When I was around 8 years old, I went to see the play “Little Orphan Annie” with my Grandpa at the Shubert Theatre in Century City.  I became obsessed with Annie.  I wanted to be Annie.  I wanted to be Annie so bad that I had my hair cut and permed so I would look like her.  My mom, to my surprise in retrospect, didn’t allow the lady to color my hair red. 

Annie was an orphan. She was abandoned at an orphanage by her parents.  An orphanage is already not ideal, but this situation was made far worse by the head of the orphanage, the narcissistic Miss Hannigan.

I am an adult survivor of Family Scapegoat Abuse and narcissistic abuse.  I was abused since the day I was brought home from the hospital, where I instantly became the enemy of my older sister and eventually my own mother, both of whom, turns out, are severely personality disordered. I didn’t know any of this at the time, obviously, I only felt something was wrong and it was very painful.  Annie was rescued from the orphanage by nice people who would love her.  I wanted that.  I thought if I had my hair done like Annie, it might happen for me, too.  Maybe if the lady who permed my hair would have dyed it red, I would have been rescued and raised with love.

Love Bomb Stage of Narcissistic Abuse Cycle. This is early-ish 2023 pre-move-In, mostly. This stage is also called, and/or is comprised of, euphoric stage, mirroring, and future-faking:

This is June 2024, well into the devaluation stage. I’m talking to a psychic medium. This is the portion where my dead mom (who was also a narcissist, as well as my sister) is telling the medium to tell me that I’m with a bad man. I already knew this. I just didn’t realize that he has Narcissistic Personality Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. I knew something was very wrong. I was scared. Alone. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to turn. That’s how they do it and that’s how they have it. It’s purposeful and calculated to keep you trapped and stuck. In March of 2024, I met with my rabbi’s wife to pick up Purim cookies to deliver to the very few Jews who live in the area. I was obviously stressed out. I didn’t go into detail but I remember telling her, “I think something is wrong with him. I think he has a mental illness.” I was confused and terrified but I couldn’t pin-point it. Narcissistic abusers want it this way.

This is October 2024, even further into the devaluation stage. At this point, I still did not go to Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I called it, at the time, emotional abuse and even often excused it as cultural and socioeconomic difference. But I knew I was in danger in one way or another. The next day after this video, I went to the domestic violence organization in the town I was now in. I asked for help. Begged. I was terrified and remained that way for many more months.

These next videos are when I knew. It clicked. Narcissistic Personality Disorder and, for good measure, Borderline Personality Disorder. Below is the text I sent to my abuser which put him in a narcissistic rage. March 2025:

Narcissistic Rage–blame-shifting, projection and DARVO (deny, attack, reverse victim and offender). I think this textbook narcissistic behavior has more names, but I’ll start with the above.

Very early July 2025–a couple of weeks before fleeing this most hideous heinous narcissistic abuser. In the video below, I tried very hard to get in the car and leave the driveway before he caught up with me. I was going to the storage facility to arrange for storage because my exit and escape was planned and coming soon.

I have dozens if not hundreds more videos and audio of this demonic creature’s narcissistic abuse. It’s sick. It’s devastating. These creatures are miserable and destructive.

Check back periodically for more. I hope it helps someone. 🌼

It was 1978.  I was on an enormous, especially for an 8-year-old, Boeing 747, flying from San Francisco to Guam after visiting my dad, my stepmom, and my little half-sister in California for a few weeks.  My 9-year-old sister, Kristen, was not with me. We usually went together to visit our dad, but, for some reason, I went by myself this time. It was December, which was also unusual.  We ordinarily would go in the summer for our annual visit.

I was very sad leaving my dad’s. I knew that life with my dad was better.  At home on Guam with my mom, stepdad, and my sister, Kristen, it didn’t feel good. It wasn’t right at all. 

On the drive to the airport for departure back to Guam, I’m sure I was asking him why I had to leave. I don’t remember what he said or what I said.  I just know I was so very sad.

On the plane, I cried.  I cried so hard that the lady in my row moved over to the empty seat between us and put her arm around me.  She comforted me.

I cried on her shoulder for a large portion of the flight.  We talked a lot, too.  It’s a 14-hour flight. 

We landed on Guam and I got off the plane where my mom and stepdad were waiting.  The lady on the plane with me let us reunite and didn’t introduce herself to them or say anything right then.

My mom and stepdad and I went to the baggage claim.  In those days, it took longer.  The lady from the plane approached us after we retrieved my suitcase. We were just about to start walking away.  I didn’t hear everything the lady from the plane said to them, but for sure she told them I was very, very sad and that she was concerned.  My mom brushed her off. My mother was not warm or thankful to her at all. The lady from the plane looked me deep in the eyes and waved goodbye. She looked worried.  I distinctly remember that.

Whatever I described from a scapegoated 8-year-old little girl’s perspective and understanding, who, to top it off, was dressed like a boy with a boy’s, or at the very least, gender-neutral, haircut, probably gave the impression to the lady on the plane that I was suffering.  And I’m sure she knew, especially after her short conversation with my mom and stepdad, that things weren’t going to get better for me.

For a few nights after getting home from every visit with my dad and his new family, I would squeeze my eyes shut and hope with all my might, as I lay in my bed before sleep, that I would wake up at my dad’s house. Above my head at my house on Guam were reed blinds. I hoped that when I opened my eyes upon waking, I would open my eyes to plantation shutters. I also remember wondering that if I dug through the earth, if I could get there.

I wish there was a way I could find her, the lady on the plane.  I wonder if she ever thinks about me.

Here’s the thing…there’s really no way to.  While it’s true that there are a few stories of people being the only victims that serial killers let go before murdering them after torturing them for hours if not days, this is rare.

I’m currently involved with a full-fledged sociopathic narcissist who also has traits of Borderline Personality.  I am still living in his house, but not for much longer.  Because I’m living here, trying to make it out safely, my very close friend is encouraging me to “be grateful” that I still have a roof and to try to be nice to him while I’m still here.  But,  with a narcissist, being nice can actually backfire.  You see, they thrive on your goodness and light, but not because it fills them with joy.  No, no.  It’s because your light and goodness shows them what they don’t have and will never have. So, they will find pleasure in destroying it.  Narcissists are plagued by pathological jealousy and pervasive insecurity. The confidence you might see? Make no mistake, it’s a mask. It’s phony. They are deeply, deeply insecure. I have felt this and seen this with my own heart and eyes. Its undeniable.

There’s nothing darkness and evil fear more than light and goodness.

So next time you are face-to-face with a serial killer, don’t beg for your life.  Don’t tell him you have a beautiful family that needs you.  Don’t tell him you are a sweet and gentle mormon librarian.  Don’t tell him you are a volunteer at the paediatric burn unit.  Instead, match their dark evil with something like, “I’m filled with hate and demons. We can make a great team!”  Now, perhaps, he will let you live.