I knew my mother had "issues" but I didn't know why.  I knew my father had "issues", and I didn't know why.

I knew I was bad.  I knew I was a failure.  I knew I wasn't good enough.  I was awkward.  Dorky.  I was nobody.  I felt like I could have died and nobody at school or at home would have cared.

I was an outsider.  I can't even name the feeling I had for what I was back then.  A loser?  An idiot?

It wasn't just kids at school who made fun of me.  It was my parents.  My entire family.

Not only were my parents and I the "black sheep" of the family, I was even worse.

My family had no qualms about shit talking about my parents in front of me.  It was like I wasn't even there.  I didn't matter.  I was more than invisible.  I didn't exist.

So there I was.  This invisible little girl nobody liked.  Or perhaps they did, but from a very young age I knew I wasn't worth anything, so why would they like me?  And I knew this because this is what was told.  With actual words, actions, and implied words.  Every moment I could be cut down, I would.  Every moment I could be put in my place, I was.  Every moment I could be made to feel stupid, I was.

I wasn't only an awkward dork at school with no self-esteem and would get beat up everyday, I'd get verbally assaulted at home as well.  As well as watching my parents physically assault each other.


My world was one of uncertainty (although it was somewhat certain something bad would happen, at times every day, but always on the weekends).  I learned self-preservation....but I also was stupid and would act out to get attention.  And that caused the wrong type of attention.  But it was a vicious never-ending cycle.  I never learned my lesson.

Although I felt I wasn't the one who needed to learn a lesson.  I knew it wasn't my issue.  It was theirs.  So I acted out of hatred.  Out of anger.  Out of frustration.  Out of desperation. 

What more did I need to do bad to myself to get their attention?  To make them understand what they were doing to me?  Why couldn't they get it?

But they never learned.  My dad never stopped drinking, not until he found out about his cancer 12 1/2 years ago and died a month later.  My mom didn't stop drinking until like 4 years ago when she met the love of her life.

But the narcissism?  It's still there today.  And that's why I am here.

I need a place to heal.  A private place away from my family.  Or any identity.  I had started one on my rape recovery, but now that's faded into the background as her abuse is and has been taking over my life.  I wouldn't have been raped it if wasn't for my parents letting me date an 18 year old boy at the age of 14.  But what can you do?

I need a place to BITCH.  To yell and scream about her.  About how angry she makes me!  And how it hurts more than anything on earth to not feel loved by your own mother.  Well...I felt loved.  But a fucked-up warped kind of love.  An abuser/abusee kind of love.

I do love her.  But I don't know how to really love her.  Or who to really love, since she's so fake.  I have no idea who she actually is.

I found out I have a narcissistic mother on June 22, 2013.

And I need to know if she's going to change. 

(10 YEAR UPDATE: She's not and never will.  And no longer love her.  I care about her, just as I care about all humans.  But my love is reserved for my family.)