I'm so thankful for Google, I swear. I think I'm almost as thankful for Google as I am that I ever called McHottie's office number.
So, this crazy thing happened (Shocking, I know). Okay, bear with me here while I give you a pretty substantial amount of backstory, seeing as how I haven't written in awhile again.
Mamabear moved to our peaceful little island in December. Okay, well, maybe not entirely peaceful -but way less turbulent than our lives were Stateside. Anyway, we knew it was going to be...stressful, living with Mamabear. However, she really wanted to move right away (read: jump ship), and so we welcomed her with open arms. Well, I mean, we were hopeful that she would hold true to her word that she was uber-missing her grandbabies, and she wanted to help King and I reconnect (we had quite a bit of trauma involving Aunt Trip last summer).
From a couple of days in, we knew it wasn't going to be like...you know, a picnic on the beach or anything. However, I had hoped that gentle coaching (as opposed to my usual bluntness) would help her see that her Stateside behavior/habits just weren't going to be acceptable here. The high level of expectations (What's for dinner? What are the plans today? Are there any clean towels? I'm really going to need help acquiring transportation aside from this short term rental... It's absolutely mandatory that I shop on Christmas Eve!), the overuse of limited resources (ie. water & electricity), among other things were just the beginning of the challenges. After several attempts at 'big talks,' in which I attempted to impress upon her that she was being rather selfish & unrealistic (without damaging her fragile ego), I gave up entirely. I felt that I was wasting time and precious oxygen, and I really thought (foolishly) that I could just let it go. Really though, I wasn't letting go of anything. I was letting everything fester.
A few days prior to my "ah-ha moment" (which I am leading up to), I had asked her to watch the girls for a bit (an hour, to be exact) so that I might go down the road to enjoy a cocktail and catch up with some friends. I came home around 7:30pm to find my youngest asleep, my eldest awake (thankfully, quietly watching Netflix) and Mamabear passed out in my bed -mouth open and snoring. A few seconds later (maybe 30?) she said, "Boo!" and tried to pass it off as though she was only pretending to sleep. I didn't even acknowledge it. I said nothing, but I was determined not to leave them with her again. This was at least the 3rd time I had come home to her not taking care of my children in some form or fashion.
Fast forward to what started out as a most promising, beautiful Sunday on the beach, complete with good friends, food, and drinks (yes, the adult variety). We had been having such a great time that King decided he would take the Jeep back to Mamabear at work (it was time for him to go in, and she had finished up). She could then bring the Jeep back to the beach and join us (We had been sharing a vehicle since she moved down).
Something set me off. I am not exactly sure what, as my memory from the time she arrived at the beach until much later that night has failed me. From the accounts of my friends who were there, she was "stewing" while sitting on the beach watching the rest of us have a good time in the water. I then became belligerent, and it was time to go. I didn't want to go home, but my friends advised me that it was not a good idea to leave the girls alone with her again, though that would have given me the time I needed to cool down. That left me in quite the predicament, right? Go home knowing I'm unbelievably angry and likely face confrontation...or leave my girls with someone who provides about as much care for them as my animals could. I rode back home with my friends, while the girls rode back with Mamabear.
When we arrived home, I remember repeatedly telling her she needed to get out of my house. I also remember her repeatedly denying my requests. I have also been recounted this story by my friend (we'll call her Jane) who was present. Jane decided to get the girls showered, and in that time frame, I ended up on my back with Mamabear on top of me, repeatedly bashing my head into the tile floor and striking me in the face. I don't remember most of it...I do remember crying for Jane...I am eternally grateful that she was there. If not for her, I'm not sure I'd even be writing this entry right now (or ever). In the end, I looked like I have been feeling all these years -a human punching bag. Jane believes that I must have lost consciousness at some point. I couldn't say honestly whether I did or did not. All I know is that no one deserves to be treated in such a way, no matter how 'drunk' or 'unreasonable' she may be.
I spent several days in my house due to unrelenting migraines and swelling and bruising that could never have been covered with any amount of makeup. Truthfully, I should have gone to the hospital. She went to work the next day (after having been nearly forcibly removed from our home by King) with a few scratches and a bruise on her arm and made sure that everyone she encountered knew that it was because of my belligerence and unprovoked attack on her. She told people that she suspected that I had been using illegal drugs (she even accused me directly of this). She told others that I am an alcoholic and also that I shouldn't be drinking in combination with my (imaginary) anti-depressants. She then (of course) vehemently denies saying any of it and has blamed "the unreliable coconut telegraph" for the exaggerated misinformation.
It must be noted that I do not believe I am without fault here. I know that I acted completely irrationally and out of turn. I know that I completely lost control of my anger and acted inappropriately. I am quite sure there was a better time and place to handle my issues, and obviously there must be a better way to communicate apart from a violent confrontation. However, I did not use any illegal substances, nor did I misuse any prescription medications, as I am not currently prescribed any. I am absolutely at fault for my actions and sorry for the way I behaved.
It must also be noted that she has apologized for hurting me, but that apology is not without an asterisk. She has pleaded with me to understand that she would not have hurt me so badly had she not been provoked by me and had I not 'attacked' her 'out of nowhere'. So while she is sorry, I am still at fault for her inappropriate display of anger toward me. She also wholeheartedly denies that I had a concussion and insists that my memory loss is due 100% to my level of intoxication. Along with that, she does not believe she has gossiped to anyone about the incident.
Whatever the case, no one deserves what happened to me -no one. And there is absolutely no justification for this woman's actions...unless she's a Narcissist.
This brings me to Google. I didn't even use the word. I asked the question, "why does my mother lie to me?" Once I got past all of the "Santa Claus" nonsense, I came across the very accusatory term: Narcissist. I didn't think it was possible because of how 'fragile' and 'sensitive' she is. I swear it never even crossed my mind, but it's the only thing that makes any sense.
I read the first article, and it was like someone finally turned the lights on in my head. Nearly every single point was describing my mother and my childhood. And I have been the perfect codependent child. It's quite disturbing, really. However, at the same time as being entirely disturbing, it was nice for things to begin to add up properly. I just kept shaking my head and laughing hysterically at myself, as article after article kept pointing to the same thing...My mother is a narcissist.
I even went back and read some of my earlier blog entries and realized that I have been protecting her this entire time, making sure not to damage her fragile and sensitive ego. Meanwhile, she has played me for a fool...a pawn on her chessboard of life. I am only as good as I am useful in making her feel better about herself. I am just a trophy on a shelf for her to polish and, within it, admire herself. For 30 years, I have played into her hands and she has been my puppet master.
I guess the long and short of things here is that through this terrible tragedy, I have learned a great deal. I have learned that it's time to get back onto that green (or blue) sofa. My work in therapy is clearly not finished, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. At least there's a light. I have learned (yet again) that I'm really not as crazy as my parents (well, my entire family really) would like me to believe. I have learned that you can't just let go of things that require reparations. I have learned that it's not worth sacrificing oneself for a superficial relationship with a parent who is incapable of reciprocating authentic love.
So, all in all, I suppose getting smacked upside the head actually did do me a bit of good...
~~~If you suspect that one (or both) of your parents may be Narcissistic, I highly recommend reading~~~
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