I’m stuck in a long distance abusive relationship with a man who will most likely kill himself if I leave. I’m all alone on the world’s scariest amusement park, sure there are some highs to it. But with every high comes a stomach turning, I-wanna-throw-up fall, sometimes several in a row before another small high. The gates are locked and the key has been thrown away, I’m all alone. There is no way out unless I want to live with the fact that he killed himself because of me. There is no way I can do that, I try so hard to help everyone who wants to or has attempted to kill themselves.
So I’m alone in a sometimes wonderful hell hole. Then again, even in hell, people need a little bit of water to live and will miss it that much more when they get thirsty again. Not to brag at all, but there are multiple men I can call, text, email, or go visit and tell them that I want to date them. They would treat me well, let me explain when I seem in the wrong. It would be so nice and perfect. But no, I day dream about it while we talk then get snapped back into reality by his harsh words. I want out, I want fucking out of this nightmarish hell. There is no way though, because he will kill himself if I leave.
I am not because I do not want to reward you for the way you’ve treated me and my family. Sweeping all of the hurtful words, derisive glares, and contemptible stories told to extended family members under the rug and pretending that everything’s coming up Cunningham is unhealthy. I need to start teaching you how to treat me.
I wish that these feelings, and your actions, were limited to the last ten months, the time frame when the true dysfunction of our relationship came to light, but they’re not. In truth, while you’ve never raised a hand to me (or my sister), your abuse has been going on as long as I can remember. (Don’t you sometimes wish emotional abuse showed scars? It would be so much easier if you could point to a jagged white gash on your arm and say “this was from the time he called me ‘fat.’ I was ten.” If you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.)
You wanted boys. It is so clear that you are disappointed that Mom gave you daughters. It was clear in the way you dismissed me, tried to create a “tomboy” out of my sister, and then, when that didn’t work out, lavished attention on our male cousins and your first grandson. It is still clear in the way that you almost completely ignore your beautiful granddaughters, and when you’re not ignoring them, you treat them as inferior, people you must put up with in order to see your grandson.
Of course growing up with you wasn’t all bad. You made us beautiful things, bed frames with bookshelves (because my sister and I have always been big readers), a closet-sized toy chest, and a stand-alone playhouse in the centre of the yard (which lasted one summer before the spiders took it for their own and we refused to enter it again). You took us out for sundaes at least once a month, on Fridays after school (of course you did neglect the opportunity to get to know your children by picking up a newspaper as soon as we darkened the doors, but we were always excited to get that ice cream). You made sure that we got out camping several times every summer, and packed canoe trips and hiking adventures by the dozen into our family vacations.
You just never seemed to buy in to your relationships with us. Maybe with my sister, with whom you seemed to have tried to forge a connection through organized sports and hockey fandom, but never with me. We don’t have any common interests, isn’t that the excuse you used? I always had my nose in a book, played music with a community band and was more of a dreamer than I was practical. Thing is, I also really enjoyed hiking, got into inline skating (you played hockey and really enjoyed to skate), loved to go for long walks and even took up an interest in war history movies (when I watched The Bridge on the River Kwai, I watched it for you. I did thoroughly enjoy it, but I was twelve(ish), it wasn’t in my wheelhouse to source late ‘50s Alec Guinness flicks in the ‘90s).
Later on, I followed your urging and applied for a job (I should never have applied for) in your company of employment. I hated that position with every breath I took (and I didn’t last long in it), but I relished having that little bit of something in common with you. I was over-the-moon when I had the chance to “talk shop” with you, but you were dismissive of and disinterested in that, too.
I tried, Dad. I tried really hard. The counselor I saw at the end of last year suggested that I have been seeking your approval for my whole life. That wasn’t something I had considered, but when he said it, a cartoon light bulb lit up over my head. He was right on the money.
I have been trying to make you see me for all of my almost thirty-two years of life.
I can’t do it anymore. You have said some heinous things to and about me, especially in the last year. You have ignored me, looked through me and glared hatefully at me. I understand that I have made decisions that you don’t agree with. I understand that I have done things that you don’t like. I even understand that some of these things may have hurt you, but this isn’t the way to deal with that. I am better than that. I am more than that. I am worth more than that.
I would love to have a relationship with you. I said to my husband just this morning that I wish that tomorrow was going to be a day of celebrating him, and his very first Father’s Day (he is an amazing father. So supportive, encouraging, devoted, and completely wrapped around our son’s tiny fingers), as well as a day of celebrating you. I wish I had a relationship with you to celebrate, but there aren’t enough macaroni necklaces in all of the land to sway your affection toward me even an inch, are there?
I hope that changes some day, Dad. I hope I can hug you, tell you I love you, and trust you again.
All the shattered hearts and broken promises that I thought I was angry about all seem so irrelevant now. I know that separating is probably the best thing for both of us, but it’s killing me. I no longer care about whether I pass or fail in school. I no longer care about graphic design. None of that matters without him.
How could I have been so blind? So stupid? I got so lost in the things that he had done to me that I forgot about the girl he brought to life. I may not be able to prevent the pain he causes me now and again, but I am in control of MY actions, and my actions have been deplorable.
This isn’t me. I don’t retaliate. I forgive, and I move on. When did I lose sight of that girl? His mistakes should have never been repeated no matter how much I wanted him to understand. He’s a man. He will never understand the emotions of a woman. I sure don’t understand the emotions of a man.
It’s probably too late for us. I simply hope someone else can learn from our mistakes. Forgiveness is a wonderful thing, and by forgiving your spouse you can make a stand. You can say that you will not allow the darkness to destroy what you both have built, even if you have to build the walls on your own.
The happiness in our eyes has been gone for quite a while. Once they told the world a story of a love that few would ever experience. Somewhere along the way, we forgot how lucky we were to have found each other. I wish I had been better at showing him how truly grateful I was to have him here. And while many might say that I should use these lessons for the next guy, I know, without a single doubt, that there will be no other for me. The attention that I was seeking from others never managed to replace what I was desperately in need of from him. And because of my foolishness, there will always be a break in his heart that won’t heal, and that I am responsible for. No matter how many times I assure him that I never followed through, he will always believe I did. Maybe that’s even worse. He will spend the rest of his life hoping that my words are true but never truly believing.
Dear God, what have I done? I ruined the only thing that was truly pure and beautiful in my life out of pure spite. My life has never had any light in it until he came along. The day I met him, everything sprang to life. The grass was greener; the sky was bluer. Exactly when did I lose sight of that? Was it the first time he slapped me? Was it the day he broke my tailbone? I seem to recall a spark up until the moment that I felt that a single promise from him had become necessary – that no matter how our fights ended, if something ever happened to me that he would not panic and kill our children as well. Anything that was left after that died the moment I pleaded for my own life.
I know this relationship isn’t healthy. I’m fully capable of taking a step back and screaming to the girl before me, “For God’s sake, run!” But I stand by a decision I made one night in our Blessing home: if I intended to love him, then I was going to love him to the end, whether it be tragic or happily ever after. It looks like tragedy is the theme of this play, but at least the heroes in question have lost only their souls and not their lives.
From my first memory, I have felt like I have been made of some sort of flypaper for trauma.
I am basically housebound and have a major fear of meeting, connecting, and attaching with other people in any way other than online. People hurt.
According to the last pro I saw, I have C-PTSD with conversion disorder. My trauma timeline (a literal timeline of traumatic incidents, memories, etc that we built in therapy) began at age 2. I have a history of long-term, consistent psychological/emotional abuses from multiple family members, gaslighting, covert pseudo-incestual victimization, and a mixed bag of years of homelessness/poverty as well as clusters of single-event traumas (natural disaster, single-incident sexual assaults from an early age on, spousal/partner abuse, bullying in school, hell – you name it). The longest consistent abusive relationship I had lasted from birth until I was 31.
I also spent long periods of my youth in and out of hospitals with various physical illnesses. (I don’t think that’s a coincidence, either.) Doctors and hospitals are some of my biggest triggers.
I have lots of triggers.
I began converting when I was 22, only I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time. Since then, I’ve had some symptoms come and go and others that have never left, like constant neuralgia. I was told it was like my body went all “TILT” and some of my systems got fried. I spent some time wheelchair-bound, unable to walk.
So besides the severe PTSD symptoms, I also have neuralgia, myasthenia gravis, and tremors.
My biggest triggers, besides the medical world at-large, are pretty basic and direct. Others are really complex:
any governmental/bureaucratic institution (like court, the Medicaid office, the police, the DMV),
phone calls or visitors when not scheduled ahead of time
sudden, loud noises
being touched without my permission
alpha-type individuals with large, forceful personalities
being late in any way
having to “explain myself” without reason
being judged
severe storms that could produce tornadoes
certain smells, words and phrases
anything unexpected
That last one is almost the hardest one of all to deal with. Sometimes I feel almost a kind of autism or something. Like my today has to be just like my yesterday – or at least as planned, and if not – if something throws a monkey wrench into my plan for today, I totally lose my shit. It can be something as simple as a bill that was higher than it should be or oversleeping. Not that sleep is something I get a lot of, but sometimes the insomnia flips itself inside out and all I do is sleep. Though at least with insomnia, I don’t oversleep, so I prefer it.
I heard this line once, from a favorite show of mine, “People with this thing (PTSD), they don’t believe in a just Universe.” Man, ain’t that the truth.
As I’m sure it is with everyone, my story is unique. There isn’t a single situation I have ever experienced that isn’t somehow affected by this damn illness. I don’t know how to let any of it go, either.
I also do not know how to relax. Other than right after orgasm. Which on the one hand, makes orgasm extra nice (when I can get one – yes, of course I have trouble there, too) but on the other hand, as soon as my body goes back to normal, I’m back to tension and worry. My muscles hurt all the time because I’m constantly tensed up.
I get bothered by things that have anything to do with control. Control being mine, that is. Of course, I can’t handle when I have no control, either.
I am on disability, and housebound as I said before, so I spend a lot of time with distraction. I have a couple of hobbies that bring me as much peace as possible, but sometimes even they don’t help.
I have bad days and better days. Once in a while, I have a good day. I never just kick back and enjoy a good day, though, ’cause I seem to be suspicious of it. It’s like I’m thinking, “What is going to come along and ruin this?” …because something usually does. It’s that no-relaxing thing.
It’s like if you’re on letter M, and letters A through L have been horrible? You can’t exactly just get cozy on M… and even thinking about what fun letter T would be would be all kinds of dangerous.
I guess that about covers it. Separating out the ingredients of the soup of this illness is really tough sometimes.
I don’t know if in future I’ll post specific events or not. Thanks for letting me put this all down like this, though.
While I am terrified of people, I am usually pretty lonely.
It’s like so much of it all has some vicious cycle to it, doesn’t it?
I’m the strong one in our relationship, just admit it.
No matter the hateful, violent words you say, I’m right here with “I love you no matter what,” and “you are an amazing boyfriend.”
The minute that you catch a hint of me being upset, you run the other way.
I don’t yell or say nasty things like you, yet you don’t know how to handle me? Am I so terrible? You don’t have to deal with my anger almost every day, yet I’m the bad person?
You just get to yell and scream whenever and to whoever that you want.
Who am I supposed to go to when I’m angry?
Oh that’s right.
No one.
Because you want me completely alone.
You want a fight? Well, good luck trying to break me bitch.
I’d always believed that my mother loved me and all her interference in my life was to make me better, stronger. Blindly, I trusted that she meant for me to be happy. But I also knew that … something was wrong. I never could do right by her and I just knew that something was wrong with me. She was inside my head, under my skin, causing me to drown. I lost my strength and discovered that I feared her.
These revelations took over a year – it was a whole process for me.
My life had fallen apart and I went to a specialized therapy clinic for help. There, I learned I was codependent. My therapist actually told me “you have a bad mother, you need to protect yourself from her.”
I was shocked.
I talked to my mother as I came out of the clinic and decided to break contact with her. Afterward, I felt so guilty and sunk into a very deep depression. I think I put all my energy into avoiding contact with her. I was stuck in bed, only leaving to go to therapy.
I couldn’t understand my mother’s attitude toward me. How could she be so crazy insensitive to what I was going through? I was obsessed with the question “why?” After seven months of therapy, I discovered that it was helpless to believe there was a way to save our relationship. I remember my therapist saying “no, I don’t think so. Any relationship with her, you’ll only get hurt.”
I cried so much. It was such a big loss. I finally understood how much she’d taken from me. How she enslaved me, took away everything I got, people that I loved. My mother had bullied me all of my life. The pain was indescribable; I was destroyed. Crying every day, having nightmares all night.
None of this made sense. I felt that she’d only rest once I’d killed myself. How could she be so awful to me? I did everything for her; gave her more than I had to give. Was it really just jealousy? Why? Why had she been so cruel to me? My therapist explained that she’s a narcissistic mother; she has narcissistic personality disorder. I was her extension. It was quite confusing so I turned to the internet for answers. I didn’t know what having a narcissistic mother meant.
There I found it. I understood the way I’d felt my whole life. I understood her attitude toward me.
I learned the tactics of psychological manipulation: invalidation, gaslighting, parentification, triangulation, narcissistic rage. Convincing me to do the opposite of what my gut said. Denying my needs.
I was deadly shocked for I don’t know, months? I haven’t really recovered. My symptoms increased, I developed panic disorder, my self-esteem melted, felt so insecure talking to people or making changes in my life.
For five months, I stopped dealing with it – it was just too much. I’m still unable to deal with anything or anyone. I feel lost, I’m afraid that I’m too damaged to be able to be happy. I’m paralyzed. I have no idea who I am.
I’m 40 and I lost my childhood, my innocence, my adult life. I am sick, depressed, lonely, and terrified.
I discovered The Band Back Together Project, for which I am very grateful. Thanks to reading your stories, I now know that I did the right thing in stopping contact to my mother. That was really killing me.
I can understand all the pain I’m feeling. How badly I’m grieving this loss. To top it off, I discovered that my father also has narcissistic personality disorder.
I’ve been badly abused all of my life. No wonder I’m unable to do what I want and need, how absolutely everybody in my life has abused me, why I can’t stand up for myself.
Knowing that I am not alone and understanding my symptoms gives me hope. I understand that I need treatment and support. I’ll return to therapy which I hope can help me to learn to feel angry, to defend myself, to stop feeling guilty all the time. To allow me to have things, a family, someone that treats me well. I hope I’ll never have abusers in my life again.
I wish I could see what life is like. Until now, I’ve never had a life of my own to lead; I was just a stupid toy, trying to please everyone for love and attention. I want to learn to respect myself and set clear emotional boundaries with other people.
The hardest part is to see how damaged I am. That’s really scary.
Thank you, Band Back Together for giving me the opportunity to speak out. I don’t need to be ashamed; I was abused, I am a victim. Thank you for showing me that.
Can you, The Band, share your stories about being an adult child of narcissistic parents?
I really want to believe this emotional trauma will end and I will, at long last, be free.
