Been Awhile, Still Alive

So I got kind of swamped with deadlines and the holidays and I have been neglecting my blogs and the blogs I've been reading. Nothing has changed between Samantha and I, in fact we haven't spoken or interacted at all since then. Never gave me an answer as to if I was in the wedding party still, which was unlikely anyway, but an answer would have been polite. I think it's safe to say I'm out, and wouldn't be a bridesmaid even if she begged. I was able to get all my things back from her though via her fiancee. Anyway, this post is going to be somewhat rambling, so I apologize in advance if it's hard to follow.

Our mothers did talk. However they have agreed we're adults and to stay out of it, although my NM says she did try to hint to Samantha's mother (who seems to have seen at least some of the e-mails) that this isn't just a problem between Samantha and I, but well, the entire group of friends and Samantha. Ah, if only my NM could learn to stay out of things that happen between E-Sis and me, not that they happen often. We've been doing pretty well and I'm censoring myself a little less because I've been discussing the book "Toxic Parents" by Susan Forward with a friend of ours whom I lent a copy to even when E-Sis is around. For the record, I think it is an excellent book for anyone who experienced any kind of abuse at the hands of one or more parent.

Anyway, the difference in my life without Samantha is negligible at best. It's amazing to look back on things between us without the haze of denial. Although I'm still working through some anger and grief. I suppose it might help if I removed her from my Facebook, but in a fit of petty revenge and possibly stubbornness I intend to keep her there until the bachelorette party do-over my friends and I are planning. I intend to remove her from my restricted list so she can see things I post again and then post a bunch of pictures of the wonderful time everyone is having without her and get a dig in about the crappy party she threw me and her telling people there I liked boring. It's a do-over for three of us, really. Samantha ruined mine and then nearly  caused the bride to leave at one last year. A third friend also didn't get the kind of party she wanted from her (narcissistic borderline) "best friend" at the time, so we're planning a big girl's night in honor of the three of us. About the week before dear Samantha's wedding.

(Side note: the Restricted List feature on Facebook is very useful for those people you don't want to defriend and cause drama with, but don't want to let see anything. Only things you post publicly will be visible to a person on your Restricted List, which in my case is nothing!)

But I digress... her posts are kind of amusing because I can tell she's trying too hard to talk about her "awesome new friends", and seeing a preview of her engagement photos was a complete riot because they look so fake, right down to the bottle of wine. Did I mention everyone knows about her crazy diet and that wine is something she can't drink on said diet? Which makes those pictures particularly laughable. Sadly though as she's essentially starving herself, her face is beginning to look gaunt and I do feel bad because she's probably going to end up in the hospital.

I suppose all that doesn't make me a much better person than Samantha is, but I'm working through things and this is simply where I am right now. I'll move past it all eventually, I'm sure. It will probably be easier after her wedding. I'm waiting to see what happens with that because my DH and her fiancee are still friends, so I'm waiting to see if we are or aren't invited still to the wedding, or if she's tacky enough to invite only DH. I also haven't ruled out the possibility of being invited simply because we would be a viable source for money compared to many of her other friends. I have contingency plans prepared for if one or both of us are invited.

In other news I spent a week with FOO for a Christmas vacation and survived remarkably well! I'll write about that next time.

I Will Find Myself Someday

I mentioned before how important music is in my life. Music is moving and powerful, so I want to share songs that mean things to me with others, so that such music might help them as it helps me. This is a song that's fit me rather well for awhile now. I shared it with everyone at Kiki's (Re) Birthday Party, but I want to put it on my blog, too. I find the lyrics fitting, but hopeful, and the melody gives me a sense of promise for the future, of overcoming. It's called Back to Me, by Three Doors Down. Once more, I have bolded parts of the lyrics that touch me the most, which is almost all the lyrics, actually, so I'll underline some parts, too.

 

Lyrics:
I have poured out my heart,
And laid it right here for you,
And I've tried so hard,
That's the best that I can do,
Please understand I am not who I was,

You used to be all that I had,
Now you're just not what I need,
I've got to get over you and I know,
Then I can get back to me.

Tears forget, that's more than I can do,
'Cause they don't wash away,
All the things that we've been through,
I've put behind me my share of the shame,
We could call villains but it's all in vain.

You used to be all that I had,
Now you're just not what I need,
I've got to get over you and I know,
Then I can get back to me.

All of my life I've waited hoping,
Wanting you to see me the way that I am,
But now I know, that I'm not alone
Someone understands

You used to be all that I had,
Now you're just not what I need,
I've got to get over you and I know,
Then I can get back to me.

You've got to know that

You used to be all that I had,
Now you're just not what I need,
I've got to get over you and I know,
Then I can get back to me.

Then I can get back to me,
(Then I can get back to me)
Then I can get back to me

I did pour out my heart, or tried to anyway, to my NM during what I call "The Confrontation"... Which didn't work out so well. And I really don't feel I am the same person I was before coming to all these realizations about my mother and my childhood. I can't go back to who I was when I didn't see those things, it's impossible. What NM has, what she offers, it was once all I had, but now I know I do not need it. So slowly, ever so slowly, I work through it all, to find and reclaim my true self.

Music and Safety

Music is important to me. I've never learned how to play an instrument and I'm not a great singer, although that doesn't stop me from singing to myself and going out to karaoke with my friends. Often when I was growing up, whether I was cleaning or crying in my room, I would be listening to music and singing along.

Music was safe. NM didn't care what songs I liked or didn't, and I never played it loudly or sang loudly if she was home so that was never a problem. Through music and song I could at least partially experience the emotions I had to repress. For example, being sad was not acceptable-- liking, listening to, and singing with a sad song was acceptable. It's no wonder many of the songs I liked growing up were sad, angry, or about longing for something more/better. Anyway, it's hard to describe. It's almost  like I would vicariously experience the emotions of the music in place of my own or maybe it was simply one of the only outlets I had for my emotions. Maybe I displaced my emotions onto the song, so I wouldn't experience the discomfort of having the feelings I was taught were wrong. Maybe it was all of that.


Today, I still look for music that reflects those emotions when I am feeling them, but I am at least able to feel my own emotions, too, now. Music moves me, it helps me fully explore those emotions, relating my emotions and the song. Music is part of the story of my life and music goes with me on The Journey. So off and on I'll be posting some of the songs that I associate with myself, my NM, and my journey.

To start us off, "Between a Mother and a Child" by Chely Wright. I'm bolding parts of the lyrics that really resonate or fit with me and my situation. Also, I'll be out of town soon so I may be delayed it posting or responding to comments.

I know you don't like me
Don't like the things I do
The saddest part just might be
That I don't like you too
You think you know my story
Well maybe you did for a little while
I guess that's the way it sometimes goes
Between a mother and a child
Oh a mother and a child

All my life you've reminded me
How you struggled nine long months
Your achin' back and your swollen feet
How you almost lost me once
You say you gave up everything
All the dreams you had
Told us kids we're the only reason
You stayed there with our dad

And you want me to cry for you
And you want me to feel the way you do
I'm sorry your life let you down
But the fault it is not mine
It's not supposed to be like this
Between a mother and a child

You want me to just agree
With everything you say
Call my dad the bad guy
Make him pay and pay and pay
It's really not my business
It never was or will ever be
But I know nobody's perfect
And that's counting you and me
Yeah that's counting you and me

I don't remember all that happened
Mama I was just a kid
But if it really was all that bad
Why do you wish I did?

You want me to cry for you
I'll never feel the way you do
I'm sorry your life let you down
But the fault it is not mine
It's not supposed to be this way
Between a mother and a child
Oh a mother and a child
You're my mother and I'm your child

A Good Cry

I've read a few books on the subject of horrible parenting. The well know Drama of the Gifted Child by Alice Miller, Toxic Parents by Susan Forward, and The Narcissistic Family: Diagnosis and Treatment by the Pressmans, which I highly recommend and you can read a review of here. Although written with therapists in mind, it's very informative and validating. In fact, it's the very kind of book I was thinking of writing until I discovered such a book was already written!

I mention this simply to illustrate my familiarity with the subject, beyond my personal experiences with my own NM and what was I was required to learn and study for my higher education. More importantly though, I bring this all up because one of the friends I mentioned in the post, A Validating Experience, who is also in the field of psychology, felt compelled to print and give me a copy of an article from the Wall Street Journal, entitled "Calling a Truce in Mother-Daughter Conflict" at an event where my E-sis was present despite knowing my preference for not discussing the matter at all in front of E-sis.

Fortunately my E-sis didn't see what was on the paper, so for all she knows it could have been recipe for the delicious dinner we had. Anyway, I am certain my friend meant well, but I was very uncomfortable receiving it and actually not interested in reading it because from the title alone gave me a bad feeling. You see, my NM and I have a kind of truce already; I have distanced myself from her and don't discuss sensitive personal things with her. We are capable of being quite civil and pleasant in each others' company.. What we are not capable of is having a close, intimate relationship because she cannot even begin to accept that my experiences and feelings are valid even if she doesn't like or agree with them. But the other night, after finally catching up on the blogs I read, I decided that since I was on the topic of NMs already to read the article before going to sleep.

Just to emphasize, this was a four page article from the Wall Street Journal of all places, written by a journalist who is in no way a member of any so called "helping professions" like therapists or psychologists, and who quotes only one or two people who are. Considering my friend's own higher education in the field of psychology and her knowledge of my personal and education background, and about the fact I have C-PTSD, I'm very surprised she thought this article would be useful or relevant in any way for me. I found it actually very invalidating of my experience, especially in light of the fact I had recently told my friend the entire story regarding my mother and me.

It was the end of the article that really did it for me, though. Where it lists "...ideas for how mothers and daughters can improve their relationship." - as if it were as simple as that little list makes it out to be! As if I hadn't already tried to "speak as an adult" to NM! Maybe for relationships where the mother is just irritating but genuinely cares for and loves her daughter, but definitely not for those where the mother was an abusive narcissist! I could rant on, but I would be neglecting the most important part, the true point, of this entry.

Right there in bed, with my DH next to me reading a book, I started tearing the article into pieces and bawling. Without a word he took me in his arms, and I did not refuse his comfort like I am prone to doing. Having been raised in an environment where I was taught I was not worthy of comfort and that it was wrong to feel anger, sorrow, or pain, I almost always push him away physically or emotionally when he first tries to reach out to me when I'm upset. Not only that, but crying often makes me feel more miserable than I already am, because I feel bad for crying, for troubling him with my tears, even though I know he is not like my mother. In fact, it's fairly recent development that I refrain from apologizing when I cry now.

But for the first time I can recall, perhaps for the first time in my entire life even, I didn't feel bad about crying and sobbing out my pain. Instead of making me feel worse, it actually felt good to be sobbing without any shame in front of another human being. I didn't even feel and have to suppress the usual urge to apologize for my sudden outburst. I didn't try to hide my face. And best of all, DH didn't ask me to explain what was wrong before offering me comfort, and I didn't feel like I had to explain immediately, either. I didn't feel like I had to try and justify my tears to anyone, even myself. Of course after I explained what set me off and he had already figured it had something to do with the article and my NM.

Unfortunately now I am left wondering how to politely ask my friend to refrain from giving me any more articles on my the subject.

Recommended Reading: The Words To Say It

The Words To Say It is the autobiographical account of Marie Cardinal, a French woman who was born in 1928 in Algiers, the capital of Algeria, which was under French rule at the time. Her journey, although in a different time and place than many of us today, parallels are own.

When we met Marie, she is a 27 year old mother of three suffering from an illness, constant menstrual bleeding, that no physician has been able to treat. She feels herself going mad, in a constant battle with the "Thing". So unable to function, she is taken to her maternal uncle's sanatorium. The drugs make her sleep, but cannot relieve her from her suffering, they cannot stop the "Thing" from consuming her. As a desperate, last resort, she pulls herself together enough to be allowed to walk the grounds and promptly escapes with the help of a friend. Desperate not be locked away again, she takes up the recommendation to see a  psychoanalyst as a last resort, as they are known for being highly against institutionalizing their patients.

But we do not spend countless pages reading her interactions with the doctor. No, this is not a book about psychoanalysis, but what Marie learns about herself and her family, through her memories and actions over the seven years she is in analysis. It is beautifully written (and translated). One of the most important things she comes to understand is the influence of her mother, both unconscious and conscious. Her mother, who never wanted her. Her mother, who tried to abort her and told her as much, her mother, whose love belonged to a dead daughter, her mother, for whom she was never good enough. This is a story we all know very well, and it is Marie's story of coming to terms with and moving beyond it.

And that is why I recommend it. Marie's journey is fascinating and insightful, you won't be disappointed. But do yourself a favor and buy it used, because it's published as material for psychology students and thus as a textbook it costs a small fortune.

Here is an excerpt, Marie's memories of being pregnant with her first child and recalling with disgust all the things her very devout Catholic mother had tried to do to induce a miscarriage:

But to my mother, these signs of life meant only that she had not yet been able to kill me. Ah! What a nuisance! And it goes on for so long: minutes, hours, days, weeks, months. There is so much time to get to know the little one who lives inside you. Is there any greater intimacy or promiscuity? Did each of my movements inside the womb remind her of the odious coupling of which I was the issue?

So she swing onto her rusty bike and rode off into the wasteland of refuse. I hope you're having a ball in there, my girl, my little fish, you'll see how I am going to snap your spine! Get out. Take a look. See if I'm up to it!

She mounted her old nag, and giddap! Do you feel the battering ram against your hideous body? Darling! This'll work up a fine storm to shatter a little submarine! No? This'll make some some fine waves to drown the little diver! Well? Go away, you little shit, get the hell out of here!

Still moving? Here's something to calm you down. Quinine, aspirin! Sleep, little darling, sleep, little baby, let me rock you; drink, my beauty, drink the lovely poisoned brew. You'll see what fun you're going to have in the toboggan of my ass when you're well and truly rotted by drugs, drowned like a sewer rat. Death to you! Death to you!

At last, powerless, resigned, defeated, disappointed, she let me slip out alive into life, the way you let slip a turd. And what about the little girl/turd coming slow, face forward, towards the light she saw down there at the end of the narrow, moist passage, at the end of the tunnel? What was going to happen to her on the outside where already she had been so mistreated? Tell me, Mother, did you know that you were pushing her into madness? Did you question it?

What I have referred to as the beastliness in my mother is not because she wanted an abortion (there are times when a woman is not capable of having children, not capable of loving enough); on the contrary, her beastliness consisted in not having followed through on her desire to have an abortion. Then, in having continued to project her hatred onto me when I was inside her, and, finally, in having chosen to speak of her wretched crime, her weak attempts to murder me. It was as if, having bungled it, she were starting up again, fourteen years later, without risking her own skin, in comparative safety.