Friday, August 24, 2012


In very recent times I’ve felt that I’ve been emerging from under some rock, or something entirely too heavy to be on me.  Much in the way I described the Heavy several posts ago, when I found my mother in an active affair.

I know what that Heaviness is now.  It’s my mother.  She’s been on top of me, on my shoulders, bleeding through my brain for decades.  She’s implanted herself so nicely that, for many years, I was just an extension of her.  I can’t find a better way to describe the relationship than parasitic.  She’s been slowly killing me for years but at the same time, she still needs me to “live” to get what she wants from me.  Biologically speaking, a parasite will typically weaken its host, sometimes to a point of complete destruction.  In this case, The Parasite requires that process to occur very quickly, emotionally speaking.  Indeed, she fed on the development of my emotions from the time of my birth.  She mutated me into a reservoir at her disposal.  Her goal was to carbon copy herself, and for while, she did exactly that.  I was her shell, a Second Coming of her great reverie, and in me she saw enormous potential for a nearly inexhaustible source of sustenance.  It’s no wonder I didn’t think for myself, or have an identity.  I would fluctuate among social castes, blend in where needed, and slip away silently.

My mother fed on drama, among other sources.  Focused on her appearance, on appearances in general, a rain puddle had greater depth than she.  When she wanted the spotlight, she got it, and when she didn’t, she successfully shone it elsewhere.  I think one of the main things she was aware of, even at an early age, was how she could use people to her advantage.  Indeed, she would use sexuality, but she would also use lip-service, telling people what they wanted to hear (the Golden Tongue or Silver, or whatever metaphor is most appropriate), took what she wanted when she wanted it, was impetuous/wanted instant gratification – so if that meant sleeping around, then so be it, but of course, she didn’t let on that she was doing this sort of thing, oh no, she needed to keep up appearances.

She once told me how she fell down the steps when she was in high school and her dress had come up and over her head.  She said for a split second she thought she had gone blind.  At the time, she and I both laughed and laughed.  She also told me how she was “NF” but would also make fun of people that were “NF”.  NF, she explained, was No Friends.  I’m suspicious of her stories now because she made herself out to be this social outcast in high school, and yet, she’s now got an army of followers.  Perhaps she got that good after high school, but I think she began to learn the art of seduction (both sexual and non) during that time.  (This paragraph isn’t entirely cohesive with the previous ones, I’m noticing.)  And speaking of schooling, while my mother did attend a college for a time, she’ll never tell you that she never finished her degree.  To this day, I’m not sure why, because she never really told me about her college years, or anything at all of her schooling growing up.

I guess it all goes back to what I was reading on Light’s Blog, and in other arenas, but Light put it pretty succinctly.  Along with NPD, I believe my mother to have a great many traits of HPD as well.  And by no means am I explaining away her behaviors, but at least I’m more in the know.  She so lovingly passed those traits onto me, which helps to explain many of my behaviors as well. 

So now, about breaking free of this…


  1. You've made one of the most difficult steps: Admitting there's a problem, discovered what the problem is, and deciding to change. You are not your mother, no matter how much she tried to teach you otherwise. You are already making different choices. Go you.

  2. LSV, my mother too has elements of HPD. For many years I thought that was the primary thing wrong with her. But I now believe that NPD and HPD are intertwined in her. In more recent years, since her self-stylings as a "self-help" life coach, the HPD has receded a little, but the NPD has gotten much worse. Not a lot of room for normal in there! With respect to "stories," I now question many of the stories that I took as a given when growing up. I know my mother's capacity to lie now, and so nothing she ever told me seems one hundred percent true. I really believe that we feel the way we do about these mothers because there is something wrong with THEM. Deeply wrong with them. No matter if our siblings wont' see it, or whomever, I firmly believe that if we had had loving normal mothers, we would not be blogging here. We would not be suffering what we've suffered. Claiming and owning our own feelings about things and believing in our right to have them is a crucial step. YOu are taking it.