This morning in rural Western North Carolina watching snowflakes drift onto the back deck and yard, the only noise I hear is Buddy purring and the heater running. Can't wait to see next months electric bill. With a gusty wind now and then the chimes and the whirl of wind break through the quiet. Snow causes a slow down. Of course once that stops, the roads will ice over and well, that would not be considered a stop but a skid or two. I don't hear too many cars on the road but I am in the back part of the house watching the birds gather to eat a meal of birdseed and peck at ice for water. When it snows the Feral Fam doesn't make an appearance and I can only hope they have found a warm spot in this feels like temp of 5 degrees. I just read that in these temps frostbite can happen in thirty minutes time.
The visit with Doug and Megan was a short visit but a good visit. This will make me old and I remember when my grandparents would remind me of some childhood story that was filled with fond memories for them and it was cringe worthy for me. I so wanted to say things like that with Megan and I hope I kept it to a minimum. With Doug's and my conversations ongoing, Megan retreated upstairs to watch Netflix and yes her hip and with it aunt and uncle have Netflix and Hulu on their TVs. Our conversations usually take a brief turn back to growing up days and some of the horrors presented and the redemption hidden in the confines of the situations. We have waded through and concluded at the end of each conversation, thank God for Mom! In times past more hurt and anger laced in and out of the memories but now it seems we look in hindsight with sympathy that our father battled mental issues, emotional distress and he sank farther and farther into a prison of his own making...until Doug rescued him with a wonderful choice of assisted living in a place that gave him light and freedom from his internal demons. I am thankful that Doug and Dad had those two good years. The more reading I do on narcissistic tendencies the more understanding I have on the whys and whats of growing up in such conditions. The overwhelming need to control and have complete acquiescence or here are some other words to describe living with a narcissist:
noun reluctant agreement
"Imagine growing up in a home where one of your parents couldn't truly love you. Where every time you looked to them for encouragement, you were told that you were stupid for even trying. A parent who viewed every act of independence as a threat and met each accomplishment in your life with jealousy instead of joy or praise. This is what it is like to live with a parent who is a narcissist."
"The narcissist parent sees their child merely as a possession who can be used to further their own self interests. They often have issues with boundaries, both physically and emotionally, and unload a lot of emotional baggage onto their kids. This makes children the narcissistic parent's primary source of comfort-and sometimes their punching bag. Narcissists also view the world in a binary manner; Things are either viewed as special/ideal/perfect or worthless/harmful/garbage. There is no in-between and they treat their children according to those extremes."
I could add many more quotes but that is it for today. I now see why last year after my father's death, if I perceived, real or imagined instances of being controlled or manipulated directly or indirectly by anyone, I submarined. On the inside of me, the commands of dive, dive, dive....directed me. When I felt like anyone was making decisions for me or speaking for me without input, I reacted. Like I have written in the past, these emotions were totally unexpected but in some way it seems that even though my father hadn't controlled me for a long time, although there were attempts, with the finality of his death, that season of life is over and subjecting to manipulation mastery...even when it was thinly disguised and not so apparent on the surface....is over.
As we unwrapped Christmas gifts, we laughed about the Christmas of the video camera. My father had won it in a sales competition. Instead of filming any organic conversation or reaction, he commanded each one of us to answer some Christmas question...so on the spot and not for fun. Roy didn't respond fast enough to my father's liking and I gave a sarcastic, stupid answer which is my way of telling him what I really thought about the whole staged activity. All this ended with me going into one of the back bedrooms and crying. My father put up the video camera and I don't believe we ever saw it again and he turned his chair around with his back to us and unwrapped his presents...which were always such a disappointment to him. So many times he dropped communication with us as a punishment or to show us how he was feeling. Funny thing, we were relieved and welcomed the break from manipulation. The good thing about growing up and using our presence or voice, the control he so wanted over us, in hindsight now that I think about it, probably resettled on my mom, wasn't as powerful as it once was. He couldn't control us so he took over circumstances to weld his will meaning he took over the holiday meals, the time and the rules...oh my goodness, the ever present rules.
The sun has made an appearance, the snow is a dusting and settles on cold surfaces. It is still quiet and for that I am grateful, even though all the wax from candling has made it possible to hear more instinctive once again.
No comments:
Post a Comment