I am not a writer. My thoughts are all over the place and nothing ever seems cohesive, but I'm going to give this my best shot.
Throughout my childhood, I was afforded all of the finer things in life: all of the gifts I could have ever dreamed up--from Barbies to books to clothes from boutique stores, the luxury of private school and fancy birthday parties. However, as I transitioned from little girl to moldable teen to developed adult, I managed to realize that things weren't quite the same in my house as they were in others. I may have been wealthy and well-to-do, but I knew somehow underneath it all that I was a victim of something truly subversive. My mother, without question, is a narcissist. She has a full blown disorder.
I could write for years about the stories that come out of my childhood, and even more so my teenage years. About the accumulation of wounds that have turned me, simply put, into a traumatized human being. About how my mother was just about the most narcissistic human being to walk the planet; each conversation was about her and how hard her pampered life had truly been. How she learned it from her mother. About the unnecessary demands and the soap she'd shove into my mouth when I spoke up for what I believed in. About how she'd rile up my father into an angry hulk-like monster who would lose himself and take it out on me. About how I always carried around the guilt and feelings of shame for not being able to make others happy -- and how when I would express even an inkling of independence they'd convince others I was disobedient and mentally unstable. However, I've decided to take a step back from getting it all out at once and write more specifically about how I'm feeling on my path to recovery, and which of those stories are relevant to the roadblock I'm facing.
To give you JUST a little bit of background, I was, as I've mentioned, a wealthy girl from a wealthy city surrounded by luxury in a home I was not allowed to touch (apparently the oils in our hands will disintegrate the whole house). I was raised by an au pair (who I thank to this day for making me normal). I was taught to love things and people *with* things. I was taught that I was to marry someone in the same religious, financial, racial, and political background as I (aka them). I wore what they wanted me to wear. I cut my hair how she wanted it cut. I studied what she wanted me to study. I went to University close to our home because I knew it was what she wanted. Finally, however, I decided to make a change, simply because deep down I am not that person. I tried to be an asshole, I really did. I wore Lacoste and tried to like the boys I was supposed to like. It really didn't work at all. I want to learn the things I want to learn, love who I want to love and speak how I want to speak. Narcissists do not like these things, and have caused the inevitable crumbling that has taken place.
Fast forward through all of the drama I will take time to disclose as I am reminded of it through the upcoming months, I am now NOT in that wealthy city, not provided with a single dime from their estate, in a home filled with loving people who are helping me transition from traumatized to empowered. I am surrounded now (finally) by people I can hug and love and sometimes even curse in front of without threat of reprimand. If they have two, they find a way to give me three. I am now married to one of these people. I am meeting and choosing to reach out to those I felt are/were genuine in my life, which sadly is not many -- I suppose this is primarily because I was surrounded my whole life by people who were also driven by the love of money and their grandiose selves.
I am no longer on the short leash with the choke collar I've been on my whole life. I am finally emerging from the cloud of confusion and feelings of self deprecation and shame. However, I am in the period where I accidentally reflect on a memory and fall into the same feelings of shame all over again. I still feel like a hurt puppy with no say in my life's pathway.
That's all going to change, and I hope you take the time to continue your recovery with me. I want to hear your stories. I hope we can find a way to acknowledge and confront that we truly were victims. For too long I've been carrying the guilt of not having the family I wanted. It is my turn to live a happy life.