Little Acons – No. 44
6 thoughts on “Little Acons – No. 44”
Vent Your Spleen! (Please see the Rules in Formal Info)
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Ah, yes. My therapist’s words.
I hate my mother. And I hate myself for hating her. And then I hate myself for hating myself for hating her. See, it was never about the silly MRN I stumbled upon. It has always been all about her. My mother, who gave me life and who then smothered it within me with her overwhelming ‘love’. I hate her. She may not deserve it, but there it is. I find her physically repulsive. And I have the narc to thank for this – and I mean thank, because without him, it wouldn’t have happened, I wouldn’t have hit rock bottom, seen the real beast behind my carefully constructed inner walls. It is both the beast and the hurt child. The thing inside me that I want to punish for being ungrateful, unpleasing, to her. Oh she has trained me very well. The pitiful little man I was involved with can go hide in a corner and weep. He’s got nothing on her.
I thought he would heal my wounds, make me whole, give me a positive sense of identity, help me internalise the feeling that I matter, that I am good just as I am. The reason I latched onto him lies in the wound given to me by my mother. Not his fault, he was just a guy who saw and seized an opportunity. An exposed piece of rotting meat on a warm summer day – can the fly be blamed for laying its eggs on it?
The beautiful part of this analogy of course is that just as the fly larvae eat necrotic tissue and thus preserve the healthy tissue underneath, so the narcissist ate away at the putrefied parts of my psyche to expose the deep injury inside. With some antiseptic, some sutures and allowing the wound to breathe, all will be well. Eventually.
Unfortunately it did once upon a time in that far away childhood. For a child it comes down to pure survival because without the personality disordered parent how can there be life? The good news is that it’s not about survival in that primal, terrifying and traumatic way anymore. I grew up to be a hopeless pleaser, but I’ve realised I don’t need to be that way anymore. I can survive abandonment now; I’ve actually lived through it these past few months and my heart still beats and my smile isn’t gone forever. Everything that’s me is still here; hidden beneath, starting to surface more and more. I was abandoned by a mean man who never knew what love is, but I’m grown up now, life does not start or end with a man; he’s not my responsibility and he never was; I need to be responsible for my own wellbeing instead and life does and always will go on. It comes down to living it with an open mind and an open heart and to make each day be remarkable, to make each day count.
Beautifully said, Catherine 💜
I forgot to mention her eyes at those moments. Blue, expressionless eyes. You see them sometimes, when in an old Western the hero concentrates on a shooting. You cannot read the emotions behind. There seem to be none. Cold, but somehow innocent blue eyes.
Sometimes it is very strange for me to see your Little Acons. I recognise that we all live in parallel realities. Although I have a mother with clear narcissistic traits, there was never shouting or physical violence. Therefore I never had a relationship to a violent or shouting man. They are not attractive.
For you it must sound very intimidating, but I was told that shouting people are always losers, who are powerless and inferiour, no matter, how rich or educated they are. It would be a clear sign of inferiority and a lack of intelligence. These kind of people are to avoid. My mother said that with a somehow classy and haughty expression on her face.
Sometimes she could not avoid an encounter with this type of personality. She then provoked them with cold, short comments until they went red because of their rage. She often smiled at them, when they raged. She was very calm, “friendly”, cold and superior at those moments. It is difficult to describe. Her nasty and mean words were in total contradiction to her body language. She seemed to be very relaxed, had full control over her feelings and let them see it and feel it. She made them feel powerless.
If people have had this kind of encounter with my mother, they avoided her afterwards for all time.
After such an event she did not mention it again. If I praised her as a child: “Wow, you struck him with words”, she said : “I do not know, what you mean.” And that was it.
Just for fun–I was recently watching this clip from Mommie Dearest. Joan Crawford (as portrayed by Faye Dunaway) comes off as a Greater. This is how I want to be when sat in a room of men who are trying to fuck with me. See, narcissists can be good. Man, I don’t want to get on her bad side. LOL
(This film is hilarious, BTW.)