Not Allowed To Have Asthma

My n-mother was always convinced I was "exaggerating" any illness or problem I ever had.

When I was nine, my mother decided I wasn't "allowed to have asthma anymore." She threw all my medications away and told me that it was all in my head. When I went to her late at night wheezing, she became angry. She told me that if I really believed in God, then I wouldn't have asthma anymore. I was sent back to bed convinced that if I only loved God enough, it wouldn't hurt so much to breathe. I'm just so thankful that I never had a life-threatening asthma attack.

I broke my finger when I was about ten or eleven. It was all crooked and super swollen She said it wasn't that bad because I could slightly move it and that I was just trying to get out of doing chores (which she still made me do). In fact, it was two months later, when I went with my brother for a check up, that the doctor happened to notice my finger and told my n-mother I needed X-rays. She was very upset, but she couldn't very well look like a bad mother in front of other people. My crooked finger is a daily reminder about how my n-mother never cared about me.

I'm pretty sure I had pneumonia in my mid teenage years. I was coughing up fluids and it was excruciatingly painful just to breathe. After about a week, my loud wheezing and coughing fits apparently got on her nerves. She, very angrily, asked if I needed to go to the emergency room. She said it in a tone that I took as "you'd better not." I was too scared to say yes because she had convinced me that it was probably nothing and then she'd end up paying all that money for nothing. Since I said no, she then assumed I was exaggerating and just trying to get attention. I was ordered to stop coughing and breathing so loudly because it was annoying everyone else.

I had terrible migraines that made it impossible for me to do anything other than sleep when I wasn't at school. I also had very painful menstrual cramps that got so bad that I couldn't stand up straight. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry. I tried bringing it up to the doctor, but my n-mother was always quick to say I was just exaggerating. She would then force me to go on long walks for exercise. It didn't matter that any movement made me sick to my stomach. Interestingly, she did later admit that my pain seemed excessive and that she probably should have done something about it (the one and only time she admitted she did something wrong).

Almost Killed Grandma

I was seven or eight years old when my family convinced me that I had almost killed my grandma. We were all in the pool at my grandparents' house. My grandma was letting my step-sister stand on her bent knee so she could jump up and make a splash in the water. It looked like a lot of fun, so I swam over to join them. When I tried to get on her knee, my grandma pushed me away. She started yelling at me to get off of her. Then everyone was yelling at me, telling me I shouldn't horse around in the pool. They pulled her out of the water. The adults all looked very upset and I didn't understand why. Suddenly, paramedics were in the house. I tried to ask my parents what was wrong, but again they just yelled at me. They said I almost killed grandma and that I had to go to my room.

Unspoken Secrecy

I have two distinct memories of my grandma "washing" my privates. The first was when I was five. She told me take my pants/underwear off and lie on the bed with my legs apart. She said I needed to be clean. I begged her not to, but she was the adult, so I had to do what she said. It hurt.

The second occurrence was when I was older (8-10 maybe). I got really sick when I stayed the night at her house. I had been up all night with diarrhea and vomiting. She came in when I was on the toilet and told me I needed help getting clean because I was sick. I was extremely embarrassed because I was obviously old enough to take care of my own hygienic needs. I told her this, but she made me bend over with my legs apart so she could clean me.

I didn't tell anyone because I was afraid that no one would believe me and that I was making something out of nothing. It bothered me for a long time because I thought I shouldn't be bothered by it. It only dawned on me recently that it WAS strange because no one else made me let them “clean” me. It felt wrong because it WAS wrong. There hadn't been any witnesses. It was never talked about. It was as if I knew I was supposed to keep it a secret even though I don't recall her telling me not to tell anyone.

After the second time, I never spent time alone with her. You'd think my family would have noticed that I suddenly didn't want to spend time with her anymore. All of my other siblings took turns spending a few weeks with her and my grandpa over the summers. When it was my turn, I just said I didn't want to go. I wouldn't give them a direct answer about why not, yet they never seemed to wonder why.

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

My n-mother single-handedly and systematically destroyed my self esteem. When I was young, she put me on diets and then told everyone about her "daughter's little weight problem." Anything I liked to do, she turned into exercise. I liked to swim, so she made me swim laps while my siblings got to play in the water. Anytime we went out, she asked if I was "really going to go out looking like that." She was always telling me to put more make up on.

She has been talking about my chest ever since I started developing. My guess is that she was jealous or something. I mean, how dare I have a bigger chest than her!?! I know that she also developed early and got a lot of attention because of that fact. She became very promiscuous at a young age. I suppose that was how she justified shaming me about mine. That way, I wouldn't want to date. After all, she had been laying the groundwork for years to convince me that no guy would ever like me. Making me ashamed about my chest would ensure that I would only wear turtle necks with vests, which completely hid them.

I was not allowed modesty. My n-mother considered it to be the same as privacy and she told us that there was no privacy in HER house. She became furious when I would lock the door to use the bathroom or take a shower. She said she had the right to go in HER bathroom anytime she wanted. Then she would complain because I didn't want her to see me nude. I was mortified when she would actually open the shower curtain to ask me a question. I felt so violated.

Just a few years ago, she sat down next to me and said, "At least my legs are smaller than someone's." I just looked at my husband in disbelief. What do you say to that? A couple of years prior to that incident, I met a guy online and we made plans to meet in person. She saw my picture and told me that I should "warn him that my picture was very flattering so he wouldn't be dissapointed when he saw me." I was crushed. I was afraid to meet the guy after that and it totally ruined what could have been a nice time.

I could go on and on about all the things she did and said, but it would take forever. I think I've gotten my point across. Anyone who treats another living being like that does NOT love them. So, the question I pose is this: Do narcissists know how to love? If they don't, can they learn?

First Post - About Me

I was raised by a narcissistic woman that insisted I call her "mom." I'm not entirely sure what a mom is, since I didn't really have one, but I know that she wasn't one. She always seemed to find ways to be busy, giving her duties as mother and housekeeper to me. I took care of her children and the children "she babysat." I cleaned her house. I cooked her dinner. She also decided that we should be homeschooled, so I had to teach the youngest ones preschool and make sure the older ones did their workbooks. Oh, and I should mention that this all fell to me at age 12.

I was only allowed to go to two places: church and the library. I ended up spending any time she was home at the library or in my room with my nose stuck in a book. I loved to read. The books were an escape from her, from my life. One of my favorites was that one about the girl that found her own picture on a milk carton. Then her real parents came to take her away. She didn't want to go with them, but I would have given anything to be taken away from the house that was my prison.

I didn't have many friends. How could I? I was isolated from the world. My role in life was to be at my mother's beck and call. She ensured that I believed that by single handedly destroying my self esteem. I was never good enough for her and I never will be.