Domestic Theft and plain old THEFT

Great link here with a description better than I could write.

Them manipulating us out of upwards $160k (and an extra $10k a year in interest forever) is not actually domestic theft. It is just plain theft. But domestic theft is part of the pattern with Momster.

Nana makes me a dress as a five year old. I see the girl who lived across the road walking down the street in it. I ask Momster why, how? 
"You never wear it".

A friend of hers give her some stuff to give to me. As she shows me all the things I have been given, she takes what she wants and leaves me what she does not want. 
"They're too good for you".

Grand-dad (her father in law) moves house and she steals his family medals, my Nan's pearls, a lace dress that belonged to my Nan. All things that belonged to my Aunt and my Dad and Grand-dad.

I collected dolls as a kid and I kept them very well. When I left home they were stored in the garage. She gives them to my niece to play with when my niece was waaaay too young to take care of them. They are broken. Years later, they disappear when she moves house. Turns out she gave them to another niece without asking me.

She buys a holiday house and at her request, I lend her dozens of books so visitors would have reading material beyond the latest form guide ("I want these back Mum"). When she sells the house she tosses them out telling me 'they were boring anyway'. So much for award winning authors!

But most annoyingly, she gave away my time without my consent. DD will do that for you. DD will pick you up. DD will...

DD is doing no longer :)

The weekly reminder...

There is an interest bill on the money they stole off us: $200 a week. Compounded for life.

And every single week we are reminded of her evil when that money gets scooped off the top of my pay cheque.

You have taken away our ability to save for our retirement, to follow our dreams and desires, to have a holiday occasionally, to be secure knowing we can pay for medical care.

You are scum Momster. Pond scum.

Post 11: Undermining

A paragraph from my light bulb moment document and some examples from my life.

Paragraph - She undermines. 

Your accomplishments are acknowledged only to the extent that she can take credit for them. 

Any success or accomplishment for which she cannot take credit is ignored or diminished. 

Any time you are to be center stage and there is no opportunity for her to be the center of attention, she will try to prevent the occasion altogether, or she doesn't come, or she leaves early, or she acts like it's no big deal, or she steals the spotlight or she slips in little wounding comments about how much better someone else did or how what you did wasn't as much as you could have done or as you think it is. 

No matter what your success, she has to take you down a peg about it”.

Examples

I Write & Publish a Book

I write a book and send her a copy in the mail. No response. Next time I visit she hands me the copy, which she has gone through with a fine-toothed comb and some sticky-notes to mark up the typos, mistakes, incorrect grammar (according to her) and where there is room for improvement.

Me: What did you do that for?

Her: That’s why you sent it to me isn’t it? What did you expect?

Me: Ummm…congratulations?

Her: That goes without saying. Anyway, you can take the feedback or not, up to you.

Me: It’s been published, I can’t change anything.

Her: Well that’s unfortunate (cue to her walking away and me standing gobsmacked).

In My First Big Relationship I Get Hurt

Badly. Pulled apart, abused and left in a heap with more pain and grief than I know what to do with.

Her: I really thought you’d cope out there.

Me: Out where? What do you mean?

Her: I thought you’d cope out in the world. But you can’t (cue to her walking away and me standing desolate feeling like the abuse was my fault and I was a complete loser).

Getting My Period

Scene: the laundry room.

Her: I noticed blood on your pants. Did you get your period?

Me: Yes.

Her: Wash them in cold water immediately and change your tampon at least three times a day because from now on you will smell.

Getting My First A at College

Scene: the kitchen where she is sitting with a friend when I get home.

Me: Hey Mum I got my first A.

Her: Stop. Later okay.

Later…

Her: Don’t big note yourself in front of people. They are not interested.

Opening Night of My Coffee Shop Art Gallery

(Within very close proximity to me whilst screaming in a stage whisper)

Her to exhibiting artist’s mother: You must be so proud of your daughter, an exhibition is such an achievement.

Her to my business partner’s mother: You should be so proud of him, the design of the place is brilliant.

Her to me: You are so lucky you had (business partner) to help, he has done a brilliant job and you could not have done it without him.

To me privately: Nada.

On Getting My Degree

Her: You were the only one that did it out of the lot of you.

Me: I suppose so.

Her: Keep in mind it wasn’t a very academic course.

My Graduation Ceremony

She picks me up from my flat in King Street and drives me to the ceremony. Nobody else was invited. She watches ceremony, takes no photographs and we leave, whereby she drops me off on the side of the road near my flat, leaving me wondering what I did wrong. I wore a mortar board and a gown and I do not have a photo :(

My Fortieth Birthday

Scene: She cajoles and manipulates until I agree to change the party from our house to her house. A few days the party:

Me: What do you mean you aren’t coming?

Her: It’s a racing day, we’ll show up when we can.

My 21st Birthday Photo Album and Guest Book

Me: Can I have my 21^st album please.

Her: No.

Me: Why, it’s mine?

Her: No it’s not, I threw the party.

Oh dear, that’s enough I think. My time is better spent rewiring the thought processes she instilled in me rather than rehashing them any further.

If you want to read the light bulb document go here

Post 10: The NPD diagnosis I am sure she got

I am in first or second year of college (say 19) and we are living in the house at Marrick (Dad had been tossed out again by now). 

I am spending every waking moment (when I am not at college or work), listening to her life-is-so-unfair stories.

She is seeing a work ordered psychiatrist due to a workers comp claim.

One day she comes home from the psyche and says, 'Sit down, I need to explain something to you'. 

Drum roll…cue the drama I'm thinking...here we go again.

She grabs a pen and a piece of paper and draws a circle. Then she draws a smaller circle inside it. Pointing at the big circle she says, 'Pretend this is the world'.

The she points to the smaller circle and says, ‘Some people think they are this circle and the world revolves around them.' 

Then she stabs the smaller circle a few times with the pen and says, ‘That’s your father, he thinks he is the centre of the universe’.

Then she screws the piece of paper up and bins it, telling me to remember that some people are, ‘Just like this and there is nothing you can do about it’.

I know in my soul of souls that she got a diagnosis of NPD that day. 

And as a true NPD, she came home and projected this ‘imperfection’ onto someone else: in this case, my Dad.

At the same time she absolved herself from any responsibility for her behaviour (past, present or future) because on being told the diagnosis, she would have also have been told there was no effective treatment. 

So she gave herself a free pass - her behaviour was not her fault and there was no point in getting treatment.

Bugger! The past decades would have been better if Dr Google had been invented by then. I am an excellent researcher.

Post Nine: What I know

As the Dutiful (Pavlovian) Daughter who would never break free (her assumption), I know more about Momster than anyone. You see, one of my main roles was to be her approving, never-judging, sounding board and little Miss Fixit.

Ask yourself, what have you been told about me over the years? What has she said about me and AB? 

Then ask yourself, what has she said about you?

I know what she really thinks about you all. I have heard the comments about you all. None of you are as good as her. All of you are so flawed as to inspire contempt.

Her world view is one of disdain. And that means disdain for everyone. Including you.

If you stop 'doing' for her, like I have, you will cease to exist, like I have. Try it as an experiment. Say NO, just once, over a small request. Or ask her to change her behaviour, behaviour that upsets you, annoys you, whatever. 

Set a boundary and see what happens...'cos N's do not like boundaries.

Just pick something and see how it goes when you say, "Would you mind not doing that, it hurts/ annoys/ inconveniences me/ does not suit my working day. Would you mind doing 'x' instead?"

Fireworks!

Post Eight: Did my mother love me?

Did my mother love me?

In the land of ACON (Adult Children of Narcissistic parents) the big question is: Did they love me? Did mummy/daddy love me?

Yes it sounds pathetic, especially coming from a grown woman. But this is the really big question. Did they love me? In my case, the short answer is yes.

Here’s the long answer.

You need to understand something about the Narcissist and how they see their children (or anyone else for that matter).

Children are not separate entities to the Narcissist, they are extensions of the Narcissist. They are property. And like a new car or a new pair of shoes, the child’s primary purpose is to give the Narcissist ‘narcissistic supply’. And lucky kids, they are trained from birth to do just this (Pavlov’s Dog again).

Narcissistic supply comes in many forms: emotional support, domestic help, a mirror for her fabulousness as a mother, a sounding board, the provider of validation for her bad decisions. Sometimes making you cry is enough supply for the N: if she can make you cry she has the power and control. Obedience is supply. Fear is supply. Let’s face it: when you fear someone they sure do have your attention!

(An aside: NM and I were watching a SIL with her toddler son one day. SIL was cuddling and playing with him after a scary fall-down. NM had her ‘disdainful-stone-face’ on when she said, “This bonding crap is overrated. Fear is easier”).

Whatever she needs at any given time to make her feel alive and good about herself, powerful, better than you and in control is supply. And children of N’s exist to provide supply. It’s all about her and her feelings and her wants and if you have to not feel your own feelings and subordinate your very existence as a human to support her, so be it. She gave you life and your life is hers. You owe her!

Which means any love she gives is conditional. Conditional on you being exactly as she needs you to be, providing whatever form of supply she needs, at any given time or place. Make yourself useful kids, that is your job in life.

Back to my experience of the question, ‘Did my mother love me’? She says she did. She has always said so. She has told me so. For all I know she still says she does.

But when someone makes a statement, any statement, we hear the words through the filter of our own experience. We hear the words and assign our own meaning to them. It is human nature and it is as unavoidable as the behaviour of Pavlov’s Dog. Think of it via the following true example.

She said: ‘Well, at least you know your mother loved you’.

I heard: ‘Well at least you know your mother loved you unconditionally’.

I had drunk the kool-aid of the cult of motherhood and assigned my own meaning to her words, specifically, the concept that ‘unconditional’ was part of mother-love’.

But just because someone says something, does not make it true.

So I suggest we all stop listening to what is said to us and instead, focus on the actions of those who say ‘I Love You’. Is what they say backed up by actions, or are words just words?

So yes, my mother did love me, by her definition, but not by my definition.

My definition of love now includes the obvious. 

If a person deliberately ignores my feelings; steals off me; threatens to falsely accuse my partner of elder abuse; lies to me and about me; berates and belittles me at every chance; undermines my confidence and rages at me at will; ignores my basic personal boundaries like ‘please don’t call me 8 times in my working day’; spreads vile and untruthful gossip about me; chooses to abandon me as a teenager and sucks me dry emotionally at every opportunity, this person does not love me regardless of how often they say it out loud. Or who they say it to.

Post Seven: Let's talk about nasty

There are about 50 synonyms for nasty in the Thesaurus, so if nasty does not do it for you, pick an adjective that does these stories justice.

Younger brothers used to wet the bed. Well past the point where a normal parent would have consulted medical advice (that includes you Dad). One day, Momster was in a rage and she made me watch as she forced youngest brother on his knees to wipe his face across a urine soaked bed, chanting, "I must not wet the bed". Not once. Not twice. But 10 times for good measure. I was made to watch so I could 'learn'.

I hated her for humiliating him. But she reinforced the fear-of-Mum in me without having to raise a hand at the time. Clever huh?

Hey there Uncle P. Don't you love your sister's behaviour? Do you think this is reasonable behaviour, from an adult to a child? An adult who is supposed to protect and nurture and love?

Or how about the time I got a sustained belting because she was trying to get older brother to confess to some misdemeanour of a crime (he was smoking in his bedroom). He didn't confess (and we did not dob on each other) so I kept getting belted. When she gave up he was sent to his room. She stopped hitting me and harrumphed, "He doesn't care about you much, does he?"

Or the time older brother was driven from the house as a teenager, by her, on purpose. She picked a fight with him, badgered him, belittled him. He finally struck out at her and she kicked him out, at night, telling him to never come back. I hated her then as well and silently said to myself, come back a success brother, prove her wrong.

To understand the above story you need a bit of context that only hindsight can provide. 

See, she had a plan. Drive oldest son out of the house, send two younger sons to separate boarding schools, dump me on her mother in another state, leave the husband and hang out with the boyfriend. Worked perfectly for her. Not so good for us. You were an adult Dad, you should have spoken for us.

Or how about the time as a 16 year old I tried to tell her (while she was driving) that I was sexually assaulted on a date. I was expecting some protection, understanding, a kind word? Nope. 

Her left arm flings out smacking me in the side of my head. Then she shoves my head into the car window a few times with the words, "I don't want to hear it. That'll teach you to remember your place". 

WTF? Remember my place? As what? Garbage?

Or the day when I was about 16/17 years old and she stood us both in front of a full length mirror and compared our bodies. She was taller, I got my father's chest, my legs were longer than hers...but that meant I was out of proportion. But I had nice eyebrows. She would swap our eyebrows.

The stories could go on but the most telling story of all is, I have no memory, at any age, of Momster ever hugging me or comforting me (Disclaimer: except when there was an audience to see her do it).

Not once. Giving comfort takes empathy you see and N's don't do empathy. They don't do anything that does not start and end with themselves.

Joke: Why don't N's read much?

A: The stories aren't about them (boom tish!).