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 | Dec 12, 2015 | Anxiety, Body Acceptance, Body Image, Eating Disorders, Family, Fear, Feelings, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Obesity, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Shame |
So I have recently started this “lifestyle change.”
If I call it a “diet,” I will fail miserably as I have a thousand other times. I try really hard to watch what I eat. Most days I keep a nifty online journal that tells me how many calories I can have and how many I’ve consumed. It’s really been helpful. Tonight, I even walked two and a half miles, which is awesome for me. I’m still sitting here sweatin’ my balls off!
It’s HARD not to get discouraged. The last three weeks I have pretty much stuck to eating 1600 calories, which means that I should lose about two pounds a week. I have only lost two pounds altogether and depending on the time of day that I weigh myself, I haven’t even lost that.
I know everyone is different and all that jazz. I know I shouldn’t weigh myself all the time. I know I have been drinking almost a gallon of water a day to fight hunger. I know I should walk more. I know what I should know.
I know I will lose the weight. I know I need to. I have gained almost 100 pounds since high school and there’s no reason for that. Yes, I had three children, I have a stressful job and a hard marriage. Still, not a good excuse. I really think I’m more disappointed in myself for listening to all the excuses and letting my weight get so out of control.
I have a constant fight with my reasoning. If I eat just one more bite, it won’t hurt. I have to finish my whole plate or I will be wasting money.
My whole life I thought that I was fat because family always said I was. Once, I asked for a snack and my mom replied “and you wonder why you’re so fat.” I was only 10. But looking back at pictures, I see I wasn’t fat, I was beautiful. Maybe if my family and kids at school hadn’t been cruel, I would have cared about how I looked. Then maybe I wouldn’t have been so discouraged. Now that I have friends who encourage me, I know that I can do it. I can lose this weight.
It’s up to me now. I have to get myself out of this mess. It’s going to be a long, hard journey. I will probably fail – I usually do. I’m going to try really hard not to. I have awesome support group this time. I will exercise my self-control. This will be a journey of hits and misses. I cannot and will not get discouraged.
I really need to get hot for Aunt Becky’s cruise (ed note: WOO-HOO!). I need to be able to wear a swimsuit in the Bahamas and not look like a beached whale.
100 lbs. That’s all.
I cannot wait to know what it feels like 100 pounds lighter. That’s a whole person. Somewhere, I will find the willpower.
And I will do it!
by Band Back Together | Dec 11, 2015 | Coping With Bullying, Feelings, How To Heal From Being Bullied |
The following is reposted from my Facebook notes because, well, there are other people out there who get treated this way, too. And it’s a bunch of bullshit.
This is me ranting about people. Specific people. The ones who act all, “zomg, we should totally be BFFs!!!” and then don’t fucking talk to you for months. Years. Until it’s convenient for them, or they get bored enough to weed through their friends list. Life happens, I get that. Shit comes up. But damn, people.
Or how about those, “we should chat!” bitches you bump into on occasion who swear up and down they’ll call you/text you/IM you, then don’t? Love those. (That’s /sarcasm, for the me-illiterate.)
I’m starting to feel like that date who gets sugar and spice and everything nice at dinner, a promise of a phone call and second date, then wonders if maybe, just maybe, I gave the wrong number? Shit, did I transpose those last two digits? Did I write my email all illegible? But no, you just decided I wasn’t worth the time of day and conveniently didn’t tell me. A simple, “You’re nifty and shit, but I’m just not that into you.” will suffice. KTHXBAI.
And you know, I act all nonchalant and I-couldn’t-give-a-fuck-if-I-tried. Because breaking down into tears of, “why don’t they like meeeee??” is fucking pathetic and makes me stabby just to think about. But I’m not a goddamn droid there for you to turn on and off when you please.
I do actually have feelings. (GASP! I know. But my doctor swears I have a blood pressure and everything. Totally living, breathing, the nines. Go figure.) I’m a big girl who can handle her share of Dear John letters, but I’d actually like to GET them. Hanging in limbo sucks.
So if you don’t want to braid each others’ hair and make friendship bracelets, I think I’ll recover. Just have the cajones to tell me so, k?
It’s appreciated.
by Band Back Together | Dec 3, 2015 | Cancer and Neoplasia, Coping With Cancer, Loss, Sadness, Stress, Trauma |
oh, how i miss the simplicity of our nursing days. life without breastfeeding is hard, and cancer certainly isn’t making it any easier. crying was limited to brief moments following boo-boos and over-tired minutes post car seat strap-ins. it was never part of naptime or bedtime.
a balanced diet was effortless.
i never knew the struggle of naptime. now i have to walk and rock nugget in my arms or in a peanut shell while she chews on a pacifier, maybe holds her blanket and always twiddles at least one nipple. at night we lather, rinse, repeat or if i’m really lucky we just lay down and she holds on to each boob, binky clenched between her teeth and drifts off, dreaming of nursing i imagine.
i never knew a picky toddler.
whenever nugget was hungry or thirsty the milk bar was always open. trying new and different foods was fun instead of stressful. nugget’s tummy was never upset. her favorite snack was always handy. we never had to pack a meal to go out.
i did at least have a few weeks and the foresight to work in the concept of “kisses make boo boos all better.” nugget still kisses my port and scars everyday. recently she’s added my breasts to her fix-it list and kisses and hugs them all day long.
she’s trying her best to make mommy all better with her kisses, because she knows that’s when she can have her nursies back.
by Band Back Together | Nov 30, 2015 | Anorexia Nervosa, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Compulsive Eating Disorders, Eating Disorders, Social Isolation |
I did not ask for this body, I do not want it.
When I look in the mirror I feel a powerful cognitive dissonance. I have to be – I must be looking at something other than myself.
People say it is just a body, but it isn’t. It is the only physical representation of my entire self. It is the one – the only – thing tying me to this earth, which is not a place I often want to be.
If I can scrape the fat off my bones, then I can disappear, sink right through the cracks, and fade into the woodwork of life. Sometimes I fantasize about melting, or burning, or dissolving.
I cannot offer any deep insights into my body or my mind. I don’t know why I hate the feeling of food in my stomach. Why the only times I eat are when I’m in full binging mode.
I would like to offer up some counterpoints to the common myths surrounding eating disorders: I do not want to be beautiful. I do not want to look good in a bikini. I do not want boys to look at me.
In fact, I would prefer that nobody looks at me. I have come to the conclusion I’m almost certainly asexual, which I can’t pretend doesn’t influence my isolation from the “sexual” aspects of this – of my body.
I did not ask for this body, and no matter what I do, I cannot shrink my body, force it into a prepubescent frame, where I am free of the long fingers of sex and of the realities of growing up.
It’s not for lack of trying.
