Thursday, 18 October 2012
Who Is Trixie and Why Is She So Neurotic?
Welcome to my blog and thanks so much for stopping by! My name is Trixie.
I am someone’s wife. I am someone’s mother. I am someone’s grandmother.
Sadly, as a result of narcissism, I am nobody’s daughter.
I am 45 years old and happily married to a pretty great guy. I have two daughters, who are 15 years apart in age. They are the best daughters any mom could ever ask for. I have two granddaughters, who are little angels. They make me smile every time I think of them or see their tiny faces. I am also the adult child of not one, but two, narcissistic parents.
What is a narcissist, you ask?
Simply put, a narcissist is someone who really loves themselves ALOT. They think the sun rises and sets out of their own arse, and they don’t care who they hurt to fulfill their own needs. They lie, confuse and twist everything! Living with a narcissist is like living in a heavy fog of bewilderment and confusion.
I’m writing this blog to try and give myself some inner peace. I don’t want the events of my past defining who I am anymore. I find myself constantly replaying all of the “TWILIGHT ZONE” moments. I need to put it to rest. I have come to the conclusion that, by not speaking out and standing my ground, it is only perpetuating a problem that is like a disease. I’m hoping that the truth will set me free.
Another big reason for me to write about my life experiences, is because there might be other people in the world who are struggling with similar issues. If you are the victim of a narcissist, my heart goes out to you. I have wasted precious decades of my life, not really living, because of parental narcissism.
Before I go any further, I’d like to say that I know I haven’t had it the worst. I don’t ever forget that, and knowing it humbles me. There are children, and other people, in the world that have had it way worse than I ever did. My father DID NOT sexually abuse me, and I thank him for that. Also, I want to take responsibility where it is due. I was a bit of a wild child. I brought some challenges when I was a teenager. I wanted to be free and experience life. I was like a horse that refused to be tamed. I could not be beaten, physically or emotionally, into submission.
I spent the better part of my life existing in a monarchy, instead of a democracy. There was no fairness. My parents were the rulers of their own warped little kingdom - the king and queen of mean. They worked overtime, convincing you that they were the best thing since sliced bread. It worked, to a point. It was enough to keep you confused, that’s for sure. No matter what they did, they justified their behavior. They gave you life, and then stomped all over it. But, as with the horse that couldn’t be tamed, I also couldn’t be convinced. I always knew things were weird in our house.
I can still vividly remember the lecture I’d sometimes receive from my mother after my father had beaten me to a pulp, while the bumps were still swelling on my head. More than likely, I was crying and feeling sorry for myself, and you weren’t allowed to feel sorry for yourself in that house.
“There are kids in the world that get burned with irons and cigarette butts,” she’d say with oodles of sincerity and seriousness. “You don’t have it that bad!”
I have one sibling, a sister who is three and a half years younger than me. She was the golden child, and I was the scapegoat. At least, it started out that way. As my sister grew into an adult, my parents soured of her too. If I could go back and be the golden child instead of the scapegoat, there is no way I would do it. My sister has got her own set of issues that I wouldn’t want. Even though she wasn’t physically abused, she was still exposed to the crazy. She is a victim in all of this too.
My parents messed with my head, major big time. They wielded their abuse, and still do, most often in private and secrecy. At the same time, they worked their asses off to present an entirely different image to the rest of the world.
I have some ridiculous stories to tell. When you are part of family like mine, it’s one big mind-screw.
In life, you can decide to laugh or you can cry. I’ve decided to laugh. I’ve cried oceans of tears and don’t have any left.
The antics of a narcissist can be really off the wall. If I sometimes poke fun at all this, and at my parents, please cut me some slack and try not to judge me too harshly.
So, if you’ll bear with me through a blog post or two of background info, then I can write about some of the really crazy stuff that has happened in my life.
Welcome to The Neurotic Tales of Trixie - where real life is stranger than fiction.