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My malignant narcissistic sociopathic mother had ways of doing things to get to you. To teach
you, not to do what was right, but to teach you to cater to her needs and
moods. Somehow, I was supposed to have a mind connection to her so I would
intuitively know what she felt, thought, and needed. If I didn’t, the
punishment was swift and severe. Before she died, we had a conversation. She
said she wanted to help me deal with my childhood issues. LOL! That should have
been a red flag! But I took the bait. I bit in the insane hope that this time
she meant it. That this time, she would be honest. That this time we would
understand, and heal. How incredibly foolish of me. I was still dancing at the
end of the marionette stings she was pulling.
“Mom, do you remember when I was nine, and you made me sit on the chair, with the threat of death if I got off it, and made me watch you die. You know, when you took all those pills?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Mom, do you remember when I was nine, and you made me sit on the chair, with the threat of death if I got off it, and made me watch you die. You know, when you took all those pills?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Mom, did you stop and wonder what that would do to my 9
year old mind? You made it my fault for some silly infraction I no longer
remember. Maybe because I didn’t sweep the floor proper, or I didn’t properly
make my bed, or forgot to comb my hair. You told me, that because I disobeyed
you, you no longer wanted to live. You told me that if I loved you, I would have followed your
rules. Since I did not follow the rules, that meant I did not love you, and if
I did not love you, you did not want to live any longer, and since it was my
fault you did not want to live, I could watch you die.”
“Yes, I do. You know what you did.”
“Yes, I do. You know what you did.”
“Mom. I was 9. What did I do that was so horrible that I had
to go through that? What? Not brushing my teeth? Not picking up my dolls? What
merited that kind of punishment?”
“Well, you need to understand what
I was going through at that time. You never once stopped to think what I was
going through, did you? You never stopped to thing about me once. It was all
about you. You didn’t care that my marriage was falling apart, did you. No, you
didn’t!!”
“Mom. I was 9. I’m supposed to be playing with my dolls and
not worrying about my parents martial problems.”
“Well, then that’s the problem. If you only put yourself in my position then you would know and understand.”
_____
My mom’s marital problems at the time were of her own doing. She was having affairs and my father had left. He later sued for divorce and cited adultery with multiple men. He was granted the divorce AND custody of his children. I have his divorce papers. My mother insisted the papers were fake. She claims the Catholic Church granted her an annulment due to my father’s desertion. This is after she had 4 children by him. Of course, it is not true.
Another time, I had really annoyed her. She was getting more and more violent, crazy, and impossible to please. The rages were frequent. She claimed that I was incorrigible and had proof that I was taking drugs and was promiscuous and asked for a commitment to a mental hospital. It was granted. I was 17. There are no words to describe the horror of being committed to a mental institution when there was nothing wrong with you. That the truth was you were being abused, mistreated, bullied, humiliated, tortured, shamed, and living in absolute fear!! Well, after all the assessments I was declared sane and a motion was made to make me a ward of the court due to the “psychopathic nature of the mother”. My mother fought it. She claimed the doctors were biased against her and demanded new doctors. The court granted her wishes so I was reassessed by more doctors. Their findings were the same. She fought again, and again. It took seven months before I was legally allowed to be released into a foster home. The court ruling was she had 7 days to comply with signing her parental rights over to the court of be committed herself. She signed. I was legally free of her, but I have never been free emotionally. She is there constantly, denying my reality. She visits my dreams and I wake up screaming. I dream that I am in a court, or in front of accusers showing proof of what she has done. I show pictures, documents, and testimonies and she and they laugh and deny it. Call me delusional. Call me evil. Call me wicked. Say I have a vivid imagination. Say I live in a fantasy world. That black is white. That truth is fiction.
While I was there. Committed against my will as a minor, my mother added shame and humiliation. She told my grandma, aunts and uncles, cousins, and schools that I had been committed due to drug use because I had destroyed my mind with them and was basically a vegetable. She told them that I was not allowed visitors. So, she cut me off from everyone. Imagine my surprise when I found out what she had done. I called my aunt up one day and she said "I am so glad that you are out of the hospital and doing so well now. Your mom said you were even unable to communicate. You aren't going to do drugs again, are you honey?" I was like "What?" I never did drugs. Not ever.
My adrenal glands produce too much adrenaline. It happens in some cases of PTSD. Some cases the adrenaline just spikes in certain situations. Mine stays up constantly. It is damaging my body organs. My doctor says it will take my life eventually unless I find a way to reduce it with meditation or reprogramming. My psychiatrists have said mine is among the worst of abuses they have seen and in cases like mine, it is very difficult, if not impossible to turn off the flow of adrenaline.
My mom made me promise before she died that I would tell our story. She did not want me to tell it while she lived and I wouldn’t have dared to speak a word of it. I lived in fear of her anger. She told me, that after she died, she wouldn’t care and just maybe, she said; it might help someone. That was the first time that I heard my mom consider somebody other than herself. A little glimmer of the possibility that there was a heart in her. That there was a little tiny bit of compassion and made a little understanding. I don’t know. I never could figure out her mind or what her needs were and if I did, the way I addressed them was always wrong.
I spent the last two years of her life being there for her. I bought her things, visited her, stayed with her. I encouraged her, forgave her, loved her. I cooked for her. And just about every time I was there, she would ask about my sister, about my brother, why they wouldn’t come, why they didn’t phone, why, why, why. Not “I’m so glad you are here.” Always, where are they. I was never good enough for her, even at the end when I was the one who was there. She wanted my other siblings. The ones who made her shine for a moment with their fame and talent. She longed for the spotlight to return. I couldn’t give her the fame so I was inconvenient.
My mom’s marital problems at the time were of her own doing. She was having affairs and my father had left. He later sued for divorce and cited adultery with multiple men. He was granted the divorce AND custody of his children. I have his divorce papers. My mother insisted the papers were fake. She claims the Catholic Church granted her an annulment due to my father’s desertion. This is after she had 4 children by him. Of course, it is not true.
Another time, I had really annoyed her. She was getting more and more violent, crazy, and impossible to please. The rages were frequent. She claimed that I was incorrigible and had proof that I was taking drugs and was promiscuous and asked for a commitment to a mental hospital. It was granted. I was 17. There are no words to describe the horror of being committed to a mental institution when there was nothing wrong with you. That the truth was you were being abused, mistreated, bullied, humiliated, tortured, shamed, and living in absolute fear!! Well, after all the assessments I was declared sane and a motion was made to make me a ward of the court due to the “psychopathic nature of the mother”. My mother fought it. She claimed the doctors were biased against her and demanded new doctors. The court granted her wishes so I was reassessed by more doctors. Their findings were the same. She fought again, and again. It took seven months before I was legally allowed to be released into a foster home. The court ruling was she had 7 days to comply with signing her parental rights over to the court of be committed herself. She signed. I was legally free of her, but I have never been free emotionally. She is there constantly, denying my reality. She visits my dreams and I wake up screaming. I dream that I am in a court, or in front of accusers showing proof of what she has done. I show pictures, documents, and testimonies and she and they laugh and deny it. Call me delusional. Call me evil. Call me wicked. Say I have a vivid imagination. Say I live in a fantasy world. That black is white. That truth is fiction.
While I was there. Committed against my will as a minor, my mother added shame and humiliation. She told my grandma, aunts and uncles, cousins, and schools that I had been committed due to drug use because I had destroyed my mind with them and was basically a vegetable. She told them that I was not allowed visitors. So, she cut me off from everyone. Imagine my surprise when I found out what she had done. I called my aunt up one day and she said "I am so glad that you are out of the hospital and doing so well now. Your mom said you were even unable to communicate. You aren't going to do drugs again, are you honey?" I was like "What?" I never did drugs. Not ever.
My adrenal glands produce too much adrenaline. It happens in some cases of PTSD. Some cases the adrenaline just spikes in certain situations. Mine stays up constantly. It is damaging my body organs. My doctor says it will take my life eventually unless I find a way to reduce it with meditation or reprogramming. My psychiatrists have said mine is among the worst of abuses they have seen and in cases like mine, it is very difficult, if not impossible to turn off the flow of adrenaline.
My mom made me promise before she died that I would tell our story. She did not want me to tell it while she lived and I wouldn’t have dared to speak a word of it. I lived in fear of her anger. She told me, that after she died, she wouldn’t care and just maybe, she said; it might help someone. That was the first time that I heard my mom consider somebody other than herself. A little glimmer of the possibility that there was a heart in her. That there was a little tiny bit of compassion and made a little understanding. I don’t know. I never could figure out her mind or what her needs were and if I did, the way I addressed them was always wrong.
I spent the last two years of her life being there for her. I bought her things, visited her, stayed with her. I encouraged her, forgave her, loved her. I cooked for her. And just about every time I was there, she would ask about my sister, about my brother, why they wouldn’t come, why they didn’t phone, why, why, why. Not “I’m so glad you are here.” Always, where are they. I was never good enough for her, even at the end when I was the one who was there. She wanted my other siblings. The ones who made her shine for a moment with their fame and talent. She longed for the spotlight to return. I couldn’t give her the fame so I was inconvenient.
I am glad that I worship and follow a God that accepts me.
“Therefore, accept each other in the same way that Christ accepted you. He did this to bring glory to God” (Romans 15:7)
I am also so extremely grateful that I have a God that allowed me to forgive my mom, and that he too forgives my mom. I don’t believe she ever asked for forgiveness because she does not think she did anything wrong, but have prayed and asked God to forgive her. I believe he answers prayer.
Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. (Mark 11:24)
I believe I will see my mom in Heaven. I believe that all the things that happened here in this fallen world will fall away and we will we see each other as God intended. With Love.
“Therefore, accept each other in the same way that Christ accepted you. He did this to bring glory to God” (Romans 15:7)
I am also so extremely grateful that I have a God that allowed me to forgive my mom, and that he too forgives my mom. I don’t believe she ever asked for forgiveness because she does not think she did anything wrong, but have prayed and asked God to forgive her. I believe he answers prayer.
Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. (Mark 11:24)
I believe I will see my mom in Heaven. I believe that all the things that happened here in this fallen world will fall away and we will we see each other as God intended. With Love.
