A brief short story interplay between generations of narcissism. Inspired by real life experiences of narcissistic abuse.
The narcissists in my life have never shared power with me, because sharing power would mean accepting, including and respecting me as an equal. Narcissists must be superior at all costs. Sharing power would mean that would have to be empathetic, honest and/or compassionate. That they would have to drop the mask. Since they can’t, I know that they feel nothing except hatred towards me and will only use me as long as I am of some use to them. Maybe as long as I have something they want. Service. Gifts. Documents. I am and always will be a pawn in their game of power. When I am old and sick, they will discard me like a thorn in their path, because by then they would have broken my spirit and it would be easy to kick the shell of my broken self away. The same was done before. Old weak, single women end up in old people’s homes. Homeless old women end up in their family’s basement suite to cook and clean, while narcissists circulate photos of their greatness on social media.
I could end this nightmare, tell my story and die. At least it would be courageous, unlike lying in bed in a basement where I am cursed every day for being there, thus stopping my daughter from traveling during Covid19 about which she complains daily. It is my fault you see that she can’t travel. This is the same daughter who I have served tirelessly for years to raise her and her children. I was on call 24-7 maid and punching bag. For me no travel was possible at all, ever because I’d be raged at if I did not do something instantly when my daughter demanded.
The same daughter who nearly killed me because she wouldn’t take me to the dentist, yet my life was saved because my other daughter insisted on taking me to the dentist, to discover a terrible infection that could have leaked into my body. But my daughter cannot stay around me because of the abuse from my other daughter. I cannot stay with my other daughter because the first one will refuse to see me if I do that. You see narcissists must control everything, even their parent’s death. So I am controlled in every way. For me control has become security.
I spend days hoping to go home. I can’t do anything I used to enjoy. I live moment by moment trying to please my masters and waiting to die.
My mask falls often and I just Cry. Cry. Cry. Cry. But I dare not ask any of my narcissistic children to go live in my huge and comfortable home, because god forbid they would have to leave North America.
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I’d rather die myself than wait for my children to kill me slowly bit by bit. I tell my son my plans for Euthanasia when I am old. It is a hard topic. He is angry. We share a hug. Tears slip out. Why do I have to witness the abuse? The pain rages through every cell of my body. I burst in screaming tears about the abuse. It helps nobody. It takes two days to stop the pain in the back of my head. Another eon for the pain in the heart to ease.
People have often told me that they stay in narcissistic relationships so that they have someone in their old age and that is why they marry as well. For survival.
Is the abuse worth survival? for me, no. No. To be near my narcissistic family is like a death of the soul anyway. I pray because I have to pray. I pray because I have no other escape. Now one of them has turned all spiritual, after decades of humiliating anything spiritual. Of course narcs are always right and always positive and always happy. Their mask is tight thick perfect and they never meant to abuse you, except that now you are reeling with the attack, but it all happened in your own head, don’t you know. You- are-going-crazeee…….
They think I hate them. No. I hate what they do to me. I hate what they do to me.
Behind The Veil 