Sometimes I doubt myself. I doubt everything I know is true. I doubt what happened, I doubt what was done, I doubt the evil intention. I know so much I’m my father’s daughter because he refused to see evil in people also. He was just smarter about it somehow….
Sometimes it’s so bad that I need reassurance that the color orange is, in fact, orange. Does this mean I’m crazy? Sometimes I wonder… But the memories, the details, the proof is out there (for most of it, at least). Still, I desperately need just one person to affirm the obvious – what’s true. I don’t mean like a narcissist, to just tell me what I want to hear, but the truth of the obvious.
Maybe someone could say, You’re right, that is orange or Having sex as an adult is not a sin and it doesn’t mean you are a bad mom or if you want to drink a bottle of wine after you tuck your teenaged kids in bed, that’s not a crime and it doesn’t make you a bad mom. The silly little things that I know in my brain are just basic logic, but my experience has made them bizarre in my head and I long for reassurance of the obvious.
This is the legacy a narcissistic mother leaves. You can’t be sure the sky is above unless someone, anyone, reassures you, Yes, that IS the sky up there. But then you’ll grow up to have children and they’ll hate you for your insecurities, your lack of “self esteem”.
So, the biggest things narcissistic parents leave us desperate for – love – validation – reassurance – are the very things we can’t accept. The legacy is strong.
Sometimes I wonder – and that’s ridiculous, I know – but I do. Sometimes I wonder what my life might have been if I’d lived with my dad as a young child; if I’d not gotten the job in college that placed me on my ex’s narcissistic platter. I had an abortion once….the love of my life…but I was young and he smoked pot and I actually was scared back then of having children with someone who smoked pot!
Instead, I had children (daughters!) with an abusive man who is sexually preoccupied with young girls; a narcissist who could not let them love me, who could not co-parent, even after I trusted that his sexual predilection for young girls wouldn’t harm our female children and DID NOT prevent or prohibit his relationship with them based on that or anything, but he in GREAT IRONY, mutilated me for having sex as an adult woman, within an adult relationship.
Sometimes I wish I’d understood pathological narcissism earlier in my life. Maybe I wouldn’t have been quite such an open, easy target?
Sometimes, I’m proud of myself that my conscience is clean. Sometimes, I’m angry at myself because if I’d been more narcissistic or sociopathic, I would never be in this awful position.
Sometimes, I feel badly that my children are so misinformed, deluded, and manipulated, that they don’t even realize that their Papa would be so deeply ashamed of them, while refusing to see that I am my father’s daughter.
Sometimes doesn’t matter. Yet, my mind still goes there…
Sometimes I really want to write about my dad’s air conditioner, but I get swallowed up in pain, injustice, lies, and agony….