1990 ish….
I wasn’t perfect, made some mistakes. I had moved out of the house at 18, and got into some financial trouble. Like inexperienced kids do.
To get my shit together, dad said I needed to move home. I was in a really bad part of St Catherines in an absolute dumpster of an apartment, but I was free. (I never drive by that boarded up house, and dont’ remember that living condition. It makes me work harder for everything I have today.)
When I came home with my stuff, I was informed the ‘furnace room ‘ was where I would be staying. I had shared a room with my sister for our entire lives and she didnt’ want me back in that room.
The furnace room, housed the washing machine and dryer, the woodstove, and the chest freezer. It had housed dad’s trains, but he moved them into the crawlspace so I could come home. Anyone knows dad and his trains…. that was huge.
Years later, I found out the mother didn’t want me back at all.
She and dad had argued about me coming home. She decided that I should figure it out on my own, and fend for myself. She did not want me back in the house.
He insisted that his children always had a place in his home.
I think that was the end of their marriage.
My mattress was on the floor, in the furnace room, with my tv. Our dog ended up being turned into the SPCA, mother wasn’t having any of that, and weekly, when the woodstove had to be replenished, the wood was loaded in through my window, over my bed, causing more laundry.
I always felt like I was an outsider.
I asked her once if I was adopted. She treated the brother and sister better than me.
Still does.
Looks me dead in the face and says ‘all I had to do was cry’, and I was wrapped around dads finger and could get whatever I wanted.
She was disgusted.
Said, ‘I believe that if you thought you could lie and get away with it, you would absolutely continue to do so’.
She detested me.
I won’t ever believe otherwise.
I was always told I was the oldest sibling, therefore I had to lead by example and I wasn’t doing a good job.
I was never enough for her.
I have discovered she was my gaslighting narcissist.
I was told by one of my granparents she used to get angry, when dad would come home and play on the floor with me. He wasn’t paying attention to her.
It was always about her.
The abuse in the house was cyclical. About every three weeks.
Its how long it took her to hit her boiling point.
Dad was working 3 jobs to make ends meet, and then had to come home and lay the law down.
Usually with the belt.
Or the dreaded talks in the basement. Hours long. Painful.
Then she would be content. And it would start all over again,
For as much as I can remember, his yearbook said he wanted to be a Shop teacher in high school, I was told she said no. So he went to the stttel plant. Hated every year of it. But it supported his family.
I remember years and years of her pouting when it didn’t go her way.
It was never a partnership. One can never have a partnership with a narcissist.
One barely survives being the child of a narcissist.
They never let you forget everything they’ve ever done for you.
You can beat your head against the wall well into your 40’s before you realize that no matter how hard you try, what you do will never, ever be enough for them.
So I had to save myself.
No contact.
Peace.
Abuse no more.
But there was much, much more.
Next time.
T