind, since not only was she a pathological liar who demonized people, but she also projected her own traits to such an extreme on her scapegoats–I had been the butt of that too many times to, at this point, believe anything she said.

While she was talking, I watched with interest the scene before me. Over the counter was a long glass window through which we saw a small room, perhaps a storage room, with lots of stuff on shelves and a small number of people interacting. To the right was a black utility shelf with stuff on it, and the bottom shelf included a revolving fan with fuzzy strings tied to it. A woman in her 50s, maybe 60, wore a long, blue-grey dress, and the fan blew at her skirt sometimes. She was with a little kid who had a doll that looked like a middle-aged woman in a mostly light brown outfit. There may have been a cat on a halter or a dog on a leash with them. I noticed that beyond them was a similar window, into one of those drab supermarkets like Safeway. Frenemy may have started maliciously talking about the woman in the tiny room, or maybe I was just anticipating it, since it seemed like something she would do.

While she was talking I remembered that red flag in the book Psychopath Free: they have lots of sob stories. So I remembered that and looked at the frenemy and thought that her ordeals of putting up with this sibling was a sob story, twisted or made up.

I just remembered how the dream really ended.

Later, the woman and the little kid were inside the supermarket or some such place, coming close to the end of what was very much like a wide and long hallway, with lots of white tile—floor and ceiling. Behind them was produce the way it’s displayed at grocery stores. Now instead of a doll, the woman in light brown (a coat from the 70s?) was a person instead of a doll, perhaps a nanny, who was keeping the child company while the other woman had her mind on grocery shopping.