Back in 2009, my anxiety was so out of control, I should have been on medication.  I never thought about it at the time, I just tried to deal with my crippling feelings and tried to stay alive, as my depression was just as much out of control as my anxiety was (which was due to the anxiety itself).  I didn't want to kill myself, but I thought I'd be better off dead then feel the way I did.

Back then I used to work for my uncle, who had dementia at the time (I knew, but nobody would listen to me).  I would go to his house Monday-Friday to help him run his postcard business.  My kids were in school, so I was home alone for most of the day trying to survive.  For some reason, my uncle never thought of picking me up himself, but with him having dementia, I didn't really want him to.  So my mother was stuck with the task of driving me to and from her apartment building (where my uncle lived too) every single day.

I lived a mere five minutes away, seven on a day with traffic.  Before her boyfriend, she would have found reasons for me to come over so she wouldn't be alone.  But now she had a boyfriend, and the time she picked me up was during his lunchtime (he was a bus driver), and she was very upset it cut into her "boyfriend time" (which was bullshit, because he lived with her).  She would slam her purse down when we'd get to her house, and bitch at me the whole ride over about it.  My anxiety was so fucking horrible, and her getting angry with me made my depression and my anxiety 100x worse (what else was new?).  My panic attacks at the time took the form of low blood sugar episodes most days (I had hypoglycemia, and my panic took the form all sorts of real issues I had, so I couldn't tell the difference between the two), and I'd get to her house and grab a piece of stale bread (I'd never take her fresh bread, I felt guilty enough) and put a little peanut butter on it and fold it over to take downstairs to my uncle's apartment.

I couldn't wait to get out of her house, because my uncle was nice to me, whereas those two would lay into the entire time.

"I don't know why her uncle can't just pick her up!! Why I have to do it every single damn day??!!" she'd yell in front of me.  It was all I could do to hold in my tears when I heard her say that.  Thing is, she never once asked my uncle to drive me, she just did it and bitched about having to do it.  I had no idea what narcissism was back then.  If I had, I may not have taken it so personally.

Then her boyfriend turned from the table to look at me one day and said "Don't you ever eat at home?  Every single day you have to come here and eat.  I am sure you have food at home."  

His words made me feel like I was a pig, that I was doing something wrong, when for years before, my mother welcomed me or my children or my husband eating at her house, no matter what it was.  In fact, she bought the peanut butter for us, because she didn't eat it much.

And he didn't pay my mother's rent.  Nor did he pay for her groceries.  YET, there he was, eating my mother's food she paid for, an elaborate lunch laid out for him, while I was just eating some peanut butter on bread.

My response was to be utterly ashamed of myself, and mumble some sort of excuse so I didn't look like a pig, rather than stand up for myself.  He knew he could bully me, so he did.  And my mother let him.

I took my half-eaten piece of bread and went down to my uncle's house to do my work.  And afterwards, I let my mother drive me back home.  And I never went back again.  I called the next day and said "Sorry, I can't work for him anymore, so don't worry about picking me up anymore," and hung up on her.  He never knew why, she told him I flaked out on him.  He told everyone else the same thing, never knowing it was my mother's fault I didn't go back.

My mother's boyfriend used to be a happy man.  His girlfriend of many years left him, he tried to commit suicide, and then he got help.  During that time, between her and my mother, he was the happiest man on earth.  He was my friend.  And I saw the man he was supposed to be in life, not the one that the evil bitches of the world turned him into.  Granted, how he chose to deal with his pain by taking it out on others (like me), was HIS choice.  But once my mother turned into the evil witch we all knew she was, he changed back to who he was when he was with my old friend (another evil narcissistic witch).  He loved my husband and treated me like shit.  As did my mother when she was with him.  And then she treated his children like shit, too.

She just wanted him all to herself, because narcissism = utter selfishness.

I also remember the best vacation I ever took as a kid was when I went alone for a week with my dad up to northern Michigan.  He was so damn happy without my mother being there.

Narcissists turn their spouses and SO's into unhappy assholes.  But, like I said, that's on them, that's their choice to be assholes.  When Cinderella went back from being a pretty princess to basically being a slave, she didn't take it out on anyone.

My mother liked it when her boyfriend (and eventually husband) picked on me.  She would shame me to my core in front of him.  I remember that day, the last day I worked for my uncle (when I seriously needed the money and was really good at my job), I remember wanting to die.  I remember feeling like a piece of shit who nobody wanted around and nobody could stand.  I remember feeling like a nasty pig.  I remember the look of disgust on my mother's face, and how she refused to look at me the ride over, after I got there, and the ride home.  That I was too disgusting of a person to even acknowledge.

I wanted to die that year.  I wanted to die so very badly.  I cried daily, praying to a god I didn't believe in to take my life and put everyone out of their misery so they never had to deal with me again.  That my kids would be better off with no mom rather than such a broken mom.  That my husband could remarry to someone who was worth something.  That my mother would never have to look at me in disgust again because I was hurting and spiraling out of control and she never once in my life gave two shits about it, other than to literally make jokes about my mental illness in front of others in order to shame me and get a good laugh out of it.

I didn't want to punish anyone.  I just wanted to save them.  To save them from the piece of shit I was and to save them from having to have me in their lives.

But nobody answered my prayers.  And I got better, despite my mother still treating me the same way.  And I eventually learned that I wasn't the one who was the broken piece of shit.  And eventually I learned the truth about what was going on and eventually after that, almost a year ago, I finally broke off the last of my bullshit relationships (which was my mother) and while I still have anxiety and depression (sometimes badly), I am nowhere near as bad as I was back then.

When you have a mental illness and you have narcissistic parents, it makes your condition 100x worse.  I've had mine since childhood and as a kid, there was the same dynamic: my parents were disgusted with me because of it.  I was supposed to be ashamed.  Because they sure were.  They'd put me into positions on purpose knowing it would make my anxiety worse.  It was never talked about it, just forced to be played out over and over again for their amusement.

I just can't believe it took me almost 40 years to go no contact with her.  I really can't.  We get so conditioned to the abuse that we can't see what's going on right in front of us.  If it were happening to anyone else, we'd be all over it, saying "Don't you see what they're doing to you??"  But alas, we can't see it when it's us.

Nobody likes abuse.  We just get so conditioned to hearing how awful we are, that we not only learn to live with it, but learn that we can't live without it.  We learn to thrive on it.  It backs up what we think about ourselves, and the chaos becomes addictive.  But when we finally get away and distance ourselves from it, our brains learn new ways to thrive.  We learn that we don't really like the chaos and the insults.  And we can even learn how to thrive on actual love instead.  But it's something we have to teach ourselves, since we were born into chaos and that's we ever knew from childhood.  Learning how to accept real love and how to love ourselves are probably the two most important things we need to know after going no contact.  Because without them, we are doomed to repeat the relationships with had with our parents.  We are putting ourselves in the position to be abused again.

I am lucky.  I have escaped that cycle.  But many haven't.  But they can.  It is possible.  If I can do it, anyone can.  You just have to learn how to recognize abusers before it gets too far, break off any unhealthy relationships from family, friends, or otherwise, and know you're worth only the best.  Never accept anyone into your life (or your children's lives) that are abusive or unhealthy.  Don't repeat the patterns of your parents.

My mother didn't choose better.  My father didn't choose better.  My mother's husband didn't choose better.  Both men died being married to a narcissist.  And my mother will die being one.

But you and I have a different path, don't we?  We get the choice to have better lives and to do better then they did.  Coming from narc parents, we know how not to treat others.  While I'd never say our childhoods were blessings, at least we have the ability to help others who grew up the same way.  At least we can all share our stories and help others to know they aren't alone.

Remembering that memory made me so very sad today.  But writing this blog post made me remember why I started this blog to begin with.  You aren't alone.  Ever.  We are all in this together.  No matter where we live or who we are.  We survived our childhood narcissistic abuse (and adulthood, as they don't stop abusing us just because we become adults).

Thank you for being here on my journey.  And know that you're not alone in yours ❤