Dissociation, a side effect of Malignant Narcissist Psychopaths and other Abusers

Dissociation is a psychological term used to describe people who disconnect from their surroundings. I can be akin to daydreaming while watching TV or reading a book to more severe forms such as amnesia and multiple personality disorders.  It is often brought about by severe childhood trauma such as physical, psychological, and sexual abuse. These children have experienced severe abuse and violence.

I dissociate and I have amnesia. Along with the descriptions of dissociative disorders I experience depersonalization, and psychological numbing. Traumatic abuse which brings about these disorders/symptoms also appear in conjunction with anxiety, PTSD, low self-esteem, somatization, depression, chronic pain, interpersonal dysfunction, substance abuse, self-mutilation and suicidal ideation or actions (Wikipedia).  I have or continue to experience the items in bold.

I dissociate. What does that mean? How did/does it happen? When did it happen? Do I know when it happens? How often does it happen? Am I crazy? So many questions. The mind is very mysterious in the ways it tries to protect itself and preserve the life of the person in who’s body it resides. Yet the way it tries to protect the person also ends up harming them. Strange, isn’t it?

Dissociation is a defense mechanism where people are being severely abused. It often goes undiagnosed, as it did in my case. My problem was I was abused as a child, or had depression, or drank too much, or was unhappy in my job or in my marriage. I went to doctors and counselors and not a single one was able to differentiate between abuse and sever abuse. There was agreement that I had PTSD but no one had any solutions or even seemed to be concerned about it. Get therapy was sometimes the only answer I got. So I got therapy. It never addressed the issues I had. What were the issues? The issues were the damage done to my mind by the relentless evil done by a malignant narcissist psychopath mother. They therapists talked about the abuse, how it was not my fault, about trying to forgive, but never about what it had done to me. How my brain was now wired incorrectly, how my thinking had been altered, that I had anxiety because I lived in a constant state of fear and the radar was running constantly. That I had obsessive thoughts because of the fear. That fear manifested in anxiety and made me sound angry. That I have no self-esteem whatsoever, that I was having anxiety attacks. That I lived a life of co-dependent behaviors that denied my needs. My children might disagree with that statement because I know it appeared different to them. It is much more complicated than appearances. They never told me that my suicide attempts, self-harm, and insomnia were all part of the abuse and gave me pills for depression. They did not clue in to my stomach, heart, and bowel problems that they were related to the abuse. I had to wait until I was almost 60 years old to find the connections and it makes me angry.

Dissociation. Defense. Interesting. What am I defending when I do nothing physically? I am there passively, and not doing anything to defend myself. Well, I guess the mind goes to battle for you by creating ways for you to not be there mentally, or to numb you emotionally from what is happening, and in worse case scenarios it wipes it from your mind or even creates another persona who lives the memory for you. It sounds really crazy, but you have done it yourself when you have been driving, and sort of zone out and then wonder how you got to where you are.

I was beaten physically and emotionally every single day. I was physically beaten with a 4 – 5 inch wide piece of conveyor belt. Bare bottom, over the knee. A predetermined amount of strikes would be decided and if I moved or put my hands over my bottom, the count would start over. The highest number at one time that I can remember was 30. By the time the 30 were given all at once I was hit many times that number. At a point you become exhausted, you cannot feel anymore, you have no more tears. You have nothing. Nothing. Absolute emptiness. It was during one of these times that I dissociated. I left me and went up into the corner of the room and it was like I was watching myself on a movie screen. I wasn’t there. It happened many times after that. It is a strange experience. I don’t know if I really wasn’t there, or just sort of numbed the experience, because I still felt the blows; but it was like it wasn’t happening to me. I was disconnected and like two people.

When I am very afraid or anxious today I still look in the direction of the corner and can still go there. These repressed emotions come manifest in fear and anxiety and can result in self-harming and suicidal thoughts and attempts. I didn't know I dissociated until it was pointed out by my therapist. He raised his voice and two fingers and pointed to his eyes and said, “Stay here! Look here! Focus your eyes on mine.” I tried to relay what I had been saying to him while looking him in the eye, and I was overwhelmed with emotions. Pain. Grief. Sadness. Anger. Rage. I cried. Emotions I had blocked by dissociating had begun to come to the surface. I told him I couldn't talk about it anymore. I’m not so sure that I’m liking this a whole lot. It feels like I don’t connect with my emotions for a reason, but at the same time I’m feeling lighter. Happier and angrier, peaceful and agitated, mad and glad. A seesaw going up and down. Like a boat tossed in the ocean being tossed here and there. A literal roller coaster of gut wrenching emotions that feel that the are simultaneously setting me free and tearing me apart at the same time.

I know I have amnesia over certain events as I can only remember parts of them. Just recently I have discovered that I have amnesia over even more. After a bad time with my MNM I started to see and hear shadowy figures in my mind. They are telling me something but I can’t hear them. I don’t know who there are because I only see dark shadows. It’s important. I feel that. I sense that. They scare me, but I am assured by my professionals that I needn’t be afraid.

I want to know why my MNM wanted to kill me that one particular day. I want to know why she stopped. I need to know. When I try to remember or talk about it hysteria and bile rises up in my throat and such panic and fear rises and I’m on the verge of losing my mind screaming in my head, my insides, out loud, “I can’t remember! I can’t remember, I DON”T REMEMBER!” I am absolutely frozen in terror and I want to know what it is that I can’t remember.

I depersonalize. Sometimes I feel that I’m watching myself like in a movie. I feel disconnected and unable to connect. To people. To myself. To my surroundings. At times I feel invisible. I don’t exist. It’s an alternate reality that I don’t like and I don’t belong there. I want to be connected with the world. It is like there is an invisible wall that prevents me from connecting. I feel numb and I find it difficult to be completely present. I hide in my mind. I close the doors. I zone out. I lose hours and hours of time in my head. I may write more on this later.

The damage from these evil people is so deep that it sometimes cannot be undone. I am so angry. How could I know? People ask me “How could you?” when they look at some of the mistakes I have made in my life. My children ask, “How could you?” when I was angry, or when I tried to commit suicide. My counselors ask me, “How could you not?” People asked me why I drank and my counselor asks, “How could you not.” My family wants to know why I didn’t do better at life than what I did and my counselors ask, “How could you?” I tear at my arms and people ask "How could you?" and the professionals say "Why wouldn't you?" Finally, I thank God that finally, someone gets it. They know what it is like to be me. My God I cry, they get it!

As I learn of the damage done to me I am learning to forgive me. I used to wonder all the time, “How could you?” The voice of my evil, critical MNPM asking me over and over “How could you? You have yourself to thank for this!” and she would swing the strap at me. Many times in the humiliating position of pants down and over her knee, or my stepfathers. Many times, totally naked as she had ripped the clothes off of me. In front of my stepfather who molested me.  In front of my brothers, my sister. “HOW COULD YOU? YOU USELESS PIECE OF S***! YOU’D BE BETTER OFF DEAD! I SHOULD KILL YOU! WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THAT? NOTHING! OF COURSE NOT, BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN SAY. YOU ARE USELESS. YOU DESERVE THIS. YOU ASKED FOR THIS. I HATE YOU. YOU ARE LUCKY YOU ARE STILL ALIVE! NOW BEND DOWN!”

Shame, guilt, humiliation, and tears were the clothes I wore. How could you? How dare you ask me that. Indeed, how could I have been anything other than what I was. I feel sad for that girl, for that mom, and for me. I tried really hard to be everything that my MNM wasn’t. I was nothing like her, but I still failed. I forgive myself  for not being perfect. I’m told I had to. I was deceived and deeply damaged. The majority of people in the same situation end up dead, or drug addicts, homeless, in jail, living on the street. They are unable to have long term relationships, keep their children, and many end up in psychiatric hospitals and unable to function with any normalcy in society. Looking at the statistics, I did well. If God can forgive me, I can forgive me.

I long for my day of maturity when I will no longer be tossed about by my emotions and I hold tightly to God’s promise:

Ephesians 4:14 Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming.

My clothing of shame and guilt have been traded in and my God dresses me as he pleases for His glory.

Isaiah 61: 10 I will rejoice greatly in the LORD, My soul will exult in my God; For He has clothed me with garments of salvation, He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness, …