Saturday, September 27, 2014

In Honor of Father's Day

I wrote this post on another blog I used to update regularly before taking it down.  It's from 6/17/2012.  



I have issues with Mother's Day as I wrote here.  I'm less outspoken about Father's Day, but it still chaps my ass a bit.  I was the product of a married man cheating on his wife (from what I've pieced together because I never got a straight answer from anyone about who my father was).  I was adopted by the nutcases, and even though my adoptive father wasn't as unstable as my adoptive mother, he was less than warm and welcoming with me.  Well, I shouldn't say that really. 

As long as I did what I was told and didn't make them look bad, and as long as I acted like "the Holy Spirit was living through me" or some such shit, then he was fairly nice.  Not interested in my life or anything about me really.  Just an image of me that I was supposed to live up to.  A lot like the adoptive mother, only without the hair-pulling, beatings, screaming, and throwing shit.

He preferred a belt.

So, what does this have to do this particular blog? 

Perhaps I married a narcissist (ex#1), an emotional refrigerator (ex#2), and a psychopath (ex#3, the Talking Mask) because I had daddy-issues.  I wouldn't argue there.  Ex#2 didn't have children, and he still doesn't.  He's weird around kids.  Not as in I want to fuck them in the ass weird, but in I can't handle their honesty and innocence kind of weird.  Ex#1 has been a complaining, lazy, never-really-interested-unless-there-was-a-camera-around kind of father.  I'm currently trying to collect back child support payments and medical reimbursements, but he is making it about himself.  How hard things are for him.  How much he doesn't get to see them, even though he doesn't see them because he has laundry to do, or the drive might cost a little money, and hell, he has a $300 coffee maker to buy.

Ex#3 has treated his own child as an afterthought since she was born.  And so has her mother.  He dumped off the care of his child onto me very early on in our marriage.  It wasn't a big deal at first because, as any parent with more than two children knows, one more thrown into the bunch really doesn't make a difference.  But as soon as I didn't do everything for her because, oh I don't know, I had major back surgery or something, he would get so pissed off because he had to get her a snack.  Or drive her to school.  Or make sure she got dressed.  You know, the basics that a babysitting teenager could do with her eyes closed.

So, let's just say that in my own life, I've seen very little in terms of men who deserve to have a day because they blew a load into some woman and knocked her up.  Well, unless you count men that I see who aren't related to me who, what do you know, ACTUALLY PARTICIPATE IN THEIR KIDS' LIVES?

Completely foreign in my own.  I'm fascinated when I see a man actually pushing a stroller or holding a baby.  The first time it happened, I actually thought to myself, "WHY IS THAT MAN HOLDING THAT BABY?  DID HE STEAL IT FROM ITS MOTHER?"  I shit you not.  I realized right then that my experience had turned me into a howling-at-the-moon lunatic.

So overall I'm very much in favor of Father's Day, I guess.  I think men in general don't get enough credit for the caretaking they do.  I like to give credit where credit is due (in my own experience), so here goes:

Once during a time when Ex#1 had the children for a weekend, he was taking care of the middle one because she was ill.  He even gave her medicine for her cold symptoms.....

A dose 3 times over what she could take for her age and weight.  Having to call poison control because your child's father doesn't know the difference between "teaspoons" and "tablespoons" is an interesting way to liven up a weekend, I assure you.  She ended up ok because it wasn't caustic, and he got her to vomit it back up very quickly.

Fucking idiot. 

So Happy Father's Day to any of you who act like fathers, even if it's to kids not related to you.  You actually can affect a child's life more than you realize.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

And This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Brushes

I had a rather jarring moment today that brought back some bad memories....

I have long hair.  I have for most of my adult life, but I've had a weird thing about brushes.  I can go without one and simply use a wide-toothed comb with no trouble.  Well, today I did decide to run a brush through my hair to smooth it out for a ponytail.  It had a bit of hair in it, so I decided to remove it.

I sat and stared at the wad of hair in my hands for a good 10 minutes.  Or maybe it was less time, but it felt like a small eternity.  The reason for my zoned-out stupor?

It looked just like the wads of hair I held in my hands after NAM would pull my hair forcefully while shaking and slapping me.  I actually used to collect this brutal evidence of her violent cruelty.  Of course I had to hide it from anyone else because to show anyone would be an acknowledgement of her actions, and we certainly couldn't have that.

Others with this experience might prefer to keep their hair short to avoid seeing these bundles of hair from a brush, but I refuse to do so.  I was only allowed to have long hair after I got to be older than 10 because NAM had refused to let me grow it out.  And it's not like she took us to the salon for regular trims either.  She cut our hair herself.  And by "cut," I mean "massacred."

Cleaning out a brush all these years later....the memories can come back and slap you in the face when you least expect them.

And the other one that just hit me as I was writing this?


She would brag about doing it.

Monday, May 26, 2014

A Rule of the Narcissistic Universe

How many of us grew up with this?  It's very effective for ensuring the CoN keeps quiet about the dysfunctional family and helps the N-parent maintain his/her image of perfection.


"If you see the problem, you are the problem."

This holds true for a relationship with any narcissist.  However, those of us raised by one will have been conditioned for (likely) YEARS to accept this as normal.  Standard Operating Procedure, if you will.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

With "Friends" Like These, Who Needs Enemies?

Having an N parent makes it much more likely that you'll choose friends such as the one to whom I sent this message--after she started sending messages and friend requests to my children when she couldn't access me through Facebook anymore.  When my daughter admitted that she really didn't remember her and asked her to stop sending messages, she started her shit-slinging.  I rejoined and sent her the following:


Daughter 2 told me you were trying to get in touch with me since I had stopped doing Facebook a few months ago. I go back and forth between participating and not, which bugs the hell out of my friends.

Anyway, I have to say I was quite surprised to find that you were still so interested in talking to me, especially after I read your rather spurious description of my life history, and it had me wondering if you had me confused with someone else. If you did indeed feel that you were describing me accurately, then you were obviously not ever my friend, or else you would have had your story straight. Besides, what "stable" adult writes awful things about someone to that person’s own child? Maybe, and just maybe, you’re not so stable? How many different psychiatric medications have you been on in the last ten years? The last twenty? Does your therapist know about your Facebook activities?

All three of my girls know my history, good and bad, so if you were attempting to give D2 some dirt on me so that she would see me as you do, then you failed. Besides, you made yourself look like a total nutcase in the process. I admit that I had a good time sharing that message thread with a few friends of mine (one of whom is a therapist), and they laughed and said I should have moved away years before, and given my history of abuse by my adoptive mother, it’s not surprising that I would have chosen to befriend a person so toxic. [I did make up the part about sharing the messages, but I wanted to inflict a sweet, sweet sucker punch.]

I also found it difficult to believe that you were so interested in maintaining any sort of genuine friendship with me because even when I lived 10 minutes away from you, not once did you offer any sort of support or help when I was in school full-time, working part-time, and taking care of three children aged 4 and under all by myself. What you did do was criticize me when I stopped nursing D3 at 9 months, ask me if I had AIDS when I lost all of my pregnancy weight and more, and use every opportunity to compare your children to mine.

I could not share any milestones or good news with you because you took it as an affront and acted as though a child of mine couldn’t possibly accomplish anything because of having me as a mother instead of you. When I questioned your actions, particularly when you informed the dance instructor that I was withdrawing the girls from ballet—when I had not even told her myself—you got mad at me and said I “didn’t clarify” that I didn’t want you saying anything. What I should have said was “mind your own fucking business.” And you still told [her husband] to tell me to call you. You had my number. But every time I saw him at work, I had to hear from him that you really wanted to talk to me. Uh, hello? Phone? [Narc ex-friend]? Have you two met?

So I moved to [my state] and forgot all about you? And you looked for me on Facebook every week? You do realize I’ve lived here for 8 years now. That’s a lot of time searching for an alleged friend who sleeps around, lives off the government, did nothing with her life, had affairs, ruined families, and ran off my adoptive mother. I hate to say it, but you have really low standards for your friends. So your other ones must be rapists, child molesters, arsonists, identity thieves, and puppy-killers. Aren’t you lucky. I realize now that it was silly of me to send you a friend request, thinking that perhaps you had gotten older and wiser and had perhaps mellowed a bit. I also saw no harm in having you as a Facebook friend who had no access to any contact information for me. I just never would have thought you would send friend requests to my children when you couldn’t contact me through Facebook anymore.

And no, I didn’t forget about you, as you said. I started doing Facebook and looked you up. But what did I get in return? Someone who crawled through every bit of data on my profile like some stalker, and then started arguing with me through comments on one of my photos. And then deleted her comments afterward. Who does that? Oh, right. That would be you.

I see nothing wrong with a mother telling others about her children’s lives and accomplishments. But I do find it alarming when she has nothing to say about herself and what’s going on in her own life, separate from her children. I had to explain to all three of mine who you and your children were, and all they remembered was “the bathtub,” and that was probably because I showed them the photo of them being hosed off after getting filthy during a play date. You did watch them for me once, which I appreciated, but even then you tried to get out of it. And it was only two of them because it was the year before D3 was even born.

And why would you not have any photos of yourself on your profile? Are you ashamed of how you look? If you had any real sense of yourself or genuine satisfaction with your life, you wouldn’t be so venomous in your description of what you think mine is. I wondered why you would think I “slept around” and “had affairs,” but then I thought that perhaps you have different standards from me, which is fine, but one sexual partner after a divorce is filed hardly counts as sleeping around. And as far as having affairs, I never did. I’m not sure whose families I ruined by the affairs I never had, so that doesn’t make any sense. I also didn’t get married right out of high school. And I didn’t get pregnant just to live off the government. I do remember you encouraging me to sign up for WIC and food stamps, even though I had no interest in it. I did get Medicaid while I was pregnant with the first two, in addition to the medical insurance, so I guess you have me there. But I’d hardly call that living off the government. And even if I did “live off the government,” what business is it of yours? It’s not like you’ve been working and paying taxes to support me.  

I am proud of my daughter for standing up to you. I see that I have instilled in her the ability to defend herself against an emotional vampire, which is something I myself didn’t learn how to do until just recently. Your standards for “manners” are obviously different from mine, but I have never been one to believe (or teach) that children should be subservient to adults who are bitter, spiteful, and dead wrong. Given your description of me, your treatment of me in the past, and your general attitude, I can see that you are highly threatened by anyone who stands up to you. The people in your life must find it difficult to have more than the most superficial relationship with you, or they know to kiss your ass and to walk on eggshells to keep from setting you off.

But you’re not my problem, and I don’t have to deal with you (or talk to you for that matter), so it’s no skin off my nose, as they say. I would say that I wish you the best, but I honestly just wish that you don’t drive anyone to suicide or addiction, specifically your daughters.

AV/Sweetness

And she responded with the following, and then blocked me.  Saved me the trouble!

 You have serious problems. I'm glad you are not in my life you are a narcissists - as us D2.


Oh no! How will I ever go on?

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

I Just Keep Trying To Survive

Here's another blog I've been reading...

http://theredmagnolia.wordpress.com/

Wordpress doesn't let us join and share unless we follow the same platform.  I'm gonna start posting again soon.....I promise.  But as anyone with an N-parent knows, it can be difficult.  Especially since Mother's Day was not too long ago.

I fucking hate Mother's Day.  In case you didn't know already.

AV (Sweetness)