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Where Did She Go?
Mysteriously in the night, my mother packed some of her clothing and left my brother’s home without saying a word. She did not leave a note. She did not leave any clues. No one had any idea where she had run off to, and no one knew her reasons. My brother did say that life with her had become somewhat unbearable in that she was a force to be reckoned with wreaking all kinds of havoc and destruction throughout his household.
My brother was concerned that our mother was making her trek my way to attempt to usurp my authority and take over occupancy within my home. Despite his fears, I hoping that our mother would not consider bringing her drama in my direction. I had years ago threatened her that I would move where she would never be able to find me if she ever dared embarrass me as she had done once in the past when she appeared at my place of work to make a dramatic display. Humiliation is one of her favorite brand of punishments.
I was literally hoping against hope because I did not know where she had mysteriously disappeared to, and there were no clues as to where she might have gone. I admit that I was fearful of what she was capable of doing. It is not that I thought she would hurt me. It was more that she was using fear to control me into watching my every move. I dislike drama because of how it makes me feel. I dislike feeling anxiety as a result of someone else’s actions. I do not feeling as if someone else controls my day.
I did not want to take care of my mother. I did not want her anywhere near my dwelling. I did not want anything to do with her. She was and is a physically healthy woman with a sanely manipulative and decisively vindictive mind. She stops at nothing to bring her plans into alignment. I knew she would stop at nothing to bring me back in line as an extension of her.
Unlike my brother and other siblings, I was not as easily manipulated by her. I was branded the outcast, but it became clear to my parents early on in my childhood that I also a resilient fighter – a rebel even. My mother would indeed have a mighty battle on her hands if she thought I was going to allow her to usurp my control over my environment. I did not want a roommate, and I did not want my narcissistic mother living in my house.
A Glance Back
After years of enduring my mother’s psychological and physical abuses since I was a young child, I knew someone that my siblings did not really know well. I knew my mother. I knew her well. I had carefully studied all of the intricate facets of her narcissistic mannerisms. My siblings did not know her in the way that I knew and know her. They have always made excuses and jokes about her toxic behavior. Her toxic behavior was always a joke to them because nothing negative was happening to them in the way it was happening to me.
My brother cried the first time he explained to me how our mother devalued him as an adult. He was extremely crushed by her behavior towards him. For whatever reason, he was either protected from being devalued as a child by our mother, he was oblivious to comprehending what it meant to be devalued as a child by our mother, or our mother saved all devaluing comments and behaviors for me. I was the proverbial scapegoat of the family.
Upon hearing my brother’s maladies and experiences with our mother, I actually empathized with him regarding his experiences. However, I also felt vindicated by my brother’s realization that I was not the “bad guy” of our family story. He could clearly now see what I had struggled with for years, and to say he was dumbfounded by it all was an understatement. He apologized to me for not being a better “little” brother.
I accepted my brother’s apology, but I also understood that by my parents keeping us [siblings] separated was the plan. United siblings would have certainly destroyed the house of charades and illusions that my parents built. The house still imploded because of my parents’ issues with each other, but had my siblings and I been a more united front against them and their abuses, their house of cards might have quickly fallen to bring us an earlier freedom.
Again, however, we were children. We had no way of knowing. We were clueless. I do not know what my siblings thought back then, but I know I was just trying to live another day. I was trying to survive. Despite all of that in the past, my brother and I at least know the truth now. We know very well now, and I somewhat knew more than he regarding our mother’s schemes. So for the first time, my brother was truly listening to me because he needed help.
For the most part, my siblings were my mother’s flying monkeys. They would often unwittingly become a part of her schemes to gang up on me when I was a child. So, I was always the “bad guy”. I was taunted, teased, and blamed for wrongs that was not even capable of causing. Even though I believed my siblings could see what occurrences had happened to me at our mother’s hands, they were blinded by their loyalty to her. They believed that somehow I deserved the “punishments” I received by both our parents.
Now, they were reaching out to me for help. They wanted to put her away. They wanted her to get a psychological evaluation. They believed she was not mentally well. Despite what they believed, I knew my mother was running an intricately planned scheme. She was playing everyone for a fool. She is highly manipulative and always paints herself as the victim when she is in fact the grand orchestrator. Behind all of her façade of meekness lies a nasty smirk of satisfaction that she has once again gained the upper hand over those she takes captive. She was hiding with a purpose in mind, but I gave into my brother’s pleas, and I sought the help of a mental health professional for advice.
Mental Help
Unfortunately, there was no way to have a clearly thinking and sane woman committed into a facility without her permission. I already knew that my mother would never go for that. She might have been acting so distraughtly that she alarmed my brother and his family into thinking there was a mental deficit, but she could not fool me. I knew it was all a ploy. After my brother told me of my mother’s obsession with my home – a home she has only seen a picture of and a home that she is not ever invited to visit, I knew that my mother was running a spectacular game that she intended to win. Her disappearance was a fleece.
My mother had her sights set on me, and if I came to the rescue, this would tell her and everyone else that I was regretful of not being a better daughter to her. My rescue of her would tell her and everyone else that she had been right all along about me being the problem, but she had another thing coming if she thought that I was falling for her tricks. I told my siblings about my findings regarding mental health services and the laws regarding the committance of a loved one into psychological care. I then let things be.
If our mother returned to my brother’s home, so be it. If she did not return to my brother’s home, so be it. Yet, if she showed up at my place, I was ready to take legal action against her. I was not taking care of my mother. I was not allowing her into my space. She is not my responsibility. If she showed up to my place, that was more enough of a sign to me that she had been running a scheme to get her way all along. If she did not show up to my place, I was still weary of her schemes. I do not trust her. She is a malignant covert narcissist.
It would be a while before my mother made it to my place, but she had more schemes in her bag of tricks. Stay tuned for my next post to find out what happened next.
My Voice Unchained 