Sleep patterns.

I’ve awoken at 3 or 4 the last few mornings. Sad because my friend is down with her college roommates for a reunion weekend, and I was hoping to catch up a little. Instead I’m awake petting my cats and dealing with my enemy—the first in my life but she’s a pretty miserable personality and not interested in my needs, to put it as gently as I can. Never was, never is. There’s a new documentary out on narcissists and the damage they do. A friend told me it repeats the research I studied a few years ago to understand why someone like my ex, or Trump, could exhibit sociopathic disregard for others. Sane pattern in these two and in millions of others. Reading about Trump or hearing from my ex makes me sick to my stomach. I think recording these sleepless moments releases some of the disgust and anger and shame. Writing isn’t as effective at healing as I wish, though. The trauma, PTSD and pain caused by narcissists is real and documented. There are thousands of support groups all retelling exactly the same stories of fabricated sadism. Today, it’s Trump in Ireland where he’s hated. My ex claiming she can balance a checkbook. When she never looked at a single bank statement the third years we lived together. What frauds and assholes these two are. Listen to them whine. Look at the Irish line the streets of Dublin laughing in Trump’s face. Look at Trump insult them. Call a fat pig a fat pig. Can I sleep now? Maybe soon. Not effective to waste time on pond scum when I’ve recovered enough and worked so hard to escape from hell. But, my cars are purring next to me as I type this, and I have new friends who love me and accept that I am damaged. They accept that I need kindness and gentle care. Because they need it themselves and trust how much love I have to reciprocate. Every one of my new friends hates every single thing about Trump, like the Irish. They take if for granted Mina is cut of exactly the same cloth because they’ve all escaped narcissists too. No need for explanation. We can all recognize the obvious symptoms at a distance and share a “never in my bed or in my house or in my city” vigilance. Just hugs and purring and food and faithful companions on the long walk home. On the streets of Dublin laughing at violence and pathology. Walking each other to safety. We are millions and we see you.