My apologies for the length of this. My mother’s personality disorder has played a major role in my own life.
My mother has a Narcissistic Personality Disorder. She doesn’t know it and even if I tried explaining it to her, she wouldn’t understand.
Everything is about her. She can’t conceive of anything that doesn’t relate to her. This is an example:
She always been concerned about my weight – even when I wasn’t overweight. That’s because she sees me as an extension of her. One day I was visiting at breakfast time and I pored myself a somewhat large bowl of cereal. (Perhaps a cupful.) My mother mother began to berate me for overeating. She said, “You’re just doing that to defy me!” You see, it was all about her. Sadly, I was approximately 50 at the time and she was 80.
I’ve had my own house for almost 23 years. Mother has never set foot in it. She has driven within a mile of it several times, but she won’t come to see it. And she won’t explain why. It isn’t discussed. (She lives approximately 100 miles away.) She’s gone further than that to see her boyfriend.
When I got any kind of attention or praise from my father, my mother would get angry and hostil and critical.
Not only has she wanted to have control over me, but she has wanted me to know that she has control over me.
The most liberating period of my life was when I learned how to keep her from using my inheritance to manipulate me after my father died. At some point she just pushed too far and hurt me too badly and I just emotionally said fuck it and released myself from the need to have anything that had belonged to my ancestors including my mother. I even encouraged her to give it all to my sister and my sister’s decendents.
My step-grandchildren that I saw born did not count as grandchildren. She would say, “They’re not really your grandchildren.” And she refused to meet all but one of them. That one I brought home without asking so that my father could see her.
Mother couldn’t stand to be wrong. She lost her wallet once. My husband figured out where it was. She said it could not be there. (That would have involved her making a mistake.) He went to that place and got her wallet. It made her mad that he found it.
When she was mad at me, she wouldn’t speak to me – even when I was little. That used to terrify me. I would become hysterical because of it.
She micro-managed my life. I was not allowed to pick out a dress on my own until I was seventeen. I washed my hair myself for the first time when I was sixteen.
She continued to use a belt on me and to slap me around until I was out of the house at eighteen. And she used that belt too hard and too long. She knows it and admited it to me later in life.
She was capable of a lot of cruelty – some of it I just can’t talk about.
And she could also be very loving, giving and sweet. That’s what makes for the dilemma. What happens when you love and hate the same person?
Now she is 95. She still has a sense of humor. Her mind is beginning to go. Sometimes she can be quite demented and the meanness in her personality shows itself to everyone. It used to be reserved just for her family and hidden from the public. It is surreal to watch.
I don’t think there was anything she could have done to make herself better. She was emotionally deprived as a child. I don’t think anyone taught her how to love.