CPTSD from malignant narcissistic abuse was written all over my face

 Hi friends. So, if you're new to the blog, welcome, but warning also. What I'm writing is incredibly raw and possibly triggering. It certainly triggers me. It's not a pretty place around here right now. I'm finally dealing with the shitshow that my life growing up was. The deeper I go the more toxic ick I find. How that poor kid that was me survived in  nothing short of miraculous. Part of helping her includes looking a pictures of young me. And what I find is disturbing. You can see the malignant narcissistic abuse, toxic shame and CPTSD written all over my face. And for the first time ever, I'm feeling disgust for her not with her. It's appalling. 

If you aren't new, you'll know that I've been opening up about the systematic malignant narcissistic abuse from four parents, two bio, two step. What I should say is four authority figures. They were no more parents to me than the worst bosses you can imagine. The parentification, abuse (physical, emotional, sexual, social and spiritual) exploitation, manipulation, neglect, scapegoating, abandonment, endangerment, shaming and gaslighting are nauseating. 

For most of my life, I've excused and defended them. I believed their gaslighting that I was the problem for everything. I was selfish, a liar, a show off, childish, too sensitive, a burden, a nuisance but also a servant, responsible for everyone. But if I needed proof that I wasn't making it up I had only to look at myself in pictures. The CPTSD, toxic shame and rigid fear were written all over my face. 

I wasn't just awkward, I was turned inward. My face was usually screwed up with my mouth in a tightly controlled grimace, like I was clamping myself shut lest something escape. I know now that it was terror that the truth of what was happening would come out. See, I felt responsible for it all. When my dad beat me, my fault. When my mom's boyfriend screamed and threatened me, or sexually harassed me, my fault. When a kid in my mom's foster care tried to rape me, and she didn't believe me, my fault. When I didn't mother my dad's wife's kids to her specs, my fault. When my mom did or allowed weird, dangerous, sick things to happen to me, my fault. When she abandoned me, my fault. When my dad told me he was gonna kill himself and there was nothing I could do, my fault. 

So they didn't take many pictures of me. I was the invisible kid. Most are ones Grampa took. But they all show me obviously miserable. What I was holding in so tightly was toxic shame, rigid fear and all those secrets that caused them. I was literally trying to keep my mouth closed to keep from screaming. Or throwing up. And I was so ashamed of myself and crippled with fear. And it wasn't just in pictures that this showed. My cousin whom I do not remember meeting despite him saying we hung out fairly regularly, says I always seemed distant, preoccupied, closed off. He thought I was a snob. But the truth was so much different. 

By the time I was 16, I'd experienced countless things that made me believe that I wasn't fit to live. CPTSD. And it just got worse. And it shows. But now that I'm an adult, and not keeping secrets anymore, I see myself differently. I see the terror and despair. I remember the feelings and why I felt that way. I remember the cruelty and it fucking nauseates me. I realize that I'm ashamed but not of myself. I'm disgusted by how my parents treated me. 

I contrast it with how I, even flawed as I am, treated my kids. I see how this toxic shame and fear made me do things I wouldn't  normally have done. How I spanked my kids because my parents hit me and told me God expected me to hit my kids. They didn't hit their other kids and then shamed me when I obeyed them. It's all so disgusting hypocritical and backstabbing. 

I have a long way to go to get to a better place. But at least seeing the trauma in my face, affirms that despite their gaslighting, it did happen. And sorting out who was injured and who was to blame, helps too.  

My bizarre backstory at age 11: weird abuse, parentification, co-sleeping with babies, plus more

 Hello friends. I recently turned a corner in my life. Instead of ignoring and making excuses for the childhood trauma I experienced, I've begun reexamining it. I'm starting to call my parents' and stepparents' treatment of me, what it actually was: abuse (sexual, physical, emotional, social and spiritual), neglect, endangerment, scapegoating, exploitation, shaming, parentification, coercion manipulation and gaslighting. It was aggressive, passive-aggressive, systematic, constant and varied, with each parent and stepparent putting their own narcissistic spin on the abuse. This may be triggering for you to read and if it is, please don't. 

Today I want to look at one of the most bizarre (among many other weird) forms of abuse: making me co-sleep with their foster kids and later their babies. First, let me qualify. Yes, it was more common for same gender and age group kids to share a bedroom back then. This wasn't just siblings sharing. For one thing, my mother's foster children weren't siblings. And they were very young, aged 6 months to four. And they were special needs kids.  We weren't encouraged to think of them as siblings. My mom sure fancied her role as mom but not the actual work of it.  When it came to her caring for children, not so much. Enter in a shit ton of gaslighting on her and her boyfriend's part about my "responsibilities" to those children. 

Yep, you read that right. Her boyfriend. She decided that moving her drunk, violently abusive, disgusting unemployed shag buddy into an already overcrowded foster care home would be a good idea. And quit her job, to boot. Crude of me? Sorry, not sorry. This has needed to be called out for what it was, for decades. If it offends, move along. (If it doesn't, apologies. I hear a lot of shaming voices in my head. Always have done.)

Here's how it worked. From the time I was 11, I was made always, to sleep with all the little ones in her care and care for them as if I was their parent (parentification). Before you ask, I don't know how, in 1974, she was able to have a foster care home, being divorced with a child, let alone with her useless, layabout shack job. This went on all my life--given a temporary place to sleep, then summarily moved out and put with the baby to care for it as though I was the parent. Notice I didn't say given a home and a bedroom. My place was much more inconsistent and changed when I was expected to "help out." I was an au pair without the bedroom or salary they would have been required to provide. 

And her boyfriend was unemployed, routinely physically, sexually and emotionally abused me and physically abused the foster kids. Her foster care license was ultimately revoked because he would switch the kids, which of course was child abuse. She blamed the boyfriend, but I remember her laughing along with him as he told them to "dance." One little boy would wet his pants when this happened. He was already struggling with potty training due to abuse in his home. It was my job to clean him up afterwards. I felt sick to my stomach watching them, not because of  the mess but because of how it made the little boy feel. I can still see his face, 50 years later. I still have what I call "toilet dreams" in which I have to clean bathrooms and floors covered with excrement and urine. 

I also realized now that another reason the foster care home was closed is because I, an 11-year-old,was made to handle their care. I wasn't her backup option, but plan A. I don't think, now, that she ever had any plan to actually do the enormous amount of work required to care for 4 very special needs children. And her lazy-ass abusive boyfriend was only around for the cruelty and free goodies she gave him (using my child support). 

 To convince CPS, a lot of lies and cover-ups had to have been told One big coverup was that not only was she living in the basement, three floors down with her boyfriend (she called it their apartment) She had also moved two other unmarried couples into the already too small home. One of her foster kids, a 15-year-old girl, "Melanie" was pregnant by her 32-year-old drug addict boyfriend "Miguel." My mother let them sleep together on our living room floor. She also took "Melanie" to have an abortion all while staunchly preaching pro-life. I sat in the car at the clinic. 

And as if our home wasn't already enough of a brothel, she moved my uncle and his girlfriend in, and gave them my bedroom. My haven. My only space in this hellhole of a home. I was made to sleep with the four foster kids, ages 18 months to 4. None of these people helped with childcare. They all ordered me around and all were unemployed and not looking for work. 

Another of my mother's lies was that she took care of the kids at night. She and her boyfriend didn't even sleep on the same floor as the kids and I. There were three bedrooms upstairs. Uncle and gf in what was mine. Kids and I crammed in another and a third where a very physically abused baby slept until he was crammed in with us. My mom said that vacant room was hers. It wasn't. She and boyfriend slept two floors down in the basement as far from us as possible. She made a little apartment for them, for "privacy." They ran fans and AC. And they our one TV, to drown out any noise. Boyfriend wasn't even working and slept all day. 

While the kids and I slept on the third floor in a little hot box of a room. No fans. Uncle and gf had the one fan. It was so hot that I kept the window open. There was no screen.  One night, a strange cat came in through the window. So it was just a cat. But it could have been worse. Mom and bf would have had no way of hearing anything including intruders, animals or babies crying. In case of fire, they would have been too far away to hear or smell smoke. No safety plan was made and I would have had to throw each child out the window or we would have burned to death. That fear alone kept me awake quite a lot. 

She had more children than was regulation but this, she says, is because she was so good at it. Bullshit. I was good at childcare. And I highly doubt when the caseworker came over, she saw or would approve the living arrangements. This was only a small part of the chaos of my life with them. It's not even the only abuse during the foster care period. I was left alone for a week, to care for these kids with only her boyfriend for help. All he did was keep me awake blaring TV all night and sleeping all day. When I got overwhelmed caring for the baby at night, he woke up, pissed off at me for waking him. He screamed at me that I was abusing the baby and told my  mom so. When she got back she believed him  and punished me. I was 11. I've believed his lies all my life and very nearly ended it several times because I couldn't live knowing I was a "child abuser." Then there was the molesting by one of their teen foster kids. 

And this was only their part in abuse, parentification, neglect, endangerment, scapegoating and gaslighting. And it was only their part. My dad and his new wife had their own spin on parentification, abuse, neglect, shaming, blaming, scapegoating, endangerment and gaslighting me. When they got married, he "let me" live with him (as if he had a choice to parent me or not). But my pitiful care by them came with exorbitant price tags. I was the cook, maid, housekeeper, launderess, nanny all unpaid. And I was made to sleep in a corner of their babies' rooms too, again, with parents sleeping as far away as possible in a luxurious suite of rooms. I've been co-sleeping with babies, in loco parentis, since before there was a word for it. 

These are just a few patches in my crazy quilt life. And once over, or when I was moved, we never talked about it again.  Unless it was for them to lie and gaslight. Each piece of my life looks completely different from the one next to it. The only consistencies were inconsistency, chaos, stress, neglect, abuse and exploitation. 

And before you ask, my mother and father very much knew better. They weren't raised with anything like this. They lived in a good, clean, moral, safe, caring homes with loving parents. They weren't made to raise kids as a kid. They chose all this and went out of their way to do it. And the hypocrisy was rampant. Part of what's been so weird is that my mother has always fancied herself a preacher. She went to church, played the organ and is always quick to tell other people what the Bible says about what they should and shouldn't be doing. Yet she openly flouts God to this day, binding up others to burdens she doesn't carry. Especially me. She was carrying on like this in full view of neighbors, family, everyone. No shame. And it was not morally, socially, religiously or ethically acceptable back then. It was fucking humiliating being a social pariah when you've done nothing wrong. 

How do I know she knew it was wrong even then? The one time I confronted my mom about all this, she lied and said none of it ever happened. Then she said that she wouldn't have done those things anyway because if she did that she would (wait for it) LOSE HER LICENSE.  So she knew and did not effing care.  She married her boyfriend and they carried on with their dysfunction. And lies. And gaslighting. And shaming and blaming me. Several times, her husband has come unglued on me over nothing, calling me names, screaming at me and attacking me. He kicked me out of "his" house when I was 16 for coming home 15 minutes late. He was still unemployed and I was working to buy my own clothes and sanitary napkins. While they were on welfare and using my child support to fund their own lifestyles. And heating the house by throwing tires on the wood burning stove. And making me sleep on an unheated porch. All this with my mom looking on and approving his behavior. But again, when confronted, she lied and said she couldn't remember kicking me out of the house and if she did it was his fault. At no time did she apologize. 

So what was the point of this post? Oh yeah. Why I can't sleep at night for nightmares. I think it probably speaks for itself. I've got a lot more of these kinds of stories to unpack. It's going to be a long ride. I feel sick from remembering. But at least I do see where a lot of my triggers come from. 

Love you all and thanks for hanging in there. 

How narcissistic abuse and CPTSD causes me to implode and shatter (caution: raw)

Hello beloved friends, are you buckled  in and ready for today's post? Shit gettin' real around here about my experiences with CPTSD, narcissistic abuse, parentification, parental neglect, toxic shame, exploitation (including pimping and grooming) and manipulation and gaslighting about allllll that. 

This blog is written in real-time stream of consciousness. Stuff  I'm dealing with is here and now. Why is it coming up now? Dunno and can't really care. It is. The "tinnitus" from voices in my head, chronic nightmares and my inner child are clamoring too loudly to ignore. And I need to mark, learn and inwardly digest. 

So last night we went to confession, a Catholic sacrament. And I realized that I did not have any idea what to confess. Is this me saying I do nothing wrong? (No, duh, inner voices, shut up). It's because I've been indoctrinated to think I did everything wrong, was responsible for others'  and did next to nothing right. Even when I was doing everything they said. I don't know right from wrong, safe from hurtful, for me. 

I tried doing the extended examination of conscience with my husband. As he put himself in my place, he could see why it's so difficult. I was held and so hold myself accountable for things others did to me. I was blamed and so blame myself. I was expected to make excuses for others yet still hold myself to too rigorous standards. Rules applied too harshly to me and not at all to them. I was lied to and gaslit about the Bible and God. Nothing was as written. Everything to do with God was manipulated. I was gaslit about things I was reading in black and white. It was important to read the Bible but I could not trust myself to understand without their reinterpretation. I see now that I got it right but it didn't suit them. And how insidiously dangerous and unGodly this was but I didn't then. I just believed them that I was too stupid to figure it out without them to "explain." 

And those kinds of mind effs are what has caused  my brain to implode and "fracture" for lack of  better words. It has never been able to identify where others end and I (and my personal culpability, feelings, thoughts, needs, etc) begin. I have no emotional skin. I'm one big over sensitized membrane. I have mental and emotional leprosy that exposes to constant hurting. My brain and nerves don't function correctly and put me in danger instead of protecting me from it. And boy, do I have a target on my back for predators. 

Because I was brainwashed to think that I (as in the Freudian self or ego) effectively, do not exist. God says, I was told, that it's selfish to think about me. To want, need, feel, DISOBEY, etc. God apparently did not think it was selfish of them to do these things. Just me. God was right onboard with them exploiting, manipulating, lying to and abusing me for selfish gain. 

Because I am not a distinct person. I am the possession, a tool and a servant of my four narcissist parents.  I was just an extension of them, like a hand or shadow. I think they actually forgot I could speak. When I (even as an adult) would enter conversations, they would look at me like the clock had just spoken. And they always seemed to disagree and scoff. I do not remember once hearing any one of them say, (unless for some ulterior motive) "I know what you mean."

I don't remember I time they weren't misunderstanding, twisting, misinterpreting or shooting down what I said. If I called that out, I was "disrespectful." Everything was about them. Stating facts was making them feel bad. Telling something I learned was showing off. Participating in the conversation was "butting in." Children were to be seen and not heard. But I was an adult. And they were not raised that way and shot their mouths off about everything. 

If I had said the sky is blue, my dad would have disagreed and made me feel stupid for saying it.  In fact just being there annoyed them. Like the rug they wiped their feet on had the audacity to think. Me doing nothing really annoyed them. My stepmother could sleep all day. But I'd better not sleep till 9. I had to be busy constantly and if I wasn't they'd find things. This was not  just as a kid. This was when I was taking an overfull college load, working and doing hours of homework. And sleeping with my baby brother. And doing all the housework. So I grew up ashamed to relax.  

 That's what I learned. That's all I know. It's so pervasive that I can't express it to others because I know it would not make sense. That's the experience I had at mass. I think the priest wanted to but because he'd not dealt with this before, couldn't. Poor guy. It's does sound pretty bizarre. 

And so  of course, being gaslit about all the dreck that was my life, I assumed it didn't make sense. But listening to podcasts by survivors of abuse, gaslighting, parentification, I understand that it does and that there are words for it. And defined patterns. And symptoms and etiology. Strike up the Hallelujah Chorus!!! I'm not delusional or making it up! It's like coming out of a pea-souper (or the fog of gas) and into sun. 

So, writing this as it's happening, I can't process it all now. But I don't have to. I just have to do it as I'm able. Something I've always let everyone else to do but can't allow myself to. Well, that's the parentification for you. Expect a child to do perfectly, the first time and every time, what an adult won't even try to do. Anyway...

Does that mean I don't have to say I'm sorry? Well, a little bit, at first. I've been apologizing all my life for every little thing I've done and mostly, haven't done. I've believed the gaslighting that I'm to blame for others' problems. That I did what someone else actually did. I've taken responsibility for and care of everyone. 

And I'm touched out. My empathy and sympathy have been exploited 16,000 times too many. I've carried till  my back is busted. I've developed broad shoulders to the point of them giving out. My hands throb from all the holding others' and pulling them up and rescuing them. My neck aches from bowing it to others' whims. My whole body hurts from being walked on. And this was all before I got married and had kids. 

Then I went right from parent dysfunction to marriage with less than zero preparation. And then I had kids before I even realized the level of dysfunction I brought with me into my new life. Effectively, I just picked up where I left off parenting the parents, stepparents and their kids. The only thing I was taught to do was housework, chores, duties, and parent responsibilities. But because I was doing them FAR too young, I never really felt capable. 

So I went into parenting terrified I'd have a child. That I couldn't parent them because I was the screwed up, fuck-up my four parents said I was. How I reasoned that, when I was actually parenting their children (sleeping in their rooms, getting up at night with them, waiting on them, etc.) is proof of the deadly effects of poison gaslighting. My mind wasn't just gaslit. It was gassed. Like mental chlorine or mustard of phosgene. 

This combination of too much responsibility with gaslighting that God expected it (He didn't, they did but they did think they were gods, so, yeah...) plus neglect of my basic care plus further gaslighting that I was unworthy and an inept disappointment just blew my mind. Literally, shattered it into a million fragments. 

But expectation to put on a good face and lie and pretend and fake that all was well, sealed all that mess inside. What I look like on the outside (which I've does to some extend reflect what's going on inside) is somewhat regular. But it masks an imploded mind that most of the time cannot think, let alone walk, straight. Side note: dizziness and clumsiness are both signs of childhood abuse. 

I'm also beginning to understand dysregulation which kind of characterizes me a lot of the time. I can't think clearly, or focus, of feel clearly, or talk right, or walk straight. I stumble over things that aren't there. I completely misread situations and people. I panic and fight, fly, fawn or freeze. I dream the most disgusting, terrifying, bizarre and exhausting dreams. Constantly. I am losing  my grip on reality and slowly spiraling into insanity. I warned you that this was raw. 

Where do I go from here? Not sure. One breath at a time. I think it will have a lot to do with parenting myself, praying, asking for help, letting go of wrong, rewriting false narrative, learning some resets, learning more about dysregulation and letting in the love that has been there waiting. 

Love, mar

How an HSP or empath gets effed by shame dumping and narcissistic abuse

 Hello my friends of this blog which was about (and still is on deeper level) how I lost 100 pounds without gastric bypass or weight loss drugs. If you tuned in for specifically weight loss advice, you'll be scratching your head. Because what began as a March unMadness weight loss challenge has morphed into my personal discovery trek on toxic shame and CPTSD from narcissistic abuse. Which, you may say, has ought to do with how I lost 100 pounds. It does in a loose way. But I'm too overwhelmed to connect, going through this real-time awakening. So the March weight loss challenge is a bust. And April doesn't look too good either. 

Moving forward with what's become the main focus of this blog which is how I'm detoxing from CPTSD toxic shame. Since childhood and into adulthood, I was neglected, abused, parentified, manipulated, exploited and gaslit about all those things. But I'm a little late to the party and just now realizing that. I've been JADE-ing (justifying, arguing, defending and explaining) away the perpetrators' behavior and so gaslighting myself.  

That's a lot of psych-ese. I'll do a glossary post to make it clearer if you're unfamiliar with any of these terms. If you've not suffered with them, I'm glad. If you have, you'll be nodding your head. If you have and are not ready to acknowledge it, you'll find, as I did, that it's incredibly affirming to know that these things have names. That you are NOT  nuts. All those icky emotions you felt when icky things happened, have  identifiable causes. You're not  making it up (as if you could or would?!?) "Epidemiologists" in psychology have routed them out and held them up to inspection. And these actions (gaslighting, marginalizing, shame dumping, scapegoating, shaming, triangulation, exploitation, manipulation, neglect) have been justly labeled the abuse they are. 

So, a term I just became familiar with today, but which manifestation of, I've been aware of all my life: HSP or highly sensitive person. And I'm that HSP. I'm someone who  notices nuances and discomfort in others. Who is very attuned to stimuli that others aren't. As an HSP, I'm not superior or special. I'm just aware of more subtleties. And I don't really like being this way. For one thing, I'll  notice someone else's suffering before or in lieu of my own. I'm vulnerable to the woes of others and will let you take advantage of me if I think it will make you feel better. Janis Joplin: "you know you got it child, if it makes you feel good. " 

If that isn't manna for a shame and trauma dumping narcissist, I don't know what is. I've gone along with every form of narcissistic abuse my parents and stepparents levied on me, because someone cried me a sob story (aka trauma dumped). "He had a rough childhood" So do I and you caused it. "I feel guilty" So you should, you've screwed me over countless times. "I'm suicidal" so am I thanks to you!  "I need you to care for me." Fucking who doesn't?? I'm your kid!! "My stepmom abused me." YOU abused me!! 

And needless to say, this became a weaponized pattern in my life. All anyone needed to do was to shame or trauma dump. What does this mean? To weaponize one's own trauma to make someone else feel guilty about it. To exploit, project and blame another for, feelings.  To capitalize on "trauma" for selfish gain. In some cases, to lie and claim to have experienced things you didn't to shame others into accepting unsafe situations, people and experiences. 

"You have care for the 4 foster kids. They've had rough lives." So I sleep with them, get up with, feed, comfort and clean up after while mom plays house with her new BF in the basement. "Your stepmother's back hurts." So I (with a back injury) do all the heavy lifting including sleeping with her babies and getting up with them. 

Narcissistic parents obviously weaponize this but it carries into my outside life as well. I became the target of every scammer in town. "He's special needs and lonely." So  I ignore the fact that he's a super stalker. "He's needy. You should let him play he's your boyfriend." He's 20 and I'm 13, but yeah as you do, overlook that weird and expect ME to normalize it.  Well, not surprising my own dad and stepdad had pedo tendencies. "You have to make the new foster kid (16 to my 11) feel welcome." So I let him molest me. 

I'm not a sucker. I'm just easily moved to help. Which is a good trait unless you live in a narcissistically abusive home. The HSP term really resonates because it gives a handle on how I've been manipulated. I've called myself an empath and been corrected (shamed) for doing so. Which of course, I accepted because I accept all shade as my due.  I don't know if I'm truly an empath and I don't care. What matters is how I feel...responsible for everyone else and driven obsessively to fix them. HSP or empath, explains how they got to me. By exploiting that empathy or sympathy or caregiving nature to get me to do things that were unsafe and hurting me. For their own selfish ends.

They wanted me to think they were good parents with my best interests at heart. But they let me wander around town alone at 5. They ordered me around and shamed me and encouraged their spouses to do likewise. They used me as a toxic waste dump for all their shit. And I in turn, let anyone who wanted to, dump on me. 

And why did I go along with this? Because they effed me into believing this was right...for them, not for others. They were golden. And I don't use the term "effed" lightly or in the nice effed way. I was mentally raped. My boundaries were mowed under as soon as they reared their heads. I was defenseless. And being a highly sensitive person only made it worse. Every unpleasant sensation, every weird vibe, every dirty joke, every breach of my innocence, every exploitation, manipulation and trampling was magnified ten-fold. 

Though actually, having said that, I believe (and have been told that) anyone in these circs would feel the same unspeakable ick, HSP or no. That I'm HSP, I know. Though what good it does me to know that, I'm not sure. It does give me ammunition to fight back when I rehear on autoloop my dad saying "you're too sensitive." Sure am but if you know that DAD why are you using it against me????? Why are exploiting it yet making me feel guilty for it? HMMMM??

Another thing I believe that being an HSP is good for is helping others. You knew that was coming. It's NOT good for me, that's for sure. All it's done for me is to give others a weapon and an open door to use it. I'm stuck bleeding all over the place and being ashamed of it. But back to the point. 

Being highly sensitive gives me an ability to articulate that without it, I may not have. So I can put these feelings and experiences into words that I think resonate those with similar struggles. If this does resonate, I don't have a lot to offer. I can't yet reach out to help. I'm still struggling with being too touched out. I don't know yet, who is friend or foe, where others end and I begin. Who I can safely trust that when I reach out, they'll reach back. Who wants to give and receive mutual help and who just wants to glom on. 

Cuz, spoiler alert: we who are too giving do not know how to care for ourselves or even that we should. We give away the farm. We let others walk all over us and then when we've nothing left, walk up and other our carcass to the next victim. 

Where does that leave me? Needing to go back to basics, with the 5 Ws and one H. To start all over to reframe what happened so I can see how to get unstuck from sickness. I'll get back to you on that. 

How I'm overcoming toxic shame by looking it in the face

 Hello my friends of this blog on how I lost 100 pounds! I know I promised you some fun diet tips for our March Madness weight loss challenge, and we will return you to that regularly scheduled program. But this blog is also about getting emotionally healthier too. Cuz it's all part of the same, thing, this mind-body-emotions connection. 

Today I need to examine how chronic toxic shame has controlled me and how much I'd like to heal from it. And one way to do that is to look it in the face, literally. My computer's camera has been freezing, as I was taking selfies for this blog. This Candid Camera catches me when I'm not posed. And the result was pretty disturbing. 

I have this pinched, grim look on my face. It looks like I'm constipated or something. Awful. And if I look like this most of the time, I feel sorry for you who have to see me. But I got to thinking that this is not the RBF of anger or irritation as it appears, but of toxic shame. Constant chronic guilt and shame have etched "scars" into my face. They've distorted my demeanor and behavior and twisted my facial features. Like an emotional acid-throwing. 

You could tell WW1 soldiers who were gassed by the scars around their eyes. Many were blinded by it.  I realize that I was "blinded" by emotional gassing from gaslighting. I couldn't see what had happened. And  these are part of the "scars" you can see around my eyes. 

My face is a tense mask because I'm never relaxed. I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't feel comfortable in my own skin because I was taught not to be. I learned early on that if there was fault or blame in a situation they were mine. That no matter what I gave it wasn't enough. I learned to be prepared for passive-aggressive anger, aggressive anger, punishment, mocking and shaming. 

I was exploited, neglected, abused, parentified and manipulated. But I was expected to just take this as part of being a "family member." Situations were convoluted and made to appear to me as normal. That everyone else was treated the same. I wasn't being singled out or bullied. That is the gaslighting. And I was continually breathing those poisonous gas fumes of till I was thoroughly poisoned and didn't question it any more. 

I just mopped up the toxic shame and guilt and internalized it. But I couldn't quite hide the fear. It seeped out in my expressions and gestures. My anxious, eager-to-please-yet-knowing-I-won't hyper vigilance showed and still shows when I'm not consciously covering it. My moves are defensive, sitting crumpled in on myself, trying to stay small and make no sudden moves. Like a terrified animal. 

But I am beginning to pry my hands off my eyes and look these terrible experiences in the face. In my face. I'm beginning to, instead, admit that I was gaslit and that I learned to auto-shame myself. No one else was being treated as I was. I wasn't a family member. I was a scapegoat, surrogate parent, surrogate spouse and servant. 

It's only been within the last month or so that I've even dared to call their behavior gaslighting. And that's because I've seen the gas "scars" on my face. For the last 58 years, 7 months, I've been hiding from horrific things that were done and said. I've blotted out the voices, the shaming, the systematic abuse, the nauseating fear. I've cushioned my memories of their appalling behavior with excuses. I've lied and assured myself that they didn't mean it. They were joking. I was exaggerating. I was too sensitive. I was too critical. yada. 

But now I'm beginning to see that as the man who become my father-in-law (God rest his soul) said when he was told about how I was treated. "That's bullshit!!" I am re-experiencing what happened without the toxic cloud of gas to obscure. I am going to write through each experience, to put them in perspective. Every time I do, I find (and am affirmed by those I share with) that I was NOT exaggerating. Neither was I at fault or to blame. Of if I was, it was a mistake or just a kid thing. It did NOT warrant the atrocious consequences I experienced. 

And that brings me to what will need to be another blog post. Nothing a person, especially a child, can do, warrants abuse, neglect, manipulation, exploitation, vicious punishment or shaming. That is just plain toxic behavior.