System Purge Initiating, Stand By
So. This has been a crappy little blog where I put pictures I like and show off a few things I sculpt and talk a little bit about writing. And through it learn more about what’s going on in the world around me that need more attention. It’s not bad like that, but like any sort of online interaction, it has a bit of a veil on it. I can still obfuscate who I am and what I’m dealing with and that’s something I’ve perceived as useful, and it’s really kind of not.
I need things out of my system, which I’ve done a little of in the past, and it helps. I need to do it more often, because right now I’m heavily blocked, deeply depressed. I have trouble doing the few things I enjoy or dealing with the even fewer things I love. And the worst of it is, I know why I feel that way, and it’s my perception that it doesn’t matter or that no one cares, and I should feel bad for even talking in circles around things that affect me. I’m in a bad phase, and I need to try and purge it out.
And I know part of this is the result of what’s called gaslighting.
In short, it means being twisted into believing that which is not true, into doubting your experiences, even visceral, painful ones, by your abuser, who has a vested and selfish interest in psychologically fucking you over.
In the bonus rounds, not only do you doubt core experiences of your life, but any ill effects get twisted into feeling like they’re your fault, or that you’re a piece of shit for dwelling on these things, or pretty much anything. And you’ll feel guilty for talking about them. Oh, and there’s so much more on offer.
Self worth? Yeah, I don’t know what that is.
Identity? Oh, we’re gonna talk about dissociation sometime coming up. It’s fun to be an alien in meat flesh.
Tending to your own needs? You have no needs. You operate at the whims and desires of your abuser.
In emotional abuse, it’s all further weaponized by the fact that no one sees your scars or your bruises. So for some people, they don’t exist. What are you whining about? At least nobody beats you. Don’t you know your mother loves you?
Oh, I know my mother loves me.
She loves me in the way Narcissus loved the clean, still water.
The goals of the narcissistic abuser are many and varied and I cannot speak globally about all experiences. The goal of mine was to make an empty vessel in her shape and fill it up with all the things she wanted to hear. It openly started in my pre-teen years, when she realized I was no longer a fleshy little toy that only reflected what she wanted, and it lasted decades.
I lost my twenties to this woman.
I’m in my middle to late thirties now. I only realized what happened to my life THIS FUCKING YEAR when I finally told a story in a discussion thread and someone said “hey, she sounds like a narc. You should check out this /group/.” And that wasn’t when it clicked. I went and looked and thought “They all have it so much worse than me, impossible.”
And I went away and buried all the shit.
I told another story later, offhandedly. The conversation repeated. This time, I actually read some of the links the group provided.
You know that ice cold feeling you get in your chest when you know something terrible has happened? That feeling.
My mother is a narcissist. I’m still not sure I’ve survived. We’re going to see what stories I have to tell. For my own sake.