In some ways I've avoided thinking about this, knowing if I go there I'll be reminded of how blindsided I was by my narcissist's intentions. His intentions weren't evident to me because I was so completely thrown off-guard by the hot/cold performances that occurred on a daily basis, and in those times when I did actually have a few minutes to myself to breathe and think...I didn't allow myself to think about anything but the weight that was lifted off of me during the times of his angry absences.
This is the maze of confusion a narcissist creates to keep you off-balance, because if you ever gained your footing... you'd run like hell.
I'd spent the majority of my life re-inventing myself after events that pretty much left my life utterly changed for good. Back then, while still damaged from the events of my childhood, and still WITHIN my childhood, that constant shifting of who I knew I was and who I was allowed to be didn't change who I was
inside. As my instincts as a child, my inclinations to gravitate towards those things I was meant to embrace, were thwarted by an indifferent and emotionally-absent mother. Most other parents would recognize how significant my passions were. But not
my mother. There was a perpetual "No" associated with almost everything I reached for. I knew what I was, who I was meant to be, and it was a vibrant, bright and burning flame that remained within me for many years. But it did die out eventually in my early teens, thanks to a mother who made the decision long ago that her needs were more important than her child's.
I was the last of six and born very late--an "accident" as she liked to call me. I laughed until adulthood about being referred to as an 'accident,' like she fell, hit her head and ended up pregnant, something unintentional that would morph into a walking regret later on. Still, not quite understanding what that word meant in terms of me, I continued to reach for the stars and fill my small, unassuming life with those things that would lift me, despite the doors she continuously closed without hesitation or thought.
She was my first and most influential exposure to narcissism.
I knew I was a dancer as early as age 4. I gravitated towards dance, ballet at the time, and music like the proverbial moth to a flame. I hadn't even started kindergarten and I'd built a fairly large collection of classical music albums of which I played daily. I danced daily, despite the lack of any classical training, and I begged my mother for lessons...every....single....year until I reached junior high school, when I knew I was long-past the window of realizing my dream. The days of dancing in the alleyway outside of the ballet studio next to my house were over, as was the begging and pleading and dreaming of such. My dreams didn't die, but they did shift.
She couldn't say no to dance lessons in school. And yes, back then schools still did teach the arts. In 5th grade I was able to take music classes, recorder.. because it was the cheapest route. The music teacher encouraged me to take up another instrument---clarinet. My mother actually did, to my surprise, buy me a used clarinet at a local pawn shop, and I eagerly went about learning. Within about 3 months I was asked to join the school district's 'honor band,' which was for those gifted or accelerating behind the average. My mom was glad for me, but she remained pretty unimpressed and never came to any of the recitals.
As time went on and I couldn't afford to take my clarinet to get the required 'maintenance'... it finally broke, and my mom simply didn't pursue doing anything about it. I'd gone through so many changes with music that my mom was oblivious to, even though it happened right before her eyes. She never noticed when I'd bring home an oboe, a flute, a piccolo... she didn't notice that I could actually PLAY them. I could play just about any wind instrument put in my hands.
My music teacher, recognizing what was happening with me offered to take me to a symphony. It was the only one I would ever attend.. at least so far. I was awed, amazed, and NEEDED to be there, to be a PART of it all. But it wasn't meant to be anything more than one more door that would slam shut forever.
We moved to Colorado right before I was to begin high school, my clarinet was sold, and my dreams were forgotten and never spoken about again by her. However, at the age of 14 something else came across my path that would stick with me until adulthood---bellydance. This was another door my mother closed with a resounding "No," and I wasn't to revisit this particular dream until adulthood, when living on the Mississippi gulf coast I made my first trip to New Orleans where I entered a shop called "Kruz: From Morocco to India." I was drawn to the little shop on the corner by the music pouring out of its doors, and I walked out changed that day.. forever.
This time was different, and I had no one but myself to close the door, and what I chose to do was run straight through it to the other side. Within 2 years I was told by many that I danced as if I'd done it my entire life, and people began asking me to teach them. I taught, and I performed,
and my life FINALLY felt exactly right.
After a few years, however, I began to feel progressively weak, tired, and unable to even continue going to the gym.. something I'd done since age 20. While I'd found ways to work out and exercise prior to that age, the gym experience didn't happen until 20.
My last day of dance practice, when I knew it was over for me happened while living in Jacksonville, FL. My once 3 hour long and effortless dance practices dwindled to about 20 minutes, and I collapsed on the floor in tears knowing that it would be my last. I felt it with all I was and saw the signs of it coming for about a year.
My gym membership was canceled, as the strong, vibrant body I once possessed was failing me. Over a couple of weeks I could lift less and less until I couldn't lift at all. The easy 30 minutes on the Stairmaster halted altogether. I hired a personal trainer who, after a few weeks, said I really needed to see a doctor. Without health insurance, that really wasn't possible.
My trips to the gym ended with me leaving exhausted, pale, and with dark circles under my eyes. I would get home and sleep for 3 hours straight without waking. Recovery from exercise became impossible.
We moved again, and I began to not recognize myself anymore, moving for the person I was with at the time, as his job required traveling. I lived my life through his while trying to find my way. At this point I returned to writing, something I'd done since early childhood and also was very good at. I created a couple of web sites, discovered graphic art, web design, and created spaces on the web where my artistic needs could at least somewhat be met.
I won't go into the writing at this point, because this entry has already begun looking like War and Peace. But it was something I'd always HAD to do, be it poetry or short stories, then later.. beginning novels. This was somewhat taken away from me when my handwritten manuscripts (I didn't have a computer at first) were 'sold off' by a storage facility where our belongings were stored. The guy I was with at the time failed to make the payments and didn't tell me. Years of writing, and SO much more, were bought by strangers. All my writing was gone along with years of memories in photos, art my kids made for me as they were growing up, and... my life changed yet again.
The chronic fatigue I'd found myself in had begun taking the creative edge off my writing, and about 7 years ago I'd written the last sentence in an uncompleted book. I've yet to get my muse to return.
The artist within refused to give up and rediscovered something I'd reached for in high school---photography. I was able to take a class, but my mother said "No" to buying me a used camera and, instead, left me to use the disposable ones. While my classmates shared information about their impressive 35mm cameras, I simply hung back and clung to the camera whose only capability was left in the parameters set by the manufacturer. But I kept trying, always finding things to shoot. Getting close to my subject was impossible, and I had no control over settings. Frustrated, I did not take another semester.
Fast-forward to now:
A few years ago I finally obtained a REAL camera. I don't think I ever left the house without it, and I found myself loving the shoots I did at the local cemeteries. Getting film developed was costly at the rate I was shooting, so I ended up with a used digital camera that eventually gave out as well. That camera finally gave out and I obtained a cheap digital from Best Buy. It lasted a couple of years. I then bought a decent digital from eBay and... well, ended up having to sell that to my BF at the time so I could pay my rent. Oh trust me, I've left off major life events in this story. But in the end I was left without a camera.
I'd also discovered OOAK doll repainting, of which I had to give up when moving to Montgomery due to the health issues. But I have all my supplies, and a brand new camera waiting for me to recover from whatever has been kicking my backside.
So much information, isn't it? I know. It is. And what has all this to do with having your value determined by a narcissist? That one is actually easy to explain. You see, when the patterns begin in childhood, when your determination is strong in the beginning and hammered away with over time your sense of self, that balance in your life changes significantly, and many times, though not always, people end up gravitating to those who are most like that which defined us from very early on. In other words, we gravitate towards those we're most used to. It's our comfort zone, though it's never actually
comfortable.
Over and over again in my life I ended up with people who would ultimately treat me the way my mother did. Sounds a bit cliche, doesn't it? Well, maybe it is in some ways, but I think that's mostly due to how many people actually end up in this situation.
PART 2 will address where this ties into narcissists and their need to define your value as a human being.
