The Truth Behind the Agenda

Tags

narcissistic personality disorder, narcissists, truths

From my Book – From Charm to Harm and Everything else in Between with a Narcissist! @http://www.amazon.com Narcissists are masters at putting a spin on the truth, using extreme manipulation, and playing mind games to get what they want. They play to win and get the rewards from the investment they put into scamming […]

via The truth behind their AGENDA – Narcissists are MASTERS at putting a spin on the truth, using extreme manipulation, charm, and playing mind games to get what they want from people and life. That is what they are doing in this so-called relationship with us. They are ALWAYS  sourcing out whomever they can to get what they want in every life situation. People are all pawns in this game of theirs – nothing more and nothing less. — After Narcissistic Abuse

My Tiny World

Tags

abuse, narcissists, parental alienation

I am a naive, ignorant woman. I’m at the end and it’s my choice yet a teeny tiny piece of me still can’t comprehend this as reality. As though this is some movie where the happy ending comes at the last minute. Where my children call and say “OMG Momma!! I’m so sorry…the truth matters so much. I’m sorry what you’ve endured.. I love you.”

I wanted to make it perfect. A spotless house, pretty pajamas, the perfect letter saying all the right things….

But I think those were ignorant thoughts begging for a righteous, happy, lovely little pat ending to this nightmare. Some delightful made for TV movie where good wins in the end.

Me though? I’m watching Criminal Minds. Kinda in honor of how much Savannah loved this show… And in great irony, the last three episodes I’ve watched were about  sexual criminals with a predilection for teenage girls.

Here’s my world : I’m “disgusting ” because I had sex in my bedroom with my boyfriend while my children were sleeping.

What’s *not* disgusting is having a sexual obsession with teenage girls…

I’m disgusting because I drank to numb my pain at helplessly watching my children hurt sometimes after our home was stolen by their father.

What’s “not” disgusting is stealing your ex’s home in an attempt to leave her and your children homeless … all “for their own good”.  Because it’s okay to steal what’s not yours as long as you tell the people it was “for their own good”.

I stole a lip gloss once when I was 14.  I still feel ashamed.

I’ve never once raised my hand in anger, but my ex has abused animals, women, and children, I’m sure “for their own good” though.

I peed in a parking lot once and I’m the worst mother ever.

Welcome to a tiny glimpse of my world.

NPD Awareness Day (aka Father’s Day)

Tags

abuse, children, narcissistic personality disorder, narcissists

Narcissists are very envious of others. Unless they can take credit for the person’s good fortune, it is either dismissed or seen as a threat. No one is better than they are. A narcissist cannot feel happiness for someone else, not even their own child. A narcissistic parent believes that it is their right to […]

via Narcissistic Personality Disorder Awareness Day (AKA: Father’s Day) — Two and a Half Socks

Narc swirls and unmistakable patterns

Tags

abuse, child abuse, narcissists, parental alienation, PAS

Brainwashed

I’m seeing a pattern here. 

1. Narcs lie because they get off on it. 

2. A relationship with a Narc ruins your health, both physical and mental. 

3. Narcs sponge off the woman/man they claim to love.

4. Narcs wait until you are completely charmed and reeled in and then start disappearing or mentioning other women, or throwing you off balance.

5. Narcs often take satisfaction when they have driven a woman/man to a mental break-down or suicide. 

6. Narcs are charming and difficult to forget. They give us highs we’ve never experienced, and once they know they ‘have’ us, discard us, or keep us around like a second option. 

7. Narcs never say sorry in a genuine manner, only with qualifying or sarcastic additions to twist the “apology” inside out. 

8. Narcs will ill speak you the way the ill spoke the woman in their previous relationship making themselves out to be a victim. 

9. Narcs are incapable of introspection. They have a small range of emotions such as lust, greed, rage, and sadistic satisfaction at knowing they have the power to hurt others. 

10. Victims of narcs often wonder if karma will get them as they seem to land on their feet. 

11. The truth is Karma has already got them as they are troubled souls having to look for new supplies to feed their broken egos and wounded selves. Their karma is they will never be happy. They will get less happy as they age and their charm starts to look ridiculous and has no impact on potential supplies. 

12. The best thing about having had a relationship with a narc is that we get to examine our own childhood woundings, to reflect, to get insight into ourselves, to understand that we are survivors, and if we are determined and stay the course with the no contact rule, we CAN heal and thrive again. We also learn that the greatest love of all is with ourselves. Once we learn to love ourselves, to stop waiting to be ‘saved’, we will attract amazing people in our lives, not out of need but out of joy. 

13. The other good thing about no contact is it teaches us how strong we can be. If we can go no contact, we can quit smoking, we can quit drinking too much, we can run that 5k, hell we can run a marathon, we can give up bread, we can finish that novel, we can start that business, we can laugh with our friends, we can help those who are less fortunate. We can find ourselves again. 

15. Its a blessing to have survived a narc as we see just how capable we are of loving others, of moving mountains. If we can do it for them, we can do it for us. 

Toxic Air

Tags

art, evil, innocence, Jean-Baptiste Mouton, narcissists, nature, no win situations, photography, punishment, scapegoat child, sociopaths, solitude

Photo by Jean-Baptiste Mouton

Since it is Mommie Dearest’s birthday week, I’ve decided to focus on sharing some experiences of growing up with a Narcissistic Personality Disordered mother. 

I’ve fallen in love with the artwork of Jean-Baptiste Mouton. He is a talented genius! So many of his photos resonate deeply for me in depicting the sense of grace with horror in a way that makes me feel as though he can see the defining conflict and depth of misery of a life with a pathological narcissist. I get the sense of innocence defiled and a horrific mental hell that is the playground of  narcissistic sociopaths. I think of the innocence of children living in times of war where the very nature of it all goes against all things  childlike and sweet, portraying a definite contradiction that simply is no place an innocent mind and heart can function or survive in tact.

The need to breathe. The desperation for safety when the very air you must breathe every day is toxic with confusion and bitterness. 

For 16 years, I lived in toxicity, desperate for fresh air, love, and security to just be…. to be me.. to be silly…to be happy… to feel what I felt, whatever it was… to like whatever color I liked best in any given moment without snide comments about being a liar because yesterday I liked a different color best. 

Once around the age of 7, I had gotten in serious trouble for not closing the kitchen cabinets all the way. I had left them just barely open, as close to shut as I could get them without them making a clicking sound and waking up Mommie because the Saturday prior, I had gotten a pretty severe spanking for closing the cabinets after taking out cereal, a bowl, and a spoon to eat it with. I hadn’t tried to be noisy. The cabinets had magnetic closures which pulled them to shut when the door was at all close to the frame and the click they made was inevitable. 

Mommie always slept in so it was up to me to get my own breakfast in the mornings, I would never dare to wake her just because I was hungry!! So after getting a spanking for the sounds the cabinets made when the magnetic piece clicked against its frame, I was scared to close the cabinets all the way at all this morning.  I very carefully closed them as close as possible without getting in range for the magnet to pull it shut the rest of the way. This took some effort, but I was happy to do it and felt proud of myself  that I was being so quiet getting my breakfast for myself.

It backfired though. As I was finishing my  cereal, Mommie woke up anyway and came into the kitchen. Feeling confident I had been the perfect angel of quietness, I smiled my most cheerful smile and said, Good morning, mommy! 

Mommie was furious! You left every GOD DAMN cabinet in the kitchen open! What the hell is the matter with you?  And she yanked me up from the chair by my arm and started spanking me as she screamed this at me. At 7, I already knew better than to answer her furious questions. I knew that I never answered them right and somehow I always made it worse by trying. I said nothing about how I’d learned my lesson the Saturday prior about how noisy the magnetic cabinet closures were. 

I cried though. I wouldn’t learn not to cry at being spanked or being frustrated or being scared until I was exactly 14. I didn’t yet understand how my tears fed her fury like a steak thrown into a pit of ravenous wolves. So yes, I was 7 and I cried while she spanked me. 

A few hours later when she was back in her room applying her makeup and I had calmed down from crying, I ventured cautiously into her bedroom to ask if I could go for a walk outside in the woods behind our house.  Even as a very young child I was drawn to the serenity of nature and solitude. And I knew it was a good idea to reflect on the error of my existence and my every choice in order to try to understand and hopefully realize wisdoms and how to make good choices that might make Mommie smile and be happy with me.  Nature and solitude were like my gas masks of safety, the only place I knew where I could breathe easily.

This was my intent today now. To spend my Saturday quietly in nature, alone, where I couldn’t make mistakes or annoy Mommie  at all, so I bravely asked her even though I knew she was furious with me and my stupidity,  if I could go for a walk in the woods. 

Mommie flipped out again. Screaming at me that she WASN’T STUPID!, she HADN’T BEEN BORN YESTERDAY!, and she demanded to know WHAT BOY I WAS MEETING IN THE WOODS?!

These questions really scared me because I didn’t have any plans to meet any boys in the woods. And I also was wise enough to know that denying the accusation was equally dangerous because it would be considered the same as “calling her stupid”. 

There was no right answer to this line of accusatory questioning where she “already knew” the answer/the truth / whatever.  So I said, I’m not meeting a boy Mommie. I just want to go for a walk outside by myself because I’m sad that I didn’t close the cabinets this morning. 

Ohhhh the rage! I was not allowed to go for a walk, I would go “STRAIGHT TO MY ROOM “ because I was “giving attitude ” and “insulting her intelligence ” and she was just “tired of looking at my face already”. 

I went to my room and wished I could be like my older sister and sleep til noon so that I could have avoided making Mommie so mad twice already before 11 AM.  At least I didn’t usually provoke and infuriate her while I was sleeping… not usually at least. 

The True Face of Evil

Tags

abuse, children, Conscience, evil, God, Mercy, Momma, narcissists, prayer, rape, sexual assault, sociopath

My precious Angel Toes and me circa 2002

In 2001, after finally successfully freeing myself from my children’s father, I was newly married to a decent and handsome man. A man who struggled with his own demons like we all do, but who innately was good st heart who carried the burden of conscience even when he made mistakes or bad choices. Although I divorced him and he made some choices that really hurt me, I could never hate this man. I believe in my heart, he never had the intention of hurting me or anyone nor did he receive pleasure or joy at knowing he had. 

This is a remarkable reflection for me and led me to a stark realization of bad versus evil.  I have certainly made bad choices myself… I have a great many regrets and things I would choose differently in hindsight if I had that option.

I was raped at gunpoint in 2002 while walking to the little store close to my house. Without getting into the crude details of that experience, I’ve recalled one very poignant moment within that over and over throughout the past 14 years since it happened. 

I was scared and confused when this man pointed a gun at me and instructed me to walk quietly a few yards to the baseball dugout in the park I was strolling through. All that flashed through my mind in those moments of terror  were me 4 and 6 year old daughters faces; their tiny little hands and arms reaching for me, their beautiful eyes looking up at me as I read them bedtime stories each night, and their  little voices saying, I love you, Momma“.  All I feared was a flash of their lives without their momma and what that might look like for them. Of course I wasn’t the perfect momma by any means…. but they were loved beyond reason and treasured with my whole soul and I would without hesitation die protecting them from pain or harm. So although I’ve always been very critical of my imperfections and my biggest daily prayer was to keep learning to be better and better every day, if not for the world and myself, at least for them, my gifts from God whom had entrusted me to be the best mother to them I knew how in spite of my imperfections as a human being. 

I did not care in the moment of a gun pointed to my head of dying, I did not think of my husband, I did not think about my job, or even my beloved daddy. The only picture and thought in my head was of those precious, perfect babies. 

So when we had walked to the dugout I pleaded with this man only one thing, I have two babies at home who need me. I’ll do anything you say but please don’t take me from my babies.  He did not respond to these words, he demanded I remove my pants.  

I did as I was told and only then did anything but my children flash through my mind. I had the fear  of him being inside my body, my husband, and my wedding vows and quickly wondered to myself if this would be considered a violation of my sacred vows. I wondered if my husband would ever make love to me the same again or see me in the same light after another man had been inside my body. Strangely enough, this was a brief thought as I was taking off my pants and my panties, standing vulnerable in the outdoors even though somewhat hidden inside the baseball dugout. 

As the man came closer to my body, pulling his pants down, my thoughts went immediately back to my children’s faces, voices, hands, and little toes I loved so much to kiss after their baths and when I tucked them in at night.  I lost all sight of my husband’s feelings or broken vows and thought only of their lives and futures without a momma. I pictured their little toes growing as time went on and easing into adult shoes rather than the light-up sneakers or tiny little sandals they currently wore. I wondered if anyone would think to kiss their “angel toes” after I was gone and I wondered why I’d never told anyone of our nightly “angel toes” kiss-fest so that their papa or their daddy or whoever would be tucking them in from now on, would know this was an important nightly event  to my children.  Angel toes matter !!!! Why hadn’t I told anyone about this important routine?!?!!?? 

This is when I started pleading out loud to God and to this man pushing himself up against my half naked body. I don’t know where the words came from even, but I pleaded, God, where are you? Then, Do you even believe in God? My children have angel toes! 

I looked in this man’s eyes as I said those words. And I saw a flash of recognition… or conscience.. or consequence… I really can’t know what it was, but I saw it and I believe it was his conscience. I’ll never know why this man chose to pull a gun on me to rape and rob me, but I will never believe this man is evil. I have seen evil and it has no conscience. I clearly saw a flash of conscience in his eyes right then. He told me to shut up. He told me to turn around. But it obviously affected him and it certainly ceased his momentum of the moment as it seemed he could no longer continue while I looked in his face. 

I turned around as he demanded. He then roughly said he would just give it to me in the ass then. But something had changed… something I can’t define exactly. His voice and his words were still gruff and cruel and his hands on my arms were still harsh but something had changed. Almost as though he had lost his motivation, whatever it had been. 

This man, a rapist and robber, had a conscience. I would swear to it. The energy changed completely after those last words I’d said and after I turned around, it was as though his heart was no longer in it even though his words remained in control and demanding to finish this one way or another. 

This is the defining difference between bad and evil. I have looked in the eyes of a narcissist as I pleaded for mercy or compassion. I have had my heart bleeding and aching in pain and misery as I begged my ex or my mother in the past and there was zero moments of conscience or regard of any kind. When they are destroying pieces of your heart and soul and spirit, their eyes are like snake eyes. Flat, cold, and sinister… void and empty of any feeling, compassion, or conscience. I may as well have been pleading with a snake not to bite me or to apologize for biting me after the fact. 

In fact, in my experience, narcopaths actually seem encouraged when I’ve plead for mercy, as though that has given them the ultimate pleasure of total control. In that moment of pleading for mercy, they know without a shadow of a doubt, that they are/have inflicted intense damage and have absolute control over the well being of your mind and soul.  There is no moment of pause. Begging for mercy motivates and encourages them by handing them complete control. 

I have many years spent with my mother and the father of my children and can recount so many times my shaken heart was desperate for them to stop inflicting pain; moments of literal and utter desperation where I looked in their eyes begging for mercy or even just a moment of compassionate reprieve from whatever their destruction of that moment was.

Never once did any flash of recognition or conscience come to their eyes or did they respond to my pleas with even a second’s pause or thought of the pain they were inflicting, either physical, mental, or emotional pain . They were energized to continue inflicting pain by my pathetic, weak pleadings for reprieve or understanding or compassion. Never before their acts nor after in the aftermath of their acts. 

Never once.  Unlike a rapist… 

Not. One. Single. Time.

 That is the true face of evil. 

I remember

Tags

abuse, assholes, baby, Dad of the Year, douchebags, emotional abuse, innocence, Mark D., narcissists, prenatal development

Watching Grey’s Anatomy, where Meredith is discussing what’s happening with her pregnancy  with Derek, (“the baby’s eyes develop this week”, etc etc) and I remember… And I’m jealous because I never got to experience that – talking about our baby’s development and the fears and worries and excitement that should come with that. Unless your child’s father is a narcissistic douchebag. 
I remember buying the book What to Expect When You’re Expecting so that I could know what was happening with my baby and be aware and excited about her progress . I didn’t have a mother to discuss these things with.. My mother was too pissed off that I was having a baby with this man at all, to discuss pregnancy and momma things. So I had this book to be my guide through it.

I would get so excited to read every week what was happening with my baby. I’d read it to her and talk to her, baby girl!!!?? Your heart/fingernails/hair/liver/brain is getting such-n-such this week!!! You’re so amazing!!! 

My boyfriend was rarely home, so it was just me, my book, and my cat Porsche discussing these exciting wonders of my sweet baby’s progress. And when really big milestones were occurring or fixing to occur soon, I’d get super excited and call her dad or try to tell him about it when he got home (whenever that might be) so he could know and share the excitement of our baby’s development. 

And he would say,  For God’s sake can’t we ever talk about ANY thing else?!?? 

And so I would shut the fuck right up and go back to reading silently and listening to him talk about his recent job drama or whatever most recent coworker had caught his attention (and usually his dick in her vag or mouth or whatever too). Because this baby, our baby, just wasn’t interesting enough in his world to listen to what was happening in her world or body or little tiny life… 

Yeah… I remember those days. 

Narcissism Why you were the target and why you were so special

Tags

black sheep, child abuse, childhood, estranged, manipulation, mean mothers, narcissists, parental alienation, scapegoat, unforgivable

Video post by @JANICELEVINSON.

Source: Narcissism Why you were the target and why you were so special

Where the f*ck is it anyway?

Tags

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?

I don’t know much, but I know Crystal Gayle!

Tags

8 tracks, adultery, child abuse, Darlene Higgins, narcissists

 

Someone might wonder how a woman around my age could know every Chrystal Gayle song ever written . I’m actually too young to know every lyric, beat, stanza, and song title of any of her songs, much less every  single one by heart, by cold dark middle-of-the-night memory….

On a dark night in 1977 or 78, I sat in the plush back seat of my mother’s huge  new fancy red and white Cadillac my step dad had recently bought for her, in the pitch black of night, with my older sister sitting to my left,, listening to this 8-track play over and over and over…and over… And over again…. While waiting for my mother who was busy sitting in a car ahead of us in a strange driveway in a strange man’s car for hours upon hours. Of course as a child, one doesn’t question why we children had to sit in a car for hours like that in the middle of the night while our mother begged and pleaded, manipulated and seduced a strange man in the  driveway of his house: a house, I’m fairly certain, he lived in with his wife and children …

This, coming after yet another huge argument between my step dad and mother earlier this same night, where mother’s adoring new-ish husband (of three) pleaded with her not to go and then ultimately pleaded with her not to take us with her where she was headed (to chase down her married lover who had a wife and young children of his own).

I’ll never forget how odd it felt hearing my strong, confident, hard non-stop working , quiet-type step dad beg.  And not just to beg at all, but to actually beg his wife, 25 years younger than he, to at least leave her children with him for the night while she ran around late into a dark night on a school night chasing another married man .

I was in the 3rd grade in Mr. DeVore’s class’s at Pike Elementary School in Cambridge, Ohio.  I loved school and I loved Mr. DeVore!! He was my favorite teacher so far! He had 2 daughters of his own and he was such a kind and gentle man, I often imagined he must be married to a beautiful, soft, loving woman with whom he had two very fortunate girls around my age who were probably loved every day by both of their parents. I imagined how they probably played games, laughed, learned cool stuff even at home, and got to have both their parents love them every day  and kiss them good night every night .

As I sat in the pitch black of night in mother’s fancy new car, after another huge ugly and sad fight with the man my mother had left my own daddy for only a few years earlier, while my mother left him earlier with the same sad, defeated look I’d seen years earlier on my own daddy’s face, I worried about getting to bed in time for school with Mr. DeVore in the morning. I thought about where Mr. DeVore’s two girls must be right that very same minute…safely tucked in their own beds after goodnight kisses from their real mom and real dad, sleeping peacefully until school time.

…while I was listening to Chrysyal Gayle sing the same songs over and over and over and over…

Why have you left the one you left me for? Has she heard, like me, that slammin door? Did you leave for good or just get bo-orr-orrred? Why have you left the one you left me for?

I can quote every song from that night because I spent hours sitting in darkness in a car alone with my 9 year old sister listening to these songs play so many times I lost count. This particular song stuck in my mind because my mother had just this night left the man she left my daddy for. Or so I thought after the fight and her sitting for hours in another car all night long while we waited for her and while my step dad Jim sat at home worried, sad, defeated, and had even begged mother to leave the kids at home for the night; at home , with our second dad after she’d already thrown away our first daddy too. And like our first daddy, this one had asked he if we could stay with him too. And once again, she had said no.

This time, I hadn’t been asked what I wanted or who I wanted to spend the night with. And I never opened my mouth to say I wanted to stay and sleep in my own bed with Mr. Bananas, my favorite mini stuffed monkey, to go to sleep and then to Mr. DeVore’s class in the morning that I loved so much to go to every day.  I was too scared of mothers furiously angry screaming and Jim’s begging… Even at 7, I knew and remembered this very scene all too well, Just like my first memories of life at all with my daddy and she. I knew better than to open my mouth at all, much less ask to stay with my step dad!  Oh, I knew better than to  say a word or God forbid, ask a question!

So I didn’t say, Mommy where are we going? Mommy, why are we leaving so late at night? Mommy, why is gentle, soft spoken Jim crying and begging you to “at least leave us kids” even though we aren’t really his own kids even? Why are we driving so fast down these old country roads? Why are we sitting alone in a running parked car for hours on end listening to these songs over and over while you sit in a dark car in front of us with a strange man who is not your husband OR my daddy?  I didn’t ask, Mommy will I still get to go to Mr. DeVore’s class tomorrow? Will I sleep in my bed? What time is bed time tonight? Isn’t it way after my bed time? Will I get to hold my favorite stuffed animal Mr. Bananas tonight ? Why was my step-daddy crying ? Will I ever see him again?

I knew better than to ask any one of these questions. And anyway mother wasn’t even in the car to ask them if I’d been brave enough to ever do so .

I got to know Chrystal Gayle really well that night though. And I knew her eyes must be brown like mother’s (not blue like mine) because she kept crooning  over and over and over again,

Don’t it make my brown eyes, don’t it make my brown eyes, don’t it make my brown eyes bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue….

And I really understood how much she, like my mother, must really really hate blue eyes!!! Gosh, she REALLY didn’t want her beautiful brown eyes like mother’s to ever turn blue like mine!! She kept saying that over and over and over.  I quietly wished for brown eyes too, every time the song came back around to play aain and again…and again… I wished for brown eyes like the lady singing this song and my mother and my sister even were lucky enough to have.  I understood then that the prettiest girls in the world must have brown eyes.  Mine were blue.

I didn’t know where I would sleep or when, where my daddy was or if I would see him again , or if I’d ever see Mr. DeVore or Mr. Bananas again… I didn’t know if my step-dad was all alone in the dark still crying in that beautiful house he had built for my mother, his wife  or why I had to sit in this car for so many hours… But I definitely knew Chrystal Gayle did NOT want her brown eyes to ever be blue !

Thanks Mommie Dearest. You and Chystal Gayle were a real source of morals, safety, comfort, and security for me as a young child!