Oh yeah. Everyone outside of our home thought my narc mother was the most wonderful woman in the world; pleasant, smart, well-read. She taught for years in the elementary school we attended. This facade also made it easy for her to discredit us whenever we, as children, tried to reach out for help. We lived in poverty and filth, being manipulated and neglected by a monster. She has no shame, or guilt, or empathy. She pit everyone against one another and amplified the abuse.

I was nearly killed 3 different times at the hands of one of my siblings because the tensions our mother created in the household. It was neverending oppressive/chaotic. Once — thankfully, and it is awful to say thankfully, my usually negligent father came home early one day to my sister (who was several years older and 60lbs heavier than I) smothering me with her hands (over my mouth and nose). She had me pinned down with her body weight and I could feel the air seeping out from around my eyeballs. I was on the verge of passing out when he drug her into another room and furiously beat her with a belt. She was going to kill me. I was ~9. This was our normal. Being thrown into the kitchen table or hurled onto the hardwood floor by our hair for daring to ask for things like juice when we were sick or asking to spent the night at a friend’s house. You know, normal things kids would ask parents for. We learned to stop asking or expecting anything. So while daddy dearest was physically abusive — later my brother, our mother was the ringleader of the psychological, emotional, and financial abuse cloud constantly encumbering us all.

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