Category Archives: personal

The new N-word (narcissism)

I have been forced, over the last couple of years, to accept that there are people utterly incapable of compromise. When you are in a relationship with one of these folks, often called narcissists, and find yourself in any kind of conflict with them, your choice is accepting their blame-shifting terms, and all blame, or getting the hell away from them. Many of us have come to recognize and understand this destructive personality type in recent years. They see the world in black and white, win/lose, and are compelled, by a gnawing terror of humiliation, to act as they act. They are incapable of real self-knowledge, vulnerability or change.

As a result of constant bombardment by an angry, entitled, mentally unstable, destructive MAGA president, and his hand-picked loyalists, we have all learned, along with the dark, neutral, meaning-obscuring term “transactional”, the term “malignant narcissist”, a psychologist’s post-World War Two explanation of evil. Though a diagnosis of malignant narcissism is not found in the DSM, psychiatry’s bible of diagnostic categories, its workings can be easily observed in the real world. It describes a megalomaniac so intent on dominating others that they will do anything, including violent intimidation and mass murder, to be the most important human on the planet.

In 2022 “gaslighting” was Merriam-Webster’s (famous longtime dictionary) word of the year. It was the word of the year because it described what is being done to the American public, constantly, by a powerful group intent on absolute power and completely unbound from any sort of ethical restraints. Gaslighting is, according to Merriam-Webster:

psychological manipulation of a person usually over an extended period of time that causes the victim to question the validity of their own thoughts, perception of reality, or memories and typically leads to confusion, loss of confidence and self-esteem, uncertainty of one’s emotional or mental stability, and a dependency on the perpetrator

But in recent years, we have seen the meaning of gaslighting refer also to something simpler and broader: “the act or practice of grossly misleading someone, especially for a personal advantage.” In this use, the word is at home with other terms relating to modern forms of deception and manipulation, such as fake news, deepfake, and artificial intelligence.

When our president and his acolytes practice this technique, and demonstrate every other trait of the narcissist, and no consequences befall them, it empowers anyone inclined to act this way to pull out all the stops. Destructive behavior is normalized, as we say, and suddenly angry drivers feel free to blow through traffic lights as civility itself becomes a vulnerability.

Gaslighting is a major technique of the narcissist. You can’t be right because I have a perfectly good explanation, very convincing, for why you are wrong, insane, deluded, crazy, dangerous, a threat and I am your innocent victim, who loves you very much. Narcissist, I think, was also a recent word of the year, I may be wrong but I’m too lazy to keep searching. There is much on-line opinion that the term is overused. In any case, narcissism is the new N-word. It describes a person so damaged early in life that they construct a superficially confident, brittle, grandiose public persona that can never be wrong, attacks when criticized, blames others exclusively and will fight to the death over any conflict. One of their chief weapons of attack is gaslighting.

Our best hope as humans is avoiding assholes who act this way and practicing mutual vulnerability in our personal lives. This allows us and our loved ones to make human mistakes without immediately hunkering down into kill or be killed mode, as is the narcissist’s reflexive reaction. It is an open question how long it takes to recover from a narcissist’s abuse, full recovery may be elusive if you’ve been subjected to it long enough. On the other hand, the only way forward is through healing, and part of healing is learning to protect yourself from this type, once your antennae is attuned to the clear warning signs of someone who is so perfect that they will kill anyone who says otherwise.

Intermittent Empathy

I described my mother as someone with intermittent empathy. She could be very empathetic but she could also be completely oblivious to what other people needed or wanted. How, the therapist asked, can someone be intermittently empathetic?

My mother was beaten down by her mother. An only child, raised by a talented, demanding, strong-willed mother whose entire family had been murdered in Ukraine when my mother was fifteen, she bore the brunt of her mother’s sorrows, terrors and frustrations. Her father was sympathetic, but also dominated by my grandmother, he could only do so much to protect his daughter. My mother clearly grew up with a lot of pain and anger she constantly had to push down. As a result she had a very low threshold for frustration and flew into anger very easily.

My father had it even worse than my mother. His mother, a tiny, religious maniac famous for her uncontrollable temper, literally whipped him in the face from the time he could stand. On his deathbed my father finally acknowledged the damage this had done to him. “My life was basically over by the time I was two,” he said in a raspy, dying man’s voice.

When my father flew into a rage my mother was always quick to join in. It is, I understand now, a primitive, childish reaction, the same one that animates any lynch mob. Another person’s righteous rage, forcefully expressed, gives you permission to vent your own righteous, often inchoate, anger. As a child I was regularly exposed to this tour de force tag team of parental immaturity. There was little I could do, during an onslaught, outside of telling them both to fuck off. This response, of course, made their anger all the more righteous and me all the more deserving of it.

Intermittent empathy works like this. Hours after the bloody conflict, when my mother was calm, and by herself, I’d sometimes be able to present my side of the most recent dinner table battle. I’d lay out what happened from my point of view. She would listen. Sometimes I’d be able to persuade her that I’d been treated unfairly. When I was able to get my mother’s understanding, I felt her empathy. I have to believe that this intermittent empathy probably saved me from my sister’s fate. My sister, never really having experienced either of our parents’ empathy, until late in life when our father became her chief ally and emotional and financial supporter, became exactly the dreaded parent that tormented and damaged her as a child.

I had a close friend, call him Flack. He often expressed his torment at how difficult it was to get empathy or support from his superficially charming wife, call her Gina. He told me many times, with a lot of emotion, how humiliating it was to have to beg for things from a life partner who should give him those things without being asked.

Empathy, of course, is at the top of the list of what each of us needs from our intimates. I’ve learned, since my execution at Gina’s orders, that Gina is an extreme case, probably a psychopath in her need to be right no matter what and her uncontrollable desire for maximum punishment of anyone who makes her feel wrong. Flack, it turns out, is the classic vulnerable narcissist, he will do anything for anybody at any time, even strangers, and he is heroic in these public efforts, but he is vigilant and quick to rage at anyone who might notice his rigid need to be seen as perfect.

No human has ever been perfect of course, but if you are damaged enough to believe you must be perfect, it’s probably impossible to recover from that. Empathy for the imperfections of others as a first reflex is ideal. I tell you I’m hurt, you ask me why. You listen, show you understand why I’m hurt. Then you can talk about the intricacies of the situation, propose solutions, etc. Empathy ideally comes first. It is the hallmark of our healthiest, most life-sustaining relationships. In my experience, with most people, empathy is often intermittent, as my mother’s was.

People are self-centered, defensive, distracted, react with solutions before they hear the problem, want to fix things before they know what’s broken. We are humans, puny earthlings. Still, empathy that has to be prompted by a clear, calm presentation, is infinitely better than what my old friend Flack has to contend with — token empathy conditioned on absolute obedience to the will of someone with very little empathy.

Given the choice, we’d all like empathy without having to ask for it. Also given the choice, real empathy we can elicit from someone else is infinitely preferable to the situation Flack finds himself in. With a mate incapable of empathy he is always required to peevishly beg for it, which he finds humiliating.

This eternal, reflexive humiliation leaves him angry much of the time, performing a lonely dance of brittle perfection. The only time he feels intimately connected to this woman he has bound himself to is when he is vindicating her honor by cutting off the head of an old friend she now insists is a deadly enemy. They are never closer than when he is manfully serving her need for revenge. For me, even the spottiest intermittent empathy beats that irresolvable fucking tragedy every day of the week.

Trump pardons a corporate “person”, a fellow psychopath

Breaking news: since John Roberts and the Federalist Five ruled that no presidential pardon can ever be questioned in a court of law, Donald Trump gave the first ever presidential pardon to a corporation. Some bitcoin outfit incorporated in the Seychelles that had some trouble with authorities over shady dealings, money laundering, trifles. They got an absolute, blanket presidential pardon. Even if Trump committed a crime in granting the pardon (say he was paid $50M for the pardon by these bitcoin bros), pardons are part of his core presidential powers, so — absolute immunity, even if he took a $50,000,000 bribe to grant the unappealable pardon. Suck on it, cucks.

Meantime, a few words about the modern, American global corporation.  I’m thinking about corporate medicine since a recent run in with a urological corporation, the biggest in the USA, apparently, whose top local branch biller shanked me in the urethra with a rusty ice pick a few weeks ago:

You  can’t avoid the word psychopath to describe the corporate  person.  A psychopath cannot feel empathy or regret and acts only in his own self-interest. Very few psychopaths are serial killers like the ones we see on TV.  Most are charming, determined, ambitious, highly intelligent, strategic, great salesmen, fearless entrepreneurs, CEOs, top surgeons, pundits and the highly focused leaders of many professions. James Fallon, affable neuroscientist and expert in the psychopath’s brain, who discovered he was a psychopath at the age of sixty, lays out the entire constellation of psychopathic traits.  The thing that convinced him he was a psychopath, after the familiar PET scan of that distinct brain and the unanimous answers of all of the people in his life indicating that he was indeed a psychopath, was that he truly didn’t care about the conclusive diagnosis.

In order to understand the nature of corporate medicine, it’s necessary to grasp the essential personality of the Supreme Court-created “person” that is the modern corporation. The case for the psychopathy of corporations is made beautifully in a 2003 documentary called The Corporation, (now available for free on youTube, highly recommended). Corporations possess all the attributes of psychopathic serial killers. These traits, as outlined by an FBI profiler of serial killers, are: callous unconcern for the feelings of others; incapacity to maintain enduring relationships; reckless disregard for the safety of others; deceitfulness: repeated lying and conning others for profit; incapacity to experience guilt; failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors. It is ridiculous to expect the human representatives of such a “person” to “first do no harm” since the entity they serve cannot feel empathy or regret and has only one concern – maximizing profits. It is better to bill for an unnecessary, painful operation without doing any prior tests, and to hurt the patient, than not to bill at all.

A corporate “person” has only one legal duty, according to the Supreme Court, to maximize shareholder profit. To this end a corporate person, unburdened by empathy or regret, often has a high tolerance for what economists call ‘externalities’, the unfortunate downside outcomes of corporate profit-making activities. The price of settling a class action lawsuit from a community downstream whose children are poisoned by lead, or any toxic bi-product of the corporate product, for example.

The corporate “person” is a complete psychopath. Corporate culture encourages the human embodiment of its essential character to rise to leadership positions. The corporate structure keeps every psychopath working for it free from personal liability for anything. Fair is fair. The corporate personality also explains a lot about the severe, mechanical, sometimes deadly, practices of corporate medicine. The awful truth is that we are currently living in the judicially-approved, psychopathic billionaire-created Age of the Corporation, in other words, the Golden Age of Psychopaths.

Death by corporate medicine (part 1 of many)

Corporate medicine is medicine conducted, primarily, for the profits of shareholders in the corporation.  Health insurance, healthcare, pharmaceuticals, death prevention in general, forms the most lucrative sector in the American economy. To be sure, decent medical results are required, usually, for a corporately held medical group to stay in business, but make no mistake: the primary goals of the board of directors and CEO of the corporation are for doctors to see as many patients as possible, do as many expensive tests and  surgical procedures as possible, bill for every contact with a patient and make the most money for the corporate “person” that employs the medical staff, invests in the medical technology, conducts public relations and fundraising in the community to be seen as self-less healers.

You will notice fewer hospitals with an ombudsman or patient advocate.  These skilled professionals calm down patients who are upset, make them feel heard, resolve conflicts that can complicate healing.  They also avoid lawsuits against hospitals and doctors.  None of these outcomes are as important as a good security system to remove agitated patients who demand things of doctors or medical staff.   I will be writing about death by corporate medicine again soon, but for the moment, here’s one example of corporate medicine that might seem subtle, though it doesn’t feel that way to the patient.

The patient (me) was scheduled for an emergency cystoscopy, the insertion of a miniaturized camera into the penis, down the urethra and into the bladder.   I’ve had these before, they sound much more nightmarish than they actually are.  The phrase associated with things like cystoscopies is “most patients tolerate” the procedure, often with an initial grunt.   I was nervous about this emergency test, since my urethra was still painful from an unnecessary surgery conducted on me two weeks ago by a surgeon who, although charming and a great salesman, never did any test before plunging into my urethra and tearing the tissue therein.

I was told by my new urologist that if I arrived one minute after my appointment time the emergency cystoscopy would not be done.   I arrived ten minutes before my appointment time.  I then waited ninety minutes for my appointment.   During those ninety minutes I urinated five times.  I was nervous, and annoyed to be kept waiting this long.   I had to go again and again because my bladder doesn’t empty easily, but every one of these pisses was pretty much pain free, especially compared to the relentless pain of the last two weeks.  Then I was escorted in for the cystoscopy.  I told the attendant that a lab report on my recent urine culture was back and that if I had an infection I probably wouldn’t be having a cystoscopy.  He turned us around and took me into a regular consult room.

When the doctor finally arrived, I had one thing to say, a final word to clear up our initial misunderstanding.  I told her I needed ninety seconds.  I wanted to make it clear that I respected her longtime colleague, and my longtime urologist, and that we’d been having a mutual bad day the last time I saw him, that I was under pressure from recently diagnosed kidney disease, the inability to walk and other medical issues.  She cut me off about ten seconds in, I was by now, apparently, her last patient of the day.  She was not interested in rehashing any of this, she said.  She told me I had a massive urinary tract infection and that was the cause of my pain.  Obviously we weren’t going to insert a scope into a painfully inflamed urinary tract.

I could have been told that ninety minutes earlier, by the doctor’s smart, engaging personal receptionist.  The knowledge that I wasn’t going to have to tolerate a painful (initially) procedure  might have saved me two or three trips to the bathroom.  It certainly would have spared me some anxiety.   But that kind of thing is strictly the patient’s concern, not anyone else’s, in a corporate setting where your doctor is seeing twenty other patients a day.

Because I had urinated so many times while in her office, because I had a massive infection, the doctor assumed that I was still in as much pain as a few days earlier when I was still recovering from an unnecessary procedure (as the surgeon conceded afterwards, I need a different one) that had torn tissue in my urethra.   Based on the lab results of a urine culture and her assumption about urinary urgency and pain, she prescribed the Cipro and told me to take two pills, phenoazopyridine, three times daily, to help with the urgency and pain of urination.

I was unable to convey to her that balancing my water intake (after days of trial and error, 48 ounces seems to be the sweet spot) is the best way to keep the urine flow going throughout the day.  I began telling her that my previous experience with phenoazopyridine had left me unable to urinate at all for hours at a time.  If the goal was, as she said, to keep urine flowing to help protect my kidneys, and empty my bladder as much as possible, this drug, which had not worked for me pain-wise either, was not one to take.  She quickly dismissed my experience and encouraged me to take it three times a day, whatever it said on the box.

Updating this post just now I seem to have deleted my final paragraph. Had the doctor asked me my level of urgency to urinate and pain during urination, instead of making hasty assumptions about what I needed to do, I’d have given her a pain score of two on each of those, as opposed to a solid 7 to 8 several days ago, when my torn urethra was still inflamed. I didn’t need pain medication for the infection, only the antibiotic to cure it. I won’t be taking phenoazopyridine again, and I’ve regained much of my ability to urinate as before after last night’s dose, but … seriously, what do you expect from a doctor who works in the setting of corporate medicine? She doesn’t get paid to schmooze or ask patients about their feelings, there’s absolutely nothing in it for a doctor with a tough quota to meet every day.

Next time, remind me: corporate medicine’s denial of any mind/body, affective/corporeal, emotional pain/physical healing connection.

There are two kinds of anger

There are two different forms of anger, one saves your life, the other destroys it in the end. The life-saving form of anger has an evolutionary/survival purpose. Suddenly flooded with adrenaline, cortisol and who knows what other miracle substances, you explode in a show of threat to scare off something that is threatening you. This anger, when successful in keeping you safe, is followed by relief. The flight or fight chemicals in your bloodstream dissipate and you go about your business. There is another kind of anger that is extremely dangerous to our bodies, our lives and the lives of those around us. This shapeshifting anger lingers, keeps your body coursing with fight or flight chemicals, which do great harm over time. This kind of anger is always ready to leap out when enflamed, often is not aimed at an appropriate threat, can’t be calmed, does not dissipate when the threat is warded off because the threat, which is internal, is never gone.

Anger that makes someone back off when they are in your face and unable to control their aggravating emotional reaction is good anger, anger necessary for survival, it makes the immediate pain stop.   It doesn’t need to stick around after it has done its job.  Seedj and I have expressed this kind of anger regularly to each other, especially during these recent hellishly aggravating weeks, when we have stepped over some line in our mutual pain and frustration and angered each other.  Anger is not easy, not pretty, not clean but it is sometimes necessary, and when it is, if understanding and reconciliation follow as soon as possible, no harm is done. You can learn valuable lessons from another person’s explanation of what made them angry, learn to do better. Anger is particularly common when personal stress is running high, and aggravated by external events in the larger world, where, at the moment, every corporation and institution appears to be lining up, and ponying up big bucks to Dear Leader, to fund the gold-plated, gloriously violent MAGA swastika revenge parade that America’s greediest, along with the stupidest, angriest and most violent, are all spoiling for.

The anger that kills is the building set of grievances that gather, linger and are endlessly swallowed after occasional bitter complaining, constant passive-aggression, or violence, achieving nothing to resolve any of the causes.  This inchoate anger is the unresolvable, constantly recurring, self-fueling anger that creates every cripplingly painful health problem Dr. John Sarno talks about.    It has no end, is tangled in a self-hatred and self-blame that can never be surmounted, so it also kills relationships, including the crucial one with the self.  

By the time posting a picture like this is “domestic terrorism” American will be great again (and I will be interned in Camp Schumer)

I’m going to take a break from thinking about my vexing personal situation, worries about a suddenly intermittent ability to pass bloody urine since an unnecessary urethral surgery done by a master salesman so confident he felt no need to do a single pre-surgical test, to muse a bit about another dangerous psychopath everyone in the world knows, and a good percentage of the world hates.

Those who hate him, or course, suffer from a special mental illness his handlers have cooked up (a regurgitated version of [Dubya] Bush Derangement Syndrome from the pre-Obama era), so we can, fairly and honestly, consider him universally loved, perhaps even intergalactically so.

(Why should I be required to show more courage than Columbia University, ABC, Disney, Chuck Schumer, bumbling numbskull John Fetterman, the Republican-led Congress, various law firms the president has threatened? Only one reason, actually: not to obey a wannabe American Hitler and his stinking horde in advance, fighting fascism fucking 101, brothers and sisters. I know well how many of the dead the original Hitler caused to be slaughtered (full disclosure, I may have an ax to grind, dozens in my family were killed by Elon’s and Don’s Herr H.), his one small fault now reduced by many to merely hating Jews a little bit (and who doesn’t? [1]), though the well-documented history of his impressive mass murder score is being erased, possibly by Musk employee Big Balls himself, as I tap this keyboard)

Anyway, sorry for the distraction. I was going to show you a picture, which I display under the for now robust protections of free expression provided by the First Amendment, which may soon be banned, even criminalized as “domestic terrorism” by Elon “Free Speech” Musk, enemy of unelected bureaucrats, and Pam “Too Corrupt to Serve in Trump’s first term” Bondi. Here you go:

Now these two photos of the same man are equally handsome, a fair minded person might say. One wears makeup, had painful scalp reduction surgery (which caused him to violently assault his first wife, who’d suggested the plastic surgeon who left him in agony) and spends twice the average worker’s annual income every year in hair dressing to make himself look tall and tan and young and lovely as the Girl From Ipanema. The other, non-cosmetically enhanced head merely reflects the results of 78, going on 79, years of life’s inevitable changes.

We live in a culture of illusion/deception by advertising, with a focus on youthful beauty, and Trumpie is touted as a genius because he has played to this illusion/deception “like nobody’s ever seen.” Leave aside the well-known fact that the man is a compulsive liar. There are other ways to refer to someone who constantly spouts falsehoods (see — NY Times, Washington Post, LA Times, CBS, NBC, ABC, FOX, Völkischer Beobachter). In the law there is a distinction between “puffery” — making exaggerated claims of one’s own power to intimidate an adversary that do not cross the line into outright lies — and making false statements under oath or as an officer of the court (all lawyers who appear before judges are considered officers of the court) which are punishable as perjury. I apologize, insincerely, for this perverse insistence on drawing logical and semantic lines in the sewage we are all ankle deep in during Musk/Trump 2.0 Triumph of Wanton Irrationality Crusade.

The entire billionaire funded reactionary right-wing project of the last several decades, now in full stinking flower, has been to destroy meaning, to nullify rationality itself. Our current age of irrationality makes actual dialogue or negotiation between political opponents impossible since an irrational argument, asserted loudly and repeatedly, is just as good, for purposes of swaying public opinion, as a detailed, fact-based one that logically and completely refutes the other based on a body of what was once called incontrovertible evidence. Today, these irrational monsters controvert and crowds cheer, it’s not a problem at all.

This “the only the reality is what we say it is” leaves only constant warfare between hated enemies, rather than the sometimes contentious policy debates integral to a functioning democracy. Nazis don’t want democracy, they want Nazism, duh. You are either a woke snowflake who hates everything the rightful oligarchs of America stand for, OR, a courageous and fearless patriot who wants to turn America back to the paradise it was before insane deep state regulations destroyed the ability of Robber Barons to make, and keep, unregulatable wealth and operate as they saw fit, for the benefit of themselves and their poorly paid virtual slaves alike.

I was hoping for something a bit more profound today, and frankly I’ve disappointed myself. It’s hard to get out of your own feelings about being injured, physically and psychically, by a master salesman psychopath by writing about another one we are all sickeningly familiar with, or in love with his carefully manufactured false image (those who do not suffer from the widespread plague of TDS). His image again, please:

This thin-skinned stable genius strongman was recently bitterly crying over an official portrait of his, hung somewhere in 2019, that shows him looking a bit fat, bloated, an unhealthy color more like the unretouched one above than the carefully beautiful John Boehner-toned one he projects every day (he bragged that he was prettier than Kamala Harris, you be the judge, carefully…). The portrait’s painter, according to the strongest, most secure man in the free world, is a hack who is losing her skills, a bitch, probably an abortionist, sick, dangerous, a deranged enemy lunatic pet-eating sickie who deliberately tried to humiliate the world’s most handsome man after making Obama look so much more handsome than she made him look. Or, perhaps she’s just a portraitist who faithfully painted what she saw.

What do I know? The best I can do is something like this self-pitying self portrait as a partially crucified Picasso with pissbag and stylish, crucifix-coordinated shorts.

[1] By the way, according to Hannah Arendt’s short, encyclopedic primer on the original Nazis, Eichmann in Jerusalem (Penguin edition, 2006, p. 133), Hitler himself had a list of 340 Jews on his personal “don’t touch Moishe” list.

Psychopaths do not all literally kill people with their own hands

The vast majority of psychopaths, like the current acting administrator of the Social Security Administration, a formerly mid-level SSA dude named Dudek, may never have committed any kind of physical violence against anyone.  He may display other marks of psychopathy, but, not to worry, the American Psychiatric Association does not even have a definition of this familiar personality type in DSM V.  Here’s what this one boasted of recently on social media:

Dudek was a mid-level staffer at SSA until he won his position atop the agency by secretly cooperating with DOGE’s demands to review sensitive records after SSA’s head, Michelle King, stood in the way. “I confess. I bullied agency executives, shared executive contact information, and circumvented the chain of command to connect DOGE with the people who get stuff done,” he wrote on LinkedIn. source

Another apparently non-violent psychopath, this one a billionaire cabinet member purportedly vetted and duly confirmed on a narrow party-line vote, added this bit of clarification about the kerfuffle at Social Security and who is actually to blame for the confusion and possibility that for the first time since the social safety net’s creation, checks for seniors and the disabled will not arrive on time (back to Heather):

SSA oversees Social Security benefits for nearly 70 million people and, according to the agency, was expected to distribute about $1.6 trillion in benefits in 2025. For many people, that check is vital to survival. But billionaire Secretary of Commerce Howard Lutnick suggested that concerns about a stoppage in checks were overblown. He told billionaire podcast host Chamath Palihapitiya: “Let’s say Social Security didn’t send out their checks this month. My mother-in-law, who’s 94, she wouldn’t call and complain. She just wouldn’t. She’d think something got messed up, and she’ll get it next month. A fraudster always makes the loudest noise, screaming, yelling, and complaining.”

source (for both quotes above)

Anyone with a problem with the behavior of a psychopath is just a whining, complaining bitch to be bitch slapped by the psychopath.   I am very sensitive at the moment to the issue of psychopathy, having been recently “treated” by a top urologist, charming, reassuring and a master salesman, who, truthfully told me (the only true statement I heard from him, with the knowledge of hindsight)  the “minimally invasive” surgery would tear tissue in my urethra, and it tore such tissue (as my pain and difficulty urinating, since the removal of a catheter and “leg bag” I wore for a week, confirmed). 

Hours after the surgery he told me he’d have to do a TURP, the one he’d sold the “dilation” as a way to avoid (knowing my concern that a TURP at this point would almost certainly end my sex life), since the dilation clearly wasn’t the surgery indicated, as he saw instantly the first time he actually looked into my bladder with a cystoscope (during the unnecessary, urinary tract lacerating surgery I’d just endured).  Psychopath and motherfucker both, this unaccountably unethical asshole (unless his procedure left me with a permanent, legally cognizable injury, the jury’s still out as my ability to urinate waxes and wanes).

The main hallmarks of a psychopath are steely determination, lack of regret, adeptness in gaining control over others, self promotion, acquisition, particularly of wealth and power over others, a driving need to be the un-contradictable final word on everything.   They are often charming, always persuasive, attuned to the needs of others in order to exploit them, they make great salesmen.   The bulk of the titans of corporate boardrooms, and most CEOs, are psychopaths.   They seem to make great leaders because they are bold, fearless risk-takers and they project a supernatural level of cool self-confidence, which is comforting to subordinates.  

Until their real nature is revealed.   They have no concern for the well-being of others, no regret for anything they’ve done, and they maintain a righteous, vindictive rage, unabated, over years, even decades.

It’s hard to read the signs sometimes, since psychopaths are generally adept manipulators who will tell you exactly what you need to hear. 

Even if the signs are as clear as this one, in the lobby of my psychopathic former urologist’s office.  In fairness to him, his office is part of the nation’s largest network of corporately owned humane, caring, supportive, patient-centered urology practices in the United States.  The Supreme Court-created corporate person is a psychopath since it is only obliged to make the most money for shareholders and minimize liability for harm it does in pursuit of profit by any means necessary.  Though my sloppy former doctor is the top dog in his office, I guess the “boss” made him put the sign up, they probably have one in each of their hundreds, if not thousands, of compassionate healing centers nationwide.

Writing as pain relief

Make no mistake, and you certainly don’t need me to remind you of this, life provides each one of us with steady doses of various kinds of pain.  Today mine is mostly located in my urinary tract, aggravated by a coudé catheter placed after a surgery it seems unlikely I needed in the first place (with a second catheter inserted in an ER after 7 stressful hours straining to urinate the next evening after removing the first).   It is day four of the catheter and piss bag, and I must say, it is uncomfortable, occasionally painful and a fucking drag in many different ways. 

There are all kinds of pain.  Every kind of pain is made worse by enflamed emotions.   The realization that the pain we are suffering, the result of someone else’s thoughtlessness, is unnecessary, could have been easily prevented had we not misplaced our trust, is maybe the most tormenting thing we can learn about our pain.   In the hours after leaving the ER the other night I was in a rage against the negligent, confident, smiling surgeon who’d done no tests, relying on tests done by a prior sociopath who had done no tests either,  before forging ahead blindly with surgery under general anesthesia.  I sincerely wanted to punch his lights out.  This rage certainly made the physical pain I was experiencing much worse.  

I have found, and I confirmed this again the other day, that sitting in a quiet place and writing out a schematic of what is going on, explaining it to yourself as simply and directly as you can, as if you were talking to a sympathetic friend, can give substantial relief from the emotional part of pain. 

My initial angry writing was a torrent of what happened to me as a result of a ten minute surgery I spent 14 hours in the hospital for (4 of them in the ER correcting the painful condition I was left with), why it was all so gratuitous, and inexcusable, and disrespectful, and avoidable and sickening and fucked up.  That menu of gristly details went on for a few pages.  I then emailed my cousin, an expert in medical malpractice, and briefly laid out my case for a breach of the legal standard of care that a doctor, even in a soul-dead corporate medical culture like ours, owes to a patient.   These writings gave me slight relief, to have the ugly details set out on paper.

It was the following day, when my anger had cooled slightly, along with the inflammation of my abused urinary tract, which had been torn by the “non-invasive” procedure (first do no harm), that I was able to distill the pain down to the principle of trust.  Much of the pain I was feeling was about a violation of trust.  What is trust, how do we know when we can trust somebody, what do we do when someone proves they can’t be trusted?   Turning to these philosophical questions, illustrated with details of two lying, defensive, unethical doctors who blamed their patient for their own inattention to the patient’s best interest, reduced my anger by a substantial margin.  I felt much better after writing this.

Writing that gave me a better frame to look at my current frustrating situation through.  This same analysis can be applied to many things in our current world, where liars are frequently rewarded with great power and those who cling to the truth are seen as somehow weak and contemptible.  We don’t need to make an explicit connection to a corrupt and threatening new status quo to consider the basic question, an important one for everyday life: how do we know when we can trust somebody?

I have to say, in passing, that a new detail installed by WordPress on a page they no longer support (this particular design), the automatic, intermittently undefeatable “group blocks,” makes editing almost impossible once you’ve gone on to the next paragraph.  I will have to go over this again on my phone to make it more clear, and the thought of that extra step makes my irritated urethra clench a bit.   What is it with these fucking tech bro motherfuckers, who know better than any of us what features we want suddenly disabled, what new inconveniences coders like Big Balls will insert into formerly useful apps to make us appreciate their dull genius even more than we already do?  I see now that there are three dots that can be clicked on, in addition to the normal options for formatting, and one of the options in that second pulldown menu is “ungroup”, which allows editing, but it took me weeks to discover that fix of something that wasn’t broken before in any way (and the fix of their new ‘improvement’ doesn’t work every time, as it happens).  Nazi fucks.

Anyway, my point here is to underscore how helpful it can be to sit and sift through aggravations, with as few distractions as possible, and by writing and clarifying, readjust your perspective.  The expression of your point of view, and the knowledge that you have set it out plainly and understandably, provides that crucial feeling of being heard, if only by yourself.  If you need to explain it to someone else, you have a link you can send them, and the confidence that they will grasp what is eating you and why it is reasonable that you are feeling in the hands of cannibals.

At the moment there’s no medication I can take for the discomfort and intermittent pain of having this  irritating catheter in my body, strapped to a piss bag I’m constantly having to drain.  There is a kind of self-healing in laying out the good reasons for my anger and considering how to protect myself from anything like this ever being done to me again, no matter how adept the smiling psychopath is in presenting it as my best and least invasive option for curing a medical ill.  

I recommend it to you, my invisible friend, as an exercise that can go a long way in self-soothing.  Once you get yourself into the habit, it becomes a fairly straightforward path to partial pain relief.  In the context of severe pain, I have learned, partial relief is nothing to sneeze at.  Whatever practice you can develop for calming the enflamed emotions that accompany all pain is helpful.   Try writing for a few minutes the next time you can’t get the thought of smashing someone’s smug face out of your mind.  If it reduces your pain by 30%, you can give yourself a gentle, loving pat on the back.

To trust or not to trust?

Once you realize a person is prone to lying, trust is often a self-destructive option.  Until you see this pattern of untruthfulness clearly, the question of trusting or not trusting can be tricky.   I think humans want to trust the people around them, this appears to be a default setting.  We homo sapiens are a communal, if also often communally irrational, species, after all, and community is based on trust.  

When you’re a helpless infant you have no choice but to trust the people taking care of you.  This trust is rewarded if you’re nurtured with care.  Trust can be shattered forever if you learn you’ve been continually pissed on by your caretakers and told to shut up and stop whining about a little rain falling on your head.   Most of us have upbringings that fall somewhere in between.  Knowing when to trust and when not to trust is often only learned by hard experience.   We put our trust in somebody, in their expertise, and sometimes that trust is revealed to have been misguided.  The question: how do we know in advance that we can trust someone?

We tend to trust people, I suppose I generalize from my own habit, who are relaxed, friendly, show a sense of humor, make the proper sympathetic facial expressions, and react reassuringly, when you express concerns.   The obvious problem is that these are all the behaviors of the best conmen and almost all manipulators and compulsive liars.

I’m thinking about this because I had a consultation with a friendly, reassuring, good humored and very likeable urologist back in August.  We left the office very impressed with him.   He assured me that during the tests I was going to have two weeks later I’d be under comfortable “conscious sedation”.  I was relieved to hear that since having devices shoved into your penis is not always comfortable, and is usually done without any palliative measures.  The standard line is that most patients tolerate it.  You wince a bit, maybe groan, at the insertion, and the rest is fairly tolerable.  But I was glad to know I’d be sedated, the better to wince less, and maybe not have to grunt.

When I arrived for the tests, and asked about the conscious sedation, his nurse expressed frustration that he always tells his patients they will receive conscious sedation when his office NEVER gives conscious sedation, does not even have tranquilizers they can give patients.  She said he probably thinks it makes his patients more relaxed.  I didn’t need to convince her that learning, at the moment of your test, that the doctor lied to you is the opposite of relaxing.  I endured a ninety minute ordeal with this gentle, determined nurse, as she tried, unsuccessfully to insert catheters into my urethra to drain my bladder for the test.

The doctor came in, sweaty and smiling, and asked how I was doing.  I told him I was wondering what happened to my conscious sedation.  He had a fit, denying he’d ever said that, essentially calling me a fucking liar.  In that moment I knew I was done with this asshole, and managed to remain the adult in the room.  I quickly calmed the angry baby down and got him back to business. He told me he wouldn’t do   further tests, telling me my urethra was already irritated enough for one day. 

Then he wrote a detailed report, which I got a copy of and which was sent to all of my doctors, not mentioning the unsuccessful catheterization, but stating “patient tolerated procedure well.”  It then gave detailed findings of two tests this motherfucker never did.  He billed Medicare for them, and I got bills and a statement from Medicare confirming the charges and what they paid.  Medicare did not seem concerned about the fraud, it was virtually impossible to report it, even as determined as I was to. 

My next urologist was also affable, smiling, quite chill, with a sense of humor and all the other indicators of a nice guy you could trust.  He was openly horrified by the doctor’s false report I presented to him and suggested I contact HR at the place his unethical colleague worked.  (No doctor is going to suggest a disciplinary complaint to the state licensing board).  He did no tests, described a non-invasive surgery that should correct my urinary problem, I postponed the procedure once to have a fuller discussion of it.  He gave me a detailed theory for why this procedure was better than the standard alternative, which I’d had years earlier, to great life changing effect.  I had the procedure Thursday and left the hospital with a catheter and piss bag on my leg, as is common after this kind of surgery.

There was a complication when I removed the catheter the next day as instructed.  I was unable to urinate at all.  After 4 hours with a full bladder, and the constant urge to urinate,  I wound up in the ER where I was “fast tracked” and it only took another 3 hours to have the painful urgency to piss out 600 ml of urine relieved by a new catheter.  

I was sore, irritated and in need of advice afterwards and called the number the urologist had smilingly touted as a 24/7 doctor on call, no worries.  I left increasingly agitated messages.  Five messages and five hours later, at 2:45 a.m., I got a call from a bot, instructing me to go to an ER and have the ER doctor contact their on-call doctor.

I called again when I woke up and got a fairly quick call back from the surgeon himself.  He sounded indignant to have been defamed the way I’d spoken of him in my increasingly agitated messages.  He told me I had a poor recollection of our detailed conversations prior to the surgery.  I was in a pissing contest with a skunk, only my piss was dribbling slowly into a leg bag.  I asked him why he hadn’t done any pre-surgical tests before doing what seems, at the moment, and in light of what he told me after an unnecessary surgery.  He was able to see with the scope that, contrary to his prior test-free opinion, there was no scarring from the previous procedure and that I’d likely need the original procedure repeated soon in any case.  ) He told me he had the notes of recent tests from my previous urologist, the tissue of lies he had attached to my file in the hospital.  He made numerous other excuses and told me how busy he was doing Saturday surgeries at another hospital.  I sensed there was not a trace of his winning smile on his face as he defended himself and his perfect recollection.

So, quite naturally, as an irritating drip of urine intermittently leaks through the painfully re-inserted catheter into the leg bag, I am musing about trust, when to trust, who to trust, if you can ever trust someone who is employed by a demanding bottom-line driven psychopath, which is what every corporation is.  After all, this guy is the director of his clinic, part of a chain across the US, the largest corporate provider of high quality, infallible, humane, patient-centered urologic care.   You can read all about it on their fucking website.

Or just listen to their compassionate on-call doctor, who phones you personally at 2:48 a.m., a mere five hours after your first of five distress calls.

Narcissistic Abuse MAGA style

Narcissistic abuse is a term I had to learn not long ago, after I discovered that two of my longtime closest friends, a husband and wife team, flew into a united, endless, implacable rage when they felt “defied” by my attempt to negotiate about something they wanted us all to do. Perceived defiance is an intolerably painful injury to someone, irreparably damaged by earlier trauma, who can never be wrong. It challenges them in a way that infuriates them, plunges them into an unbearable childish rage that makes them violent and irrational.

So they raise their voice, they go silent, they glare, they change what happened, reverse cause and effect, forget details that show them partially at fault, they blame, they threaten, they lie, inventing contradictory reasons that show they are completely in the right.  They will blame you for the entire, increasingly ugly conflict because it is 100% your fault for making them feel bad about themselves by defying their will.  Since they can’t be even a little bit wrong, you have to be completely wrong, and if you won’t admit your fault, and take all blame, then you are the enemy.  Here’s a little snapshot of this type:

We all have a breaking point for tolerating this kind of insane, abusive treatment. We can control our reactions, try to act with maturity, understand we are dealing with damaged people incapable of doing better, but at some point, provoked sharply enough, if we don’t get away in time, most of us will eventually roll our eyes or let a “shut the fuck up” slip out. In this moment, we become the aggressor, and have proved their point that we are the violent, enraged person, not them. The video of us snarling “shut the fuck up already” will be played to everyone over and over as proof of our abusiveness. This reaction is the desired outcome of narcissistic abuse, it proves they were right to treat us as a despicable, implacable enemy.

Look at this pile of shit, Lyin’ Ted, an intelligent, educated, morally bankrupt, Trump-smeared toady, making the case that Zelensky standing up for his country during a coordinated attack from his putative allies by stating the truth, while being angrily cut off and challenged by Trump, Vance and company, had “abused” and disrespected the Orange Pussy Grabber in Chief. Perfect snapshot of narcissistic abuse, on Ted’s and JD’s parts, as well as on their master’s, Putin’s BFF, part. Lyin’ Ted claims Trump was 100% correct to be infuriated by Zelensky trying to get a word in, Zelensky impertinently correcting a couple of Trump’s more outrageous lies. Shades of Bagpiper Bill Barr, identifying with Trump’s completely understandable “righteous anger” after the Mueller Report came out.

One of the hallmarks of narcissistic abuse is its utter irrationality. These morally paralyzed, reflexively childish dirty fighters engage in warfare to the death based entirely on their aggrieved will. They almost always need to lie, because “proving” their case is impossible, since their claims fly in the face of what people actually witnessed. If you can’t be wrong, and you are wrong, you will fight to the death, anybody, everybody. It is the nature of these stinking creatures. They can do nothing else.

Zelensky had a catastrophic meltdown in the Oval Office, according to MAGA. Note that this “meltdown” (something impossible to see in real time, except to the faithful, since there was no actual “meltdown”) gave Trump every right to say this, after becoming righteously, justifiably “infuriated”, according to Lyin’ Ted:

“Putin went through a hell of a lot with me. He went through a phony witch hunt where they used him and Russia… Russia, Russia, Russia—you ever hear of that deal?—that was a phony Hunter Biden, Joe Biden, scam. Hillary Clinton, shifty Adam Schiff, it was a Democrat scam. And he had to go through that. And he did go through it, and we didn’t end up in a war. And he went through it. He was accused of all that stuff. He had nothing to do with it. It came out of Hunter Biden’s bathroom.”

All perfectly reasonable, if you’re an insane psychopath, I suppose. Of course it was all Hunter Fucking Biden’s fault, of course it was, sir, the fault of his disgusting bathroom with all those stolen classified documents in it (spoken with those proverbial tears of sincerity running down my face, sir). Also, I note your great restraint, sir, in not including Rosie O’Donnell, Lawrence O’Donnell, Mitch McConnell, Liz Cheney, the AP, PBS, NPR, Adam Kinsinger, Birdbrain Nikki Haley or any of your other sick, dangerous enemies, in your righteously infuriated closing statement, right before you kicked Zelensky out of the White House, as the greatest diplomats do when engaged in delicate negotiations.

By the way, Little Marco, who signed off on the three volume Senate Committee report detailing over 140 acts of coordination between the 2016 Trump campaign and Putin, including the sharing of sensitive polling data between Paul Manafort and a Russian agent named Konstantin Kilimnik, was never smaller or more humiliated and compromised than sitting passively near his boss, as Secretary of State, while an enraged Trump righteously snarled “Russia, Russia, Russia…” as he betrayed our ally and shared the true pain he’d gone through with his comrade/business partner/benefactor/blackmailer, Vladimir, at the hands of their mutual enemies, the nefarious agents of world democracy.

God bless these United Shayyysssshhh…