Childhood Incidents #6

I remember this one time when I was in primary school and I was walking along the corridor and suddenly everything went black. I then remember being seated and lying my head down on a desk and being splashed with water by someone while gaining back my vision and consciousness.

When I came home and told my parents, it was taken very lightly. They said, “Oh, so you fainted.” It didn’t startle them or alarm them. They simply said I’m weak. I don’t remember anything being done to prevent it, and I went to school as usual.

I only think of this often because I realize the way I’m always on top of my kids’ health issues (and there is no deficiency of such issues given the time and age we live in). I’ve suffered dire consequences because I’ve prioritized their health over mine. So I always wonder how my parents were so relaxed, especially my mother.

I often feel sympathy for my childhood self. I didn’t get what I rightfully deserved as a young girl. Nothing can soothe these deep wounds which I carry within me. All I can do is try and be the best mother I can be for my children till my last breath.


Grieving some more…

It’s just one of those glum days. Those awful days, when I terribly miss my dad and feel hopeless at the thought of never being able to see him again. All the material things he left behind live on, and yet he isn’t around. A hard truth to digest.

My last trip to India was when I felt like he was the very essence of my being. I saw all his clothes stocked up in the cupboards and honestly I didn’t have it in me to sort through them or give them away. As far as I know, nothing of his will leave that home as long as I’m breathing. Nor will the yearning to have him around die.

His home is nothing without him. The very spirit of the home felt dead. Seriously, how does one get out of this rut within the mind? They say time heals all wounds. But I’ve felt my wounds from dad’s demise grow deeper and deeper as the days go by.

The trip also called for war. War against evil, against people who tried to steal what was dad’s. It was only by God’s grace we were victorious. In the end, it was dad’s victory. The victory of good over evil.

Although I celebrated the victory God gave me, certain things didn’t go as I had planned. I’ve mentioned countless times on my blog about how I’d never forgive my mother for murdering my dad. Yet, not because of who she was but because of who I am, I wanted her to have a decent ending and hence I decided to set her up well in my dad’s home. However fate had decided otherwise. My mom lost her strength and fell. On the first day she managed to pick herself up. The second day things took a turn for the worse. She fell and she never got back up on her legs. She had fallen down late evening and was on the floor till such time I reached dad’s home the next day morning and managed to get external help to come lift her up onto the bed. Even then her back had lost the ability to hold her up straight. She lay helplessly on the bed. She was soaked in urine. It was then that I decided she needed more care than anyone around could offer her, and I moved her into the hospice.

The hospice is heaven for those who are in agony or pain. They take lovely care of all their patients. My mother was neat and clean for the first time since I had reached Chennai. However, being the covert being that she was, she was not happy with the social and friendly environment that existed there. The last day I visited her before I left Chennai filled me with sour memories.

I won’t deny my disappointment of not having her in dad’s home. I somehow wanted to keep his home alive and give it a new lease of life. I also wanted to give my mother the end she desired, to complete her life in dad’s home. However, God’s plans weren’t what I had planned out and tried to execute. They were far different.

There hasn’t been a day that I’ve not thought about my mother and how she’s surviving socially. She may have been happy alone, living life on her terms in dad’s home but she was living in a stench that was unbearable. So I take heart that she’s clean and being fed three proper meals each day. Although there is nothing between us, no feelings whatsoever, I guess I’m still grieving the mother I thought I had.

Recovery from narcissistic abuse is brutal. One day I think I’ve gotten over everything but the very next day I find myself sobbing like a 3 year old who couldn’t find her favourite toy. I really wonder how people carry on in life after dealing with so much. For today, I miss my daddy and I miss the mummy I thought I had. The grieving seems never-ending. So today I grieve some more for both of them.


Narcissism Nitty-Gritty #3

Always being anxious around a particular person warrants you to reevaluate your relationship with them. A normal relationship must bring peace atleast 90% of the time. If you’re always a nervous wreck around someone, you feel butterflies in your stomach far too often than not, you feel physically sick and mentally on the edge, then all these can signal that you’re in an intimate relationship with a narcissist.

When you’re away from them you feel like your health instantly improves. The queasy feeling vanishes into thin air. You feel peaceful, in your senses, much more calm and relaxed. The kind of mental and physical impact narcissists can have on you and your body can never be understood by normal people.

Making a relationship work with a narcissist involves erecting a facade and keep it up by all means, constantly sacrificing your sanity, constantly trying not to upset them, to be constantly put down, humiliated, always left questioning yourself and your actions, sinking in self-doubt, constantly working out how you can please them and keep them from blowing up. It’s such a heavy load to bear and no wonder it translates into your physical well being. We always make up excuses for feeling off but that’s the mistake we make. If someone gives you the heebie-jeebies most of the time, it’s time to analyze your relationship with that person. Nothing is worth sacrificing your mental and physical well-being, not your spouse, parents or your intimate friend. Be kind to yourself and always choose you.


Childhood Incidents – 4

It all started in that small room that we called home. I must have been in grade 5. This was when I saw clear evidences of something going awfully wrong.

My dad was home and I heard my mother tell him for the first time, the story she’d been telling people even after I turned 37. The story that she overheard our neighbour say he was so pissed off with us, that he was going to get even with us. She told my dad he has done witchcraft over our family and especially over me, that’s why I couldn’t concentrate on my studies, I had itching and what not. All my earthly issues suddenly had spiritual roots.

The truth was at that time both of us like fools believed her. I was a kid and didn’t have a clue what was going on. I don’t know what went on in my dad’s mind, that he believed something this absurd.

From then started all the exorcism saga that I had to undergo till I reached my late 20s. I lived in another world altogether until I got married. Looking back now, I remember many people severe ties with me because they thought I was weird. How could I have been normal given my situation at home? It was a miracle I was even functioning. I was quiet, anxious and always disturbed.

I’ll never forget the scenes from that small old room, where an evil soul carried out her wicked schemes on two, poor, innocent souls. The room from where she stole, lied and lived with her mask off.

When I look at my kids today, everything that hurts them pains me. I still can’t digest the fact that someone birthed me from their womb to destroy me and married their spouse to abuse and murder. I thought psychopaths only appeared in movies. I can’t believe I have survived one in real life.


Childhood Incidents – 3

We flew frequently, every year infact. I remember this one scene so clearly. We were seated in the aircraft. My dad to the left, my mom in the middle and I was on the right. We had just finished our in-flight meal. My mother started loading all the stainless steel cutlery into her handbag. When my dad asked her to stop and expressed his displeasure she simply ignored him and continued what she was doing. As a child, I actually thought that it was okay to do these things.

Later on the airlines became very strict with these things and any stealing meant getting caught. So my dad would warn my mom before we travelled not to do any such nonsense and get caught. That’s when she stopped flicking stuff. I am ashamed to have been born to such a shameless scoundrel. Thank God I didn’t turn out like her!