Wednesday, July 12, !989 at 12:15 AM, a 22 year old woman, gave birth to her second child and first son. The single survivor of a pair of twins she had never and would never want, me. My mother, Wendie, the narcissist.
Second son and fourth child to a drug and alcohol addict. A man that I wouldn’t know until I had already grown into adulthood. A man to whom I share a strong physical resemblance. My Father, Ricardo, the narcissist.
Growing up the son a woman who was never wrong, never affectionate and never at fault was anything but ideal. Being made to believe that everything was my fault and that simply by living i was a burden. As a mother she failed time and time again to try and be what could be considered a decent parent. Instead she left most of the responsibility of raising us to my Grandmother, Marilyn. It was she who taught me what love was.
Unfortunately, even my grandma couldn’t protect me from what was to come. At 10 years old, and already traumatized from sexual abuse, the next narcissist would enter my life and darken it further still. A man by the name of Mario, my soon to be step-father and greatest abuser. Under their parenting I became little more than a servant and punching bag.
And just as all children learn from their parents, so too did I learn from mine. I learned everything that I would never want to be from that man, and everything I wouldn’t never want in a wife from mother. I found a determination inside me to be better than them, in spite of them and my circumstances.
I also learned and pick up many narcissistic tendencies that I wasn’t entirely aware of until it was too late. I am not a narcissist, and I’ve ridden myself of those tendencies and ways of thinking. But as the saying goes, it’s too little too late. Not in life, as I am so much better now than I have ever been and every day I breathe I will only improve, but in love. Love, unfortunately, is beyond my grasp. At least the love of the woman that I want most.
And while we both played our parts in the toxicity that was our “relationship”, I am the one who destroyed that love, that trust, and that future. My neglect of my own mental and spiritual well being was my downfall. My fear of being alone coupled with being rejected led to what is now the catalyst of my growth.
Through faith and therapy I have escaped the fate that many of my own sibling have succumbed to, becoming our parents. If any of you out there can relate, please know that you are not alone. We are survivors, you are a survivor, stand tall beloved and breathe.