<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459</id><updated>2012-02-15T22:47:24.230-08:00</updated><title type='text'>PinkDaisy's Recovery and Healing Blog</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>38</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-6555494344004327483</id><published>2009-09-15T16:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T16:42:25.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Strange</title><content type='html'>I've been doing really well.  Staying busy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this Spring I made the mistake of going to a concert with the ex N's little sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right after he started driving by the house when I was working in the yard, when I was running etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not long after I got an e-mail saying I looked good, he hoped I was doing well, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was mean and told him to leave me alone and we fought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being angry is the only way I can keep myself safe from him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finally got a job 2 hours away and moved at the beginning of July.  I owed him money so I gave him $300 of it to help him move.  I left it in the mailbox on the porch.  As little communication as possible about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After he settled in he called to thank me.  I was lonely and talked and cried for awhile.  He said all these nice things.  He said he still loved me and thought about me.  It made me feel crazy but also released me in a way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my biggest fears was that I meant nothing to him at all.  That I had just been discarded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He called again the next month.  We basically had the same conversation.  Except it wasn't really a conversation.  It was him talking.  It has always been him talking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt so good with him out of town.  I felt so good not being angry.  I felt like I could finally, completely move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And out of the blue this weekend he shows up on Facebook.  I guess he just got Internet in his new home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he sends me a friend request.  And he e-mails me a photo of us kissing and says he misses me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cried and cried.  He said he wanted to see me this weekend and would be in town.  He said he regretted losing me and just wanted to touch me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told him I couldn't see him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday I woke up to a poem I had written him when we were first dating.  I replied and asked what he was doing.  He said it was coming from a good place.  That he still loved me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told him I needed him to let me stay no contact.  That I wished him the best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He replied that he wouldn't contact me again and had thought "we" were worth one last effort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That made me angry.  Some effort!  Some effort ONE YEAR after we broke up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the damage is done.  I feel like I'm grieving the relationship all over again.  Reading obsessively about N's.  Googling his name.  Looking at our old pictures.  Doubting myself.  Wondering if anyone could be as completely without empathy and care for anyone but himself as he seems to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have deleted my Facebook.  I still work with one of his sisters but I can do my best to avoid everyone and everything else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just makes me crazy to think he'd use me and hurt me all over again with no remorse.  I know he can't help it, though.  I keep trying to think of it that way.  He is lost in fantasy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that makes me cry even harder because I really have been alone even when we were together.  I never had any love even when I thought I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to come home from work and cry on the couch today but I forced myself to run instead.  I'm so much stronger than him.  I'm so much better than him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my pity for him and grief for us is so vast and it consumes me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-6555494344004327483?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/6555494344004327483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=6555494344004327483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6555494344004327483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6555494344004327483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/09/strange.html' title='Strange'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-873959243454541015</id><published>2009-01-29T21:53:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T21:58:18.506-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More memories</title><content type='html'>In kindergarten I had a boyfriend named Barry.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We had our names written on round, bologna looking pieces of rubber strung around our necks with yarn.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He would look around the room and close his eyes and then open them when he got to me.  He would do this over and over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At recess we decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We would kiss behind the cafeteria.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was out sick for a few weeks and his mother brought him back.  She was overweight, with bleached hair and tons of makeup and she was kissing all over him.  I was disgusted that he was a "momma's boy."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some boys made fun of me on the monkey bars that day and he didn't defend me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That was it--I dumped him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't have another boyfriend until my first "real" boyfriend when I was 15.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also remember wanting to be tough when I was a kid.  My Uncle was a year older than me and I would trail around after him asking him to mentor me and train me to be strong and tough like him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also remember when I was 5 but had not started kindergarten, a boy named Andy lived across the street from my grandmother.  He was very cocky and I liked him but I could tell he wasn't that smart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We invited him over for lunch and he ate chicken and sold me his drawings for some pocket change.  I knew my drawings were better but I wanted to buy them anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-873959243454541015?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/873959243454541015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=873959243454541015' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/873959243454541015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/873959243454541015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/more-memories.html' title='More memories'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-5115183943685099150</id><published>2009-01-29T21:18:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T21:22:34.125-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Childhood</title><content type='html'>I have been able to trace an alignment with narcissists or controlling people since my childhood.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But tonight I had a memory of being 4 years old.  I had neighbors that were brothers--Joe and Kevin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Joe was outgoing and eager.  He was my friend but I had no respect for him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kevin was quiet and dark.  I remember watching him walk down the road with his head down, kicking things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I felt irresistibly drawn to him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Four years old?!  How is it possible to feel that?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I have another memory of 1st grade.  A boy named Daniel (who later dated my friend Zach after High School) moved to our school.  I saw him and thought, "This boy is a sissy and he's going to be in love with me."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And Daniel immediately attached himself to me and I was exasperated with him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, my intolerance of other people's vulnerability or sensitivity and my attraction to people who are withdrawn and troubled goes back that far.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How is that possible?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-5115183943685099150?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/5115183943685099150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=5115183943685099150' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/5115183943685099150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/5115183943685099150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/childhood.html' title='Childhood'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-4492007916830326413</id><published>2009-01-13T07:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T07:20:28.565-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Grief</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I stopped by the store to pick up some chocolate, toilet paper and a comb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was feeling lonely and sorry for myself and I saw a co-worker in the store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her husband died this past year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both of us heading home to an empty house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't even imagine the grief and loneliness she has experienced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't help what I feel but everywhere I go people are carrying around so much pain that I wish I could put mine into perspective better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel pain over my parents yet I have friends who have parents that physically abused them, parents that committed suicide, situations so much worse than mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could snap out of my brain space and just live my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every morning I wake up and immediately think of my ex.  He is the first thing in my head.  I don't want him or anyone to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a way of not thinking of ME.  I don't know what else to focus on. He'll probably be there until I find someone else to focus on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I don't want to. I want to learn to be ME and to focus on ME.  I may need to make that counseling appointment after all...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-4492007916830326413?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/4492007916830326413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=4492007916830326413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4492007916830326413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4492007916830326413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/grief.html' title='Grief'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-524637654032048506</id><published>2009-01-12T14:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T14:27:28.089-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More sad</title><content type='html'>Today I saw the ex.  It was like being stabbed.  I can't believe how much electricity goes through me at the sight of him.  I half smiled and waved.  As long as I don't let him know I feel anything I'm okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His little sister came by my office today and hugged me, updated me on her life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got to get out of this town.  It's full of his family, our mutual friends, every place I go reminds me of him, we work on same campus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man much, much younger than me stopped and flirted with for awhile.  He was also much shorter than me.  But, again, I was proud that I could connect and be nice but set boundaries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am seized with longing lately, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Longing for a partner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here I am with my whole life given back to me and I want someone to share food with, I want someone to know if I don't come home, I want someone to work on projects with and someone to go places with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what's wrong with me.  I miss sharing.  I miss the good parts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-524637654032048506?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/524637654032048506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=524637654032048506' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/524637654032048506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/524637654032048506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/more-sad.html' title='More sad'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-1520397164361795863</id><published>2009-01-08T20:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T20:56:43.658-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sad</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Now that my anger, and the confusion and the hurt have melted down I have felt a sadness lately.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think this may be a sign of my feelings returning. But it's terrifying. As soon as I feel something I want to find a way to numb it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am scared of the sadness that may be lurking inside me but I know it's the price I have to pay if I want to feel happiness or love again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I cried for a while last night and today over the goldfish. It seems so stupid but I loved those fish.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got rid of them the week my ex moved out. I wanted to get rid of everything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I felt nothing then but now I grieve for the fish. Or maybe it's what the fish represent.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's making me cry now just to type about it. When I think of the things I still can't cry about it makes no sense.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-1520397164361795863?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/1520397164361795863/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=1520397164361795863' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1520397164361795863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1520397164361795863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/sad.html' title='Sad'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-8085732447637748833</id><published>2009-01-03T06:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T06:46:19.450-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts</title><content type='html'>When I first broke up with the most recent ex I felt amazing.  I felt happy, I felt in touch with emotions I hadn't felt for years, I felt incredible energy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, of course, I ruined all that by contact with him which caused confusion and anxiety and more repression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But since then I've noticed I've been consumed with thoughts.  Sometimes I am late to work from just lying in bed and thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first I was still trying top puzzle it all out.  He was still firmly entrenched in my brain and I was still trying to work out what happened, who he was, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's better now but this morning I realized part of this "paralysis by thinking" is because I wasn't allowed to be very introspective in our relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't allowed alone time.  I wasn't allowed to be quiet around him.  I wasn't allowed to be depressed.  I wasn't allowed to just lie in bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was constantly assessing me but it wasn't to meet my needs.  It was to see how I was reacting to him and whether or not I was offending him by my reactions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I felt depressed I had to feign physical illness.  He would respond to physical illness and care for me or ignore me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I think I'm overcompensating by thinking too much now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I have finally given up trying to figure him out.  I keep reminding myself that I'm free from that now.  I no longer have to try to make sense of his chaos.  Some other poor woman can try to do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to focus on ME.  And I need to force myself to become more active and less caught up in my thoughts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-8085732447637748833?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/8085732447637748833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=8085732447637748833' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8085732447637748833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8085732447637748833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/thoughts.html' title='Thoughts'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-8108585417119953162</id><published>2009-01-02T14:02:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T14:08:15.547-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Setting Boundaries</title><content type='html'>I've been really proud of myself for setting boundaries recently.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today a woman e-mailed me and wanted to know why I have taken her off my social networking sites.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I took her off when I broke up with my most recent ex.  This woman (supposedly a friend, someone I had done nice things for and offered emotional support to during her divorce) knew about our relationship problems, yet really disrespected me by flirting and being all over my ex one night when we were at her apartment.  And when we broke up she left flirty messages on his Facebook wall.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The co-dependent part of me would have added this woman back, repressed my hurt and negative feelings toward her and pretended to be friendly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Instead, I sent a polite but assertive message telling her that she had hurt my feelings, I felt that she had disrespected me.  I explained why.  I told her that it may not be logical, she may not feel that it is rational or "right" but that after having my reality warped for the last 3 years I was going to trust my feelings and only have people around me that care about me and respect me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She wrote back and apologized.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel great!  I want to practice being emotionally honest as much as possible.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My family will be my last great hurdle with this.  And a friend I've had since I was 12.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With my family I am so used to hiding who I am that I am really scared of being honest with them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With my friend, she is very controlling and bossy and will not respect any boundaries I put up, I'm sure.  I have always ended up being very passive aggressive with her because of this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But still, if I can work on all the other areas of my life then it will be much easier to face those final obstacles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-8108585417119953162?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/8108585417119953162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=8108585417119953162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8108585417119953162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8108585417119953162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/setting-boundaries.html' title='Setting Boundaries'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-6888396435211540187</id><published>2009-01-02T00:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T00:59:16.391-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dating</title><content type='html'>I went to a New Year's Eve party and two men asked me out.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was proud of myself for going to the party.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I set boundaries before hand and felt like that really helped me to not be anxious.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My most recent ex always kept the upper hand kept me powerless.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So it felt really different and nice to be wanted and to have the power in an interpersonal interaction.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I don't want a relationship so should I really go out on dates?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Both men were nice but gave me all the red flags I need in our conversations that night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Looking back both my exes gave me those red flags as well and I chose to ignore them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I feel I should not complicate my life by letting these people into it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it was a nice experiment and helped boost my self confidence some.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-6888396435211540187?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/6888396435211540187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=6888396435211540187' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6888396435211540187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6888396435211540187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2009/01/dating.html' title='Dating'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-7100805160978723135</id><published>2008-12-30T06:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T06:39:32.614-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Divorce</title><content type='html'>My ex husband is getting divorced.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This does not surprise me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He said he has no money, no car, yet he was e-mailing me from his iPhone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This also does not surprise me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He asked me to take the dog.  At first I wanted to.  I pictured having my baby dog back that loved me so much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I realized the burden not to mention the added connection to my ex.  When I let him take the dog three years ago I said goodbye to the dog.  I don't need the added pressure and stress in my life of taking care of an elderly animal right now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe that's selfish but really I suspect the ex is just sucking me into his drama as usual.  I spent 11 years taking care of him.  I don't need to do anything for him now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am almost positive that my most recent ex has Narcissistic Personality Disorder.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't believe my ex-husband does,  yet he has many of the same qualities.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He has bi-polar disorder.  He was manic when I met him and pursued me and swept me off my feet with gifts and overwhelming emotion.  I felt drunk when I was around him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He is incredibly selfish.  But it almost just seems like a case where his needs and wants are so overwhelming that he cannot put anyone else first.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He is not totally without empathy, though.  He is very emotional and I have seen him do kind things.  But he often uses people due to his selfishness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He is desperate to be the center of attention.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He has false pride.  When he's manic he has delusions of grandeur.  And he always has fantasies of greatness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He is extremely dependent but does not resent the person he's dependent on.  He was always very effusively grateful and constantly telling me how much he loved me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He wanted to get his way and was manipulative but not abusive and never intentionally hurtful to me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I'm not a trained professional, obviously.  But somehow I just know he wasn't NPD and I strongly feel my most recent ex was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-7100805160978723135?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/7100805160978723135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=7100805160978723135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7100805160978723135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7100805160978723135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/divorce.html' title='Divorce'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-4318130546216097053</id><published>2008-12-28T08:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T08:35:19.769-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Relief</title><content type='html'>This morning I was arranging all my body wash bottles so that the labels faced me in the shower and it suddenly hit me that many of the behaviors I was afraid indicated my own narcissism were OCD.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The photographs to create an artificial, controllable reality,  negative obsession about my physical appearance, my fear of other people's emotions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's about control.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The need to know what is going on with the most recent ex, despite how it will upset me, is also about control.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think the longer I am no contact the more this will fade.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once this fades I hope I can get back to a place of peace, insight and healing and out of this place of anger and bitterness and pain. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-4318130546216097053?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/4318130546216097053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=4318130546216097053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4318130546216097053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4318130546216097053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/relief.html' title='Relief'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-8140363142578964578</id><published>2008-12-27T07:09:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T07:11:52.756-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anger</title><content type='html'>I am infected with anger.  The bitterness comes out in all my interactions.  I want to be free of it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am angry at myself, angry at my exes, angry at my family, angry at co-workers and my employer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am working on a list of New Year's resolutions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am going to lose 50 pounds.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am going to stop coddling myself and start taking responsibility for my life and my actions and all my decisions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will not be acted upon anymore.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will act, not just react.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-8140363142578964578?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/8140363142578964578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=8140363142578964578' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8140363142578964578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8140363142578964578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/anger_27.html' title='Anger'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-515067149961204630</id><published>2008-12-23T09:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T09:05:04.550-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He's Back</title><content type='html'>So, what has it been, 3 days? He's back on Facebook.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And he's already e-mailed me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was whining that I deleted all his pictures from Flickr.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This makes me laugh and laugh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He is pathetic.  I am done with him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There is no possible benefit to my even being friendly with him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know why I was even a little afraid of him.  He's a coward.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He always has been.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-515067149961204630?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/515067149961204630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=515067149961204630' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/515067149961204630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/515067149961204630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/hes-back.html' title='He&apos;s Back'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-7775191446327136223</id><published>2008-12-21T17:07:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T17:08:23.629-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hmmm</title><content type='html'>The most recent ex has deleted Facebook and Myspace.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He must have found out I e-mailed the neighbor's wife about him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But to delete the profiles...he must be assuming I'm telling others about him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just hope I'm not in any danger.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm hoping he's angry and done with me and won't try to get revenge or silence me somehow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-7775191446327136223?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/7775191446327136223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=7775191446327136223' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7775191446327136223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7775191446327136223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/hmmm.html' title='Hmmm'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-6997796914840931856</id><published>2008-12-20T15:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T15:42:53.874-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Denial</title><content type='html'>So, the longer I go without contact the better I am feeling again.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's been a rough week, though.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I have been shopping with friends and threw a Christmas party last night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was afraid no one would have fun at the party without my recent ex.  He liked to put on a show and be the center of attention.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it was fun and I could relax and not constantly be on edge because of him or worry about him and watching him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And at the end of the night he wasn't there to throw up or pee all over my floor or pass out drunk.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realize now how much in denial I was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have looked at old chats and e-mails and the situation was sick.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On both our parts.  I basically sold myself to him as someone who would put aside all her own needs to meet his.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But no one can do that.  And it was a manipulation to try to find love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in a low place after my divorce.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I still feel angry and sick when I look back at all times he was obviously lying to me and cheating on me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I think about the things he said to me that I just put up with.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And how he expects me to put aside my needs again and just be "a good friend" now.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But reading these self help books has made me realize I am wired to be a victim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I am.  I am just waiting for the next bus to hit me.  I am the perfect candidate for a cult.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been in dangerous situations many times because of my inability to be assertive and my poor boundaries.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My defense mechanism is like the opossum.  I just roll over and play dead and hope the other person will take care of me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even when I was in Elementary School I had one girl I would call "master" and I would ride her on my shoulders all around the playground and do whatever she told me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also had a male friend I was close to growing up and we would play this game where I would call him, "Pop" and he would call me "Junior" and I basically followed him around and he acted as an advisor, a supervisor and a wise older person even though we were the same age.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But this is the first time in my life that I feel an absence of strength.  This last relationship really tore me down in multiple ways.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I miss having someone to care for.  And it would be nice to have some love.  I certainly didn't have it through this whole relationship.  I crave tenderness and kindness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After my divorce I didn't want to take care of someone again.  I thought I wanted someone manly and strong who would take care of me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought I found that in my last relationship.  But it was a false image.  He was a dependent and a manipulator and an abuser.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I'm scared I'll just plug into another needy person that will use me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Real people terrify me.  I feel I have nothing to offer them.  I feel they can never overlook my faults.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am going to try to find a therapist in January.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-6997796914840931856?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/6997796914840931856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=6997796914840931856' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6997796914840931856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6997796914840931856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/denial.html' title='Denial'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-1384360979321821873</id><published>2008-12-17T18:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T18:11:23.651-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Depressed</title><content type='html'>He tried to tell me her car was there because he was going to borrow it to drive himself to the airport.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His sister said his mother has planned to take him to the airport all along.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even if she hadn't told me this I knew it was a lie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And it depresses me because he has outright lied to me so many times now that I can't believe anything about our relationship was true.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was being played the entire time when I submitted and trusted him to have my best interest in mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He only had his own interest in mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He e-mailed me before he went out of town and said his former best friend's wife confessed to romantically loving him last night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I e-mailed her.  I know I should have stayed out of it but he's been setting her up for a long time and I hate to see her throw away her marriage for nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because he would let her.  He will milk that sweet ego supply until the person is used up and then throw them away without ever giving them anything for their efforts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He called me when he got to his destination today.  I was shocked.  Our contact hasn't included phone contact.  He had also called me yesterday and left a voice mail on my work phone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Amazing how the efforts are stepped up when he's been caught lying again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am depressed.  It is mostly PMS but it's also the drama he has brought back into my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What do I want from him?  There's nothing he can give me or do for me expect bring me unhappiness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-1384360979321821873?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/1384360979321821873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=1384360979321821873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1384360979321821873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1384360979321821873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/depressed.html' title='Depressed'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-337272821730697235</id><published>2008-12-15T20:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T20:50:50.634-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pathetic</title><content type='html'>With both of my most recent serious relationships, I look back at these men and wonder how I could have been involved with that person.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's because I compromise my boundaries.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel guilty making a judgement on someone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel like if I reject them as a lover I'm rejecting them as a human being.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are other reasons but those are how I got past their faults, their weakness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What an embarrassment my most recent ex has turned out to be.  I can't believe I ever idealized him or our relationship.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-337272821730697235?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/337272821730697235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=337272821730697235' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/337272821730697235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/337272821730697235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/pathetic.html' title='Pathetic'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-6128436744055241145</id><published>2008-12-15T20:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T20:31:35.490-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Breaking no contact</title><content type='html'>I have felt so good lately.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why not be friendly?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If I don't want him back he can't manipulate me right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I chatted with him this morning and he told me how he's been sober 6 days.  How his eyes have been opened to his ex and he wants nothing to do with her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He offered to fly with me to my brother's bootcamp graduation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We were nice as pie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I drove by his house tonight to put some of his mail in his box and his ex wife's jeep was in the driveway.  Bedroom lights the only lights on in the house.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Something is wrong with him.  Something is wrong with her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I mean, I already knew that, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But the psychological trigger for me was bad.  I felt so angry and betrayed.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it's pathetic.  Really pathetic.  On both their parts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But who else does he have? She's always there as backup when he drives everyone else away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And they dwell in misery.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am beautiful.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am smart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a professional job.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I own my own home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have friends and people who love me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't lie and manipulate and play games as if people are toys.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't talk to him at all.  Something is really wrong with him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-6128436744055241145?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/6128436744055241145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=6128436744055241145' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6128436744055241145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/6128436744055241145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/breaking-no-contact.html' title='Breaking no contact'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-1515265696508759139</id><published>2008-12-14T17:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T17:35:07.018-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Bomb</title><content type='html'>In reading some old letters from my ex husband I can see how an 18 year old girl was sucked in.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Give and ye shall receive.  All I had to do was give and give and give and I got his immense gratitude and unending love.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was an important person.  A person who took care of him when no one else would.  He would never leave me, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I realize how many things I do are based on approval.  Be in a service profession because it's "good" and therefore receives approval.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Be a good person so you will be approved of.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Follow the rules so you will be approved of.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realized today I am attracted to people who are not bound by the same limits I am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was very OCD in High School.  My CDs were in alphabetical order. Things had to be clean and neat. My best friend had dirty clothes in her car.  Rarely bathed.  Ruined her paint brushes by not washing them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Both my ex husband and most recent ex weren't bound by the same anxieties that I am.  They violated boundaries and rules.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have also realized I have defined my identity by the men I date.  I need men who are good at something, men who are special.  And that sets me up for these men selling me a false image.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also define myself by dating men.  I am worth something if a man wants me.  I am worth something if I'm in a relationship.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm no longer sure if I'm in another relationship that I need or want it to be with a man anymore.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-1515265696508759139?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/1515265696508759139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=1515265696508759139' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1515265696508759139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1515265696508759139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/love-bomb.html' title='Love Bomb'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-7532652630838661924</id><published>2008-12-11T20:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T20:12:52.375-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Validation</title><content type='html'>I had to get my winter coat from my ex this morning.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I found out he made a play for his best friend's wife this weekend and has consequently lost that friend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He e-mailed me today and told me he has never felt so alone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By 5pm he was asking if there was a chance for reconciliation between us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was almost insulted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How much of a sucker does he really think I am?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He screws up his closest friendship and then thinks I will just take him back? After he could have cared less about my loneliness and pain the past month and a half?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's obvious he needs ego supply.  He's got people in town now that know he cheated on me and now people who will know he made a play for his friend's wife.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel happy to be rid of him but at the same time I feel immense pity.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That pity I feel is so dangerous to me.  I don't like to think of him facing up to himself, of facing up to the consequences of his actions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I strove for 3 years to protect him from that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the same time I feel validated.  He isn't the trustworthy, noble, honorable man he was constantly saying he was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cheating on me was not an exception in his personality.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The constant in his personality is that HE comes first.  No matter what the cost to himself and others.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-7532652630838661924?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/7532652630838661924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=7532652630838661924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7532652630838661924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7532652630838661924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/validation.html' title='Validation'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-4372848988521744778</id><published>2008-12-09T07:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T07:35:51.693-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Victim</title><content type='html'>Reading the Trauma Bonding book last night I learned that I am programmed to give my personal power away and to be a victim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize now when I use the word "submissive" this is what I mean. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always considered myself a strong and independent person because I have always taken care of myself and others and never depended financially or physically on anyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now I realize I am emotionally submissive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I need to set boundaries.  I know I need to retain my person power.  I just don't know HOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could find a counselor.  It's so intimidating and confusing to seek one out.  And expensive. :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just feel like I need to talk to someone who is trained and can help me figure out a path to recovery.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-4372848988521744778?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/4372848988521744778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=4372848988521744778' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4372848988521744778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4372848988521744778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/victim.html' title='Victim'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-7499223519426959104</id><published>2008-12-08T09:56:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:57:09.162-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What to Do</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;When I read all this I know I’m too sensitive.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t know what to do about it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;How can I express my true feelings and be in touch with them when I don’t think they’re valid?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If I know I’m overreacting or being too sensitive then I feel like I have to repress it.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I want to be a “real” person.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be able to engage in emotional give and take in a reciprocal and not unbalanced fashion.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t want to be so protective of myself.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be able to trust people and not be afraid of criticism.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to DO things in my life and not just think about them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to finish projects, develop real skills, do things based on my quality of life and not others approval.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to really be able to give.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not just do things for other people or buy them gifts but truly give to them and be present with them and in my own life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be a solid person and not just reactive.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be kind and warm.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I don’t know how to get there yet.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But I have to start coming from a place of genuineness and not selfishness.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I have to risk myself but also take care of myself the right way—with boundaries.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I have to start small and build.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know there is something real in me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know I don’t have to live trying to make others love me and live with all this drama.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know I can save myself somehow and start to feel things again and be healthy and not numb.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-7499223519426959104?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/7499223519426959104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=7499223519426959104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7499223519426959104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7499223519426959104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/what-to-do.html' title='What to Do'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-2587675565250316416</id><published>2008-12-08T09:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:55:39.215-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Boundaries</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Boundaries&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have very poor boundaries. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I let people talk me into doing things I do not want to do.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am not intimate enough with those close to me and over share with people I am not close to.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;I feel I cannot reveal my true self to my parents for fear they won’t approve of me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I feel like my mother violated my boundaries and my sibling’s boundaries constantly.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have violated my sibling’s boundaries, especially the oldest of my younger brothers, and violated the boundaries of my romantic partners.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I try to control people or I go too far in the other direction.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is what I witnessed in my mother.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I am often passive-aggressive or avoid people for fear of being controlled and made to do things I do not want to do.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-2587675565250316416?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/2587675565250316416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=2587675565250316416' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/2587675565250316416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/2587675565250316416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/boundaries.html' title='Boundaries'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-7794827295739734942</id><published>2008-12-08T09:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:54:43.856-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sexuality</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Sexuality&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have always been very interested and curious about sex but had very tight boundaries with people outside my family that kept me from experimenting as a child.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;My actual sexuality is something I have been ashamed of.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My father dropped me when I hit puberty, my mother still ignored me . I was teased by my grandmother for wearing a bra and teased by my cousins when my period started.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My period kept me from swimming and doing things I wanted like my younger siblings.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;My mother never taught me to fix my hair or wear makeup or dress nicely etc.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I looked terrible as a child and didn’t know what to do with myself as a teen.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I preferred male clothing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Baggy t-shirts and jeans.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When I was married to my husband I would wear his clothes.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The thought of wearing something that showed my figure made me anxious beyond belief.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;When I was in third grade I was terrified I had boogers and walked around with my hand over my face.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In 5&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; grade I suddenly became afraid people were looking at my butt and I started wearing big shirts to cover it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have had negative &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;fixations on parts of my body at times that make me believe this may be chemical.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;It was only after High School I started wearing dresses.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was not until I moved to Tuscaloosa I started experimenting with clothing and started wearing makeup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I feel I have a better grasp of what looks good on me and what “works” at this point more than any other point in my life.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But I still don’t know what to do with my hair or oily face.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I am still afraid of my sexuality.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My most recent ex said I wasn’t sexy and didn’t flirt.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When I see sexy girls now I feel bad about myself because I know that’s what he wanted.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I don’t think I have the confidence or self esteem to flirt.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;With my poor boundaries it may lead to something I don’t want.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And I feel like I’m promising something I may not be able to live up to.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I don’t know how to dress sexy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am too tall for heels.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I think I have a lot of negative associations with my sexuality and wanted it to disappear so my father would love me and my Uncle wouldn’t stare at my breasts or tell me he saw my panties through my skirt.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I was always afraid to look like I put any effort into my appearance for fear someone would say I was ugly or ridiculous after I had tried hard not to be.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I think this attitude went for other areas in my life I was afraid to put effort into as well.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-7794827295739734942?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/7794827295739734942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=7794827295739734942' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7794827295739734942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/7794827295739734942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/sexuality.html' title='Sexuality'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-1334229838352153320</id><published>2008-12-08T09:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:51:07.774-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Control</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Control&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have control issues.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t think they are as overt and bad as some people I have met but they are a big problem for me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s hard for me to trust or feel safe.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I over analyze people and situations to death.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t do a good job of controlling myself or my life but I tend to want to control others.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Especially my family or my romantic partners.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Both of my most serious romantic partners were very out of control and made my anxiety very high.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-1334229838352153320?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/1334229838352153320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=1334229838352153320' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1334229838352153320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1334229838352153320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/control.html' title='Control'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-818696749753424624</id><published>2008-12-08T09:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:50:29.795-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Intimacy</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Intimacy&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have worked since I was 15 to make sure I wasn’t dependent on my parents and could take care of myself.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am very afraid to rely on anyone, especially in any financial way.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I am also terrified of relying on them emotionally because they have the power to hurt me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I find it very difficult to trust people.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The people I have trusted have ended up hurting me despite my efforts to protect myself.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I often assume being submissive will make the other person feel sorry for me and take responsibility for me and care for me and not hurt me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have a lot of trouble emotionally engaging in an appropriate way with people.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s either too much or not enough.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I do not have appropriate emotional boundaries.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have friends but usually they are dynamic outgoing people who have sort of “adopted” me for some reason.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-818696749753424624?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/818696749753424624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=818696749753424624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/818696749753424624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/818696749753424624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/intimacy.html' title='Intimacy'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-2361199462936921112</id><published>2008-12-08T09:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:49:20.866-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Reality</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Reality&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I tend to let other people define my reality.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have a lot of trouble trusting myself.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I think this comes from my mother violating my boundaries and controlling me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I remember feeling upset and she'd tell me I wasn’t upset or I didn’t know what being upset was or she’d give me something to be sad about if I kept it up etc.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I even remember thinking I smelled something good and my parents laughing at me and telling me it was a bad smell and so I felt scared to trust that I knew what smelled good.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;My parents often teased and made fun of me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was sensitive and I learned this was a bad thing. &lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;From childhood my goal has been to be “tough” and numb out things that hurt me and now all I want is to feel emotions again.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I would go to my mother for emotional comfort or help and she could never give it to me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As a child she was very physically affectionate but that stopped when I got older.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;Even as an adult sometimes I feel that I need my mother but I knew my real mother cannot provide the emotional support I need.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I let both my exes warp my reality all the time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I would say something was wrong and they would say it wasn’t.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And later I would find out they knew it was but were just trying to get me to go along with it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-2361199462936921112?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/2361199462936921112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=2361199462936921112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/2361199462936921112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/2361199462936921112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/reality.html' title='Reality'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-8089713691630728387</id><published>2008-12-08T09:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:46:59.938-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Approval</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Approval&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I used to have a lot of religious flip-flopping as a kid.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I would become very religious and then backslide.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I think this was for approval.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I would feel good when I became religious because I felt like I was doing the right thing and everyone in society and my parents and God approved of me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I find it hard to take criticism.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;When I create something or do something I usually want immediate positive feedback. I put in little effort and want a lot of results.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I want people to like me and often will repress my own opinions and desires.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have a lot of trouble being assertive because I’m afraid it will be taken negatively.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;Often I am motivated by approval or praise.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I can feel “recharged” and feel new energy to complete work projects etc.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;When we were first dating my most recent ex would often be encouraging in a "leader" type way when we were running or working on something and he would tell me I was doing a good job and it meant a huge amount to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-8089713691630728387?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/8089713691630728387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=8089713691630728387' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8089713691630728387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8089713691630728387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/approval.html' title='Approval'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-5216991709895849968</id><published>2008-12-08T09:43:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:45:24.272-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anger</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Anger&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;As a child and teenager I had a bad temper.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As an adult I learned that we feel angry when we feel victimized.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am usually able to keep my anger under control now by assessing whether or not I am truly a victim in a situation and if not, how to change my viewpoint.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I feel guilty for being angry.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Even though I could be legitimately angry at my most recent ex I find ways to believe that I am responsible for situations and therefore it is not really his fault.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He also encouraged this by always twisting things to be my fault.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I did not feel that I had a right to ask for him to meet my needs.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I am terrified of people being angry at me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will go to great lengths to avoid this.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Both my parents had bad tempers.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I learned to do whatever I could to avoid my mother’s temper.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I stopped asking for money for field trips.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Often I would anticipate and dread dealing with her about something and she would be completely calm.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I never knew what would set her off.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;She was either too controlling or completely numb and disengaged.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There was no middle ground.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She would fight with me and engage me on a childlike level instead of being the adult in the situation.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;My most recent ex's anger terrified me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I felt like (and still feel like) his anger erases all love.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;That he could not possibly love me and be angry at me. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;And my anxiety made him angry, things I said without thinking made him angry, often I could not predict what he would be angry about.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He walked away from me once for something I didn’t know would make him angry and there were times I anticipated his anger and he wasn’t angry at all.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-5216991709895849968?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/5216991709895849968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=5216991709895849968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/5216991709895849968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/5216991709895849968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/anger.html' title='Anger'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-4679178684875774186</id><published>2008-12-08T09:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T09:42:23.526-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Guilt</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Guilt&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Parents&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;                &lt;/span&gt;Guilty for being angry at them as a child and teenager&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;Guilty because I could see they were like lost children and I could see their brokenness.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was angry but I felt like my anger exposed who they really were and that made me feel guilty.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;My father has a lot of guilt and that makes me feel guilty.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;When I was a kid and would become religious they would tell me how proud they were but then I would feel guilty because I was leaving them behind.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I felt like they were going to Hell and I wasn’t.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So I would purposefully try to stop being so “good” so that I didn’t have to feel guilty.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;My Husband&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I felt guilty for divorcing him.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He was so dependent on me I felt like I had abandoned a child.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;At first the guilt was more than I could bear and almost destroyed me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Only after finding out he cheated on me twice (I found this out 3 years after our divorce) could I completely let go of my guilt.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Most Recent Ex&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;Very similar to my parents.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I felt guilty that I may not be in love with him.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I felt guilty for recognizing his brokenness.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It made me feel sorry for him and I tried to protect him from seeing who he really was.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I felt guilty for breaking up with him even though he had physically and emotionally abandoned me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I feel guilty for moving on because I feel that if I find someone who meets my needs it will be a validation of how broken he was.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Others&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I felt and feel guilty for avoiding my grandmother as a teen and adult and for not emotionally engaging with her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She often tried to manipulate me with guilt.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have felt guilty for avoiding friends and co-workers and students when they needed my emotional engagement&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I have guilt for not keeping in touch with my former step son and for divorcing his father&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"&gt;I often feel guilt at work for not being productive enough&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-4679178684875774186?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/4679178684875774186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=4679178684875774186' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4679178684875774186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4679178684875774186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/guilt.html' title='Guilt'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-2852548674906081725</id><published>2008-12-06T12:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T12:28:37.773-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Appearances</title><content type='html'>I have been wrestling with loneliness.  Wrestling with the fact that I would probably go back with my ex in a second if he showed up and acted like he would change and we could somehow make it all better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who am I?  What is that emptiness in me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my anger is gone I feel like I failed him.  I wasn't good enough for him.  That he had already abandoned me before I ever broke up with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't change myself just by thinking about it.  What can I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had another horrifying realization today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved photos of me and the ex.  I created entire happy, alternate realities with those photos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did the same thing with my stepson in my marriage.  Photos of unhappy or boring events take on a life of their own and memory is reinvented.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I realized--I also do this with my vita.  I LOVE how good I look on paper.  It's like a game to publish and present and bulk it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my monthly work reports.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I feel like I'm tricking people.  This isn't really me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved the camera.  It is so much easier to take photos of people than to actually engage socially with them and usually you are praised later for the great photos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What does this mean?!  Am I a narcissist? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no emotions.  I cannot engage with reality and others in a meaningful way.  I "get by" and do the least amount of work for the most recognition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love inventing myself on blogs or online forums.  When people meet me they often say, "You're nothing like you are online."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just assume they haven't gotten to know me yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm not so sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is really, really frightening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-2852548674906081725?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/2852548674906081725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=2852548674906081725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/2852548674906081725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/2852548674906081725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/appearances.html' title='Appearances'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-9090950396829968066</id><published>2008-12-04T06:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T06:18:44.704-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Backsliding</title><content type='html'>Well, I had too much wine with a friend last night.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to practice socializing again.  I think it's good for me.  But I need to be careful with the drinking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want to compromise my health or boundaries.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After my divorce I drank very, very heavily.  I never want to fall into that pattern again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Two unfortunate things resulted:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.)  I ordered pizza&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.)  I e-mailed my most recent ex&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;BUT&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can take the left over pizza to work so that I don't eat any more of it and so what if I e-mailed the ex?  It will give him an ego boost.  It doesn't mean I have to communicate with him again.  It was a slip up.  That's all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had more sexual feelings this morning.  I'm wondering if everything will start to "thaw" and return to me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm hoping my emotions will return the same way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realized--often I have felt like I need my mother.  But I know my real mother can provide no relief.  She cannot give me the emotional balm that I need.  She is not capable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is how my ex is.  I may feel the need but he cannot provide.  He never could.  Yet I return like a thirsty child to a dry well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I LOVE this book "The Betrayal Bond."  It is amazing.  People KNOW why we are in relationships like this.  They KNOW why I feel this way.  The knowledge is there, people just don't have access to it.  They are caught in their cycles and believe that this is love or necessary and never look past it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There is a really interesting passage I read this morning on the difference between emotional intensity and intimacy.  People who came from families that did not express emotions in a healthy way (like mine) may confuse the presence of feelings with the presence of intimacy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And intensity is highly addictive.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am working on getting the drama out of my life.  I stop myself when I find myself exaggerating something.  I am trying to be careful, take responsibility, keep control.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want to go overboard, create boundaries that are too high and be OCD to the point that I can never live with another person.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I want to be careful.  I want to shore up all my leaks and get my little ship sailing and on course before I even think about letting another person join my journey.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-9090950396829968066?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/9090950396829968066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=9090950396829968066' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/9090950396829968066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/9090950396829968066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/backsliding.html' title='Backsliding'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-967104123386552013</id><published>2008-12-03T10:36:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T10:38:57.652-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wanted</title><content type='html'>A man spent the entire time I was chatting with him staring at my breasts today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A wink from another man at the gas station sent a rush through me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have forgotten what that feels like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am afraid but also curious.  What would it feel like to be wanted again? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked myself today how I ended up with the most recent ex for almost 3 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we met we were both going through divorces so the first year was taken up with the novelty of the new relationship and our divorces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second year we lived together and then we searched for a home to buy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third year was settling into our new home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And during all of this there was drama with his ex, drama with his drinking, drama with his school and work, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So drama makes time fly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-967104123386552013?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/967104123386552013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=967104123386552013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/967104123386552013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/967104123386552013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/wanted.html' title='Wanted'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-1231337111845021950</id><published>2008-12-02T16:53:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T16:59:46.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No Contact Part II</title><content type='html'>An e-mail from both exes today.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am still no contact with my most recent ex.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel guilty but it suddenly hit me today--he gave up the privilege of being close to me and talking to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He gave up a relationship with me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He has had his proverbial cake and eaten it too during our relationship because of his relationship with his ex-wife.  I'm not going to give him that.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let him see what it's like to really not have me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My ex-husband sent a long list of everything that's wrong in his life.  He also told me his son tried to commit suicide.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is a child I helped raise from the age of 2 to 14 years old.  But I feel nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What does that mean?  I feel guilt and I feel anxiety about my exes but I feel numb.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel numb even toward my own family.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm hoping as I heal I can start feeling things again.  It's like a bright light burnt out during my divorce that I haven't been able to recover.  How can I feel nothing for a child I helped raise? It scares me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-1231337111845021950?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/1231337111845021950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=1231337111845021950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1231337111845021950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/1231337111845021950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/12/no-contact-part-ii.html' title='No Contact Part II'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-4283600281692316525</id><published>2008-11-30T11:24:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T11:33:54.017-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Narcissistic Supply</title><content type='html'>There are times when, despite the fact that I was the one that ended the relationship with my most recent ex, I feel like a failure.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel like he chose his ex-wife over me because he could not stop his relationship with her.  The toxic cycle they have been in for about 12 years was more important to him than me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But then I read something like the quote below and I know it isn't about love or sex or anything other than his ego.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;'Narcissists are addicted to a drug known as 'Narcissistic Supply.'  Attention (good OR bad), adultation, applause, fame, celebrity, notoriety--are all narcissistic supply.  The people who supply these consistently, reliably and predictably are called, 'Narcissistic Supply Sources.'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why should the narcissist look for another source of supply if the current source of supply is available and always accepts him back?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cultivating a source of secondary narcissistic supply is a VERY time consuming and energy depleting affair.  The narcissist always prefers the path of least resistance (reverting to old sources).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The old source has the advantage of having witnessed and 'recorded' the narcissist's past grandeur.  Her very repeated 'surrender' and 'yielding to his charm' IS the narcissistic supply he seeks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;More generally, the narcissist sort of pushes the envelope, trying to ascertain and map the outer limits of his potency as an irresistible male and desirable mate.  The more tortured the relationship--the sweeter the recurrent 'victory' (reconciliation)."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://samvak.tripod.com/3.html"&gt;http://samvak.tripod.com/3.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What I want to do is send this to my ex and his ex-wife.  But I know it wouldn't do any good.  It's just me still focusing on something that isn't ME.  And they want to stay in the cycle they are in.  I can only save myself and I need to focus on that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-4283600281692316525?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/4283600281692316525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=4283600281692316525' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4283600281692316525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/4283600281692316525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/11/narcissistic-supply.html' title='Narcissistic Supply'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-124653608700123648</id><published>2008-11-30T07:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T07:42:56.986-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No Contact</title><content type='html'>It was difficult to go "no contact" with my most recent ex.  But I realized each interaction was a manipulation on both sides.  I had every other person who knows the story of our relationship on my side, validating my reality.  But I wanted HIM to tell me I wasn't who he said I was.  I wanted HIM to tell me I was RIGHT.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And when I realized I had fallen into this power struggle I knew I had to step out.  He and his ex wife have been in a 12 year toxic cycle of breaking up and getting back together and never breaking contact.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I also wanted love.  I was lonely and still wanted some sign he loved me or missed me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Three years of no love in our relationship should have been a big clue for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Since I have gone "no contact" I am feeling better every day.  While I was still talking to him I felt conflicted and bad about myself.  He made me feel guilty--he can turn any situation into MY fault--he took away my personal power.  And there was constant danger of "abandonment."  If he had cut me off at any point it would have thrown me into a panic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel a lot of anger at him now.  I think this is healthier than compassion because for a person like him compassion is just an opening for manipulation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't help but realize my own responsibility in the situation, though.  I allowed him to treat me without respect.  I allowed him not to commit fully to me.  I allowed him to lie to me.  I allowed him to abuse me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I still feel a bitterness about his warping of my reality.  When I KNOW something, when I need validation, and you tell me what I see or what I feel isn't true then I doubt myself.  And all along he knew it was true.  All along he knew he wasn't trying to communicate with me--he was just trying to WIN in every situation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I remind myself that I can grow and heal.  He chooses to stay in his sickness and repeat the cycles that bring him misery.  I could never hurt him as badly as he chooses to hurt himself and those closest to him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He has e-mailed me since I announced "no contact" and I have ignored it.  I do not drive by his house.  I do not check to see if he's online.  I am not asking others about him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I feel stronger everyday.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-124653608700123648?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/124653608700123648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=124653608700123648' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/124653608700123648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/124653608700123648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/11/no-contact.html' title='No Contact'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-8558069964250070112</id><published>2008-11-29T06:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-29T06:17:57.976-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Compassion</title><content type='html'>I have always had a tendency to blame myself for the things that happen in relationships.  I do have problems with anxiety and depression.  I do have problems with control and being obsessive.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So it's easy to look at myself many times and believe that I have caused the problems in my relationships.  To believe the distorted reality that is being fed to me and to think I deserve what is happening.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I make myself remember a friend who has recently divorced her husband.  My friend is controlling, has problems with depression and is very insecure.  But my friend's problems did not cause her husband to be an alcoholic, a drug addict, to look at gay porn, to not be able to keep a job and help her with their children, etc.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her problems may be the reason she is in the relationship, but they did not create the excessive problems her spouse had.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I have to realize, while I may have problems, I did not make my ex-husband immoral and selfish.  I did not make him spend all our money, use people, and hurt his family.  I did not make him lie and cheat.  I did not make my ex-boyfriend have anger problems.  I did not make him verbally abuse me or emotionally abuse me.  I did not make him lie and cheat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think this quote from "The Gaslight Effect" by Robin Stern is an important one:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I would say that if you consistently feel your interactions with a particular person discount you and what's important to you, go with that feeling and get out of the relationship.  Even if you are just "being nuerotic" as so many people worry they are--even if the relationship is theoretically fine and the problem is that you're too anxious, critical, or demanding--your best bet may still be to leave the relationship that is making you feel so crazy and then address whatever was preventing you from enjoying it.  Manipulating your own sense of reality--telling yourself that you should be feeling something you aren't--is never a good idea.  Even if the problem is with you, you'll be better off solving the problem than trying to talk yourself out of how you feel."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-8558069964250070112?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/8558069964250070112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=8558069964250070112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8558069964250070112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/8558069964250070112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/11/compassion.html' title='Compassion'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-877851844380826459.post-3525496456534935866</id><published>2008-11-29T05:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-29T05:59:44.733-08:00</updated><title type='text'>First Post</title><content type='html'>At the beginning of November I ended a 3 year relationship with a person that I believe had Narcissistic Personality Disorder or at the very least narcissistic and abusive traits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The long term relationship I had before that was an 11 year relationship with a man who had bi-polar disorder. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have created this blog to explore what brought me into the relationships I have had, what my family relationships have been like and what I can do to become a stronger and more whole person so that I do not end up in another dysfunctional relationship that is harmful to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/877851844380826459-3525496456534935866?l=pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/feeds/3525496456534935866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=877851844380826459&amp;postID=3525496456534935866' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/3525496456534935866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/877851844380826459/posts/default/3525496456534935866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkdaisy6.blogspot.com/2008/11/first-post.html' title='First Post'/><author><name>PinkDaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01699984536733395509</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
