Accepting (and hopefully overcoming) Narcissistic Parental Abuse.

Yesterday, I was given validation on verbal abuse I regularly received as a child.

My self-esteem issues, depression, and poor mental health are not my fault.

Except I don’t believe it.

I am dealing with the rough waves of denial, not the softly rumbling waves of liberation.

I know that others have dealt with much worse than I have. I know friends of mine who have dealt with similar forms of abuse and neglect.

I don’t know anyone else who has been the simultaneous “Golden Child” and “Scapegoat”.

Praised by mother, bashed by father.

Bashed by father, saved by mother.

Bashed by father, bashed by mother.

I am robotic.

An automated human with a powerful inner mind that escapes and berates.

I am the pedestal grandchild on both sides of my family. I beat out my cousins in academic and life accomplishments. My accomplishments tossed in front of my grandmother by mother in hopes of pleasing her.

Only to be treated as another drop in the bucket.

I am the show-pig who turned runt.

The “gifted-athlete” who turned bench warmer.

I was pushed in sports. I refused clinics after doing a few – how can you possibly expect children to reach professional athletic standards with one clinic run by eccentric fathers?

Things my parents desired as children became their desires for their children became my “desires” as a child.

I don’t blame them. I love too much and see too deeply to place blame in one place and leave it as that. It’s not the truth and blame is not what I am after in my quests.

They were beaten cruelly as children. They played the same games as children with their siblings as they have now subjected me and my siblings to.

I wasn’t beaten, but I was handled.

My psyche was torn apart by negative reinforcement, mixed with encouragement and genuine love.

They don’t know how to love. Nobody in my family knows how to really love.

Both sides follow God in their own ways. Roman Catholic and Protestant (formerly Roman Catholic).

Both sides covertly racist. Both sides politically divided.

I was sexually abused by an older girl in my teens. I lived out a porno – a wild boy’s dream fueled by unrestricted access to internet pornography.

Nobody prepared us for this. We’re supposed to like it. We’re supposed to want this.

That’s the extent of a young, straight boy’s knowledge on girls.

Where has it gotten me? A terrifying relationship that gripped me in constant anxiety for two years of my life that were stolen from me by a girl who had been abused in her past and lacked the will to stop the chain.

Now as a new relationship approaches, I feel fear of myself. I am terrified of the pursuit. I am terrified of losing another relationship because my mind is not sorted properly.

My friend’s advice falls short of what it needs to be – a miracle.

My strength and perseverance has to come from within. I have to trust myself and by clear in my intentions.

I was used sexually. (During the first times) My stating of intentions, asking of permissions, making sure-ofs were tossed aside as not necessary and not appreciated.

That’s what you’re here for.

Sucker for pain or purely clueless and trusting. I for one, do not like pain at all. As a matter of fact, I hide from pain. Now in my college years, alone, I have developed isolating habits that have ensured I feel no pain.

The only one who could hurt me was myself, and he did.

My first mental breakdown (marijuana induced) caused me to reevaluate my life. The weeks prior my codependent roommate left school, so I was now alone on a floor where I neglected to make any real friends.

I had begun eating so much at night I would wake up and throw up. I blew up to a hefty 260 lbs, at 5’8″/5’9″ that is a thick body. I was wearing the same stretched out stoner clothes nearly every day. I developed an iron deficiency, this coupled with my rampant marijuana use and excessive weekend drinking caused me to feel tired constantly and struggled to complete my school work.

At this point, the story converts to an short analysis on my time in public schools as I try to pinpoint another area of my life where I lacked substantial support. If you don’t know much about American Public School, or it has been a long time since you’ve been in one, this may be a good refresher for you.

I also strongly encourage you to think deeply about my story, and provide any anecdotes that contradict/support my story below. I love your input and it would serve my intuition to have more data to create a better analysis.

I go off on tangents about the American Public Schools when discussing my low self-esteem. I always felt helpless in school – where we are forced to spend the majority of our time.

They say they help, but do they really? What about the kids who don’t ask for help? Have we learned nothing from Columbine? Have we learned nothing from the white domestic terrorists directing their rage upon schools?

I have never watched the “I Was Almost a School ShooterTed Talk. I have listened to “Pumped Up Kicks”. I have read long interviews, attempting create biographies on these sickened individuals. I believe that there is a pattern – and many reasons – to these horrific acts.

What I know is that the American Public continues to ‘care’ by reacting to these events with ‘passion’ through social media. I know that the government has done nothing to root this problem out at the source.

What I hope is that this post reaches an audience that is asking the same questions I am.

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