New research on emotional intelligence and personality disorders suggests that people with certain types of traits are likely to lack the interpersonal awareness needed to control their overcontrolling impulses. Fairleigh Dickinson’s Marta Krajniak and colleagues (2018) conducted a questionnaire study on the relationship between personality disorder symptoms and emotional intelligence in a sample of first-year undergraduates with the intention of examining the personality factors that predict college adjustment. Although their research focused specifically on issues related to college adaptation, their findings provide intriguing suggestions about the ways in which people who try to dominate everyone else with their own views of the world can make life difficult for everyone, including themselves.
The Fairleigh Dickinson research team used standard measures to assess emotional intelligence as a trait, or enduring disposition. As such, they defined emotional intelligence as “an individual’s ability to experience, attend to, process, understand, regulate, and reason about affect-laden information in themselves and others.” In other words, people high in emotional intelligence should be able to adjust their behavior to that of the people they’re with rather than to insist on having their own way. Your opinionated relative would, in this framework, be someone low in emotional intelligence because he can’t recognize and respect your point of view.
“Are you safe?” The nurse asked me. “Are you afraid of anyone right now?” I was in the doctor’s office. My fiancé had insisted on driving me there. He was my Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, my secret abuser. He could go from gentle to furious in seconds, warm hugs giving way to shoves that left me black and blue. But in the moment, I froze. At 44, I felt ashamed to be engaged to a man who hurt me. I thought I knew better. I’d seen domestic violence play out in my childhood home. I’d volunteered in shelters for battered women, marched to Take Back the Night years before.
“No, I’m fine,” I said to the nurse. He was just outside in the waiting room. In the wake of waves of allegations about sexual assault and abuse by Harvey Weinstein and other powerful men across industries, the world is grappling with the reality of the many ways in which men in the 21st century—including celebrities, politicians, and heads of news organizations—continue to harm women. It’s an important but fragile moment. The media’s coverage of sexual harassment and assault appears to be at a turning point. But for real change to happen, we all need to be open to reconsidering the cultural beliefs about gender that we’ve internalized, consciously or not. That means, crucially, redefining our ideas about what kind of behavior is normal or natural—most importantly, the idea that male aggression toward women is ingrained in human biology.
The man I loved made similar claims. He thought his violence was predestined—a part of men’s innate nature. “We’re all attack dogs,” he said of himself and his friends. “We’re just different breeds.”
I don’t want to try to live any life again. I got bastardized and the home is worse for me than the cauldron of cannibals. every day too many people ate my best meat and every day I fed their thoughts with succulent ardor and multicolored hopes. This lane no longer belongs to me, I am out of the white lines, I went beyond the yellow lines, I deleted the blue lines and I took possession of a space that has nothing to do with men. I jumped out of the lines of men and women ready for the handkerchief race. I saw my prize and refused it, even though it shone like pure gold. I am never the one who dwells in this non-existent rent. I sell myself to my thoughts. I sell myself to my breath. I sell myself to the stranger who lives in my houses. he has an immense need for inhuman pleasures. he is the worst of the inhuman demons. unfolds me on white sheets and folds my corners without hesitation, an origami of crowded evenings. I go to find the silence of the marble angels. I go where life no longer lives. I don’t bring flowers to anyone, I walk among my buried souls, I mix wet lands, replant dried flowers … I look at the photos of my deceased sisters, my soul mates … the others who were not as lucky as me to live despite my apparent death. They call me a vampire, they tell me a scribe, they think I’m alien. I can’t stand people paved with knowledge. reducing billions of sadness into sonic explosions leaping the pit of pain by stabbing black stars that fall like ash confetti. the apocalypse of sadness makes the angel more terrible and the trumpet sounds like thunder. the din of the mind increases, the detachment from human people increases, I am extinguished. I feel in the last non-stellar sky, on the top floor of inhuman pain, I feel myself going up and down for no reason, my love runs on black ice stairs, on roads that penetrate impossible, fearful darkness. fingers of flesh and wind slip into my torment. fingers of cardiac losses accumulate and open my chest. I open the doors of my feeling and immediately afterwards I regret it. I got a devil in every hair, a devil in my brain, a tiny tiny black elf that rubs itself on white surfaces to write his curses. two horns come out of the dream, two very long sharp golden tinsel. they turn to my power, they enter me without seeing any other direction. they come out of open walls, from walls of forgotten art, they come out of nights pierced by incomprehensible dreams. pearls come out of the darkness of nostalgia, they twist into pointed horns and I stare at endless nights. swamps smoke, the sun goes down, the pain disappears. the abysses fall! incredible crash of pieces of glass, of crystal wings, of metal hearts. my angels dance with dagger blades that become stems of roses without corollas. my angels protect my brain from the depths of steel, from the seas of gold, from cruel power. my angels crash into the walls of my pain, strangled by the love of living. they flee and return to their purple skies. voices intertwine, voices are released, from within and everything comes out, in a moment, in a single second, the world is torn apart and the killer enters the scene. no one knows his past, no one knows his pain, no one knows the subtle pleasure, the need, the desire … the instinct to kill. hidden inside is what triggered the bomb, what triggered the blow, what caused the nefarious fury, the sublime revenge … scenes and other scenes revisited in the imagination, scenes and scenes acted without script … what do you want to know? what do you want to know about a killer or a killer? Is the thinking distorted or is it in the world that everything goes wrong? when the hand is thrown choosing to give death it is the power of the man that holds the heart of the murderer in a grip of sublime pleasure and that makes him feel like any god, renegade or not. what thirst for knowledge burns in your veins? what do you want to know about the pleasure of killing? what brings you on the path of the unspeakable sin of the human mind? silence awakens me and silence doesn’t make me sleep. a crowd throngs inside my heart and I’m ready to strike again. is it me you were waiting for? here is the explanation for all of you, a confession opened from a cell without a lock, a superhuman torture because those who know the journey but never the destination! I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t remember I was another person … I was using another name maybe I was there and maybe I wasn’t there, a memory gap, for no apparent reason, something that you feel inside, something that doesn’t add up .., and yet it was I who had done everything, I had decided it a long time ago … or was it even before? I don’t remember, a memory lapse. but why understand? why ask again? there is no explanation for the pleasure of dying inside others. it’s another person, it’s not me. I was not there. I’m not… no voice, no voice anymore … from my silence. a word broke my voice, a word that doesn’t break my silence. never again no voice will come out of my throat. no voice, no voice. he killed the voice, he didn’t kill the silence … and I will kill him in silence … I’ll take away the one thing he doesn’t have … life. no voice, no voice I will give to my silence … nobody wants to know, nobody has to know the torment of being a killer. no more voice will tell you which is my favorite weapon, no word of mine will tell my wound, no voice for those who do not want to hear or hear … no confession beyond all daring! never again do men deserve to know, to know pain … no voice of me, no voice of me … it changes like a fish. no voice for those who do not want to hear or hear … no confession beyond all daring! never again do men deserve to know, to know pain … no voice of me, no voice of me … it changes like a fish. changes like an executioner inside his victim!
Stay inside the stone circle and keep it away. This I have been trying to do all this time. You can’t imagine what force it took to keep him at bay! Only the strongest souls receive his terrible attack to prove that the light has victory over him every time. The first time he came I was so weak and didn’t know anything about myself but I managed to avoid his overwhelming me. It was painful but I stood up to him because I had immense strength inside me. Over time I have always learned to recognize him, but each time I don’t know if I will get the better of him. The closer I get to the goal, the more he puts his wonderful obstacles in front of me. Each time he changes his face and his entire semblance but I recognize his way of doing. From the beginning I knew what it was aimed at and I tried to keep it well hidden in me. I told him: “Not me! Not me, you were wrong! I am cursed. I come from your own kingdom! ” But he’s too smart and he never believed me. It’s true, for a while he left me alone, I managed to divert him from me, I disguised myself as a damned soul and for a while he really drank it. I covered myself with ashes, with pain, with black suffering to convince him that it wasn’t me, I wasn’t the one he needed. But now he is furious, he has discovered the deception and his anger is terrible. He feels he has been made fun of by me, a cunning little girl. How she managed to get rid of him like this I don’t really know. Perhaps only a woman can succeed in deluding even the devil. But now he doesn’t want to let go because he knows what he would give up. And his war on me is merciless. He devises a thousand ways to make me fall and has become good at showing himself under his best clothes to capture my soul. He scratches me, he calls me to him, he leaves marks on my body, he wants to reach me to chain me to him. Sometimes I feel so weak, so tired, it would make me forget everything and disappear and never be found again. But I’m not a coward and I can’t stand him laughing at my vile escape. And so now he has sent his best soldiers to destroy my flesh, my mind and my heart. each of them knows a thousand techniques to bend my will and the torture is worthy of the martyrs of the past. You do not know what war is being fought inside my life, in this life that you believe to be full only of human passion. It is not the love against which I fight, it is not a man that I escape but it is the first Enemy of all mankind. This little girl has no shield, I have no armor, this girl that I am has only a stupid hope of being able to save someone else by paying with her own sacrifice. And if letting his soldiers cut me apart will help your ascension, I will let myself be wiped off the face of the earth. Behold, the ferocious lions are ready to receive my blood, delicious morsel, to save your path. This was my secret, this was what I wanted to tell you. I will not hesitate to be devastated to save your soul. I will not hesitate to be eliminated for your sake and for your love. When I was told that I should have done this to give my light, I did not reply. That Enemy I didn’t know really existed. Now I can tell you that he is here, waiting for my yes. When I told you to link together it was to avoid drinking my cup. But now I’ve brought it to my lips and I’m drinking it to the last drop. I want to give my life to save yours. I will fall but you will remain standing. What can my life of mud be worth if I can save the mission of you, my prophet? I want him to take every last drop of my blood and set it on fire, so you will be safe and I will no longer exist. I trust only in YOU and I trust that you will reach your divine Glory. “Everything is done”.
If I think back to how much love I gave to people who didn’t want it, how many disappointments I had, how much sadness and suffering, how much anticipation and anger! now it doesn’t seem true that the end of all this has come. I poured my love into hearts that did not feel, into souls that did not live. I gave myself to people dead inside, to those who did not know what it meant to love, to those who do not yet know what it means to love. I painted love in minds that just wanted not to love. I tried, tried, risked everything about myself, even my sanity, my inner well-being. And all because within me this energy needed to flow out, to be given to others, to expand, to go out and fulfill itself. After so much wandering, the unexpected landing is the best thing. Where you never thought you could find a place of peace and serenity, you arrive right there by chance, discovering that everything that was was only a prelude and to what would come after. After so much torment, so much existential fatigue, after every conflict and inner struggle, now I can say that everything has taken its place within me. That there was a total stop of that wild and dangerous flood that came out of me every time I tried to stop myself. That noisy and chaotic waterfall that poured onto the other, like an explosion of uncontrollable energy, now flows by itself in a different way. The tiger that roared inside the lotus flower has now disappeared and the lotus flower has opened and shines with light never seen before. My Tai Chi master had seen well, but it was I who couldn’t see because the times weren’t right yet. There was all that water that stirred my heart, which deprived me of that vision of myself that I still could not have. Because I was not yet ready for enlightenment. Now I understand that enlightenment can only be found if it is not sought. It comes at a time when you don’t look for it at all and you may feel you can never even get there because you are not the type, because you do not have that way of seeing or feeling. Because you are in the hell of life and you can’t think that anything else can exist. It comes at a time when the last thought of your life is to have that vision and that peace that you have always dreamed of. And only now do I understand why it is so difficult to describe it to others, why it is difficult to find the words that can describe such an inner state. It is a bit like when Buddhists try to explain that suffering does not exist and that it is only a construction of man. If I go to see what has been inside me so far, I find nothing but nothing. But it is that nothing that is stupendous, that is a whole. Because becoming nothing, becoming emptiness is a splendid thing. Nothing has become my past. There is no longer any trace of it inside me. There is no one and no thing. Everything has vanished into the nothingness that I am now. A lotus flower needs only water to grow and water is the only source it needs. Everything else no longer exists. The inner light is the only source, the rest is something that never comes. My being is aware of the journey it has made to become the Void, and the acquired well-being is extraordinary. Because my being no longer needs anything. Love, anger, life, sun, food, friendship, internet,… ..all these things seem made of smoke to me. I am like an impalpable fog inside me. No sensation comes to me from the outside but it is my being that flows and that’s enough for me. Before, the world was the fertilizer for my plant. Now my plant grows by itself, has its roots in the sky and the sap comes from the light. It does not need anything else. The void needs nothing else. My heart is still beating, it is alive, yes, but inside my heart there is only infinite light. Inside me there is only one lotus flower that blooms every day.
my dark side always stands out. it is a constant struggle. it sinks and resurfaces. you continue to breathe while remaining at the bottom of the sea. submerged in torment, chained to the passion that takes away a piece of me every day, I fight an existence of continuous death. a black blood flows in my veins, I tried to purify it, eradicate it, erase it from my every vein, from my every cell. but it always remained where it was, even when it seemed to disappear. Each time it regains the upper hand and holds me prisoner in its claws. The night is nothing, it is during the day that the atrocious suffering of being and not being at the same time begins. Like a crack in a well-programmed clock that has this little detail. I ride on the lost hours of my inhuman time and I lose myself in the shadows that are drawn in my secret garden. A little girl comes out of the past, brings flowers to a grave, and says her name is Ophelia. That little girl was me at the age of five, and I was reciting death on the Persian carpet at home. I soon appreciated the silence of certain places where the only living presence were the marble angels. The scent of rotten flowers followed my steps. I never felt so happy as my first time at the cemetery. Was that the paradise everyone was talking about? there you could stay like that, just as you were. He didn’t have to talk to anyone, he could sit and stay for hours with them, the stone angels. They whispered sweet words to me and I alone heard them. The candles fascinated me, I wanted to take them home, my mother scolded me, you can’t steal from the dead! She said. I was upset, for me they were the flames of their lost hearts and I wanted to keep them safe, in my home. Then, when I was finally grown up, I bought as many as I wanted and my room glowed with flames. They were so happy to me, people didn’t understand light, they thought they were candles of the dead and that was it. I miss the cemeteries. It has been a long time since I entered it anymore and nowhere have I found that silence again, perhaps only when my struggle ends will I be able to rest too and be just a stone angel. Art is a need. An instinctive need to create. An instinctive need to be and communicate one’s being to others. Affirming one’s existence with the creative act is the only way to live. Feeling such a force within oneself, an energy, an immense explosion, a storm that never settles down. A sea that is always stormy to its depths. Art is power. The power to create from nothing. giving life to what has never existed, which has never been seen, which has never been read. A sublime, divine, most perisolos power. Art feeds on souls. Art is insatiable, it is a ferocious demon, and whoever takes it is doomed and for all life seeks the escape route but one never gets rid of art. It is like a second skin and if you take it off, you skin down and you can’t live anymore. You have art in every cell, like a deadly virus, which never becomes a disease but which accompanies you throughout your life as a faithful travel companion. Art grinds your flesh, your spirit, your whole life. It crushes you and lifts you into the highest sky. you can see without eyes, hear without ears, draw without using your fingers. Art is a miracle of life and death. Whoever possesses the gift is condemned to a parallel life. You enter and exit as if through a window. We go in and out of ourselves, we feed ourselves to swine, we are left in pieces and then we start again. Who would ever want such a life? yet everyone envies us and do not know what it means to have the FIRE that consumes you!
My blog was born as an artistic space but nobody cares about art. I also had a blog with all my works but it didn’t matter to anyone. I also said that I would burn my paintings but no feminist or association said a word. I have no friend or I would have given them all as a gift, as I did some time ago. I never wanted to make money with my art. For me it was just a way to vent my pain. And also my paintings and all the things I did. Now I’m tired of creating useless things. Nobody cares about my life. I could be dead and no one would notice. People got bored with me. My German Shepherd puppy gives me more satisfaction than a lot of fake people. There was a user who wrote to me that “HUMAN GENDER IS GOING TOWARDS A POSITIVE EVOLUTION” So then he called me a pessimist. So apparently it is only I who now see the human disaster where it has come. Maybe everyone else is blind. So I take a step back and leave all this scum to their positive evolution and I step aside and think about my own business. It is not a defeat but every now and then you have to take a break. What I was doing was important to you, to me and to some haggard whore. For the rest, everyone was there to comment with monosyllables and smilies at the end. No dialogue. See, this is my trouble. I am sociable, still too sociable, and I expect to have a dialogue with people. But some believe me to be superb, pretentious, dominant. And all this because I had different life experiences from theirs. Then some when they know that I am not looking for money they almost consider it an affront. As if having money you can live well. On the other hand, they do not understand that inner well-being cannot be bought with money. I can have it all but I still don’t heal. My heart no longer exists. I live only for my son and my husband. Only for them. For me to exist or not to exist is the same. I don’t differentiate between life and death, they are just two different types of energy but the source is the same. I have lived with such strong emotions and even ecstasy you know, mystical ecstasy, seriously. And then? I have never used drugs, I have never taken anything, not even opiate drugs or psychiatric drugs. For my anxiety I use a simple tranquilizer, which I only lose if I have severe anxiety attacks. I have a very normal life: husband, son, dogs, cats, garden, swimming pool, vegetable garden, cellar, … I don’t drink and I don’t smoke. Never caught anything strange or poisonous. I have had friends who are alkist and sadistic artists as well as ordinary artists. My inspiration came only from my pain. My fantasy originated only from my pain. The pain of abuse lasts for a lifetime. I used my pain to do good to others. I am at peace with myself. I wanted to help other people but I couldn’t. If people want to listen to Chiara Ferragni’s advice, let them listen to her. People have the right to choose. I don’t want to save anyone anymore. What happens will happen. I had to stop in every sense. The pain resurfaced. There are bad dreams, bad things about my unconscious memories that come back to the surface. But I’ll be fine, I’ll continue to paint trying to keep the shadow of my executioner away. But I don’t want to talk to people anymore. They don’t deserve my words.
I sit by the river, the sun is shining, the clouds dance to the rhythm of the music, the fish swim in a happy circle, the butterflies come out of the cocoon. I raise my head and my eyes cross the river and reach the other side. I see a girl crying in the middle of a swamp and crocodiles just waiting to devour her. I immediately took my bow and shot arrows at the crocodiles but they were too far away. Taken by anger, I reflected in the river and saw a transformation in me. I had become a yellow wolf with a red aura. The fish formed a platform and I crossed the river. The butterflies formed a silver-colored sword and the clouds became a shield. In a flash I swept the crocodiles away with my sword. But from the bushes a huge creature with huge jaws and a cuirass of quartz appeared. I took a step back and watched the girl sink. My aura turned into a golden breastplate and with fire in my eyes I threw myself at the creature. But it was too strong for me. At one point the girl threw me a lock of her hair and said: “tie it around the sword and it will help you defeat him”. As soon as I tied the lock the sword became crystal and there was a heart set inside. With my last strength left, I leapt towards the creature. He curled up to protect himself but the sword managed to break through his armor. The creature fell into the river groaning in pain. The water turned green and soon after it became a meadow full of flowers, including the swamp where the girl lay. Exhausted from the battle, I fell to the ground. The girl came up to me and gave me a kiss and I became human again. The girl told me: “it was a long time that that creature held me prisoner waiting for someone to help me. By now I had lost hope and I thought that my life was forever enveloped by this creature, instead you had the courage and you defeated it. Why did you risk your life for me? In the end, I’m a stranger to you. ” I looked into her eyes and said, “I have been wandering in the woods for a long time without a purpose. As soon as I saw you, the flame inside me took off and released my true being. Now I know why I was wandering. I was looking for you, my love. “She hugged me tightly and told me:” I dreamed of a wolf but I thought it was the evil that enveloped me, instead it was you, my love, now I will take care of you, I will heal your wounds and I will hold you close to me . “
I have been abused since I was only 4 years old and I still don’t know if it was someone from my family (uncle, cousin, grandfather, or friend of the family) and therefore my happiness was taken away from me so quickly that all theories and ideas of world are not enough to bring my soul back to life. I also went through years of therapy, but you will understand that undergoing such bad things as a child destroyed my inner world. I saved myself, thanks to my imagination and creativity. I have never had help from anyone and even if I always do good in return I always receive evil. I don’t believe in happiness. It is a harmful and illusory world.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 