The narcissist cyclic web

I see…patterns, and cycles which repeat themselves, are likely to continue doing so.

I made a choice not to get spun around in another loop around the track.

In the last year, my confidence took a swan dive, but I found a route back.

It started off mildly enough. They’ll lean in as if they’re listening to you, but really, they’re just intensely studying the myriad of ways they can make you believe that their presence in your life can solve all of your problems. My father is a master manipulator. He knows when to charm, and when to be vulnerable enough for you to drop your guard. Truthfully, he never shares anything that’s truly personal. If you really take stock, you’ll hear the same 5 stories on repeat. They’re on cue, you see. They’re his ‘story’ and he’s sticking to it. This is the Oscar-winning version of his life narrative, that will make you consider him endearing enough to believe the lies scattered amidst the truth.

It helps me to see why I was so prone to believe their tale. It took me years before I could separate myself from the narrative that my father had spun around me, with me inside, as a part of the character that he had carefully pieced together. I was never present for my own sake, but rather to promote the facade that worked along with his self-image.

I have now had every type of narcissist in my life. I asked myself today, what are the odds of this? Quite high, actually. My own psychology was primed for being accessible to theirs. I have only now seen the connection. There has always been a direct line between how my father viewed and treated me, and how I viewed myself, and allowed others to view and treat me. Manipulation had been so normalized that I did not learn how to defend myself against it. Even as I write this, I still doubt myself, saying, no, I am the crazy one. He is fine, but, me, I am the crazy one. I wish I could wish it away so lightly. I can’t. It is a self-serving psychology that will make him twist truth, perform (well, act, really), and invalidate any version of me or the truth that combats his own self-image. This is done with the charm of a genie, alluring and ever so subtle.

I had to come to terms with the fullness of being both genders, so I gave each of them their own moment to shine. As a woman, I had never understood the shame, disdain and discomfort I felt because of what I was called…woman. I had to embrace all that was woman, and get to the root of these feelings. It was at the core of this period of uncertainty, that the first exploitative relationship occurred…my first battle with narcissistic abuse as a self-aware adult. Fortunately, I got out of it within a short enough timeframe, but there were still threads of the pattern quilted to my soul.

Within the last year and half, I experienced another bout, in the valley of my decision to call out the man in me. Instead of continuing to keep him silently skulking in the shadows of my psyche, I chose to free him…to be seen, outside. I thought it would have meant just a few rainy days, but instead it was a torrential downpour of microaggressions, projection, invalidation, and being emotionally sidelined.

At these formative points, where I was the most vulnerable, I was also more receptive to the inroads that manipulators and narcissists often take to latch onto me. It isn’t my fault that people can be deliberately unkind, unempathetic and selfish toward others. However, it IS my fault if I allow them to have access to my mind, body and emotions that they shouldn’t have.

No part of me could survive without disciplined boundaries…neither the man, nor the woman. I had to begin to ACT firmly, decisively and without doubt whenever I was confronted with manipulative tactics from others. I had to believe myself, my experience, and act accordingly.

I want to leave you with some resources if you feel like you have dealt with or are currently dealing with a narcissist. Firstly, let’s get a definition in place. There is a difference between pathological narcissism and people who are self-absorbed. It’s not the same. So, to be clear, I’m referring to someone who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. This is a mental condition in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a deep need for excessive attention and admiration, troubled relationships, and a lack of empathy for others.

If you feel like you are in a relationship with someone like that, these are resources that helped me -> Dr. Ramani on YouTube, and there is this book also, which is a short but brilliant read that works you through and out of it.

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Giving energy to the AWESOME!

When I published my first book, ‘Godcall’, I really was an entirely different person. My core and divine sensibilities were all there but so were my struggles and resolving them 10 years later led me to writing ‘The Inside Story’.

‘Godcall’, if I am truthful is a much better book than ‘The Inside Story’. They are both a collection of thoughts, but in different formats. ‘Godcall’ is a story written in poetry and ‘The Inside Story’ is one written in prose.

Technically speaking, I wish I could do more for ‘The Inside Story’ on my own, but some things have to be done outside of one self…from the vantage point of objectivity, in order to balance the writing for the sake of someone outside my head. I need a great editor to take the book and make it greater, and that will be done in time. If it is never done, it will be because the book served its purpose and is no longer needed, not by author or by its eventual readers. Its all good..we will see how it goes.

I have taken down ‘Godcall’ and ‘The Inside Story’ from Amazon.

I will focus on pushing ‘The Dream’ book series. As I continue to streamline my energy, focus and purpose, it helps me laser in to what is adding and what is hanging.

Those two books are ‘hanging’.

The Dream is an AWESOME book.
Godcall is a good book.
The Inside Story is ‘okay’ but it is not GREAT.

I am going to put all my energy into my AWESOME!

Book 2 in ‘The Dream’ book series is currently being written.

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The Dream by JanBerry – Excerpt

“Are you feeling for this?”

“Thunder!” She smacked her lips playfully. “Sure.”

She spun around to face me, pushing me back into the bed, and grabbed onto Thunder directing him into the O-ring, with her hands over mine and looking at my eyes.

Melting, I smiled at her, and she smiled back as she stood up on the bed to pull down her slacks.

Whilst she was doing that, I grabbed the lube from the side-table and squeezed some onto Thunder. I wanted to enjoy rubbing the lubricant onto it for a minute, but Zia didn’t waste any time. Before I could properly get Thunder ready for her, she knelt over me and positioned her pussy onto Thunder and slowly slid lower over him and smiling sensually.

I slid my hands under her vest, and she lifted her hands so that I could take her vest o . I could see impatience as it crept across her demeanour. She raised herself o of Thunder and jumped o of the bed, to lay on her back closer to the edge instead, then stretched her hand out to reach for me.
I scooted o of the bed and bent my knees slightly, to lean down into Zia’s mid-section. Our bed was custom-built to be just beneath the height of my waist, for occasions such as these. Pressing into Zia, I guided Thunder back in to her.

She invited him in with a squeal, and cut her eyes at me, then stopped moving, to ask, “Did you understand what I meant about the tree?”

“Yep, I got you.”

I stuck my tongue out, content with my retention, then grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and laughed.

I looked down at Thunder rubbing past her pubic hair, listening to the slick sounds, and then stopped..

“Tell me that you want it.” I said to her. She bit her bottom lip. “Yeah.”

“I’ll stop. Tell me. Say, I want it.”

“I want it baby. I want it.”

Thunder was not very thick, but he was long — great for quick thrusts. Of all the colors that this dildo came in, Zia chose the purple. I didn’t care for all these scandalous colors, but for her pleasure, I would go to any length, and Thunder surely had it in him. (Heh!)

……….

– Excerpt from Chapter 2, The Dream by JanBerry

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Ampersands: a gray area

Black and white are colors we’ve been hearing a lot about lately. Well, if I could pause and be a nerd for just a second, neither of these are colors, but rather, illusions. Black is the presence of all colors and white is the absence of color. Okay, so I really just want to talk about gray today.

I wrote a poem when I was in college titled, Uncertainty. In it, I rendered the somber and mixed feelings of having alternative sexual feelings but also being spiritual. I lived on Seaver Street, and there were two Catholic churches, each a 15-minute walk away. One of them did their service in Spanish and the other did their service in English. I interchangeably went to both. I didn’t know enough Spanish to follow along for the entire service but it felt good. It felt so good knowing that I did not have to know everything to feel what I felt – the awe and softness that reverence brought to my life. In the same breath, as I walked to either church every Sunday, I would always think about my unresolved feelings about who I was prone to love.

In my expression of myself, masculinity defines me. I am more masculine than I am feminine, but these are not genders. I was designated woman at birth and that’s fine. We need something to put in the box, yea? Whether I remove my breasts or not, take the hormones or not, I will still be a woman AND a man. This is MY experience. Even as I write this, I am uncertain, because I wonder to myself if I will want more. Will I want more after I’ve done the things that will push my physical self into a new expression of my spirit self. I also stand the chance of being MORE misunderstood if I press forward. I focus rather, on the fact that I am shining light on an area that we don’t see clearly enough to think of as anything but ‘transient’. It’s seen as transitional, instead of being an actual place. I embrace that gray place. I am a ‘JanBerry’…fruit of my own tree. There is no one like me, and there is no one like you either. Own it. Embrace it.

I feel like the reason most people need to know whether you are a man or a woman is to know how to treat you..which biases to employ. The people that have seen me have felt me with their hearts – and used the eyes that aren’t on their face. I think from those eyes, perhaps everything looks gray, because you can always feel the tension between multiple perspectives of the same truth.

Recently, I told my brother that I was going to be making some changes to my body, and immediately he assumed that I wanted to transition all the way to male. I do not, but this is an expression of that inclination humans have towards seeing something as one or the other, and their being nothing in between. I am ‘in between’. I am gray. I am both/and…but I get it, ampersands are never the focus of a sentence when it’s used. Ampersands are a gray area.

‘Ands’ recognise a sameness that we cannot always express in words, but we lean into it. The ‘ands’ have it? I dunno, I felt like this writing needed a cute ending..but shit, maybe it doesn’t and…

– JanBerry. 26June2020. 6.23am