Posted by: Judy | February 23, 2012

Sick and tired of…

…being sick and tired. Warning: Brain dump ahead, feel free to ignore it. Some of the stuff is tiny, but I remind myself it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back, so I’m cleaning up the straws.

I fell apart this week. I mean really screaming, hysterical, wanting to give up fell apart. Not that anyone was allowed to see or hear it.

My hormones were out of whack. That never helps.

On Saturday, I so did not want to deal with the narcissists in my life, so I ate badly, really badly. Now, I’m paying for it. My insides are such a mess I can’t sit for long. I can’t concentrate. Then I have them asking me how my writing is coming along. I’ve been writing for ten years without any input from them. I don’t need it or want it now.

Oh, yes, I hear the advice: Tell them to not talk about it. Oh, sure, and that works so well. How about all the times I’ve asked them to leave me alone when I’m working in my room, and they walk by the door and call a greeting, but they aren’t disturbing me because they didn’t expect an answer. Really. They told me this as their excuse. I told them it disturbed me, but they do it anyway, because it’s what they want.

I’ve known for a long time there’s a level of hate for me, and most of the time it’s water off a duck. Did I say that too off the cuff? It was devastating when I finally realized it was true. I suspected, but didn’t want to believe it. In truth, I think it’s self-loathing extended to me and my sister. Boys are better than girls. Girls are so difficult. I’ve listened to the deriding of women from both sides, all my life. The only thing that surprised me was how long it took me to grasp that I was included in women. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s like the boyfriend I had who bragged about being a great manipulator, and when I asked he assured me he would never manipulate me. He lied. Why was I surprised? He told me what he was.

When I don’t feel good, with the physical pain level being a bit higher than usual, I struggle more with the knowledge. I want to be taken care of when I feel this miserable, and I know it isn’t going to happen. I don’t want to deal with it, and more I don’t want to play their game of we love you even though you’re such a disappointment. I want to shake them and scream at them. Not an option. Nonproductive.

Then the truth surfaces. First there is the truth of not being given the care I should have been given growing up. When I tore the ligaments in my ankle, and I could barely walk, I like to think a normal parent would have taken their child to the doctor. This was obviously not a simple twist. Nope. Suck it up. Whenever I was sick, I was told how inconvenient it was and how it caused problems for the whole family. When I had a severe kidney infection, they called a neighbor who is a doctor for his advice. He told them if my temperature spiked, they were to take me to the emergency room. It spiked, and they still debated. I kept repeating what the doctor had said, until they decided they maybe should follow the doctor’s advice.

Then I take it deeper. My mother fed me food that made me sick. She says she didn’t know. I’m no longer sure of her denial. She lies so often, I’m not sure she even knows what the truth is anymore. She controlled everything that went into my mouth, though she thought it quite funny that I ate the dog’s food, I was so hungry. I started lying before I was in kindergarten, because it was the only way I was able to take some control over what I ate. I was still sick because of what I ate, but I didn’t tell.

So here’s the ugly truth: I punished myself this past weekend for being unwilling to deal with the narcissist. I ate badly, though I didn’t realize the crackers would make me so ill. I’m mad at myself for not taking better care of myself.

Another truth, I’m sick and tired of the lies. It is viewed as being supportive when they ask me about my writing. It isn’t supportive. If I tell them it isn’t supportive, then I’m told I’m being hurtful.

Part of the problem, the narcissist is feeling out of control. I’m the easiest, closest target. She crowds me, invading my personal space, even though she knows it bothers me. She wants a hug, and since I won’t give her that, then she’ll brush against me. Flashbacks are horrendous, especially when they find a new foothold in the present.

I was cooking. Something I do all the time, by myself, without help from anyone, for the last thirty plus years. She offered a mitten, telling me she didn’t want me to burn myself. I am not nine years old. Really. I’ve repeatedly stated I don’t need help. We’ve had repeated clashes with her wanting to help me, and me wanting to do things myself. The message she sends me: You are incompetent. She wants to take care of me, until she finds it inconvenient or boring.Ā I don’t believe her when she says she doesn’t want me hurt, considering some of the things she’s done.

Every week, she asks if I need help carrying in groceries. I don’t know why she asks, but she does every time, and it makes me madder each time it happens. Why? Because if I accept her help, she’ll tell me she can’t help me because of her knees and then volunteer my father to help me. It’s a lie, a comforting lie to her, making her feel like she’s being helpful, while she also makes me ungrateful if I don’t accept her help, or too needy if I accept. Either way, I’m bad.

I’m sick and tired of the lies.

There, the truth. What it all really comes down to: I’m sick of the lies, all of them.

I’m sick of being treated like I’m incompetent. I’m sick of being given false encouragement, with underlying put downs. I’m sick of having healthy boundaries violated, so they feel better.

The reason I didn’t want to tell my parents about my writing is still there, only now I have to hear it.

“How’s the writing going?”

I wrote ten years without a word from them, and did fine. I don’t need words from them now.

“Have you gotten a lot of writing done?”

That is not supportive. It sounds like it’s encouraging, on the surface. It isn’t. It’s backhanded encouragement, similar to the backhanded compliment, which isn’t a compliment but a an insult made to sound pretty.

There is only one possible answer: Yes. If I’m having a lousy day, and I say: No, then the next question is:

“What can we do to help?”

Nothing. Some days are better than others.

“Have you tried….” Fill in the blank.

Again, I have been doing this for ten years, without input from them.

“But we only want to be supportive.”

I didn’t tell them for their benefit. I told them so those who did know wouldn’t have to watch what they said. I didn’t want those who truly are supportive to find themselves inadvertently caught in a trap if something accidentally slipped.

No matter what, I’m wrong. I lose. I’m incompetent. I’m rude. I’m bad.

It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m not out on my own. I’m not independently wealthy. I’m bad.

I’m really, really sick and tired of the lies. All of them.

How did I grow up in this house with any integrity or honor?

Oh, wait… the blow up… oh.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Pulling myself back together, and retreating as far away as possible. It isn’t far, but it is far enough to regroup.

Thanks God, for all the people in my life who have wittingly and unwittingly seen me through this difficult storm.


  1. Breathing is good. šŸ™‚

    • Yes, it is, and sometimes I make it much harder than it needs to be. šŸ™‚

  2. I know you are hanging in there – know you have much support even if you don’t hear or feel it sometimes. ((hugs))

    • Knowing the support is there makes such a huge difference. ((hugs)) back

  3. Sometimes it really does help to just vent a little and see all the junk in black and white because then you can exhale and tr again to take a breath and move forward … one day, one breath at a time. Hang in there.

    • Exactly. It really does help to simply get it out of my head.

  4. I knew she was feeling out of control by the emails I received this weekend. Sorry that you are in reach and we were not…. If you think it would help at all, I would be willing to try and deflect them talking to you about your work….??

    • ((Janet)) It actually wouldn’t help. It only spreads it around. You get to deal with the crap, too. I find that counterproductive. I prefer containment. LOL! I’ve talked to them about not interrupting me, repeatedly. In one ear, and out the other. They might be better for a short time, but they quickly fall back into the habits they prefer, because they don’t see a problem. I’m an extension, so anything they say is being supportive. It’s insane, really. Reasoning with insanity is like banging your head against the wall; it feels better when you stop. šŸ™‚ The only safe thing for me to do is to avoid as much as possible. I’ve managed to maintain a safe distance all week, but I planned ahead this week. It’s my job to protect me. It’s the only way it works at all. Thanks for the offer! We’ll see how things are going by Sunday

  5. Hello Judy. I have never had to deal with Narcissistic parents (It sounds like this is who you are dealing with), and can only understand the pain you have lived with through the years. It’s amazing how one person can be so manipulative and sound so genuine at the same time. this barrage takes a HUGE tole on someones self confidence, pride and strength. You aren’t bad in the least! In fact, you are a very talented writer! So much feeling goes into what you wrote here. No advice from me, because only someone amazingly introspective, can write with so much feeling… you already know the right move for you. you just need the confidence, and someone in your corner so you know you are safe to take the next move, in the rest of your amazing life! Breathe-in, Breath-out…one step in front of the other. Even baby steps are steps in the right direction. With each step, you will find more strength and confidence :D…

    Above all else, I wish you PEACE! Have a great night.

    • Thank you for the lovely comment. Your avatar is too cute for words! It helps knowing I’m not crazy or unreasonable. šŸ™‚

  6. It seems we all have a common thread… Glad to have found you! Thank you for being in my corner. Know I’m in yours!

    • You’re welcome, and thank you.

  7. I’m so sorry for whatever reason you are having to live with your crazy family. You are a better person than I. I would have strangled them all by now. What you describe, oh, how I remember all the little word games so well…

    Crazy idea: What if you were able to simply block out the noise of them interrupting you while you wrote? With a large pair of headphones, like the kind people wear at the shooting range (no pun intended.)?

    Best Wishes,


    • Thanks, Ixchel. šŸ™‚ I’ve thought about headphones, but I hate wearing them. I don’t even wear hats. Don’t know why. Not sure I want to explore it. šŸ™‚ Most of the time, I can brush it off. I’ll be there again. I just need to keep breathing.

  8. […] Sick and tired of… ( […]

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