My mother has dementia, but she is on a slow grade version and has developed symptoms over the years, much of which I cannot tell when it's the difference between her dementia and her narcissism (lately, I try to attribute much of it to dementia so I don't get annoyed so much).  But there are a few things that I know are her narcissism, as she's done it to me for years before she ever had dementia.  This is one of those things. 

When someone tells my mother a story, she will ask questions and respond like a normal human would.  Sometimes she will say stupid things (meaning mean or rude or just strange) but for the most part, she says normal things.  So my mother is capable of carrying on a normal conversation.  And, unlike many narcissistic actions, this particular one is just for me.  Most narc actions apply to anyone they're talking to.  Like my mother-in-law (a super narc) will say rude things to me, because she's an idiot who says rude things.  But she's an idiot who says rude things to everyone, not just me.  Whereas this special behavior my mother exhibits is just saved for me, and me alone.  

When people say "Well, it's not you, they're a narc".  True.  But I have never once seen my mother treat anyone else in the same way.  Not a single time.  And I honestly have no idea why she even does it at all.  

Since her dementia is getting worse, my mother has been on a reminiscence kick.  She constantly talks about the old days, some of which is totally inappropriate (like today she told us the story of who she lost her virginity to, and surprise surprise, it wasn't my father!) but we don't care.  It's fun to hear her talk about something interesting instead of her usual behavior of bossing everyone around or complaining.  She loves to tell stories about her old pets, her friends growing up, parties she went to, things her parents did and said, and whatnot.  It's probably the most fun I've had with her in years.  

In these moments, I cant pretend my mother is normal, and ergo, actually loves me.  In these moments, I can pretend she didn't do all the bad things and say all the bad things.  In these moments, I am enormously happy to be around her.  

It's also in these moments I completely forget my role in life that she's taught me to be.  

I get caught up in her storytelling that I forget my life doesn't matter.  I forget that what I have to say is stupid or not worth listening to.  I forget that she's probably not even wanting to tell me these stories, since there are other people sitting in the room or around the table outside with us.  I feel a part of her life in these moments.  And in these same moments, I always forget I am not.  

So I sometimes will open my mouth and tell the story of something that happened in my life that's similar (not interrupting her, just after she's done).  And rather than respond, she will just stare at me.  She won't say a word.  And eventually she will stop staring and argue with me about what I'm saying, as though I remembered it wrong or am just lying.  I always argue with her back (not like angry arguing, but I won't back down and give into what's she saying) and by the time I'm done, she's just staring again and then will tell another story of her own, as though I hadn't said anything at all.  Every single other person she believes their words.  She will comment and respond, like a normal person.  She will act like she enjoyed their story.  But not me.  Mine are always stupid and wrong and she's always reminding that I am supposed to keep my mouth shut.  And yet, I stupidly always forget.

I don't always share my stories.  Not with her.  But sometimes I do let one slip in , and I always regret opening my damn mouth.  "C'mon, Shay.  You've been taught this your entire life.  I've trained you to keep quiet and yet you always think you have something valid to say.  And I'm always here to let you know that you don't.  Don't you ever learn?" is what her staring says to me.  Like she just can't believe I have the audacity to open my mouth, yet again. 

I am allowed to ask questions about her stories.  I am allowed to join in the conversation as long as a) I am agreeable and b) it's about her or what she's talking about.  Nothing else is allowed.  Other people can share.  It's just me who can't.  I will say she treats my oldest son somewhat similar (her second scapegoat), but not with the outright rudeness of completely ignoring what he says or the constant telling him he is wrong.  Not the way she does to me.

But instead of getting angry, I just let her keep telling her stories and I just ask about her life and save my anger or sadness until she's out of the room.  You can't argue with a narcissist.  But you really have no reason to argue with a demented narcissist.  Yes, this behavior started way before the dementia did, but what good would come of saying anything?  She won't apologize.  She won't change.  All it will do is make her angry.  And since I am here as her caretaker, and not her best friend, I will tolerate it and learn to keep my mouth shut.  Sounds jackassy, I know.  But luckily I have my own family to talk to and we can share our stories together.  I don't have to include her in any of it.  

My therapist says "Don't see her as your mother.  See her as a woman you take care of.  Your job is to make sure her well-being is cared for.  You get your care from the people that actually love you, not her."  And he's right.  Though it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt my feelings when she does these things.  It's a harsh reminder that anything that has to do with me is not wanted in her eyes.  And, in a way, I'm kind of okay with that.  I love being off her radar.  The less she knows about me, the better.  But it's still rude and mean for her to act like that.  Especially when it catches me off guard the way it did today. I'm usually on my game when it comes to her. 

I mother my kids, my husband, my mother, and myself.  Meaning I take care of everyone and know what they all need.  I know what meds they take and when to order more.  I know how they like their food.  I know where everything in the house is (until my mother moves it, which she does frequently...NOT a dementia issue, just her incessant need to rearrange everything all the time).  I know all the doctors and their phone numbers and all their social security numbers and all the freaking info we all need to know.  I've had to be this way my entire life.  I didn't have a mother who did these things for me.  I had to do them for myself, including making doctor's appointments for myself.  Sure, my mother cooked for me.  She did my laundry (until she kept ruining my clothes, and I took over and taught myself how to do my own laundry).  And yes, she made me chicken noodle soup (from a can...nothing wrong with that, she'll just tell you she made it from scratch) and would give me kleenex when I was sick.  But that was about it.  The rest of the time she just bossed me around (usually for no good reason, just because it was fun for her) and told me what I was doing was wrong.  That's the extent to which I was mothered.  And yet, I somehow grew up knowing exactly how to be a mom.  It wasn't inherited from my birthmother either.  I told myself "I will never be the kind of mother I had growing up".  And I became the exact opposite.  And I feel that I'm pretty good at it, too (though I do make my share of mistakes).  But it's gets fucking exhausting.  And sometimes, I fall off my game, and get lulled into a safe feeling of "we're all normal here" when I am around her when she's yakking it up about the old times.  Not often, just sometimes (like today).  Sometimes it's nice to play pretend and act like she's normal.  Even if just for a moment.  To pretend I have an actual mother.

But you can't.  Not even for a second.  These narcs will always make you remember why you have to be on your game to begin with.  They remind you that this is all just a fucking game and all you are is a pawn to them.  You are not real.  You do not matter.  You are here for their benefit and that alone.  And without your use, you are useless to them.  

I cook all the meals.  If I could not cook, I guarantee you she would not even care if I moved out into the chicken coop out back.  I make her doctor's appointments.  And I boss her around when I have to because she's a stubborn mule who puts herself in harm's way unless I make her do differently.  The last two make her angry, so the only worth I have to her is that I cook.  Oh, and I do her laundry (but that's because I boss her around and won't let her downstairs because she can barely walk across a flat floor, much less us the stairs).  So I am good for two things for her.  Oh, and listen to her life stories.  But anyone can do that, I'm not special to her in that regard.  I could go get a full-time job and let my husband stay at home with her and she'd be happy as a clam.  The only part that wouldn't work is that he can't cook.  But he would learn.  And the kids can cook, so there's that.  

If it wasn't for the pandemic, I would totally fucking try it.  Except, you know, I have debilitating anxiety and vestibular migraines (which is why I haven't worked in over 20 years).  But I'd try it anyways.  Maybe I can find a desk job where I am alone and nobody would breathe on me?  Hmm.  Something to think about.  

Okay, enough ranting.  You get the picture.  I have no idea why this shit takes me by surprise anymore?  I just get used to keeping my mouth shut so nothing like it happens in a long time, so then I open it, and not even a little can slip by her.  It's practically instantaneous.  She'll just stare at me, not saying a word (or she'll argue with me), while I sit there and feel stupid for even talking.  

Sigh.

At least my internet in my room is working again.  So that's something.  Yay Netflix.