I sit before a plainly dressed, earnest woman and my new case worker. My case worker introduces the woman as a psychiatrist in training. No time is wasted before my mind is picked apart, dissected, analysed like a specimen under a microscope. I am asked a series of questions, questions I have been asked so many times I could rehearse it all back to them. Continue reading “Suicide”
Many highly sensitive people/empaths are magnets for narcissists. This is not because we are like them, but because we are light to their darkness, Shahida Arabi writes.
“Regardless of any of our vulnerabilities, we exhibit the gorgeous traits of empathy, compassion, emotional intelligence and authentic confidence that their fragile egotism and false mask could never achieve.”
This post is about some of the strategies the narcissist and other toxic people use to maintain control over their victims. It will cover love bombing, projection, abusing what we’ve told them, jealousy, stone walling, scapegoating, gas lighting, isolation, hoovering, smear campaigns, and finally, discarding. Continue reading “Narcissists and toxic relationships”
A few years ago I discovered the term “disenfranchied grief”. The term describes grief that is not acknowledged by society. I think a lot of HSPs may be able to relate to this type of grief as, like most things, we tend to experience loss and separation more acutely. We love deeply and we grieve just as deep. It is hard for people to understand how we can hurt so much (or for so long) over something which seems relatively small or unimportant. We may find ourselves grieving the death of a relationship as though the person has died. We may grieve a friend as though we’ve broken up with a romantic partner (there is a great article on Psychology Today where Seth writes about how the emotional bond people feel with a close friend is as close or closer than the bond with their romantic partner). It may not even be a person we grieve, but an animal, object, place or loss of physical or mental function. Yet in our society, it is hard to get the same sympathy and support for these things as people do when someone, such as a family member, has died. Or when we’ve broken up with our partner. Sometimes we cannot even speak about our loss due to stigma. It may have been a secret relationship or we may have been diagnosed with a sexually transmitted infection. This also leads to disenfranchised grief. Continue reading “Disenfranchised grief”
Mistress of the Sea, they call you.
But I now know you were a siren,
And I was a sailor riding your sea of bitterness and sorrow,
Lured by your enchanting music
To shipwreck on the rocky coast of your island.
I cannot shake the idea of you
Your sweetness a computer program installed in my head and heart.
It cannot be deleted
even now I find it’s infected with viruses
that are taking over my entire system,
destroying me from the inside out.
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions”
This won’t be a long post. I haven’t the energy or mind set to ramble on. But this is something I would like to talk about.
In recent months I have meditating on the man I have been. Thinking back on how I have handled certain relationships and the words I’ve chosen. But it wasn’t until it happened to me that I could truly realise the effect it can have. How blind I was.
About two months back I was in one of the worst places I had been in a long time. I felt as thought I was a breath away from rock bottom. Continue reading “Toxic optimism: The curse in disguise”
I lie on fake grass
Eating chips cooked in genetically engineered canola,
Under clouds that were planted by planes
Thinking of the words you said-
That I’m your baby
A sister to you.
That you want to protect me.
That you think of me
That you miss me
That we will keep in touch.
Words that make me feel like somebody.
Words that wrap my entire being
Like a snake, whispering, tempting my heart.
Your words dance on in me
Even when the music has long ceased.
The big day is here. I stagger out of bed. I’m already one down as I didn’t fall asleep until sunrise. I open my wardrobe crammed with clothes. Some drop to the ground as the doors open. It makes no sense that I have so many clothes as I never go out. Most days I never get dressed. I guess I just see the potential in every single item. Whether that makes me a hoarder or an artist depends on who you ask. It’s important for me to keep my options open, to know each item is there if I ever need it. But my options are anything but open now. I cannot find what I want and the task of getting dressed is completely overwhelming. It is overwhelming just being in my room, a physical replica of the turmoil within, as though my mind has been turned inside out. Continue reading “A day in the city”