the experience of an only child who was raised by two narcissistic parents...how does NPD affect one's family?

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

the empty glass

Most people know the image of the half-empty versus half-full glass as a measure of one’s pessimistic or optimistic outlook on life.  In the case of a narcissist, the image of a glass with a hole in the bottom of it is an interesting analogy.  The narcissist is thirsty, so he or she asks someone else to fill up the glass with water.  But since the glass has a hole in the bottom of it, the water drains out before the narcissist can fully quench his or her thirst.  The narcissist asks again and again for more water, only to have the glass filled up, and the thirst to return since the water keeps draining and draining, even after constant replenishing.
Obviously, the metaphor here is that the water represents the attention that people in periphery to the narcissist give to the person in question.  The narcissist is desperately THIRSTY for attention (and needs that attention to feel good like we as humans need water to survive); however, the narcissist is flawed because his or her “glass” is defective (has a hole in the bottom).  I can go a step further with this metaphor, adding that the narcissist - the person holding the glass - is blind, and can’t perceive that the glass is defective.  The narcissist thinks there’s nothing wrong with his or her glass (someone with NPD thinks that he or she couldn’t possibly have any psychological issues) because he or she simply can’t see the hole in the bottom.  The narcissist gets angry when someone says there’s something wrong with the glass, and gets upset when he or she is thirsty...moreover, that narcissist is always dependent on SOMEONE ELSE to fill up the glass.
How’s that for an image?
Both of my parents were like this.  I can remember from my earliest childhood being told upon misbehaving that I wouldn’t do this or that “if I really loved them.”  While my father’s upbringing is an enigma to me (he’s never spoken about it), I know for a fact that my mother never bonded with her own mother, as my grandmother had a severe nervous breakdown when my mother was first born.  My mother intensely personalized everything as a result; her NPD likely stems from this, not that I’m an expert.  As a child, I was often told to do certain things in certain ways to “keep Mom happy” and to “show Mom that you love her.”  I was told to do these things by my father, who was an extreme enabler, and a narcissist himself, obsessed with power, wealth, and status.
If anyone actually knew what was going on in our seemingly perfect household, in our beautiful home that looked like it could have been featured in Better Homes and Gardens, they would have been shocked to know that my parents frequently argued.  The terms of the argument were often “you wouldn’t do this if you really loved me” on the part of my mother, who would fly into crazy rages, and occasionally even end up cuddled into the fetal position in the closet, crying hysterically, having a flashback of old childhood abuse.  My father would simply go off on his own and do whatever the hell he felt like doing, purchasing expensive clothing, cars, and other items to feed his ego.  He’d hide the evidence of all of this in various ways, including having me hide the bills from my mother (which involved not being allowed to go out after school with friends because I’d have to intercept the postman every day before my mom got home).
Nothing was EVER enough for my parents.  I couldn’t please them no matter what I tried - and believe me, I tried.  I was a straight A kid, a kid who never gave teachers any trouble.  I didn’t talk back in school...well, to be honest, I didn’t TALK period.  I went to church as I was told to do each and every Sunday, even though I was incessantly bullied (yes, in church!).  I would obediently buy gifts for my parents for each and every holiday, in as thoughtful of a manner as possible, egged on by my father.  “If you love your mom, just do this for her,” he’d always say to me.  I was taught to always say “I love you” before leaving the house, or before either or them left the house, or before we ended a conversation on the phone, no matter how I was feeling or whether or not we had just been in a fight.  I was told that I should always do this because “you never know if someone’s going to get in a car accident on the way home” and would presumably die on the side of the road.  I was also told that my grandparents never showed Mom that they loved her, so it was “my responsibility” to help make up for this.  My love would miraculously make it all better!  Fear, guilt...all great things to burden onto a child who is only nine or ten years old.
Even though I did everything to “fill the glass” for Mom and Dad, it never seemed to work for long.  In time, I was a “bad kid” again, “mouthing off,” or “acting up.”  Even though I was a straight A student who never got into trouble in school, at home, I’d be spanked frequently (until I was 15 years old and threatened to call Child Protective Services on my father) and I was perpetually grounded and forbidden from watching television and using the telephone.  Even though I went to church every Sunday, I was still convinced that I was going to hell, and that the devil was on his way to get me.  Even though I wore all of the clothes that Mom and Dad bought, I was still made fun of in school for looking like a freak (and believe me, I looked ridiculous...who dresses a seven year old girl in a power suit for picture day?).  Even though I ignored the bullying in school, it only got worse and worse through the years.  My childhood diaries are filled with entries describing how I perpetually had to apologize to my parents, even though I was in extreme emotional pain, and by the time I was a teenager, was suffering from a full-fledged eating disorder.
As an adult, I went through college and graduate school and earned a PhD.  I worked full-time through much of my time in higher education to support myself, but I was still told by my family that I was “spoiled” and that they were “broke” because of funding my education.  I met my wonderful husband twelve years ago, after escaping a series of abusive relationships, but my wedding wasn’t classy enough, and I made the enormous mistake of living in sin with my future husband for a year before we eventually married.  I worked in a church as an organist at the time, but I was told by my father that he couldn’t believe the church would continue to employ me due to my immoral lifestyle.  I got a job as a professor in a community college, where I worked well over 70 hours a week, but when I became unhappy because of an abusive colleague, I was told by my parents that I was lucky to have that job, and that I just needed to learn how to “play the game.”  I pursued gigs in classical music, which my parents sort of knew things about (but were never really trained), but was always told things like “your playing was adequate” and “that sounds weird.”  If a gig didn’t pay that much, why was I wasting my time?  It seemed like something was always wrong with me, no matter what I achieved, no matter what gifts I sent, no matter how many times I called home and listened to my mom go on and on and on without ever even asking how I was doing.
My family came to visit this past year for the holidays.  I cleaned the house.  I bought their favorite foods.  I cooked every day.  I even baked bread from scratch.  I took them to the mall (their favorite activity) even though I didn’t have any money to shop with at the time.  I communicated clearly with them about my husband’s schedule, and his obligations to work-related activities and other professional obligations during that time.  Despite all of this, I was told things like “that show you’re watching is stupid.”  I was told, when my mother had a hysterical fit at the mall after I declined wanting her to buy me a pair of shoes, that I was selfish and that I needed to “learn how to play the game better.”    I was told that my husband was insensitive and selfish for working on his professional obligations and that it was stupid for him to buy food that was his family tradition.  This all transpired after being forced to go to a movie that I didn’t want to see (The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo) that depicted a couple of very brutal rape scene which caused me to have a panic attack/flashback of my own painful experiences.  Yet I was the one who was punished, yet again, with the silent treatment.  Mom and Dad sat sullenly on the couch all throughout Christmas, lamenting the fact that there weren’t enough presents, that it wasn’t like the old days, that I wasn’t letting Mom cook in the way she wanted, that I didn’t like going to church, and so on.  Dad also told me that I needed to keep any conflicts between us as a secret from my husband because these things were “between family only.”  Wow.
All of a sudden, I finally saw that empty glass.  I realized that it was an impossible task to keep trying to fill it up, as both my mother and father have an unquenchable thirst.  I saw that the glass had a hole in it, and that I could spend my entire life trying to fill it with love and understanding, only to have it drain out onto the floor...and that they would always be blind to the fact that this was even happening.

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I'm an ACON (adult child of a narcissist) in recovery. Both of my parents suffer from Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and as an only child, this greatly impacted my experiences both growing up and as an adult. Here, I share many of my experiences to help others during their own recovery processes.
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