by Band Back Together | Dec 29, 2015 | Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Alcohol Addiction, Bullying, Child Abuse, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem |
This has actually hit me like a ton of bricks, and I thought I had it sorted.
My mum is a Narcissist of the proper, fully paid up, type.
I knew it – I had heard it said and had agreed and listened but, it never, ever really sunk in. I don’t think I would allow it to. She also has a whole host of other mental health issues but, none of that really had the impact that the Narcissistic Personality Disorder did; not on me anyway…and we are talking major, major Psychotic breaks.
They were easier than when she was ‘well’.
I looked it up last night in bed and came across this site and read about having a Narcissist for a Mum and I was like…Oh – My – God (with the proper shocked face and everything). I knew I had been feeling ‘out of sorts’ for days now. I knew that my unavoidable interactions with her lately were taking me back and putting me in touch with a time from long ago. I knew I felt more off kilter than I do generally – and that’s saying something as I don’t think I’ve ever been ‘on’ kilter.
I knew I felt weepy and angry in turns, and hurt and wanting to run away. I feel repulsed by her – in every sense of the word and that was unusual because – normally I would feel…numb. My grown adult stance was – numb. Don’t react, don’t show weakness, NEVER share (I learnt very quickly that ‘Anything I said could, and would, be used against me in a court of mum).
So – to be weepy and grumpy and just…unusual feeling, wasn’t my norm. So I came here and…BANG.
The article, the Narcissistic Parent one – felt like a smack in the mouth. It felt like reading a scarily accurate slice of my life. Like someone had just divided me up like a birthday cake – took one slice and read it back to me. Everything was there. Everything.
Why did I not accept it before..? Because, I could see it and hear it and even nod in wise agreement but, nothing was shifting or moving or sinking in. My Therapist had all but told me! I had all but told others, I just can’t explain it…
…only – I can. I didn’t believe it and I deleted it from my knowledge base or ‘truths’ about myself because, deep down, I still believe her.
It’s still all my fault. I am still ugly and unlovable and blameworthy. There is still something wrong with me which made her not love me. It’s still all me; my fault. She hates me and then ‘they’ hated me. My sibling and her. I am hated and the reason is – just me, being me. Born bad, I am still bad – defective. I can cause stuff without even being near or ever involved. I believe this. I truly do.
I – still – do. THAT’S why I had nodded my head and made all the right noises and hadn’t believed a word anybody had ever said or anything, to date, I had read.
But, there was me in Black and White. The Scapegoat.
How I wished I was the Golden One. I used to dress up in their clothes, in private when they weren’t around, so I could pretend to be them. I used to study them to try and be more like them – and less like me.
They had lovely clothes, colourful and swishy. Beautiful things that were bright and warm and smelled nice and looked nice. I had…track suits; androgynous and bland. Not a boy – not a girl – not anything you could describe. Nothing to give identity or personality.
I got caught once – red handed and guilty. Golden One cornered me against my bedroom door and punched me, full on, in the face and I screamed. This alerted mum, who rushed up the stairs and without even stopping for a breath or asking what had happened, she rushed on to me and punched me too – full on – in the face.
I think I was about 10 years old then.
I also remember a time when I was cowering in the corner of my bed while they both scratched and hit and clawed at me. I don’t know how old I was then – or even what I had done. I just remember being in the corner with no way out and being hit.
Golden One had an awesome bedroom that was age and sex appropriate, it was full and warm and lovely. Mine was sparse and bloody cold and – empty.
My love was ‘him’. And that made me bad too because ‘he’ was bad. And he was.
But, whilst I’m writing this I’m buzzing about and carrying on with life and a thought occurred..
To me – ‘he’ was safe.
A violent, alcoholic bully was SAFE – for me.
This used to confirm to me (ok, still does), how ‘bad’ I was. And it definitely confirmed to them how bad I was. He was ‘BAD’ (and he was – no dispute there) but…
…he liked me. He thought I was funny and strong and intelligent. He felt sorry for me and I knew that because I overheard a conversation once…hanging over the banister…
‘…why do you do it?’
‘Because no one else does…’
That was me. The question was ‘Why do you favour her?’ He tried to champion me and – he failed – because he was a bullying alcoholic, a violent person, horrible, despicable – and then he died.
by Band Back Together | Oct 26, 2015 | Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Bipolar Disorder, Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Grief, Loss, Murder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder |
I had a younger aunt that was like a sister to me.
My sophomore year in college, I took her on spring break with me. When I moved out of state, and I would come home to visit, I didn’t stay at my parents, I would stay at her house. We were that close.
Then it all was gone. I got a call from my mother at 1AM one morning and my world stopped.
My aunt had been brutally tortured, murdered.
She was gone.
Murder brings out intense emotional reactions.
The emotional pain and anguish of murder seem unbearable. I feel an overwhelming sense of loss and deep, deep sorrow. I constantly experience thoughts about the circumstances of her death.
I relieve what I think happened and I see her being tortured and killed. I imagine the pleas for her life she was making.
Grieving for a murder victim is unlike any other grief. The murder of a loved one results in the survivors grieving not only the death, but how the person died.
I have intrusive visualizations of the murder and I see her suffering. I have flashbacks of the moment when I was notified of her death. I have flashbacks of the last time I saw her alive.
I dream of her knocking at my door and, when I open it, I see her, and she tells me, “It was a mistake! It wasn’t me.”
I never got to see her dead body, so I think part of me has denial about her gruesome death.
Her life was cut short through an act of sick cruelty. The disregard for human life adds overwhelming feelings of anger, distrust, injustice, and helplessness to the normal sense of loss and sorrow. Sometimes, I cry like I am never going to stop.
I don’t think a person can rebound from this.
I have suffered lots of childhood abuse, both childhood sexual abuse and childhood emotional abuse. I suffer from bipolar disorder and PTSD. My mother has narcissistic personality disorder.
I’ve got my hands full, but dealing with a murder is a baffling head game.
I don’t think I will ever come to terms with it.
by Band Back Together | Oct 15, 2015 | Abuse, Adult Bullying, Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Bullying, Divorce, Emotional Abuse, Parent Loss |
A narcissistic parent can ruin a child’s life for years and years.
This is his story:
Where do I begin?
My mother didn’t just run the first 26 years of my life – she ruined them.
When I was five, I had a dog who mysteriously disappeared. The dog chased a would-be vandal over a fence. While the dog never touched the kid, the kid fell and hurt his shoulder. His parents threatened to sue. While my brothers and I were at school, while Dad was at work, Mom “settled out of court.”
She had a perfectly healthy dog, MY DOG, euthanized.
I was told he ran away while my brothers were told he was given to a chicken farmer. Dad was told the truth. I was told something different because I’d have asked to go to the chicken farm to see my dog.
Twenty years later, I was told the chicken farm story, twenty-five years later, I was FINALLY told the truth. Dad confessed because he was tired of lying for Mom.
What Dad didn’t know is that I paced the streets looking for my dog. I sat on my porch, just waiting for him to come home. I was just like that movie Hachi: A Dog’s Tale. A letter carrier came upon me on the porch, crying and was at a loss for words.
Life went on for Mom. She chatted on the phone, watched her soaps, did laundry, and ignored my pleas for my dog to “come home.” That dog was my friend.
The Golden Child, The Golden Boy, my abusive, bullying older brother would not allow anyone to be more successful at anything he’d failed at first. The Golden Boy was allowed to try out for Little League, but he didn’t like it. Therefore I was never allowed to try out for Little League. She wouldn’t let me try out for anything – even when Dad pushed for me to join the swim team.
As a teen, I was very shy, awkward around girls. There were a couple reasons: Mom insisted I buy her ugly car, Mom insisted I remain in Boy Scouts – and so it was. Lastly, The Golden Boy would go through my yearbook, find the girls I had crushes on, and ask them out first.
When I was fifteen, I took a date to my homecoming dance. She was my mother’s boss’s daughter who really wanted to go to that dance… just not with me. Her only way in was with a date. I got her in, she flirted with every guy there, and tells me, “Maybe I’ll look you up in a year or two.”
It was completely embarrassing.
Mom thought it was hysterical.
Four years later, I’m home for the summer from college. The Golden Boy commits road rage, and I save his sorry butt from a guy twice our combined sizes. How does he thank me? He starts dating the girl I’d brought to homecoming and bragging about it.
Mom finds it outrageously hilarious funny.
Once again, I was terribly hurt.
Mom informed The Golden Boy that my brother’s girlfriend wasn’t allowed in the house. She also tells me that people can change for the better. She told me about my uncle, her brother, who’d come home from the Navy only learn that his fiancee had married someone else. My uncle was devastated, married his first wife, had two kids, and ended up divorced. As his first fiancee did.
Mom told me they reconnected after he bailed her out of jail for prostitution. For 29 years, I believed this story. And I had failed romance after failed romance.
In college, The Golden One wanted me as a his roommate. Mom thought this was a great idea until I reminded her that I wouldn’t live under the same roof with him. Then he decided we needed to be in the same classes. I sat away from him, listening to comments about his abrasiveness from other students.
The only rebellious thing I ever did was to date my first wife. I knew the relationship wouldn’t work, but my self-esteem was shot, and I chose someone who was not his type – even though it meant I had to sacrifice my own happiness. My first wife and I were married and divorced in less than eight months.
At 26, I met my wife. When she and I got engaged, The Golden Boy had barely known his then-girlfriend, but decided that not only would he marry this woman, but that he should beat me to the alter. When it came to introduce our families, my fiancee and I settled on one weekend and made our plans. The Golden Boy then usurps my weekend so that his future in-laws are met first.
I told my wife we’d be on the back-burner. And we were.
Every time my wife and I would visit, the Golden Boy was there. See, he was was usually unemployed and wanted to use us to get a job. My mother played along until I put my foot down.
I have made up for my lost childhood. I will always have the kind of dog I want. I coached Little League and later high school baseball. When the high school team I coached won a game on a play I called, I remembered looking at my high school ring and saying, “Now I can wear this with pride.”
I went back to college, got my masters degree. I’ve had the same wonderful job for as many years as The Golden Boy has been fired from. It’s likely he’s been fired by more.
My mother died a few years ago, just after my daughter graduated. Dad was proudly telling me all about what my daughter accomplished when I interjected. I pointed out that I was denied those opportunities. I mentioned why and told Dad all about my uncle and aunt’s relationship.
Dad cut me off, “that isn’t true. Your mother made that up.” For 29 years I bought that story. I told my wife, “If she lied to me about this, what else did she lie about?”
My wife said it best, “You’re probably going to find out there were more lies.” I have – most were done to cater to The Golden Boy.
When I was visiting for Father’s Day, The Golden Boy tried to start something. I was on my parents phone – no one had cell phones back then – and he wanted to use the phone too. I told him I’d be off in five minutes, but he got nasty – he said he’d use the phone whenever he wanted to. My mother was on his side. I hit the roof. Mom started crying, and talking about taking everyone on a cruise for their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
They renewed their vows the day after their actual anniversary – my anniversary – to cater to The Golden Child. At dinner, my wife and I presented my parents with a special gift, a three-night stay at a bed and breakfast. Afterward, Mom called me to tell me that they’d had a blast. Years later, I find out that she’d given away the reservation to a family friend. No one, of course, is allowed to be better than The Golden Boy. And since he was broke and didn’t buy them a gift? She wanted nothing from me.
Later, I asked Dad about it – Dad knew nothing of it, which makes sense: Dad knew what Mom wanted him to know.
When Mom died, a spiteful Golden Boy showed his true colors. He and Dad never got along. He tried to have Dad institutionalized. It didn’t work. The Golden Boy was removed from the hospital by security.
The Golden Boy fought with Dad after Dad informed the hospital staff to not release his protected health information to my brother. What does this Golden Child do for revenge?
He makes a false report to DCF, claiming Dad is broke, beat his wife, has dementia, and is living off cat food.
DCF investigated while Dad was home grieving. A follow-up investigation took place the day Mom died. I was less-than-friendly to DCF. I told them if they had any questions about Dad’d mental capacity, to bring them to me. She couldn’t tell me who’d ordered the investigation, to which I replied, “I can take three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
I made Dad change the locks on the house, and I became his power of attorney. I made sure Dad didn’t disinherit The Golden Child because there are grandchildren involved. He’s not getting a key to the house, though.
Now The Golden Boy has a job, which I always fill the words “for now,” since he always gets fired. Dad is trying to tell me how much better his personality is since getting this job. A person’s employment status does not change someone’s personality. Becoming a parent, yes.
Speaking of children, my mother GAVE BACK many pictures I gave her and Dad of my daughter under the guise of “There isn’t enough room.” There are ROOMS OF PICTURES of just his child, one of SEVEN GRANDCHILDREN! Dad won’t do anything there because he wants to keep the house as Mom left it.
The golden boy learned how to lie from my mother. He told a lie about my uncle that caused me to never be allowed to see that uncle the last 8 years of his life. This was another of Mom’s brothers, and he used to take us to a rifle range. The golden boy convinced Mom I was irresponsible and couldn’t be trusted at a range. Mom never let me see that uncle the last 8 years of his life before he was tragically killed.
This uncle left a rifle to the golden boy and my parents. When I asked why it was such a big deal with taking me to a range, my mother said, “Why do you take stock in what your brother says?” I responded, “I didn’t. You did.” Mom then said they were afraid I was holding a grudge against someone and was planning something rash.
I have poured a lot out here regarding the lies I was told. Now the golden boy is trying to charm his way back into Dad’s good graces. I’ve told Dad this has nothing to do with past grudges, or should I say all of his bullying. It has to do with the fact the golden boy broke any and all trust with me when my mother died. There is nothing he can do to ever earn my trust because he will never have my trust again.
The sad part is my father forgets his own sister was the golden child with my grandmother, and she and her husband stole from my grandmother, which set Dad off. I told Dad, “I trust my brother the same way you trusted your sister.” That woke Dad up. I even asked Dad what he plans to do when this golden boy asks for a key to his house. Dad has assured me that won’t happen, but to be on the safe side if I have to deal with my father’s estate, the first thing I will do is get the locks on that house changed again.
I feel better for sharing this, and I welcome your responses.
Sincerely,
Cleansed
by Band Back Together | Sep 2, 2015 | Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Anger, Bullying, Child Abuse, Fear, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Therapy |
I am the daughter of a Narcissicistic father.
From my earliest memories, I recall a lot of fighting between my parents. It was very violent, and oftentimes, I would curl into a ball and put a pillow over my ears to drown out the noise. When I was about eight years old, I swore that I would become educated, so that I would never be trapped like my mother was.
We lived out in the country and had only one car, which my father used for work. My father had a hair-trigger temper, especially when criticized. I recall him asking my opinion once, and I gave him my honest answer. He became enraged and flew off the handle. While he never punched me, I got thrown around a lot, pinned to the ground and wall quite often. I was deathly afraid all the time.
As I grew, his rage turned away from my mother and focused on me. In a way, I was glad because I adored my mother and wanted to protect her. I also knew instinctively that I was much stronger than she was. So …I was the Scapegoat.
I was criticized and picked on every day of my life. I could not go unnoticed; he even yelled about my sitting posture, my clothes, or the way I held my head. It was constant. I tried hard not to cause trouble, became an A student, but he still was not happy with me.
He was uber sensitive about his personal appearance and also very nosy. He’d ask anyone he met how much they made, what kind of car they had, or what church they went to. Although he was a blue-ciollar worker, he passed himself off as an executive, and people believed him. He had an air of authority and superiority.
My mother was co-dependent; whenever he and I had a row, she would come to my room and say, ” Your dad really loves you. He doesn’t show it, but that’s how he is. He would never hurt you.” Total BS.
I left the home as soon as I turned 18 and lived with friends to finish high school. He’d already made it clear that I should not get educated, as women were meant to stay home and care for their husbands in a submissive role. I attended a community college for two years and then transferred to a university, not getting my degree until I was 25. I worked two jobs, had an apartment and car. No matter what, I was always criticized, and he would not butt out of my life.
I went on to earn a Masters Degree at one of the nation’s best universities and got a great job that I loved. I met the man if my dreams, who is the complete opposite of my father, and we had four fabulous children, who are now all grown. I never once behaved as my father. I took great care to be a loving mother, and with the help of my husband, was very successful in that.
My father criticized our parenting, interfered with our marriage and exploited our children. For this, we decided to cut off all ties. We have been estranged for seven years now, and it was the best decision of my life. I still love them, pray for them and want the best for them. I am powerless to change my father, whose temper has lessened, but his criticisms and overall negativity have grown much worse. He is in his 80’s now, so he probably doesn’t have long to live.
I did have psychotherapy years ago, and that’s when I learned the name for his problem: Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Happily, I did not repeat or inherit this. But I do have one sibling who has some characteristics, despite being the Golden Child. I accept that I will never be 100% healed, but I do my very best each day and my father’s voice no longer sounds in my head. I’m free!
by Band Back Together | Aug 15, 2015 | Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Estrangement, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Personality Disorders, Psychological Manipulation |
Oh, thank you. Thank you for creating this site. For bringing to light the disturbance and disruption created by having, knowing, or having the narcissist thrust upon you.
First thought: let’s build a gated community! Yes! A place where we can run free! A preserve! Where we are protected. A place where we can meander down to the watering hole, tell some marvelously offensive jokes, laugh till our collective sinuses are clear and then do it again.
I still want to just type the words “thank you” over and over. And I haven’t read Band Back Together but for ten or fifteen minutes, but I see that this is the place. The place where people say – hey, you’re not losing your mind. You’re not.
You’ve just met your first dyed in the wool, Grade A, First Prize, Blue Ribbon Narcissist. And you can’t return it. You don’t seem to have the receipt. No one is going to reimburse your account and basically, you’re stuck with it. You can’t unload it at a tag sale, you can’t give it away on Craig’s List, you can’t scour the shelves at CVS for a salve or a wash or treatment to make it go away. You can peruse the CDC in Atlanta and it ain’t there. You can read till you’re nodding off all of the archives of Morbidity and Mortality Weekly and there are no blips on the radar.
It’s almost a quiet killer. A killer of marriages. A killer of relationships. A killer, most assuredly, of peace of mind. It’s little like menopause when you have a hot sweat; the urgent need to pull off the sweater, fan yourself with whatever you can grab and declare to anyone nearby, “Oh my God, it’s happening!”
The need to share is common (thank goodness, we all get a turn! Just like your Mama!! Ha! Made ya laugh!) I wish having a Narc in the family was half as much fun as a hot sweat. As if the body’s response to the stress of their existence doesn’t do enough damage. My bod pumps out more Cortisol in that wretched persons’ company than is imaginable. Can’t sell that on Craig’s List either. Too bad it wasn’t like plasma and we could donate to help someone!
But! I’ve just found this site. And I said, “who is this broad? She sounds like me. That sentence sounds like mine!”
And I want to reach through the screen and shake her hand! Hi! Ohhh, you were on that bus, too? That was quite a cliff, wasn’t it? Our nodding the implied “YES!” validates the bus trip off the cliff and we exclaim heartily that we are so lucky to have come out alive. But – we’ll always be the ones who got on that bus. Unknowingly. Crap luck.
And today, out of nowhere, the other side of the luck coin crops up. Well, truth is I have read about narcissistic personality disorder, NPD, a fair amount, unfortunately leaves me feeling like I should find a rope and a branch that”ll hold me. One YouTube video left me in a funk for days – went from a fairly good mood into the bowels of hell. I yelled at myself, why oh why did you listen to that? And gave in to the tears.
Screw it. It is what it is. I’ve a habit of biting off my nose to spite my face, but my life is taking such a direction due to an extended family member’s personality disorder, that I admit I cannot do it alone. This is not a time that I’ll say that I’ll just take care of it myself. No. Nope. Can’t do it. Have been drowning for almost six years in the wake of her behavior and how the person closest to me has become estranged for his fear of being put out in the corn.
It’s a nightmare. Wake me, please. Help me. Help me to mitigate the damage she is doing to a little girl. It’s done. Done deal. And I am a piece of s?!
by Band Back Together | Aug 4, 2015 | Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Emotional Boundaries, Estrangement, Narcissistic Personality Disorder |
During my childhood, our family life revolved around his narcissism. I didn’t realize it then. The realization that he had narcissistic personality disorder gradually became apparent during my adult life.
I first learned about narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) in nursing school. The further I matured into adult life, the worse my father’s behavior has gotten. My husband and I had an ugly blowout argument with him on New Years Day in front of our teenage children.
I’ve since decided to separate from him.
Since then, my husband and I have done extensive research into narcissistic personality disorder. I’ve gotten therapy and I do daily journaling. I pray, I soul search, and I know in my heart that this separation has been a good thing for me.
I’ve accepted what is.
I know with narcissists, you either have to separate or clearly establish boundaries. Unfortunately, establishing boundaries failed with my father.
My brother is also separated from my father. We’ve had recent communications with our father via email in which we are blamed for everything while nothing is his fault. With notes I made in journaling and therapy, I was able to formulate a clear and effective response to pinpoint the issues I have with his behavior. Together, we have him up against a wall. His behavior is exposed and he is playing the victim.
Recently, my parents have purchased a new car and are giving my mother’s old car to my teenage son. We are accepting the car because we need it and my mother has a special place in her heart for my son.
I feel strong enough after our six months separation to attempt a relationship with him with clearly defined emotional boundaries. It’s going to be a challenge because he’s already playing the victim.
During my morning writing today, I had the realization that God gives certain challenges to people. Some deal with illness, tragedy, abuse, or poverty, to name a few. For whatever reason, I believe God has given me this challenge. I don’t really like it. It’s not fun to have a father that sucks the life out of you, but I believe this is what God gave me.
My father will feed his narcissism with my broken heart.
