Hope has left the building

It took me nearly 40 years and so many painful events in my life where a normal mother would be by her daughter’s side for me to see the truth. Well, If I have to be honest and I intend to be, it wasn’t me who saw the truth. It was my husband who had difficult times believing it too.

Not that I didn’t know that something is wrong, but uncovering everything simply crushed whatever was left from me.  

My so called family stole my entire life.

40 years.

I can’t have them back. The truth – and this is the most painful part, all this time right in front of my eyes – gripped me firmly with it’s cold, steady hands in the hope that I can finally come to my senses, not knowing I don’t have them. My brain is so broken it function in a way that even my therapists have difficult times understanding. The pain was extricating, pain which only someone you love can case you, left me with no ear to breathe, no wriggle space to hide or to look the other way. The damp, muddy, lonely and dark reality hit me hard, while still within the truth grippe and then slowly, surprisingly gently, released me from her fingers. The hit I took striped me from all delusions I was so disparately trying to create, in pain, alone, in the dark. I thought this is it, I’m done, there is no way I can be able to ever recover, nor I wanted to.

My whole life was a farce.

A game.

And my main purpose was to support my parents twisted realities but mainly so my mother can feed on me through my miserable life, which she orchestrated so perfectly, even “lovingly” in her own way, shackled me with invisible chains only she knew about them

The shock, when I finally saw the truth turned me into a grieving wreck for 3 days.

Only if I knew this is just the beginning.

I simply couldn’t stop crying while trying to understand if this is another scam or this type of people really never had a single drop of love or compassion towards their own children, let alone anyone else. At this point I only knew about my mother.

I wept as if I lost her forever not realising she was never there.

Then little by little small pieces of memories started to come together and if my husband wasn’t by my side I truly didn’t know what would I do. The feeling that you were never loved from the moment you were born crushed and braked everything inside me, shoved me even deeper into the corner I was in the last 7-8 years and I simply wished that I was never born. The reason I’m still here, alive and breathing, I owe to my true love – my husband and my beautiful children.

When my husband finally managed to put a label on my mother’s behaviour, when the word “narcissist” dropped from his lips, it felt like someone slapped me on the face as hard as possible. I couldn’t say a word, I felt like someone took all the oxygen out of the room, slowly dropped on my knees while my brain was trying to process what I just heard.

Of course I know what a “narcissist” is. But I never knew the real definition of the word and had no idea that there are so many types of them.    

My brain desperately was presenting me with excuse after excuse, with lie after lie, because the idea just to face the truth seemed like this time I’ll completely disappear, obliterated by everything that was done to me and all the things that were keep happening to me.

At a certain point my brain simply gave up to convince me that there’s no way, after all, I should’ve notice, right?

Sadly, it doesn’t work that way.

I was her puppet for nearly 40 years, always knowing that something is not right, but since I moved out when I was 24 I never gave it a second thought.

It turns out there is only one truth. But so many realities, created and designed specifically for me in order to be kept on leash, completely stripping me off my identity, of who I am and what I want. It turns out I truly don ’t know who I am. All these years I was “playing” someone else in one of these thousands realities. There was no “me” to return to as I was never given a chance to develop one.

I have experienced so many horrible things but nothing can compare to this.

My mother is a narcissist, she always was and there was no way to live in denial any more.

And not just narcissist, one of the nastiest, terrifying type there is – a combination of the worst types. Depending on the situation, she could be whoever she wanted to be. Fragments of my childhood memories suddenly appeared in my mind, I couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk, couldn’t stop crying and my husband just gently help me to bed where I stayed for 3 days.

Yes, I know what most of you would think – “this is happening to so many people, just another sad story and don’t think you are the only one.” Perhaps you are right. Funny enough, this is exactly what my mother told me in or last conversation, where I explained in details what her son is, what he did to me and how he abused me – physically, verbally, mentally, sexually. “If you think you are the only one this or that is happening to you, I’ll disappoint you. You are not.” She said whipping her tears. I wonder who was she crying for? It wasn’t for me for sure. After such a reply all the doubts I had vanished. The finishing line was, again, through tears, while I kept my cool (that type of cool I learned from her) “I’ve been through so much worse, you have no idea, everything is so easy these days for you.” This nearly cracked me, but as I said I had teacher like no other – I’d rather die than show he any kind of emotion she could fed on, despite the fact that her words took the last piece of hope that she might not be the monster I was told she is.

This conversation, which I just shared a small part of for the time being, was carefully put together, choosing every word to avoid all her nasty technics and traps so I can get the proof I needed and hurt her in the only possible way – her perfectly crafted reputation might be compromised. That’s all she cares about. Not a single word to show some regret or compassion. Nothing.   

I already knew that the only purpose for this is to immediately change to subject in one direction and one direction only – back to her. To her suffering, pain, injustice, whatever – you pick it – it will be on her list. So over time I learned the hard way that I was simply wasting my time. No matter of the drama happening to me I have never received compassion in any form from her side.

Not a single drop.

Back then this was normal for me, after all, she is my mother and mothers know best, right? Well, not always. So perhaps you will be right to think that I’m not the only one and I completely agree. But I am the only daughter she will ever have, so in a way – I am the only one. I am the only one to her. Or I was. Imagine what you’ll do if you’re child shares something like this with you? If you are not “in her team” your reply will be completely different. Hell, strangers would handle it better than her.

As a mother myself, after all, I love my children with everything I have and my tiny brain was still having troubles processing everything.

For the last, let’s say 7-8 years I have been in the corner, on my knees, constantly trying to get back to myself, although I didn’t know there isn’t one. It wasn’t hard for my husband bac then to explain to my kids why mummy needs to rest for a while, but now my son is 12 and there is no hiding. He knows something is not right. He knows that I’m losing my mind.

A child, a 12-year-old child, not knowing anything about the above, simply came to my room, held me and hugged me for what seemed to me an eternity now and when he finally let go of me said “Whatever it is, know that I love you more than anything in the word, we all do. I’m not going to ask because I know you don’t want to lie to me, but I truly love you, you are the best mum anyone should have.” Then he walked out of the room and I felt apart, crying my eyes out. I asked his father if he made him come to me – he had no idea.

A 12-year-old can see my pain, knows I’ll tell him eventually what was happening (although he’ll never know the details), offers all the compassion a human being can offer to another, but not your own mother. Now, how do I deal with this?