"Society assumes that everyone has a conscience and the ability to empathize.... [People with NPD] and their like-minded cousins, sociopaths and psychopaths, speak in the language of crazy-making, of projection, of word salad, of gaslighting and of pathological envy. [They] walk among us every day in their false masks, often unseen and noticed because of how eerily normal they are....
...Learning the emotional language of these predators means acknowledging that their cruelty is not only explicit but implicit, deeply ingrained in nuances in their facial expressions, gestures, tones, and most importantly, the contradictory mismatch between their words and actions. Most importantly, their cruelty is deliberate and designed to control and ultimately destroy their victims. Their manipulation is psychological and emotionally devastating – and very dangerous, especially considering the brain circuitry for emotional and physical pain are one and the same...
...These types of abusers are fluent in manipulation, well-versed in sadism, in control and in rage – their deliberate cutting down of you, which can be best described as “death by a thousand cuts,” can be just as slow and insidious as it is swift and vicious. It is akin to psychological and emotional rape – a sordid violation of boundaries and of the trust the victim has given his or her abuser. Narcissistic abusers can attack at any given moment, using their choice weapons of sarcasm, condescending remarks, name-calling, and blame-shifting whenever they perceive you as a threat or whenever they need entertainment in the form of an emotional reaction."
I have copy/pasted above most of the introduction to Shahida Arabi's excellent article on the Mind's Journal website, The Secret Language of Narcissists, Sociopaths and Psychopaths: How Emotional Predators and Abusers Manipulate Their Victims (link below, under 'Resources'). I usually like to read something, digest it, mull it over, and then write my own take on it - but this article is absolutely on point, starting with the very first sentence. (Do check out Shahida Ariba's 'Self Care Haven', it's a wonderful resource for those recovering from narcissistic abuse, or anyone wishing to find out more about NPD.)
The assumption of conscience is what unites all of us, that is to say, the vast majority of us who are not narcissists, sociopaths or psychopaths. We have a conscience, therefore we vicariously 'feel' the pain (or joy) of our fellow human beings and we instinctively empathise with them to some degree. To us, that is what makes us human; it is the very essence of humanity. (Indeed, even some primates, and other animals, have been observed to display seemingly empathetic behaviour: see, for example, this 'Animals and Emotions' blog post: can animals feel empathy?)
This Sam Vaknin quote about narcissism and conscience is analysed and expanded upon superbly by Kathy in her 'What Makes Narcissists Tick' blog: Do narcissists have a conscience?
My mother, like most narcissists, fakes empathy with panache. She does appear to have a conscience, and she does appear to have genuine feelings of love for her friends (i.e. she does all the things a good friend is 'supposed to do', and sometimes even goes the extra mile if that friend is a particularly valuable source of supply). Yet when it comes to her daughters, she rarely even bothers even faking it - unless there's an audience, of course. I do not recall a single incident, at least not in my teenage years and adulthood, when she has shown me anything even vaguely resembling compassion or maternal warmth - or even a passing interest in my life and my feelings.
The only time she has appeared remotely affected by my emotions is when I have been upset or stressed about something - and then she is typically cajoling, disdainful and sometimes even jubilant/smirking; half-demented by schadenfreude. There are many examples of this abhorrent ability to "find pleasure in my pain", but one that sticks in my memory is the first time my husband (when he was still just my 'boyfriend') came back to my mother's home after we'd just spent the evening together somewhere in London. There were other people there, but I don't recall exactly who - possibly my dad and my sister and maybe one or two others. My mother proceeded to have one of her 'episodes' - she would call it 'being kooky and eccentric'. I would describe it in other terms, but I'll relate it here and you can decide. My mother knew that I was really, really serious about my boyfriend. She could see that he and I were very much in love.
And she couldn't stand it. My happiness was torturous for her. She felt compelled to do something to destroy it, or at least to lessen or diminish it - as she has always done whenever my life has seemed too disagreeably fortunate in her eyes.
So she began embarking on one of her 'scenes' - I was of course horribly familiar with her various tried-and-tested methods of absolute mortification, and I knew it was inevitable that she would humiliate me at some point, in some way. It started relatively low-key, kicking off with what she probably likes to call her "cutely inebriated" act, even though she was as sober as the rest of us. So she swayed, sashayed and undulated like an aged go-go dancer through from the kitchen into the lounge, where the rest of were all seated with ever-increasing discomfiture and bemusement, chanting as she clacked castanets above her head. (Yes, really.) I tensed, as I knew what was coming and I also knew I was powerless to do anything about it. I couldn't say, "Mother, you are embarrassing yourself," because that would have encouraged her. It would have meant her plan was working. It might even have made her strip to her underwear and assume the lotus position. So, as was my usual stance in such dire situations, I stayed silent and hoped that this preposterous performance would be over soon.
We were in her house, therefore the tacit understanding was that she had free reign to behave in any way she wanted. In fact, she believed she had free reign to behave in any way she wanted wherever we were, so this 'licence to humiliate' was naturally entirely non-negotiable chez elle.
In desperation, I glanced at my boyfriend. I expected him to look horrified but he merely observed her in the same way a microbiologist might observe bacteria multiplying in a petri dish.
Before I even had time to say "Please try to not be inappropriate with my boyfriend, if possible", my mother crouched behind him and, to his consternation (and mine), started giving him a shoulder rub, declaring him to be "very tense" (no shit!), while cutting me loaded sidelong glances. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, loud enough for me and everyone else in the room to hear, "I don't know why you put up with her..."
When I look back on memories such as this (and this is just one of many hundreds of similarly horrendous and cringeworthy examples, and not even the worst by far), I do wonder what exactly stopped me from just marching out of her house in fury and disgust, and never looking back, just stopping all contact with her there and then? I was 28 years old at the time and by this stage, had long since reached the conclusion that she'd never apologise for anything she did to hurt, upset or humiliate me. In fact, it had become obvious that she actually went out of her way to hurt, upset and humiliate me, and so by drawing attention to the fact she had succeeded to do so was grist for the mill. The question of why I put up with this heinous behaviour for as long as I did is one I don't think I can ever really answer. Maybe it was just "because she's my mother", which is also exactly the reason why she just kept on doing it, and doing it, over and over and over again.
If, as human beings, we find it difficult to comprehend how another human being can lack a conscience (indeed it is the reason we have such a morbid fascination for 'high-profile' psychopaths and serial killers), how can we possibly believe that a parent will have no conscience about abusing and neglecting their own child? That is, surely, beyond the pale.
Indeed it is. And it is also the main reason why the Narcissistic Mother has an invigorated and passionate team of enablers, while her damaged children are routinely disbelieved and dismissed.
Like many people, I have been watching 'Game of Thrones' with breathless excitement and anticipation. The series is an irresistible, lurid hothouse of rampant narcissism (as well as the requisite gore, violence, gratuitous nudity and sex), but the ultimate Narcissistic Matriarch is, of course, Cersei Lannister. As vindictive and villainous as she is, what I like about the sublimely psychotic character of Cersei is that she does, at least, strive to protect her children. She is absolutely vile - indeed, without conscience - to everyone else, but when it comes to her children, she seems to have the right thought processes in place, however misguidedly or wantonly she bulldozes those thought processes into action. Although she is far from being a perfect or even a 'good' mother (partly due to being certifiably insane), her love for her children appears to be absolute, steadfast and ferocious - as any mother's love should be.
My mother is the opposite. She adores and fawns over anyone she didn't give birth to on the strict understanding that they agree with her... and so long as they remain blind to 'what lurks beneath the mask', indeed completely oblivious to the existence of the mask - whether she's known them for five decades or five minutes. Her attitude DEMANDS that they reciprocate that adoration, because that's the deal, alright? She is and always has been a social butterfly, flitting noncommittally but with vociferous enthusiasm from one distraction to the next, only occasionally settling on something if it satisfies her fearsome desire for admiration. (Her favourite expression, one my sister and I heard daily for YEARS, and always expressed with her characteristic attention-seeking shrillness, is "I'm so busy!")
While she has a good number of stalwart 'friends' who have 'known' her for many years, she always likes to meet new people in new environments, and to have her precious False Self reaffirmed, reevaluated and appreciated with fresh, often fleetingly temporary, sources of supply. She loves being the centre of attention, she loves the feeling of someone hanging on to her every word, and she loves the thrill (however empty) of having her manufactured False Self validated. She requires it constantly, however, and as she is now elderly and has managed to permanently repel anyone who has a natural aversion to bullshit (i.e. MOST PEOPLE WITH A FUNCTIONING BRAIN), I doubt she will continue to get the necessary narcissistic supply - in terms of both quantity and quality - that her withered, fragile, hanging-by-a-thread ego craves. Still, it's Not My Problem. It never was, and it certainly isn't now.
So, while my mother can switch on the 'love' and glassy-eyed rapture for many people, when it comes to her own children, the closest she can get to 'love' is pity. (She pities my sister, her youngest daughter, and this pity is precariously counterbalanced by contempt, so the pity comes from her overblown, supercilious sense of ascendancy, not an inherent source of empathy or even of its inferior cousin, sympathy.)
Make no mistake: she absolutely despises me. Nothing would make my mother gladder than my death, and I am not stating such an appalling thing for dramatic effect - it is the truth. My death would be sweet rapture for her - all that delicious, undivided attention she will get from everybody! "Yes, I loved my daughter," she will gasp through her crocodile tears as her friends crowd around the poor, supposedly bereaved woman with appropriate utterances of sympathy. "She was my baby. I tried to be a good mother to her, I really did my best. But she rejected me; she hurt me so much. I will never know why, she was just so crazy and cruel and unreasonable, it broke my heart. After all I've been through! She was my baby...." [sobbing and anguished wails, ad nauseam]
I can hear the words and I can see her fake face saying them, and everybody falling unquestioningly for the act, and it makes me want to vomit. Obviously, the main reason my mother will (secretly) celebrate my death is because I will be DEAD, actually dead, not just "dead as far as she's concerned", which is my current status in the diseased recesses of her mind.
I am not planning on dying young (and God willing I'll live to see my beautiful sons grow into beautiful and successful men), but my mother will outlive me, I think. (That is why I want to make it clear, here and now on record, that I do not WANT her poisonous, hypocritical presence at my funeral, or anywhere near my children EVER; and anyone who dares offer the woman so much as a gram of sympathy in the event of my death might as well piss on my grave.) Narcissists tend to cling to life with a doddering, obstinate, grim determination, proffering their exhausted victims one final wizened and wheezing extended death rattle of a "fuck you" by simply refusing to just bloody give up and die. They get the last word, every time. Well, she's welcome to the last word. I'll give her that gift, in exchange for some fucking peace and self-respect at long last. I'll die happy and appreciated and surrounded by the people I love, which is more than can be said for her.
As you can probably tell, right now my mood doesn't permit me to state that I hope my mother's final years on this strange, freak-filled planet of ours are good and fulfilling ones, or as good and fulfilling as it is possible for a narcissist and schizoid fantasist to achieve. But when I've calmed down, that will be my genuine sentiment and my final thought about my mother - I seriously don't wish her ill at all; quite the opposite. I love her, and that's even in spite of everything she's put me through. I still love her.
To conclude: do not assume that everyone has a conscience. Do not assume that every parent loves their child. Do not assume that because somebody is elderly and frail that they are sweet and benign. Do not assume that a woman cannot be a psychopath (Elizabeth Bathory, Myra Hindley, Susan Smith, Beverley Allitt, Diane Downs, Amanda Knox). Do not assume that somebody who claims to be spiritual, devoted, loving and loyal actually IS spiritual, devoted, loving and loyal. (Indeed, ask yourself, would someone who genuinely IS all those things feel it necessary to labour the point?) Do not automatically believe a woman who dismisses her daughter as a vindictive liar just because "what mother would say such a thing about her own child unless it was true?".
It's just possible that she has no conscience, and that her 'vindictive liar' of a daughter was the one who was telling the truth all along.
Resources:
http://themindsjournalposts.tumblr.com/post/141414227989/the-secret-language-of-narcissists-sociopaths-and
http://narc-attack.blogspot.com.au/2008/01/do-narcissists-have-conscience.html
Shahida Arabi's Self-Care Haven
No comments:
Post a Comment