Well, folks, dementia and minnstrokes is a twisted blessing in an elderly NPD mom. The truth comes popping out in front of other people. It's not just one on one anymore, when we're alone or in the car. My mom no longer has the ability to catch herself and gasp and yell "THAT NEVER HAPPENED!" I can calmly pry her for information, like prying open a clamshell with a knife.
I don't know what I am. I never got a full diagnosis, but "autism" and "refrigerator mom" got thrown around a lot. I had a psychomotor delay as a kid, undiagnosed dyscalculia, and TERRIBLE mood swings. I was a little girl who raged and head-banged, and had trouble controlling my temper. Still do sometimes. Just to give some context.
So, I reminded mom that I just took myself to WalMart for my birthday (I just wanted to be by myself). I just turned 45. I explained that I got myself some leopard-print jeggings (fun!), and she blurts out, "Well, I could never do that with you, you acted up. You would get out of control, so I had to lock you in the closet!"
I asked how old I was.
"First grade. Five." (I started Kindergarten when I was 4.) Now, I know I was a brat, but don't tell a kid they can buy any clothing they want and then tell them their choices are ugly, that you want a pretty little princess, and that you shouldn't wear boy clothes. You are setting yourself up for a tantrum over stupid shit, frankly.
"Oh. Which room did you lock me in?"
"What?"
"Which room did you lock me in? Brother's door didn't have a lock. My room didn't have a door. Which room did you lock me in?"
"I used to hug you, but you wouldn't calm down. So I'd lock the door at the top of the steps with the latch-hook lock (this was adult height and way out of a child's reach), and that way you'd just wear yourself out and take a nap."
I remember pounding at that door with my fists and open palms, running at that door with my head down like a ram, throwing my body at the door shoulder-first, kicking the door, and screaming for what felt like hours. There was a bathroom on the 2nd floor, so I could go pee and get water. I had the memory of waking up as a tired crumpled heap in front of the door, and looking up as my mom opened the door. The forced hug and the apology through my gritted teeth.
"Oh," so I asked, "Did you lock me in the closet in Brother's room, too? Because I remember that."
It was at this point that mom caught herself, and realized this was not actually a normal story. When I was a child, she'd told me how afraid she was of being locked in a closet by her sister. Mom's claustrophobic, I'm not. "I'd NEVER do that to you!" But yeah, mom, you did. I remembered looking at the pretty pictures on the front of sewing patterns for hours, dreaming of going to the Oscars and wearing a pretty gown and winning Best Actress and being better than you all. I remember the light peeking in from the doorframe, my eyes adjusting to the dark like a cat's. You let me out because I had to go pee. Forced apology and hug, through gritted teeth. "I wouldn't act like this if you weren't so bad."
"So, which one was it? Which closet did you lock me in? I can't remember." I squinted my eyes like a lizard or a snake.
Mom sucked in her breath. Dad changed the subject, the visit went on as per usual.
Submitted February 06, 2017 at 08:46AM by LovesBigWords http://ift.tt/2jRhHoo raisedbynarcissists
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