The earliest memories I have of my narc mother involves abuse, as far back as I could remember all my memories that I think back on all rotate around abuse it’s either physical, mental, and even spiritual abuse. Little info on me I’m in my mid 20s,married and I’m a first time mother(yay me). Life is life everything is going smoother all thanks to the Most High, reading other people’s stories has cracked open a spectrum of emotional angst that must be released. Released to someone who hasn’t escaped, but they are methodically looking for a simple way out. But the biggest emotion I feel right now as a survivor is closure, closure from what’s been done to me, closure from the burden that was placed on me from a early age. To understand the thesis behind why I view my experiences as a burden let me take you back in time to 2000( I was six then). My NM had just got out of prison for being what she called a “drug queen pin”, so while skimming through articles, YouTube videos, and others blogs we all know that Narcs LOVE GRANDIOSITY even if the position the put themselves in is a devious one. They thrive to want to look superior, its how they live how they get their supply, how the Narc builds their image. Okay (I tend to drift off sometimes sorry) back to 2000 I had just moved in with my mother (she was in prison from the time I was a baby till six I had spent my former years with my father) When my mother got out of prison she went on a quest to retrieve all of her daughters to make sure she raised them all, she had a new man by this time. I remember being in my room, and hearing my narc mother in a rage she was going on, and on about how someone drunk out of her new beaus(enabler) strawberry slushie from sonic (route 44 happy hour special). She then called all of us into the kitchen, and made up line up with extension cord in hand she looked at us so enraged while saying out loud “Who drank his slushie, y’all better tell me now, or all y’all getting a whipping”. I didn’t drink it, hell at six I didn’t even know what a slushie was but in my kid mind I figured that she was just using a tactic for the truth to come out. (Like really who gets that mad over a strawberry slushie) both my sisters stood there both claiming that they didn’t drink it, and my Narc mom didn’t let up she was persistent in her quest of putting down her brute punishment. It was like in each breath she got more, and more of a rush to exert her authority over us. Like a hangman’s with a fresh rope in her hang waiting for the criminal to be led to the gallows, finally after so many minutes of standing there hearing the bickering, hearing the dysfunction(about a slushie that I didn’t drink, or know where it came from). I finally said I did it, just to save all of us to free us from this matriarch of a woman with a fire in her eyes, it turned out to be a stupid mistake on my part because my mother beat me with every inch of my six year old life. I remember her going around me in a circle and taking that cord(like the one in the picture) and beating me with it I remember curling up into a ball so my little face wouldn’t get scarred; I remember crying so hard from the pain I felt how hurt I felt that this woman who was my mother had just drug me on the kitchen floor and beat me over a damn strawberry slushie. When she was done I touched my arms, and I had welts all over them all over my body, me being six I couldn’t imagine why this was going on, but little did I know it would only get worst.A broken feeling then started to take route in my spirit that day because this is the moment that my narc mother started to break me like a glass plate shatters on a hard wooden floor, so did I on that day in 2000,when she beat me for the first of many times. Down a rabbit hole of sheer abuse, terror, and anguish at the hands of a alcoholic mother who over the years I was gonna see her mask eventually slip off. And the toxic scars of abuse that she would not only leave on me but also my three siblings. That brings to mind a quote that I ran across…….
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