Tuesday, July 3, 2012

The Hate and Reversion

So last night I spent over an hour spewing to my wife things that I hated.  I didn’t sound like I hated them, but inside, deep deep deep inside, I felt a rising disgust, foul and putrid updraft of hatred. 

One of the many things that I mentioned I hated was the fact that my mother met my father.  It seems like that is reminiscent of “I wish I was never born” cop out but I’m not sure if it is at this point.  I accept that I was brought into this world, but I hate how it was done.  The circumstances.  And the people that were brought together to create me.  I hate all that.  I hate how repulsive I am, how my comfort zone is to be lying, through and through.  I hate how I was taught to operate under the assumption that everyone can be manipulated and how easily I fell into that way of thinking.  I hate my mother for fucking with me over the years.  I hate her toxically sadistic love/use of me for whatever supply she needed.  I hate how she couldn’t keep her vagina closed for two seconds to think how it would affect the rest of her life (fucking some random guy at bar and the result was me, then flashforward some years, fucking many almost random guys from her work and the gym and justified it by saying she “needed love”).  I hate how I ended up just like my mother.  I hate how she destroyed my sister and played her children against each other.  I hate that I hated my wife for not believing my lies, then I hated myself for hating my wife for not believing my lies.  I hate that I felt I like I have to break my fingers to punish myself for what’d I done to people I supposedly cared about.  I hate how I wanted to punch through my shed and my coffee table and the walls of the house.   I hate some of the people I work with and the work environment, part of which I created for myself.  I hate some of the choices I made.  I hate that I didn’t want my wife to be my best friend and now she might never be.  I hate how one day I’m going to have to explain to my kids how awful their father was.  I hate having to learn empathy because I was never taught it before.  I hate the entitlement my father holds onto.  I hate my mother.  I hate the lack of remorse I show, the lack of sorry I show, the lack of true depth.  I still hate my mother and I want her to know this plain as day.

Hear that Mom?  I hate your soulless contraption of a person, with your slimy coating, and writhing and wretched insides.  Evil is using your children for your own gain.  Evil is you.  I will not be your minion, soul-sucking Narco-philiac.  Feel your parasitic bonds tearing away, screeching, moaning, ear-bleeding noises as I break you.  Break from you.  I curb-stomp those goddamn things just to watch you atrophy.  I hope it’s excruciating you bloodsucking troll.

Among all this hate and more I was stewing pretty nicely.  Then my wife turned some lights on and just as she flipped the switch, I felt a change in me too.  I became more defensive, snide, smug, passive aggressive.  We were talking about lies and more of them I’d told.  In the dark, I was safe, I could set myself up there, exist freely in the dark.  Indeed, the emotions and sentiments I put forth were true, but they could not be believed.  With the lights turning on, it’s like I reverted to pre-emotional outpouring me, intimidated very easily, ready to place blame unjustly so.  I wondered briefly if I was bi-polar: these responses were very different coming from very different places within me.  Could be that the Little Me was showing himself, then when the lights came on, I reverted.  This is unnerving to me now that I think about it.  I’m perfectly capable of expressing myself, so why didn’t I continue with the same mindset as my “hate” tirade.

The truth seems so simple doesn’t it?  Perhaps not for something like me.  Yes, a something, not someone.  I have so many lies that reality is distorted; what is and what isn’t blend into something that may have or may haven’t – a dangerous place to be.  I want to come out of that place, but since I’m also a coward, that also becomes difficult for me to do so.

Just do it, my wife says.  It’s a leap of faith, be ready to jump.  My knees are shaking.  I’m nervous, uncomfortable scared.  Hesitant.  Maybe I can just hold on up here a bit longer?

Maybe?

15 comments:

  1. If you were a "coward", LSV you'd stay where you were. But you're in that hard place between "Here," "There" and "Now." Just keep goin'-you have no other choice: You can't go "back." You wouldn't "fit in" there any more.
    TW

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    1. It's interesting: I don't really fit in "here" either. Thanks for your support TW; as always, it is appreciated.

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    2. You don't fit "here." This is the uncomfortable in between place, where you have to recognize what you've lived all your life and look at what you want for the rest of your life and decide if you're willing to do the work it requires to reach where you want to be.

      Something that kept me stuck for a long time is that I kept trying to jump straight to where I wanted to be. Jumping from the basement to the penthouse suite without using the stairs or even the elevator. Taking the stairs is hard work. Taking the elevator, I can skip some levels, but I miss out on things I need to learn. Things I can only learn taking the stairs, one painful step at a time. It is worth every single, agonizing step. I'm not up in the penthouse yet, but I'm never going back to the basement and I can look back with relief and self-confidence at how far I've come.

      Vicariousrising offers a good suggestion. I've participated in a couple of groups and found it helpful in gaining perspective and different points of view from people struggling with the same thing. I learned a lot of methods I didn't want to pursue and some I did.

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  2. I think it's a daily, hourly, minute-to-minute leap of faith. You didn't get lost overnight so you won't find your way that way either. I think it's a process and really can be frustratingly slow.

    I think being an alcoholic in recovery helped me be more patIent with myself. I almost think you could use an al-anon group. Your mother seems to be a love/sex addict and probably qualifies you as someone dragged down by it. Just a suggestion to find others struggling similarly to help you on your journey.

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    1. I'm willing to bet my mother's an addict in more ways than one, but knowing her, she's just as clean as the day she was born. She'll never admit to anything like that, nor will she actually to get help for it.

      Therapy and talking, actually communicating with my wife seem to be helping me now...slow as that may be.

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  3. No, you don't fit in "Here" yet because it's not a comfortable place to be right now. Note how you've coped: "I am preoccupied with the mundane, anything that isn't the emotional situation at hand." That adaptive mechanism isn't working anymore but there's nothing that "fits" right now in terms of how to sit, just be with the pain, the anger, the opening up and pouring out of all...that...shit.
    "Here" right now a simply shitty place to be. It's gonna get different-it already is. But like most of the major transition periods in our lives not only are they shitty, we don't "see" any progress, any hope, any respite. We never do when we're right in the middle of it.
    TW
    TW

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  4. 2 steps forward 10 steps back but not really. You can not unknow and unfeel what happened. What you are doing in your blog right now takes tremendous courage. May I suggest a Hug for your little Me. Would you rush a child that is trying to express what they feel? Neither here nor there will end. For me, it ended when I accepted that I felt ugly things like hate, bitterness, thirst for vengence, plus other negative feelings. Part of the pretty picture is 'nothing' bad. Accepting the bad is OK. You have for more courage than you believe.

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    1. Problem is: I tried to unknow and unfeel a great many of the things that happened that's how I got to be such and ugly person. I wasn't going to let people crush me like my mother did, but I refused to think of that time when she did that to me, therefore, I started to crush people just as she did. It was a very ugly circle.

      My Little Me is starting to have the courage to come out a bit now. It's nice to see him again.

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    2. I suspect you are in the process of breaking the chain or as you call it the ugly circle. You can do this. You are doing this. Every morning you have a second chance. Hugs to you.

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  5. Boy, you're nothing like your mom!

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    1. In retrospect, I most certainly am, that's unbearably scary.

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  6. Please don't think you're not doing well. You're doing amazingly well. I've been reading your blog a lot over the last few days as your situation is very similar to that of my husband. In fact, I keep sending him links and exerts because I hope it will help him to see he's not the only one. He also recognises his 'little me' and also has coped by focusing on the mundane and not feeling any emotion. He is having to learn how to do that now. In fact, he has blocked off his emotion for so long that it is manifesting as physical pain, muscle spasms etc. He has been hurting ever day for the last 3 years and our lives have changed beyond measure. He could not work but for the support of his employer, he cannot walk far and it is hard to plan any normal activities for us and the children, even feeding ducks. There is no physical cause and numerous medications are not giving him relief. I am distraught watching him, there seems to be nothing I can do to help. He is in therapy and has to try so hard to talk about his mum and childhood. Reading your blog gives me hope. It shows me that there is progress he can make. Please have some compassion for yourself and realise how far you and your family have come.

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  7. Oh - I forgot to say. My mother also has caused me pain. A very supportive friend tells me, when I worry that I am very like her, to remember that I will not be the same while I recognise my faults and actively try to improve them xx

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    1. First, welcome and thank you for reading. Second, I’m glad that you’ve been able to pick out some morsels of hope for yourself and for your husband. I assure you, there are many other blogs of that Adult Children of Narcs have started as a way of healing. They can be found on the “Other Helpful and Interesting…” link on the left of this blog. Remind your husband that turning “it” off after decades of training doesn’t come easy but knowing he’s got your support is a major boost. One of my many problems is not showing or telling that to my wife often enough. And we both suffer because of that.

      I wish you only the best and strongest on your journey of overcoming the legacy of your Narcs.

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  8. Thank you xx I have been reading lots of other narc children blogs too. In fact I feel a little OCD right now lol. I have been in the dark for the first 38 years of my life. I think I have recognised problems and have managed as best I can but having a name to put to the condition and see that others are experiencing the same is very new concept to me. I am like a sponge sucking up information. I showed my hubby this reply and it has helped him to know others also struggle to 'turn off'. I need to make some headway with my blog now but as I draft things I'm aware it just looks like moaning.. I need to work on that and make it more positive somehow... although I think anonymous moaning could be very cathartic ;-). All the best.

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