Listen to a narcissist react to a narcissistic injury. What’s the injury? Any path or description that is contrary to the narcissist’s desires or image. You will be able to swiftly see a narcissist’s agenda in how they STRONGLY REACT to your self-expression. Speak up for yourself; act as if you have THE RIGHT to […]
This one’s a hard one to force out. Even anonymously, I feel nauseated at the thought of sharing such horrifying intimacies of my horrific flaws.
I’m of the opinion though that I must write of it though, and especially because it’s so hideous and shameful. I must blare it out somewhere in the universe so it can be known that I admitted even the most mortifying true aspects of my unworthiness.
I peed in a parking lot. Actually, I’ve peed in many bizarre places in my life. I’ve peed in bushes, I’ve peed my pants, I’ve peed on dates, I’ve peed the bed. I’ve peed while sleeping. I’ve peed while awake. I’ve peed myself while drunk. I’ve peed myself while sober….
I recently read Sarah Silverman’s biography, The Bedwetter, and I confess, it’s helped me have the courage to openly (albeit anonymously!) address my personal issue with this. For the first time ever, I realized I’m not the only one who suffers from such unwanted struggles! So here goes nothing…
My bladder sucks! My bladder sucks so badly that I’d be willing to bet the only way it could be worse is if I had no bladder at all. And even then, I could pee safely in a bag I carried around…. so, maybe that’s not actually “worse”.
My bladder is a cruel bitch. However, I refuse to offer excuses about that here. I have zero excuses, but I very much want a platform to be free to discuss the myriad of bullshit behind my stupid fucking horrible bladder. It may seem like a black and white issue, but I assure you, it is not. This issue has more shades of grey than those Christian Grey books. Yet, not once have I had the opportunity to discuss it beyond “yes, I did pee in a parking lot. Yes, I have a weak bladder”, so fuck it, I deserve to tell the rest of the story behind this confounding, humiliating, and unreliable bladder of mine.
Not that the why’s or story behind this matter for what is or change what is. What is, just is.
1st shades of grey:
- I had chronic bladder and kidney infections as a small child.
- I was the dreaded child to take on road trips because I had to pee every 10 miles and couldn’t hold it very long or very well.
- I was very slow to stop bedwetting and to train myself to wake in the night to pee. I didn’t kick this fully until around 6 years old. (I was very proud of myself when I finally did!)
- Incidentally, there has been much research which indicates that children in an abusive, scary home struggle with bedwetting and bladder problems longer than the average child.
2nd shades of grey:
- After I was molested in the 1st grade, I started having night time accidents again and occasional day time accidents as well. This continued well into my teens and was a huge source of embarrassment. By around 16, I had it mostly under control again aside from occasional accidents which accompanied night terrors.
- At 17, I was gang raped by three older boys from my school. They not only raped me with their penises, they also thrust random objects inside me. This did a tremendous amount of damage to my urethra, cervix, vaginal tissue, and you guessed it, my bladder. The damage was so extensive, the gynecologist suggested it highly likely that I possibly would not even be able to carry a child to term later in life. I also suffered a concussion from this event.
- After the gang rape, my bladder issues resurrected with full and added force, as did my night terrors.
- I met my first boyfriend 3 months after the gang rape. He was charming, fun, and very loving, except when he beat me. After the initial domestic assault at 18, the assaults averaged once of twice a month. I dated the man for 2 years. Throughout those two years, I suffered three diagnosed concussions and the emergency room physician who examined me the last time he beat me, suggested the possibility that I’d had more concussions which were undiagnosed because I didn’t come in for treatment.
- By my early to mid 20’s, I was back to only the random accidents…usually only accompanied with night terrors or extreme emotionally and psychologically stressful events.
3rd shades of grey:
- My boyfriend at 24 (my children’s father) was physically abusive on occasion as well. Not as frequently as my high school boyfriend, but every bit as violent when it did occur. I believe it highly likely I suffered at least two undiagnosed concussions in the duration of this relationship. I didn’t go for treatment after these incidents or call the police because I didn’t want to get him in any trouble and possibly be the reason he might lose his job.
- I had an acute ischemic stroke at 26, paralyzing the entire left side of my body. Among a plethora of other obvious issues, my bladder issues resurrected yet again. At this point, in addition to the physical damage, the night terrors, and the lifelong effects of PTSD, my brain literally lost its ability to communicate effectively with my bladder.
- Over time and various neurological and physical therapies, I’m back to #4 in the “2nd shades” section with some added complications. On most days, I typically can force my brain to communicate somewhat with my bladder, but if I’m quite stressed, especially fearful, or overly fatigued, the communication is difficult at best. Often, by the time my brain is alerted that my bladder is full, it’s a race to get to the bathroom in time. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can’t. In addition, the residual weakness and imbalance on my left side from the stroke hastens my ability to walk quickly to the bathroom and I no longer can run at all without falling.
- I still struggle with bedwetting when I have night terrors, which can be brought on by stress, fatigue, or highly emotional or frightening events. I exist in a state of chronic PTSD since my father passed and my children turned against me.
It’s my fault. It isn’t my fault. None of that matters. It is what it is. My bladder and my brain have apparently been at odds since I was born and beyond that, life has not been kind to my brain nor my bladder.
Yes, I peed in an empty parking lot once with my 15 year old daughter in the car. I have also peed in empty fields and woods throughout the 15 years my children lived with me. Once, I even peed my pants while driving my car on the interstate when I couldn’t get to a bathroom exit in time. My children knew well of my bladder troubles, perhaps not the extenuating causes of the struggle but they watched me for years – me, trying to get to a bathroom in time and terrified I would not make it. I always tried to laugh this off with my kids out of embarrassment for how deep the struggle really was for me.
My oldest daughter chose to tell her dad, my mother, and her dad’s attorney (and subsequently an entire courtroom via dad’s attorney) only about the parking lot incident; using that as evidential proof that I am an alcoholic.
In court, I did not go into detail about my bladder issue or its extenuating causes. I was mortified and ashamed and could barely muster up the voice to say, “Yes, I have struggled with a weak bladder all my life”. In hindsight, I realize it’s good I couldn’t summon up the courage to go into further detail anyway, as things like my stroke, my rapes, and the domestic violence I tolerated were already going to be used as nails in my “bad, bad, worthless momma” coffin anyway.
Lexi has also thrown the parking lot peeing incident in my face every time we’ve talked in the five years they’ve been gone, citing it as clear evidence of how horrible of a mother I really was. Were I even able to get her to listen to the various shades of grey which surround my lifelong bladder issues (which I’m not able to do), I know she would simply scoff, cut me off mid-sentence, and say I’m just throwing out excuses for being an alcoholic, making myself out as the victim again, and just trying to manipulate her by garnering up pity.
I suppose we could just sum all this up to say, quit making excuses for yourself Chloe and just accept the dirty fucking truth.
The simple truth is, women with heinous crimes like bad bladders should not be allowed to be mothers.
*Sheerly as a side note: While I carried both my children inside my body, the two traits of mine I fervently begged God not to curse them with were my big feet and my awful bladder. My prayers were answered. Neither of them suffer from either of those curses. YAY! They’re the luckiest ones after all!
Does everyone wonder and ponder what will be said after they’re gone?
Does it really matter? I don’t think so as you’re gone, right? If you don’t have to witness or hear the fake cries for sympathy of the narcissists who killed you, but you know will jump at the golden opportunity for a little validating sympathy for themselves?
Oh Chloe, she always was so sensitive.
Oh, I did all I could for Chloe…it was just never enough. I so wish I could have done more (insert sympathy seeking sob).
I hate to say I told you so, but I’ve told you for years Chloe was un-reachably, un-helpably, fucked up… She was a lost cause from her first breath. Do you see now?
I tried so hard to date Chloe; she just wouldn’t let me.
I tried so hard to befriend Chloe; she just wouldn’t let me.
I tried so hard to love Chloe; she just wouldn’t let me.
Don’t cry over Chloe. She was her own worst enemy. She made her own bed.
So, NOW do you understand what a horrible mother she must have been? Can you even imagine being so selfish as this? Those poor girls…
Now, can you finally understand how impossible Chloe really was? How hard it was on me to try to love her? …to help her? …to save her?
Just try to imagine how hard this is on ME… Chloe was my friend.
Oh well, I couldn’t stop the liars by living nor could I stop them with truth – they were too skilled at lies and/or I was too hysterical about the truth. I’m certain it will be a free-for-all smorgasbord of lies when I’m gone. The only people who could stop them are either drunk on the kool-aid themselves or apathetically don’t-want-to-get-involved and the only person who possibly would stop them is dead already.
Once upon a time, I believed the loneliest a person could ever be is sitting right next to a person who says the words I love you but is utterly emotionally absent – while taking up space right next to you. That is definitely the second most lonely of all and is horribly more empty than literally being alone.
I was wrong though. The absolute loneliest a person can be is to be alive without life and have so many truths bursting from their heart and not a single solitary person in the world wants or cares to hear that truth. All those truths silently drowning the mind while noisily contradicting the lies that have wrapped their claws in a death clench around one’s throat.
There is no antidote to vile lies spoken with the sole purpose to destroy, conquer, and ultimately kill the truth. No antidote whatsoever.
You can live with the lies or choke and die on the truth. And the saddest, loneliest part of all is if you choke and die on the truth, they’ll go right ahead and joyfully bury you in more lies.
From my Book – From Charm to Harm and Everything else in Between with a Narcissist! @ https://www.amazon.com Many, if not all Narcissists completely get away with their psychological terrorism and they basically murder their targets self-esteem, mind, soul AND their integrity with their backstabbing and ‘smear campaign!’ Be it the bullying, slander, or […]
via Let’s call this what it really is SLANDER – the Narcissist’s attack on our integrity with backstabbing and the SMEAR campaign. We are damned if we do or damned if we don’t respond but basically the Narcissist gets away with abusive behavior and people believe them and WE are left having to fight to get our integrity back? — After Narcissistic Abuse
I sit down to write and my mind flash floods, making my thoughts and fingers stumble and preventing anything too coherent or well written from rendering itself here. I keep pushing myself to write something, anything, just TRY to get something out, dammit!
The Wild Horses are here… dragging me away in a drawn and quartered manner, tearing me to shreds for the past five years. I’m giving into them. I can’t exist with this pain anymore. I can’t accept the injustices, the lies, the twisted exaggerations… I can no longer. It’s as if I struggled through it all, all my life, simply to not exist anyway.
Those Wild Horses are here.
I’ll never forget the first time a therapist suggested to me that I wasn’t realistic about my “dad’s part” in my childhood abuse. I was furiously defensive. My daddy had never abused me!! Dr. Patty caught me off guard though when she said, Don’t you feel some anger at him for not protecting you from your mother, though?
Um, NO! My dad loved me and that’s all I ever wanted from a parent. It’s not that my dad never punished me, he did when I deserved punished. It’s not that he “didn’t protect me”, it never once occurred to me that anyone would be brave enough to take on Darlene! Meanwhile, I realize now the game she played with our fear of her. She just filled my head full of awful things he’d done to hurt her (none of which ever rang true to me even at just 4 years old) and then she’d tell my dad horrible things about me. This part never occurred to me though because as a child I couldn’t imagine my own mother would tell lies about me to anyone, much less my dad.
But she did. And I never corrected them because I had no clue my dad didn’t know the truth of whatever latest ordeal she’d put me through. And I assumed he knew the truth and that he would spend our brief, precious moments together showing me love and laughing together so I could get the strength to return to mother and better try not to upset her.
He didn’t know what was really happening though. He only knew her lies and in my childhood trusting innocence, I never told my version of events; never even fathomed that mother would just change the story so I’d look worse than I was and she’d look far better than she was.
It’s like when I was molested at school, it never occurred to me to complain to an adult. After all, an adult did it so he couldn’t be wrong, I had to be wrong. I had to have deserved it. I had no right to dispute any adults choices! Darlene effectively enforced that so thoroughly that I was too spineless to ever feel I had any rights to protest other people’s actions against me.
Because of this, I never blamed my dad for not protecting me. And it’s obvious that my entire life, I was an easy victim to the world because I had no sense of having and right to even be here, much less rights as a human being for respect or dignity. Probably why I was an easy target for rape and abusive men. Spineless creatures with zero sense of self worth are the easiest to prey upon and mold to accept the abuse.
My daddy loved her more. I’ve been aware of that for many years, but he loved her more only because he never knew the truths of her and he knew all my truths, good and bad.
Only once did I think he started to get a clue of her truth. His pastor preached on abusive parents. And after the sermon, daddy bought me a book called Toxic Parents and brought it to my house, as though something had happened and he saw a glimmer of truth in my life struggles stemming from the abuse. He didn’t say he understood or believed and I didn’t ask any questions because my dad’s loyalty was fierce and I never wanted him torn in the middle. I knew he had blinders she’d carefully sewn on his eyes and he was most comfortable with those blinders. I never had the urge to rip those off completely. I loved him too much and as hurtful as his devotion to her in spite of it all was to the little girl in me, I understood it better than most and I adored him for that quality of unconditional love. I had no real interest in changing that or hurting him by destroying his carefully plotted necessary false idea of her.
As my daddy was getting older toward the end, he’d become not quite senile, he was still cognizant and clear mostly, but his fears for and about me became irrational and confused. In hindsight I see that he knew his time was coming and he wasn’t scared about anything at all… except for me and my children.
I didn’t realize it at the time of course, I thought he was just being irrational and controlling. I wish so much I could have understood why before he passed away, but I did not. And one of our final talks was him apologizing to me for his irrationality and saying to me, I’m sorry baby, but I promise you I’ll do it differently. You tell the girls that “they’re gonna see a BIG change in papa. I won’t do this to y’all again.”
And of course I had been very angry with his recent irrational actions but I could never stay mad at my daddy who always owned his mistakes and apologized immediately for them. So I knew he recognized his mistakes and I was relieved and grateful for his apology.
I could never stay mad at my daddy. He was too genuine and good down to his soul to ever hold any mistakes he made against him.
Darlene attempted to take that apology after he died and make that her story with my dad. And amidst a huge amount of bizarre and random discrepancies surrounding my dad’s death related directly to my mother and my sister, I know she’s lying with dramatic poetic license. She makes stories up all the time because she needs to be seen as the victim she made me into. She must be seen as the sparkling angelic “victim” of her actual victims.
There will never be recompense or exposed truth of her lies. She’s told them so long to do many people now that I know even she believes they’re truths now.
Heard this song the other day and it really grabbed me.
It’s particularly prophetic to me for many reason regarding my daughters. My oldest’s allegations were that I drank too much. I really was drinking more than I should have, even prior to my daddy’s passing. My children weren’t neglected, they were actually rather indulged for the most part, not that that makes occasional intoxication acceptable, but I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, paid bills, helped them with homework, loved them, and worked a job. They were old enough to have some regular chores, but I very rarely made them do chores. Most of my first 16 years were doing chores, so I was a sucker for “Momma can I please go to so-n-so’s house even though I’ve not cleaned my room/done the dishes/whatever”. I never wanted my children to remember their childhood and teen years as missing out on fun because of chores.
But I digress… I suppose I want to make excuses and justifications and prove that I really didn’t drink much more than the average person and yet I also don’t want to sound as though I didn’t sometimes drink more than I should have…once my children were taken care of…because I did drink too much the once or twice a week I had drinks with friends when my teenaged daughter’s were either in bed or at their friends’ houses.Was I a neglectful momma from it? No. Were my children abused? No. Was I a “mean drunk” by any means? HELL NO! But all the same, I definitely overindulged occasionally and I should have put that in check and not excused it merely because my children were still safe and well cared for.
Regardless, after the exorbitantly exaggerated accusations after my dad passed and when I trusted the two narcissists, my mother and my ex” with my kids while I was planning my dad’s funeral, and Lexi had decided from hours of them bashing me for things I never even did as a child, that she “WANTED TO LIVE WITH HER DAD!”, suddenly I was (quite literally) the WORST MOMMA EVER!, an ALCOHOLIC!, and my poor eldest child suddenly claimed she’d been ABUSED/NEGLECTED!!! for years in my care.
Two weeks prior to this, my youngest had dedicated a song to me and left me a note saying she “didn’t know how she’d ever gotten through everything if not for her momma” and my oldest, Lexi, and I had gone for several trips to the beach to discuss life and laugh, and work out her problems with friends at school and boys and her sister…etc, etc… But now, overnight(after only a week of time with her dad and my mother), I’m an abusive, neglectful, alcoholic HORRIBLE person and an even WORSE mother according to Lexi. I’d “LIED TO HER HER ENTIRE LIFE!(still no clue what this lying was)” and I “HADN’T EVEN BEEN A GOOD STUDENT AS A KID !!(I’d been an Honors student from middle school through high school, so I don’t understand this one either).
So…wild accusations start flying a few days after we returned from burying my daddy out of state. Now, Lexi’s calling me a slut and screaming she had “HEARD ME IN MY BEDROOM AT NIGHT HAVING SEX WITH MY FIANCE ALL THE TIME THREE YEARS AGO” and I’m the most vile, awful human being who’s ever lived.
Needless to say, I drank way more for a few months after this ordeal and my daddy was dead and my children had gone to live with their dad. And then, I suddenly felt guilty every time I had anything to drink. I started wondering if I really WAS an alcoholic and maybe couldn’t see it. I went for alcohol counseling and assessment and was turned away because the professionals there determined my habits “did not indicate a dependency on alcohol”. Still, I felt guilty (even with no children in a 2,000 mile radius speaking to me) having anything to drink. I couldn’t use it as an escape as I had before this because I analyzed and criticized myself for ever sip I took.
So, I quit drinking completely for a year. I went to a two week long intensive Christian retreat where I knew they’d criticize my prior drinking whether the “professionals” thought it was a serious problem or not. I confessed all my drinking to these people who believe demons inside us cause these things and they exorcised those demons from me. After two weeks, their assessment was that I suffered from an “unholy level of grief” regarding my childhood, my dad passing, and my children leaving me after making hideous wild untrue accusations.
Ya think? I mean, I didn’t even begin to touch on the two violent rapes I’d endured, the full stroke and paralysis of my left side, my childhood abuse or lack of love in any actual depth, nor my abusive romantic relationship with my children’s father…. Yeah, I’d say I had/have some unresolved “unholy grief” going on pretty much from birth and as a state of being really!
So, I do have a glass of wine once in awhile now still, but it takes me about two weeks to drink a bottle of wine because the guilt and insecurity I feel everytime I try to enjoy a glass is overwhelming. It pretty much has ruined any enjoyment, either actual taste or the numbing of my heartache if I were able to drink a few more than I do.
It doesn’t matter though. Lexi doesn’t want me in her life whether I’m drinking anything at all or not. Which sadly, after my crucifixion for “drinking” is exceedingly unfair. Yet, it also gives me the validation that it was never really about my drinking anyway. She was looking for something to hang me/ hate me for and if she had to lie or grossly exaggerate, she was going to. So, she could care less if I drink ever, every day, or not at all. It was never about my drinking. But, it worked. I’m sober as hell, no matter the constant hurt I can’t escape from day or night, waking or sleeping… I’m fucking sober for every second of it all.
I’ve never used drugs, so I can’t turn to that. And now, I can’t have sex or romantic relationships, I can’t drink wine for a brief warm fuzzy mental escape. Which was my only escape ever in my life, from the pain of it all. Music was another escape I used most of my life and I can’t even enjoy that now. Most music, except classical, I shared my love of it with my children and my daddy. So, music I love now tends to just bring on “unholy grief” and nostalgia that I want to avoid throwing the salt in those wounds…. So, there’s nothing. I literally have no escape of any sort. I’m forced to endure every second of unwanted, abused, unloved, unlovable abandoned, orphaned, and worthless smother, daughter, sister, human being that I am. Every sharp and agonistic, hopeless and un-fixable second of every minute of it. That’s what monsters like me (who don’t understand how or why they’re monsters) deserve, I suppose….?
So, now I’m a lonely old lady all alone with my dog who can’t even enjoy a glass or two of wine. I can’t even give myself permission to drink a bottle of wine and numb my pain/grief/loss/PTSD/etc. even for a few hours. Nope, there’s no momentary numbing of the pain for the unloved, unwanted, and completely abandoned mother/daughter/human being.
I get to feel all the pain. All the time. My children, my mother, and my ex saw to that. There will be NO escape from my pain except death. And I’m pretty sure that’s because they literally all would rather I were dead.
So this song, although clearly intended toward a romantic love that was lost, very much reminds me of the loss of my children and that I’m sober even though I never really had a problem…and that they all saw to it that I would feel EVERY SECOND of the pain from my past, present, and hopeless future, without any reprieve except death.
And I’m working diligently on giving them (and me) that final solution.
Just thought I’d share a teeny tiny little piece of the “crazy” pie of my life these days. Btw, just so I leave nothing vitally pertinent and ugly about myself out of the slice of crazy pie I’m sharing here, my other pathetic unforgivable faults in addition to my disgusting “low self esteem” are drinking wine at 3 am in my living room while talking on the phone to an ex boyfriend after my dad died, and having sex 9 years ago with said ex- boyfriend after we had broken up!
Pathological narcissism y’all… it’s not a joke or a trendy insult. It’s devastatingly real and frighteningly, senselessly cruel. #WelcomeToATinyGlimpseOfMyNightmareThatNeverEnds
1. Misinformation spreads far more widely and is more commonly accepted as truth than via rumor and gossip alone. Something in the minds of simpler people tend to believe anything if it’s in black and white and/or print. Somehow gives the vibe that the statement/belief/accusation has more credence than merely a gossiped spoken word. Few care to research such things to find the truth. Intellectual laziness encourages them to just accept what they see in front of them as truth rather than utilize the internet to prove or discredit, thus furthering their actual knowledge. Social media strongly hinders the expansion of knowledge.
2. Social media fosters a false sense of connecting socially while simultaneously creating more physical divides among people. This way also encourages social laziness in that it’s much easier to quell the sting of loneliness with social media acquaintances rather than risk the effort of physical face-to-face associating with others. Meanwhile, no actual intimate connection is developed – the look in one’s eye of anger or hurt or sadness which can be seen in a face-to-face setting but not whatsoever on social media. Thus, it encourages a false sense of social connectedness while actually inhibiting the literal development of social intimacy and one-ness among people.
3. Social media furthers the concept of perfection. People can more easily hide their vices on social media : photos can be perfected before posting, genuine feelings can be hidden far more easily and one can more easily choose words and photos to mislead others of their inner truths, their inner joys, and their inner miseries without the eye to eye contact and body language which can often give the truth away. This perpetuates others to want to appear more as something they are not. Only post selfies which are perfect. Only post the inner emotions that you want others to associate with you… creating an environment ripe for false personas and further, leading to false connections and/or emotions for who the person presents themselves as opposed to who the person is in reality, up close and personal. Social media encourages and fosters both deceit and the inner torment of wanting to be seen as perfect, which in turn furthers issue #1.
4. Bullying, degrading, cruelty has become far easier for the souls in inner pain who enjoy tearing others down. These criticisms, whether true or false, now reaches us everywhere. It comes right into our homes which were once an oasis at least from bullies outside our immediate family. It’s in our pockets on our smartphones where it can access our mind and sensitivities even in the bathroom, at the dinner table, watching movies in your bedroom, in church, out with a close-knit group of trusted friends. It is a playground rip for the cruelty of hatefulness, jealousy, and just sheer cruelty. It makes keeping our minds and hearts, eyes and “ears” safe from such things nearly impossible. It removes all safe places. The far reaching arms of social media has also made these acts of cruelty able to spread on to strangers as truth and/or to encourage others to join in masses into the cruelty, thus making the perpetrators feel more powerful and accepted for their behaviors.
5. The false information on political, personal, and social levels encourages people to believe lies more easily as well as take offense more personally, creating an unnecessary level of sensitivity for those issues in general. Once a falsehood of injustice has perpetuated across mass eyes on social media, the people who are affected and take this as a fact rather than a mere possibility and don’t further investigate, they grow a sense of self-righteousness toward others who hold different opinion whether the other opinion be more factually sound or not. The ability to so easily perpetuate ignorance and mistruths to the masses is a very dangerous tool for our government, affecting our literal political environment in elections as well as more easily destroying the common man with no ability to defend himself from the vast reach of social media to perpetrate and perpetuate deceit, lies, gossip, and general social intimacy.
Abuse by proxy, child abuse, Cruelty, Darlene Higgins, Domestic violence, gaslighting, heartless, Lies, Malignant Narcissism, manipulation, Mark DeDeaux, monsters, narcissists, parental alienation, Predatory, Sick Fucks, Thieves, triangulation
To whom it may concern:
I’m somehow to try to understand that the people who have destroyed my life, my mother, Darlene Higgins, and my children’s father, Mark DeDeaux, are hurt and angry at the destruction they allege I created in their lives.
Apparently, these people of whom I have zero (read zilch, nada) recollection of having done any damage or inflicted any pain upon were able to convince my children of what a horrible, awful, undeserving, worthless human being I am.
I haven’t seen either suffer or lose material property, or finances, loved ones, jobs, or their dignity at my hand. I’ve not been at all aware of this “destruction” which has caused their hate for me. Hate so big that they relentlessly poisoned my children against me, apparently because of the awful things I’d done to them? These things I’m totally unaware of and can’t find a single memory of…
I’ve wanted to understand the hate, the burning desire to punish, the massive cruelty… God, I’ve wanted to understand.
Being that I’m that person who once got angry at a virtual stranger and merely said ugly words to her… and still carried the memory, guilt, and remorse for those words 20 years later. Being that girl who accidentally ran across this virtual stranger twenty years later and immediately apologized for this misdeed I enacted upon her so many years earlier. I apologized to a woman who didn’t even recall what I had said, so futile and apparently non-damaging was this “heinous abuse” I heaped upon her of which the guilt I carried twenty years later still. I guess the “cruelest” I ever intentionally was, was not only enough to cause all those years of remorse and regret inside me, but not even close to enough for this woman to even recall. It is flabbergasting to try to wrap my head around the awful things I must have done to my mother and my ex to make them both hate me enough to destroy me. How can I not recall what I did?
I recall being a child. A desperate for love, desperate to please, pathetic for approval little girl. I remember that. I remember praying every night that God would show me how to earn and deserve my mother’s love. I remember not getting any answers and I remember trying everything my little mind could think of : I just had to be perfect. And after all, my mother was perfect in my eyes, so I could be perfect too, right? I came from the goddess of perfection so if I tried hard enough and never quit trying to be pretty, funny, smart, polite, obedient, loving, sweet, and deserving, I could get her love. I remember that not working. I remember lying to protect myself from punishment and getting in big trouble. I remember telling the truth because my mother “hated liars” and still getting in big trouble. I remember trying to be pretty and getting in trouble. I remember trying to be intelligent and getting in trouble. I remember not lying for her when she cheated on her husband and getting in trouble. I remember painting my nails and getting in trouble. I remember shaving my hairy legs like every one else in my gym class did and getting in trouble. I remember forgiving my friend for being mean to me and getting in trouble. I remember sticking up for myself with others and getting in trouble. I remember not sticking up for myself to others and getting in trouble. I remember being noisy no matter how hard I was trying to be quiet and getting in trouble. I remember trying harder to be even quieter and still getting in trouble. I remember missing my daddy and getting in trouble. I remember a babysitter giving me a piggy back ride and getting in trouble. I remember writing my aunt a letter telling her how much I missed her and getting in trouble.
I also remember sneaking to use the phone to talk to friends and getting in trouble. I remember sneaking boys over on Halloween to play Atari and getting in trouble. I remember having vaginal discharge in my panties before my period and getting in trouble. I remember trying to overdose on alcohol and getting in trouble. I remember having people over when mother was out of town and getting in trouble. I remember getting a C in geometry and getting in trouble. I remember asking for help with my math homework and getting in trouble.
I remember using the wrong tone of voice and getting in trouble. I remember having the wrong look on my face and getting in trouble. I remember defending my sister and getting in trouble. I remember not defending my sister and getting in trouble.
I remember letting my first boyfriend beat me and getting in trouble. I remember smoking cigarettes and getting in trouble. I remember not eating for 12 days while pregnant and being told to “go get on welfare” I remember caring about the father of my child and getting in trouble. I remember getting sick because I was pregnant again by the same man and getting in trouble. I remember wanting to have the same last name as my two children and getting in trouble. I remember almost dying and getting in trouble. I remember the psychiatrist who was supposed to tell me I was worthless defending me and telling mother she had serious parenting and mental illness issues and getting in trouble.
I’m not sure what I’ve forgotten. I’m truly clueless as to which of these awful things I did as a child made me deserve hate and cruelty; made me deserve to have my whole world ripped from me; or made me deserve to take the only love I had in the world. I’m not sure of the damage I did with these horrible acts. I must have done some serious damage, though to spark the punishments I received and continue to receive.
I would like to apologize for my worthlessness, for my awful acts which caused unbearable pain and destruction to my mother, but I can’t figure out where/what/how I caused any damage to her. I would gladly take responsibility for being born, breathing, being a child, being immature, being lost, being desperate for love except that I did not cause any of that. Please tell me what to apologize for? Once upon a time I was just an innocent child begging and desperate for my mother’s love and acceptance. I suppose I could apologize for stopping the begging? Only, I never stopped begging or trying. My mother decided at my second pregnancy that I no longer existed. I begged for a few weeks after that and finally had to stop begging because I was trying to raise two children with a handicap all on my own. I had to accept that nothing I ever did would make me worthy of her love or else I would have killed myself and left my two children with no mother at all.
In spite of the hatred you had toward me, I remember wanting my children to have the chance at you loving them. I remember Christmases and Thanksgivings alone so that you could be a grandma even though I didn’t have a mother. I remember my dad suddenly and unexpectedly dying and thinking she would care about me maybe then. I remember trusting her out of desperation again (like when I was a helpless child) and her filling my children’s heads not only full of shit, but fabricated half-truth shit…not even shit that was mine to own and take responsibility for. I remember meeting your first husband at the funeral (the one you told me all my life “beat you”) and feeling uncomfortable that after hating and punishing me for accepting and allowing myself to be abused by men all my life, that she would bring this man who “beat” her to my dad’s funeral. If I punched him would she love me? or would she hate me more?
I remember her hating everyone who made me feel loved. I remember her hating anyone who made me feel hated. I never understood what I needed to do/be/say/feel to be loved. I still don’t.
But most of all, I don’t see where all these horrible things I supposedly did ruined her life? Or even hurt her? Or how I knew what might hurt or upset her on any given day, as it changed so fast and often, I could not make sense of it. I would like to apologize and own my mistakes because I acknowledge I’m fucked up and worthless, but I honest to fucking god don’t know how I caused damage, except for being born, being a child, being confused, being desperate for love…. I wasn’t born with those things and I didn’t want them, how do I apologize for them? And if I do, will I finally deserve your love?
To the father of my children: What did I do to destroy your life? Please dear God tell me because knowing you has ruined everything I ever dreamed of. I lost my hopes, my dreams, my dignity, my health, my possibilities, my house, my lifetime memorabilia, and ultimately my children…. Because? What was it I took from you? What did I destroy and damage so much for your life? I gave you two children. I gave you 24/7 total access to them. I gave you holidays with them. I gave you carte blanche to their lives and their hearts. I gave you good stories to them about our past (which were lies). I gave you my last hope of my childhood innocence. I gave you my health. You took my house and every happy memory I had from before or since I knew you.
What was it I took from you? Where is the misery I caused? What did I do to you? Yes, I left you. I left you after you destroyed (what I then thought was total destruction at least) and tried to save my children from growing up watching their mother be treated like a worthless, useless piece of shit. Yes, I did do that. And I still gave you 24/7 carte blanche access to their lives, their love, their time.
Please tell me what I took from you? Please tell me how I’m an awful person? Please tell me where the damage I did is that destroyed your hopes and dreams, your health, your past, present, or future? PLEASE????? Please tell me???????????
Because I’m not prideful or stubborn about being wrong or making mistakes like some I know. I actually prefer to address and acknowledge my errors, and apologize, especially if they’ve hurt someone or damaged their life in any way. I would love to apologize for all the things I did but I can’t bring myself to apologize for trying to live, for breathing, feeling, or wishing to be loved rather than abused. I would love to say I deserve every bit of what I’ve gotten. The strange thing is, these people can’t seem to tell me what cruel, awful, unforgivable things I’ve done to them. Not a single thing. Not now and not in my entire life. Yet their hatred flows and flows…and no one seems to think that’s abnormal except for me. Apparently, I’m the awful person because I can name what’s been done to me…to my children…to my health…to my life… I can name every single thing.
To the father of my children: you were lucky after all you had done to me that I even was willing to move to Vegas with our children and give you that chance. From the first week, our children were crying about your treatment of me and them. They hated it and I wasn’t going to subject them to everything I left you to protect them from. You didn’t pay for our house in advance. You didn’t lose any money. We lost all of our lifetime belongings, the innocence my children had for what kind of man they’d been raised to believe their father was, our car, and our home when you stole it “for our own good” in spite of the fact that you hadn’t been paying for it.
So if my big “crime” against you was leaving you back in 1997, again in 1998, and a third time in 2009 in Vegas after “only 3 months”, that’s bullshit. The third time my youngest came home from a day with you bawling and putting herself down was the final straw for me. That, after my oldest had cried her heart out the first weekend we’d arrived and was devastated we came all that way and you’d planned a weekend rendezvous with your latest flavor of the month for the day after we arrived from moving our lives literally across the country, leaving the only home and friends and family and foundation we’d ever know in our lives, because “you wanted your children closer”. Then told me “her heart was NOT broken” and that she could just “get the fuck over it” and she’d cried her heart out nearly every single day after that, hurt and miserable at how you treated us and at moving away from her friends and family at your whim just to be treated this badly by you , as well as watched you insult and belittle me, her mother, for what I wore inside my own house to clean on a 102 degree day in the desert, even though you’d entered our home unexpected and uninvited…apparently just to hurl insults at me and our daughters for the type of clothes I was wearing to clean in.
I will never apologize for your choices. You had choices to hurt us or not to. You had choices to treat us with the respect we deserved for uprooting our entire lives for you or not to. You, on the other hand, gave us only two choices: the choice to stay and put up with being disregarded, devalued, and mistreated or leave and protect ourselves from more.
That was on you and I will not apologize for it or own responsibility for how much it “hurt you” that we left. You gave us no choice. None. You cared only about your latest girlfriend and having all of us in your control at your beckon call or whim to play daddy…or not to play daddy. I didn’t do that “to you”. You did that to us. All three of us. Savannah and I definitely got the worst of it, but it hurt Lexi too, watching you do that to us
Although you like to play neurologist and tell people why I had a stroke when you’ve no clue why I had the stroke because even my actual neurologist couldn’t discover why I had the stroke, you know nothing. And you surely didn’t step up to the plate afterward when I was severely handicapped and rehabilitating so I could give birth to a healthy child and be well enough raise our children while you climbed the ladder to your success. You didn’t step up to the p[late to lend a hand with our children. You were too busy chasing money and women. Darlene didn’t step up to the plate. Only my dad stepped up to the plate to help us.
And for the record, the cause technically given for my stroke was stress. I’m sure in no small measure stress which stemmed from years of abuse at the hands of the very people who run around crying what an awful person I am. Stress from the fear of having to tell Darlene who hated your guts that I was having a second child with you. Stress at once again not having a mother to hold my hand through my pregnancy. Stress at being dependent on you as the co-parent to my two children. Stress at the disappointment of not giving my children or myself the one thing I most wanted for them: a mother and father raising them together in their home…a happy, loving home with both their parents for my children. Again, due to your choices of sex addiction, cheating, and abuse. Darlene’s hatred of you and shunning me from her life because of my relationship with you in addition to your abuse, lies, and cheating in our relationship was the stress I had that caused me to have a stroke and become disabled for the rest of my life. I do not owe you an apology for that. I did not do that “to you”. Once again rather, you assisted in doing that to me. Leaving me with two options only: to stay with you and let my children grow up watching their mother treated horribly or to leave and protect myself and my children from growing up in that environment. As usual, you were the one with the ample choices. I will not take responsibility for how that “hurt you”.
Stress from a literal lifetime of abuse at your hand and the hand of my mother are what caused my stroke. I do not owe you or anyone an apology for that.
I have to wonder how your life is exactly what you wanted. Darlene’s life is exactly what she wanted. Yet, I’m the bad guy who’s worthless and awful, with some string of alleged “crimes” done against you people…the very people who have taken everything I ever worked to have. My family, my health, love, jobs, future, hopes, and dreams.
Please do help me to understand how I’ve done any damage whatsoever to your lives? Where is the abuse I heaped upon you? Where is the place where I screwed you over to get better for myself? Where is the fucking place that you needed or wanted me for anything and I did not show up? Where in the fuck is it? Where in the fuck are these damages done for my plethora of heinous crimes against either of you that you claim as you ripped my heart from my body, my children’s love from my life, and my life belongings, my home, my happiness, my hope, and my only joy left out of the desolate destruction of life I had left in the wake of you both?
Where the fuck is it?