This is my healing diary, healing a lifetime of pain inflicted by my mother who is an industrial-strength narcissist. This is my story. I am determined to heal, determined to become the person I have always wanted to be, free of her, free of the pain she has caused me, free of confusion, but mainly free of her. I want her out of my life, want her gone, want her removed from my life, my memories, everything.
I want to fly, live a truly wonderful life – the only one I have and to stamp her out, white her out of my existence, place her actions in the bleach bucket so that everything she has said and done to me (and others) gets bleached of her negativity and her presence.
My diary entries will be uncensored. Here goes.
Mum – and I call you mum – even though I encourage my own kids to call me ‘mother’ (weird when you think about it, because the word ‘mum’ has warm overtones and the word ‘mother’ is a lot more distant – is a total bitch.
She’s self-obsessed to a cringe-worthy and highly embarrassing degree; she’s mean, cruel, attention-seeking, immature (and she’s 84), and has split and divided me and my siblings so we no longer talk to each other.
My mother thinks she is 35 and beautiful (even though she is 84 and not). She flirts with men, thinks men want her (oh god!) and she has not one inch of empathy for anyone other than herself. When in her company, in the past, she has flirted with my husband, telling him I’m crazy and asking him how he puts up with me, smiling at him, patting him on the arm, and saying things like: “you poor thing, it must be hard living with her.” To which my husband silently seethes and rages internally, because he can see what she is doing and he loves me very much.
My mother is ruthlessly mean, callously so. She demands my attention, pretends she is hopeless and can do nothing for herself, is financially cruel – never gives gifts – ever and competes with me in everything.
Every single comment or bit of conversation will be dragged back to her and her life. I gave up ever trying to tell her about my life some 10 years ago, but in the process of my healing I have to dig deep and remember that I have never told her anything about my life because I knew (and know) back then that nothing I ever told her would be acknowledged or celebrated or even referred to.
But I need to say this: when I was a little girl I wanted desperately a mum to love me, to cuddle me, to do things with me. I wanted to feel loved (who doesn’t) but I never got that from her. In my research into Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), I have started to understand in my late years (I am in my early 50s) that most of my problems – chronic anxiety, a desire to remain anonymous, be a recluse, not to know too many people, to find solace in empty spaces and buildings, a long-burning depression most of my life, is a direct result of her not loving me, and only loving herself (hating herself – more on that later).
I hate myself because mum hated me. I self-destruct regularly. I find it hard to hold down a job (because I don’t think I am worth a decent job). I am always broke (because I don’t think I deserve to have money), I am always sad (because I don’t think I deserve happiness), and this is all because of her and the environment I grew up in (more on that later).
Many people who haven’t had the dubious pleasure of knowing a narcissist might tell me I am being self-indulgent, but I am simply trying to understand my life and why I have all these feelings.
My feelings daily are as follows: I can’t. I am too tired to….. I am not good enough…..I best not……I feel worthless……..it’s all my fault – all of it.
Here’s looking at you Mum! These feelings are all due to you.
You know that.
You know that you nearly killed me when you refused to take me to the doctor. I had a life-threatened disease and I was ill for six months, had time off school, was in pain regularly but you didn’t take me to the doctors – once.
I was 14. My father was working so hard to support your desired lifestyle and he had the 1970s notion that it was the mother’s duty to care for the kids so he did not know what was going on. By the time he came home from work all the kids were in bed, brushed away from the scene like dust in a dustpan.
Then, the infection I had exploded in my body and you reluctantly took me to the doctors and they admitted me to hospital immediately and performed emergency surgery on me.
In later years you asked my sister why I was always so sad, and my sister – in a message from our mother – asked me whether my father had molested me as a child. I was disgusted and shocked. My beloved father never did anything like that to me. To suggest something like that was designed to slur the name of my dead father and to push responsibility away from the BITCH! I hated her for that. Hated her with such venom, but it’s time now for healing.
I am learning a lot from my research with I will share in my next post.
This is therapy for me. If I help anyone out there in the cyber-world, I will be pleased. But be prepared if you’re unfamiliar with Narcissism you won’t like what you read here.
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton