image by Mirtle
I’ve placed myself in rather a strange position.
This isn’t the first time I’ve done something like that.
For all the thinking that I do, I sometimes don’t think things through.
I don’t work out all the possible consequences in advance… and then figure out if I am willing to handle all those possible consequences.
The first time I placed myself in this kind of a position was… when I was born.
My mother, according to her (and please be aware that I think she’s a narcissist, she thinks differently – I could be wrong, and I’m always wrong according to her), decided to have me because she believed that she and my father were being too selfish and needed a child to fix that problem.
That wasn’t really the problem…
The problem was their relationship was a disaster even before they decided to unite forces in wedded lock and then lose the key.
The cat which they adopted during their first year of tumultuous marriage must have eaten it… they credit that cat with keeping them together when they wanted to split up (I’ve never quite been able to forgive that cat for what it did, however cute and fluffy it was, because I’ve always wished I hadn’t been born).
When one narcissist has a child…
That child pays for it for the rest of their life… even if they don’t get with the program (ming).
Somehow my birth was supposed to miraculously fix a decade of two people hating on each other and believing that hate was love. It was the obsession which bound them together forever. Let’s just say I failed in my mission to fix things from the moment that I became a plan of action to solve such a mess.
My mother conceived me under suspicious circumstances – the story changed every time she told it, but from the consistent scraps of it, what I have gathered is – she is a complete control freak who tried to control another complete control freak using passive-aggression in the form of a baby.
Her lesson on the birds and the bees included mostly telling me that when a man penetrates you with his penis… it’s like peeing. Don’t ask… I didn’t, but I got it explained to me anyway because I had to know everything about my conception, and my parents’ sex life, especially how my mother suffered and put up with my father’s stuff to make it (me) happen. I’m so grateful.
How I managed not to hate men for having penises and needing to pee is a mystery.
My mother is a misandrist – which means she hates men. She had so many reasons for doing so, generational reasons for it, many ancestors to blame, which might, if a spin doctor worked on it, sound great if she had decided to become a feminist, but she hated women too, so she could never become that.
I’m not sharing her views on feminists… they’re not my views and I’m really fed up with paying for her shit (even though I’m still paying for it – the gift which keeps on giving, eh?). She hated women because she hated being female. For personal reasons… again I didn’t ask, getting that kind of information wasn’t optional if you lived with her and were her dumping ground (which I was).
So… feck me!
My birth and what it was supposed to do for her…. was always going to work out well for everyone…
When two narcissists have a child…
Welcome to a Stephen King novel made for TV…
My father was clear on one point – he did not want to have children. A narcissist being honest for a change, as much as we hate to believe it or admit it, they often are honest, particularly the overt ones… pity no one listens, listened, or wants to hear what they don’t want to hear…or admit they heard it and didn’t want to listen…
He had had children before me in the form of his siblings… who never let him stop being their provider, in fact, the older they got the more they wanted from him even if they only spoke to him when they wanted something from him.
If he wanted anything from them… he was suddenly an only child. Maybe even an orphan…
His experience of being a father, being responsible for children… sucked. He didn’t want to repeat that… I kind of like him for that… but…
He’s dead now, and so that’s the end of that… except my mother is still alive and she’s keeping him alive. As long as she’s alive, he’ll never be able to R.I.P.
Aren’t narcissists always so positive, even in the face of something so deeply sad as loss. Ain’t nobody got time for that, so lighten up… unless they’re depressed, then don’t you dare have a happy around them because they will drag you down and deeper down, then use you to lift themselves up, ’cause they bounce back like that – what’s the matter with you, you look like someone trampled all over you! Don’t look like that around them when they’re up, up, up!
Don’t say things like…
I was an only child (aren’t those people who decide what that’s like based on not being like that… deluded). I sometimes wished I was an orphan… I was deluded about that in the same way people who aren’t only children are deluded about what it is actually like to be an only child.
We all think others have it better than we do, we have such high illusions/expectations of them, and we often hate them for it… while they hate us for what we have.
Ain’t people sweet, and ain’t being a people simple to make sweet!
An only child of two narcissistic people, neither of whom wanted to be parents because they hated their own parents and had never grown up because of it… this is going to have a happily ever after, isn’t it!
Just think positive and positive shit will happen! Yes, yes, yes… no.
The power of positive thinking… as far as I’m concerned it was created by a narcissist. Feel free to argue with me on this point, badger and bully me into submission… okay, you’re right, I’m wrong… in other words, leave me alone. What I believe or don’t believe is none of your business, you don’t care anyway, and won’t affect you unless you think it does… that’s your problem, not mine.
And all those who argue with that point… go on, argue it until you’ve climaxed. Your orgasm somehow missed me. Want to try again?
The first rule (or whatever) of dealing with a narcissist – Make sure you’re not the one who is the narcissist.
Narcissists tend to see others as being one-dimensional.
This person is my handbag… my handbag is not as fashionable as the one which the mannequin next to me has, my handbag hates me and is making me look bad!
And this person here is the bag into which I vomit when I get travel sick, that other person over there is the one I hate for not being travel sick, who do they think they are!?!… oh, they think they’re the person I want to be. I hate it when people are right! When people are right, they are wrong, double espresso wrong!!!
You think you’re dealing with a narcissist… who does your narcissist think they are dealing with?
That’s how empathy works, right? Putting yourself in the shoes of the other person to get some perspective… right?
This horrible question is brought to you by someone you perhaps should ignore… just like you should be ignoring that other person whom you think is a narcissist.
You’re only noticing me because you think I can help you notice your narcissist less.
You can’t stop yourself from noticing your narcissist, can you?
Everything you’ve read online has told you to stop it, ignore them, go No Contact… that’s not happening, is it?
Maybe you’re trying to make it happen, but…
Do you want me to give you a magic formula to help you turn your narcissist into someone else? Someone who will become who you want them to be for you, who will do all those thing they’re not doing, say the things they’re not saying… stuff like that?
Can you understand French?
This song simply says that who people are is who they will always be, so stop trying to change others… when others try to change you, do you really change or… what?
Do you like it when others try to change you?
Do you like it when others want you to be who you are not for them?
If no, then… why do to someone else what you don’t like being done to you?
If I could help you turn your narcissist into not a narcissist… that’s the stuff of miracles and really isn’t possible, but if it was and I knew how to do it… I should probably be charging for that kind of thing, profiting from your pain like a narcissist would.
Knowing myself, though, I’d probably give it away for free… and someone else would take it and charge you for it after re-branding it and copyrighting it.
I’d love to provide you with that service for free because then it would mean I had something like that for myself… which would offer me some freedom, libera me from a lifetime of anything but liberation.
I’d love to have that for myself, and pass that shit on, but, frankly…
A narcissist would love to get their hands on that kind of thing, because that’s what they’re always trying to do – change others to suit them, their version of you, of reality, of life, of how things are supposed to be.
If you’re coming here to find a way to make someone into your image of them…
I was created for the sake of hate disguised as love… a mistake made which is my fault forever as far as those who put their genes together are concerned.
For those 5 people who this morning ended up on my blog while searching for – How to get a narcissist to forgive you – I’m sorry, they’re never going to forgive you no matter what you do now because it’s all about what you didn’t do then.
If I had just not been born… my parents would have been so much happier… according to my mother (alles ist gut… until I was born). My father just dealt with it by pretending it never happened most of the time…
She still hasn’t forgiven me for being born even if she has repeatedly admitted to me that she got pregnant on purpose… baby didn’t do what it was supposed to do, this is baby’s fault for being flawed. You can’t forgive that!
Neither of them forgave me for being born… it messed up what was already messed up… and gave them someone to blame for (eternity) it which wasn’t them. Result!
They’re never going to forgive you if it means they’ll never have to look at themselves in an uncompromising way… the way they look at others. They really hate it when what they do to others is done to them… because what they do to others was done to them and created their narcissistic personality disorder in the first place. They don’t like being reminded of that…
No one likes to have their triggers triggered or their wound reopened, stabbed and stuff…
[If you think I’m exaggerating… I have actually been killed off and the actor who played me originally has been replaced by other actors over the years. That’s how come I look like I was born yesterday.]
My entrance into this world was greeted with mixed reviews… mostly boos from family. Except for great grandma on papa’s side… she killed a chicken and drank its blood to celebrate my birth. Yay?
End of part one… not sure if part two is going to happen…