QUESTION: What Compels People to Take Advantage of Others? I don’t understand.
ANSWER:The easy answer… people are bullies and sometimes people allow themselves to be taken advantage of for fear of loss.
The complicated answer… Some people (narcissists) feel they are better, superior, in a different class and while it may manifest in many ways, such as fame, wealth, power, etc, the fact remains that whatever they do achieve in life is never enough, if they are not at the top of the heap.
Most will lie, cheat and steal without thought other than the risk and penalty of being caught albeit in business or personal life. They want/need your compliments, admiration, attention along with their power and material things. These people leave you powerless, exhausted and drained. They have a total lack of empathy for others, particularly family and friends.
This lack of empathy allows them to take advantage of those closest to them to get their own “desires” met… regardless of the pain or hurt it causes someone else. Sensitive people are most often directly targeted because the narcissist will take advantage of compassion you’ve managed to cultivate over years of life and experience.
It’s almost impossible to completely avoid narcissists and there are things you can do to protect yourself from those who think of themselves as masters of deception.
The narcissist will groom you in the same manner a sexual predator does. The narcissist knows what you want and need emotionally. The narcissist knows how to make you feel good as part of their confidence scheme. They know how to say the right things at the right times particularly with insincere compliments. You can’t fix them and it’s not your job to do so.
Stop, think… act. Protect your heart. Don’t be afraid to turn around and exit the closest door and walk away. Don’t forget to lock the door behind you… from the outside, so you can’t be followed.
You have to know who you are and what you want. STOP the vampire in it’s tracks.
This question is directly related to PTSD threat assessments and hyper-vigilance…
“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” ~Buddha
The quote of the day generally comes to you without commentary… Not today. The quote doesn’t begin to describe the night I just had. I HAD DREAMS LAST NIGHT!!! We all dream, whether we remember them or not. I never have “JUST” dreams.
My dream history is flooded by terror. Running from… running to… panic. PTSD dreams… Waking up out of breath… sweating… fear… anger. I never get to where I don’t know where I’m getting to. NOT THIS NIGHT! I don’t remember the last time I had a dream(s) remembering more than the last five to ten seconds as I come out of the fog of that which keeps the night terror away. Mood enhancer and sleeper before bed… yes medicated sleep. Another difference last night…
I didn’t get more than two hours of sleep at a time, but it was all more than blissful. Maybe that was the sweet spot. I was with… err… surrounded by my small circle of friends and family and it was outside of my cave… surrounded by love.
Could blood thinned by rat poison (coumadin) be seeping out of the firewall that surrounds my cave? I don’t care the reason. Quite possibly the best night of sleep in decades.
Never mind we were dropping dingle-berries together, but that was significant. I saw faces… faces of the people I love. And it was all happy!
I didn’t know what to expect. In fact, I had no expectations. I knew I didn’t want to go back… all the way back. I had hoped that it could be the way it was with PTSD therapist number two… Indirectly going back… creating that timeline of events in my life. Creating family tree(s). It didn’t hurt as much the second time. Some memories can still invoke emotion, but not like the first time I opened my mouth after thirty plus years.
Patrick was two minutes late… I was outside until 9:02… I was just about to go humm… and he looked outside for me.
So I sit down and realize Patrick’s office is easily three times the size of Wade’s office or Eva’s office… even three times larger than my prescribing psychiatrist… all in the same building. Is there any relevance to that?
So Patrick starts… how are you? I said “fine”… and then I took initial control and said, “I’m used to starting with if I’ve had any dreams.” so we went there.
Dreams are complicated for me. In order to stop the night terrors I’ve had my whole life going back as long as I can remember, I went through an extended period of adjustments with combinations of psych meds that would let me sleep and without being held inside, unable to escape. The night terrors ended at 2mg clonazapam and 150mg of lamotrigene as a mood enhancer and slow sleeper taken about an hour before sleep. The clonazapam “can” knock me out on demand… so those go in <30mins from sleep… or even right before I lay down to sleep. At this combination I get rest, I know I dream… everyone does… but all I ever remember now is the last 5-10 seconds before waking up. And they aren’t terrors. I accept that lack of memory and detail for the opportunity to sleep without night terror
We went to the night terror(s)… or more specfically the one from last week… How I no longer have them every night… maybe twice in the last year. But this one was intense and a little different. They have always morphed into something surrounding air travel.
When I was a child, having UN-childlike things done to me, I used to be able to go out of body into third person… I would have a mental escape from traumatic experiences. I’d be right there watching… but not feeling. I could fly… really I could. I was good at it and could fly on demand… flutter my feet, wave my arms and fly to get out of my skin, while my epidermis was used for influence, pleasure, power and money. But the thing is… I suppose the child brain doesn’t comprehend that you can’t fly. I now know that I was there the whole time. I understand that, at least consciously.
I even became a sort of daredevil… back in the day when jumping for a beginner did not include a tandem jump. You just had a static line and off you went. I remember the first time I jumped… it was… maybe 1983 or 1982. I already knew I couldn’t fly… but fuck if I couldn’t establish a glide path back down to my feet (sometimes). The first one was the only scary one… I was first in line at I believe 3000 ft… I remember hearing: ready on three… one, two and out the door I was pushed before three. I thought it was going to last forever and then… when I was on my feet, it seemed suddenly as though it was over so fast. I’d like to think that since I could exert a certain level of control on descent… I was really flying.
As a young adult, I never boarded the flight in my dreams. I learned I couldn’t fly anymore. I would make it past security… it was easy before 9/11, but never onto an aircraft in my dreams. AND, as a young adult, I was unable to sleep or even dose on any aircraft, regardless of class of service… but I felt safe. I had my space. There were no space invaders.
I believe I projected information in an almost matter of fact way. All that shit that I went a lifetime never saying anything about came out quickly, methodically, and almost without emotion… there was a bit of emoting in my tone, but no emotional reaction… until…
…Until I got to the part of my path to adoption at age 53. I slowed down. There were a few pauses between run-ons. It felt like the session was going long… but when it got to the point in the process of the day the judge signed the adoption decree and the image recollection of who was there… slowing down was no longer able to hide happiness expressing itself with tears. Because my wait was over. My wait ended when my mom (she was really still sUSAn then and had been for thirty years or so) said “What if I adopt you?”… and in that one instant, a lifetime of waiting for a blood relative to look out for me. To fight for me. To be a parent to me… ended. I didn’t have to wait anymore. Born again in an instant… My wait was over no matter how much I pretended it didn’t matter to me… A really big part of me healed, immediately, on that day, with five simple words…
(h)wät/ /if/ /i/ /(uh)däpt/ /yoo/
Patrick let us go until 10:10. That’s one hour, twenty minutes… There are strict rules… fifty minutes then out the door… there are people after me. So it ended with his computer forced into a hard reboot and he said I’ll call you later and we’ll work on the scheduling and he acknowledged the two days a week thing… I’m so fucking lucky to be able to get 50 minutes times two… every week.
I was given a great gift yesterday… my life timeline, which I had never seen (which was updated every PTSD therapy session) based on what came out of my mouth… experientially. My family tree (blood family and former “secret” family) and how they intertwine…
I have eight different scales of IQ testing and two scales of personality testing… Let me make this clear before you read further… in general, I don’t like standardized testing because it doesn’t tell you the whole story about a person. I’m a firm believer that atmospheric, cultural experience, life experience and education define who you are and your potential.
In my case, I’ve been suffering a bit of demonstrable cognitive difficulty for about five years. And… having never been told, (which I can assume is part of the PTSD therapy), I now see that everything “standardized” about me has remained fairly static throughout my adult life. My cognitive impairment is not due to a loss of brain function… but rather, “interference” from within. perceived threats. hyper-vigilance about my surroundings. space invaders. leeches.
With what I just stated about my opinion of standardized testing… I’ve never been under 90th percentile on any standardized test and primarily 99th percentile to be more specific. In general, I don’t advertise that, because, these numbers can influence others and cause difficulty in certain situations, specifically social. I’ve actually always tried to keep these numbers locked away. But I am what I am.
First… I’ll expose what’s inside my head, in the absence of the stress disorder. This is only representative of brain function and not personality. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the juicy personality abstracts. No worries… it’ll be worth my weight.
My IQ is 133; 98.61 percentile, however, under the influence of triggers and stressors from PTSD there is a dramatic decrease. For example, my 90-100th percentile math skills are reduced to 60th percentile. My visual / spacial percentile goes from 90-100 percentile down to 40-50 percentile. My linguistic percentile (my greatest strength) again drops from 90-100 percentile to 40-50 percentile. My logical percentile drops from 90-100 percentile down to 50-60 percentile.
It’s been proven that my baseline number(s) and percentile(s) is still where it was before, but that’s not the way my brain functions when tasked with stress. Not with PTSD.
Most people can only read as fast as they can talk… as that is what they are doing as they read text of any kind. I was always a fast reader… by the time I was 25 I was reading up to 1300 words a minute with better than acceptable comprehension. I learned to read in chunks and shape (math) and thus I could read faster than anyone could speak. In recent years (4-5), you might get me to read a page or two at 1000 words a minute but with no recollection of what I had just read. It got to the point where I stopped reading books and trade paperbacks. I had no focus… no attention. no interest. disinterest. I was only reading as fast as I could talk… if I could stay focused and attentive.
As an example of what my PTSD therapy has done for me… I have completely read and comprehend two full books… cover to cover in the last 30 days. I haven’t read or focused on two books prior to this for at least five years. Eva knew exactly when to tell me to read.
My brain is coming back to me. The fog is lifting… the ground stop can’t be far behind.
I’m a precision processor. I am able to whittle even the most complex task or problem to understandable component parts. Because I think in numbers. none of that has to do with emotion. My life is a pile of numbers. It’s second nature for me to cut to the middle of an issue and uncover fast solutions to problems while other people get lost in detail and translation.
Since… I am labeled a precision processor, anything that involves numbers is a piece of cake for me. Let’s make that chocolate cake… mmmm. Chocolate itself is better than sex.
This is me in the absence of PTSD:
I am resourceful.
I am detail oriented.
I am highly efficient and economical…
I am lightning fast with responses.
I think in numbers.
I am experimental.
I am an innovator
I’m a writa, not a fighta.
I convey my ideas by means other than verbal.
I write, therefore, I am.
My logic abilities can outweigh reasoning when necessary. The distinct disadvantage to this is everybody calls marc when da puter breaks. what’s wrong? how do I fix it? how do I always find a way to recover lost data? don’t ask the men in black or how they took me to work.
Here’s my predicament. I don’t want to do what I used to do. I do what I have to do to survive, but, because of the way my brain processes data, any career my mind is suited for I have no interest in. I don’t want to be a scientist… ok I think in numbers but I don’t want to be a mathematician. accountant? no fucking way. Data analyst? I am the epitome of anal, but no thank you. Astronomer? uh huh… no. I am not a fucking physicist.
I think I might be able to retain the the ability to say “I am the architect”, but, but, but…
what do I do now???
If you think this was a little long winded… wait until my personality evaluation. Can you hear me? I think in my personality analysis is where I’m going to find my path… my new path.
This entire post was written while under the influence of cannabis.