Mowing the grass and other things…

Tags

abuse, financial abuse, Lies, Mark D., Narcissistic Abuse, narcissists, parental alienation

I think often of my dad when I mow the grass. I remember him mowing it on Shuler Avenue when I was little.

I didn’t get to see him much but I remember hating when I was there and he’d have to go mow the grass . I was too little to help and I resented anything that took away even an hour of my precious time with him.

But that would pass the minute he was finished and he’d come back inside, smelling of freshly mown grass and the sticky heat of summer. I couldn’t wait to get him a glass of water or a cold beer from the fridge to help cool him down after the task. I felt so grown up to serve him. Sometimes I’d pretend I was a waitress and take his order when he came in. I couldn’t write yet, so I’d just scribble on paper pretending I could, thinking I was so clever to make my daddy believe I knew how to write!

Mowing grass makes me think of my beloved lawn on my house on Roosevelt. The yard was huge but it was so beautiful, I enjoyed getting it just perfect so my daughters and their friends and I could hang out barefoot in the grass playing or practicing cheerleading stunts. It smelled of lilacs and roses and fresh grass. I took great joy in completing it even though it was almost a full day’s job. I was so proud of our pretty little house, it’s good energy, and it beautiful yard… to finally provide my kids with our very own home we could decorate as we liked rather than all the rentals we’d lived in where I couldn’t paint or landscape the way we all wanted.

Their dad scammed that from us, although he didn’t pay a dime of his own money for that house. He scammed me with lies then later stole it with deceit, to hurt me and just to prove that “he could”. Just because I was trusting enough when my dad said, “you’re paying for that house with his name on the mortgage; make damn sure you get that agreement in writing”. So when I asked Mark for our agreement in writing saying my dad had suggested we just make sure there was never any confusion as to who was paying for this house and who it belonged to, Mark cried. He cried on the phone saying, “I’m so hurt you’d think I’d ever do something so dishonest to you or our girls like take your house!”

And true to narcissistic manipulation, sure enough, I ended up apologizing for even asking that our agreement be put in writing. I apologized for asking.

Three years later, he lied in court and said it was his, claiming he was buying this house 2000 miles away from where he lives as his “summer home” and he lied in court saying that with the sole intent of leaving his daughters and me homeless to “teach us a lesson” . And after threatening my dad that he’d never speak to him again if he let us stay with him after he’d stolen our house.

He rents it out now.

Sometimes I wonder if the people living in it know how many months my dad and children and I searched endlessly for the perfect home for me to buy for my daughters and I to live in forever. The house I pictured getting my children ready for their first prom in, or imagined when I’d watch them pull in the driveway the day they got their driver’s license, or how I’d imagined waiting for them in the front room to come home from their first date to tell me all about it, or how every time I mowed the grass I’d think of summer parties we could throw with all their friends and twinkle lights around the fence. Or how I’d scraped and saved money from nothing just to buy that little above ground pool for them and their friends to enjoy that first summer we lived there and how much fun we had playing in it and how proud I was to have afforded it even while paying for our home. Or how I couldn’t afford a lawnmower so my dad brought his over every weekend so I could keep the yard perfect. Every weekend he lugged that lawnmower over so I could make sure our yard was immaculate and beautiful so my daughters could be proud of our home

It wasn’t a mansion like Mark lived in when he lied and said it was his. It wasn’t some glorious expensive thing, but it was ours.

I’d scrimped and scraped just to have it; just so my children could have a permanent forever home of their own to be proud of.

To be our home base forever. It was always all ours.

Right up until the day their dad lied in court to say it wasn’t ours.

…Just because he “could”. Just because I had been stupid enough to trust a lying cheating, abusive pathological narcissist.

Trusted a pathetic excuse of a human being who had CRIED at the “insult” to his honor that I’d even ask for our agreement in writing. CRIED that I’d ever even imagine he’d do something so deceitful and hurtful as to take a home he knew wasn’t his… and never had been his…

our home.

To A.R.D.

Tags

grief, Lexi & Savannah, Lies, parental alienation

To my daughter who said her “childhood was like mine”:

So…

Your momma didn’t allow you to have friends?  You had 4 total “social” events in your entire childhood?

Your momma never helped you with homework?

Your momma never let you have a boyfriend?  Or hang out with boys at all?

Your mom called your fiancé to tell him lies hoping he’d break up with you?

Your momma put you with a babysitter who molested you for 5 years? And another babysitter who molested you for 2 years?

Your momma left you in the car while she fucked a man in a driveway or hotel room who wasn’t your dad or her husband?

Your mom asked you to lie to her husband for her?

Your momma left you alone in a hotel room when you were 7, scared, in the middle of the night, to fuck a man she was cheating on your step dad with?

Your momma couldn’t be bothered to let you be active in school events, like cheerleading or band or orchestra or Girl Scouts?

Your mom threatened to dye your hair when you were 4 because you were born blonde?

Your mom told you you “disgusted her” every time you cried as a child or as an adult?

Your mom beat you with a belt til you bled just for literally saying the words, “Mom, I don’t even know what I did wrong”?

Your mom never held your hand?  Or asked you what was going on in your life?

Your mom spanked or slapped you when you had a nightmare?

Your mom posted a page from your diary on the refrigerator for 6 months?

Your mom let you talk on the phone with your friends?

Your mom didn’t let you choose clothes you liked?

Your mom let you wear clothes that fit you?

Your mom didn’t defend you when you someone hurt your feelings or did you wrong?

Your mom didn’t play games with you at home as a child?

Your mom didn’t read to you?

Your mom never took you to do fun things? Or let you go with friends to do them?

Your mom refused to let you see your grandmother for 10 years because she didn’t like her?

Your mom didn’t cook for you?

Your mom didn’t do your laundry?

Your mom made you clean the entire house every day from the time you were 5?

Your mom yelled at you because your panties were dirty?

Your mom cheated on your dad? Then told you he cheated on her and beat her when you were 6?

Your mom slapped you in the face for buying .25 cent Cracker Jacks?

Your mom told you “Santa would be short this year” so she could have a 2 carat diamond?

Your mom told you you “deserved what you got” when you were in the hospital ICU paralyzed from a massive stroke at 26 years old?

Your mom tried to get you to lie and say your step-dad molested you because she was having sex with someone else’s husband?

Your mom told you when you had 2 little babies and were scared that didn’t know how you could manage to work and care for them from a wheelchair when you were fully disabled by a stroke that you’d just have to “find a way to manage”?

Your mom made fun of your handwriting?

Your mom told you to get on welfare when you literally had no food or money to buy food while you were pregnant?

Your mom bragged to you about all the clothes she had she could never wear while you cried because you only had one pair of pants to wear while pregnant?

Your mom paid for your sister to go to college while telling you to “fend for yourself”?

Your mom told you she couldn’t “afford for you to play  an instrument”?  While married to a wealthy man?

Your mom shamed you for every friend you liked as a child?

Your mom insulted every friend you made as a child?

Your mom grounded you from friends, television, phone, and school activities for 842 days because you played video games once in the 6th grade with a friend when she wasn’t home? Then told you you hadn’t been grounded for the final several months but she’d just “forgotten” to tell you you weren’t grounded anymore?

Your mom told you “well, you must like it” when a man beat you unconscious?

Your mom told you to “just give it a year” when a boy you dated threatened you with a gun?

You were too scared to tell your mom you were gang raped by three boys at 16 years old because you knew she would blame you?

Yeah…we had the exact same upbringing, my child.

You poor thing.

Oddity and Death

Tags

death, Lies, Wills

News that my dad had died suddenly and unexpectedly while on vacation, was shocking.  He was 75, so it wasn’t utterly untimely, but certainly unexpected.  By all accounts, he had been quite healthy!  He’d actually been for a checkup just a few weeks earlier and had called me afterward to tell me everything looked good….

From the minute I got that phone call on the evening of March 23, 2012 from a sister who hadn’t spoken to me since 1998, I was not only emotionally beyond grief, I was immediately thrust into a state of actual shock.  My body literally stopped functioning normally.  I was chronically nauseous, unable to eat, and instantly began what would turn into a three month bout with Montezuma’s revenge. My brain seemed to slow considerably and rendered itself almost incapable of processing information.

It was like moving underwater…everything fuzzy, slow, and out of focus..and movement itself felt like pulling weights far beyond my strength…

I could write a dissertation on the physical, mental, and emotional effects this had on me, but that would be nothing extraordinary.  Grief is overwhelming.  It starts immediately in your heart and over the next however long, it spreads to your stomach, skin, mind, brain, soul, and life, like a virus inhabiting every tiny piece of everything.  However, what I need to do here is document all the oddities surrounding his sudden death.  Somewhere, somehow, these facts and strange circumstances must be documented.

The wolves, my sister and mother, (starting with my estranged sister’s phone call informing me), knew this would level me in every imaginable way, and pounced immediately.   In fact, hindsight has opened wide on all the zillion ways the wolves planned it all…from that very first phone call.

1. Although my dad’s death was allegedly “instant”, they waited many hours to inform me.  My sister said they hadn’t wanted to “upset me at work”, so they waited until nearly 9 pm to call me although he died at 1:34 in the afternoon.
2. She lied about where he was when he died.
3. She lied about various aspects of his will.  Interestingly, although she resides in Washington, she demonstrated vast and detailed insight into Michigan estate law, by informing me of all the ways my dad’s will wasn’t technically “legalized” in the state of Michigan (these claims later proved to be lies).
4. She informs me with a little giggle that “Strangely enough, dad had just told me (her) just last night where he keeps his will there in Michigan“.

The very night before he leaves to go home from his week long California vacation, he randomly tells my sister whom he’s not at all close to and whom lives in Washington state, precisely where his will is in his house in Michigan – a house (and father) she’s not been to visit since 1989. Literally about 12 hours between his life and death he tells her where his will is!

1. She immediately begins the argument for cremating my dad before sending him home from the state of California – where he was on his last day of vacation when he suddenly dropped dead.
   1. Her thoughtful argument for immediate cremation was that she adamantly didn’t think I should “see him this way”.  She expressed concern for my seeing him in “such a state”.
      1. He died of arterioscleratic cardiovascular disease – not a gunshot to the face.  His physical appearance was absolutely fine.
   2. All my life, literally since I was a very young child, my dad has been made clear his burial desires – none of which ever included cremation.  He even took me to the exact spot he wanted to be buried at least 3 times in my life before I  turned 15 years of age.
   3. I refused the cremation in California.  Although in my immense grief and shock, I very likely would have agreed to it had my dad not been very clear all my life regarding his burial wishes.   The strength I had to stand my ground on that very adamant and manipulative argument came entirely from how clear my dad had always been regarding his burial wishes. Personally, I wasn’t able to think clearly at all in the moment…nor did I have an ounce of strength or argument for anything whatsoever at the moment.
2. She repeatedly told me how much she and my mother (who was there with them on vacation in California at the time of his death and hadn’t spoken to me since 1998 also) loved me – although she’s known her entire life this is not a truth.

Mother offers to fly straight to Michigan saying she wanted to help me with my two teenaged daughters during this terrible time.   Mother, again who’s not spoken to me in 14 years,  flies straight from California to Michigan (she resides in Ohio) to “help me and my children” through this.

6. Mother(who divorced my dad in 1973 and married her wealthy lover in 1976 -the man whom she cheated on my dad with during their marriage) wants to stay at my dad’s house, even though my children and I are emotionally unable to step foot in it yet. I agreed to allow her to stay there.   After all, she hadn’t spoken to me in 14 years, my dad was abruptly dead, and she’s actually suddenly being kind enough to come out of her way to help inconsolable me and my devastated children, right?

7.  Once mother is physically in my dad’s house, she’s very difficult to reach.  She ignores my phone calls for hours on end and in my state of shock, twice in the first 2 days of her stay at my dad’s house, I freak out, frantically thinking maybe she’s died also…such is the difficulty in reaching her by telephone.

8. My paternal aunt (who’s not spoken with my mother since an argument they had in December of 1987) is highly suspicious of my dad’s sudden death and my mother coming to Michigan “for me” because she’s acutely aware of how my mother’s treated me all my life as well as the horrendous way she treated my dad while they were married.

In addition, it’s taking California an unusual amount of time to release and send my dad’s body home. She’s freaking out over this.  I continually try to reassure her that I’m sure it’s just because California is heavily populated and slower than we in the midwest would anticipate.

9.  I mention my aunt’s discomfort at the lengthy time to obtain my dad’s body to mother in conversation and my (calm, cool, never ruffled) mother goes berserk!  She immediately feigns getting all choked up at the “insinuation that she would have ever physically harmed my dad”.  She’s just “so deeply hurt that anyone would ever accuse her of doing such a thing…!”

I was caught quite off guard over this unwarranted and bizarrely random reaction (from my very typically unemotional mother) as no one had suggested anything like that!  My aunt simply was frustrated with the length of time California was taking to ship her brother’s body to another state!  No one was suggesting mother had harmed (or killed?!) my dad….  I reassured mother at length that that was not what anyone was suggesting!!

10. After 2 days in my dad’s house, mother calls me to ask me “Baby, where did daddy keep his gun?”

Huh?  What?!??!?  Literally, in my entire 42 years – 25 spent seeing my dad at least daily – my dad had never owned a gun.  EVER!  In fact, in my entire life, I’d never known my dad to own a gun , discuss guns or firearms of any kind, much less, own one.  Being that my mother led my father on that she loved him from the time she left him in 1973 until the day he died, she would have known my dad never owned a gun – EVER.  And here she is acting all extremely nonchalant and asking me all sweet like where he keeps his gun!?

I was astounded…  This woman had been telling me repeatedly from the minute he died how she “knew more than I thought she did”(which truly, never made a lick of sense to me what on earth she was implying, but I just nodded and said ok every time she repeatedly told me that intentionally vague and mysterious “knowing” statement).  This woman who had intentionally remained close to my dad for all my life and had amped that closeness up after she threw me away in order to maintain a relationship with my kids without having to speak at all to me, didn’t know my dad NEVER OWNED A GUN?  …And wanted to know where he kept this fictitious gun we both knew didn’t exist???

Huh??  What??

Fucking bizarre!!!  Even in my state of shock, I couldn’t wrap my head around her even asking me such a thing when I knew unequivocally that she knew (and she knew that I knew!) that my dad never owned a gun in his entire life…

I expressed this absolute amazement at her question to her, reminding her of what I knew she already knew…that he’d never owned a gun in his life and her reply was (very calmly), Ohhhhh….he didn’t?  I thought he’d mentioned buying one once a few years ago…?

11. My estranged sister spent weeks feigning compassion and “concern”, saying “you just need to focus on your children – I’ll take care of everything“, while blatantly manipulating me to NOT go to the estate attorney’s office with her to discuss my dad’s will…and the subsequent lies I found out she’d told me since that initial phone call….

Anyway…all of this is extremely coincidental since my anal retentive military dad purchased $200 will-making software and followed it to the letter of the law, but never had it signed. 

So…we had to agree upon a will that my dad allegedly created, but allegedly followed all the steps except for the part where he signed it and made it legal.

I never argued this.  I was in shock…  I was overwhelmed with his sudden death and all the knowledge my estranged sister presented about dying in Michigan and Michigan wills…

I never argued this will they “knew all about”.  I was never interested in what money he left behind, as there was no amount of money which could have replaced him in my life.

There’s actually so many more strange circumstance and lies around my dad’s death, but I’m unfortunately unable to phrase it clearly in the typed word, but I’ll leave this with what she said at the estate attorney’s office when the attorney expressed her compassion for our grief. In the attorney’s office, I still couldn’t stop crying and when the lawyer went to tell us what was left to us financially , I just said…I dont even care about what he left.. MY DADDY IS DEAD.

And my sister spoke up and said, I DO!!!!  …I’m here to hear about the money!

 

 

 

You Want to Hear Something Crazy? — After Narcissistic Abuse

Tags

Domestic violence, emotional abuse, Lies, narcissistic personality disorder

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 […]

via You Want to Hear Something Crazy? — After Narcissistic Abuse

Parking Lot Peeing & other Unforgivably Heinous Crimes

Tags

abuse, bedwetting, Lies, PTSD, truths

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:

1. I had chronic bladder and kidney infections as a small child.
2. 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.
3. 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!)
4. 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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. After the gang rape, my bladder issues resurrected with full and added force, as did my night terrors.
4. 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.
5. 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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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!

Death is a Liar’s Smorgasbord

Tags

Lies, murder, parental alienation, suicide

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.

…my neighbor.

…my sister.

…my daughter.

…my ex-wife.

…my ex-lover.

…my employee.

…my momma.

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.

Literally.

The Slander of the Narcs

Tags

Lies, narcissistic personality disorder, parental alienation

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

Wild Horses

Tags

accusations, children, empty, injustice, Lies, loveless, Narcissistic Abuse, Rumors

Hanged, Drawn, and Quartered by Matthew Joseph @fotodudenz

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.

Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones

 

The Daddy Issues Accusations

Tags

abuse, apologies, Daddy, deathbed confessions, forgiveness, Lies, narcissist mother

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. 

Sober Saturday Night

Tags

daughter, Lies, parental alienation, sober, unholy grief

Heard this song the other day and it really grabbed me.

Sober Saturday Night by Chris Young

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.

“Unholy grief”

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.