Surviving Narcissistic abuse, part 2
Surviving narcissistic abuse, part 2
Does evil exist?
I've worked in healthcare for a number of years and spent a short amount of time working in mental health as a support worker. During this time I worked with people with a forensic history. They had done things that had required being sectioned, sometimes things that might be considered evil. Getting to know the clients I worked with, I realized that often their conditions had caused their behaviour and when they were healthy they were lovely people, that wouldn't wish harm on anyone. This would make me think evil doesn't exist and even the worst behaviour could be contributed to some form of mental health issue. That is until I think of my father, he's the exception to this rule in my mind. It's hard to see his actions with anything other than evil intentions.
My father was always a violent man. He has been his whole life. He would always blame his upbringing, citing abuse he had suffered from his foster father. I later found out this wasn't even true, one of his foster sisters wrote a book about her upbringing. In her version of events my father is the perpetrator, not the victim of most of the abuse. Obviously I only knew him as an adult, but this pattern of being abusive and then playing the victim was exactly the behaviour I watched growing up. He was emotionally and physically abusive to my mum, me and my brother for the first 11 or so years of my life. At the time I didn't recognize the abuse because I had no other frame of reference. It was just what happened in our house, I was unaware it wasn't normal. For example if my mum was leaving the house, she was only allowed to take me or my brother with her, one of us would always have to stay with my father. This was usually me as my father was much more abusive towards my brother. He did the classic "good child, bad child" treatment that narcissists often do to their children. It was usually me as the good child, but not always. It wasn't until I was older that I realized how controlled we all were by him whilst I was growing up.
My father would mostly use physical violence to control my mum and brother, where as he would mostly use emotional manipulation to control me. When I say my father was violent it doesn't really do it justice. There was always a sadistic quality to his abuse, he would often have a look on his face like he was enjoying himself and would instigate opportunities to be violent in otherwise calm situations. The emotional abuse is harder to explain.
We escaped from my father when I was about 11, but due to his emotional blackmail, I was still sent to visit him once a week, on condition my father didn't show up to collect me drunk (this was often, so thankfully I didn't go every week).
These are the times that really stick in my mind as the worst of the abuse for me personally. Although I had witnessed terrible abuse happen to my mum and brother, for whatever reason I had always been spared the worst of it. He would always try to make me be on "his side" against my mum and brother and I remember it feeling really awkward and embarrassing. This behaviour escalated once we had escaped from the family home and on my visits to see him he would try and convince me to "run away" with him. I knew what the repercussions of this would be at the time and I was always terrified he'd make it happen somehow. He would talk about this endlessly on a loop as he always did when trying to force his will on somebody and eventually claimed he would kill himself if I didn't go with him. I wanted to tell my mum about what was happening at this point but felt my father would kill himself if I did, so I couldn't tell her. This carried on for a number of weeks and then I think I didn't see him for a few weeks during this period. This was probably because my father was still harassing my mum regularly, he would wait outside our house in his car or shout abuse through the letter box if we were in. Once he even tried to ram into our car when we were driving down our road. When I did eventually go back and see my father he told me he had tried to kill himself because I hadn't run away with him.
As traumatic as it was I only really have a few clear memories of those times. I remember a couple of particularly bad beatings my father gave my mum or my brother, I remember him beating the dog when my mum was out, but the memory that sticks with me by far the most is what he showed me after he tried to kill himself. First he showed the cuts on his arms, he had cut vertically down his biceps and forearms, long cuts that covered most of his arms. He hadn't bandaged them and they hadn't been stitched. They weren't still bleeding but they were open wounds. Next he showed me the room he had done it in. There was so much blood in that room, the bed and bedding was completely covered, it was on towels that were bunched up on the floor, there were blood marks on the wall and bloody hand prints on almost everything. I remember thinking at the time I didn't realise how he could of lost so much blood and still be alive. He told me if I didn't run away with him he would make sure it worked next time. I was 11 years old.
I remember feeling sick with stress almost all the time during this time period, I couldn't run away with my father, but I felt like I was going to be responsible for his death regardless of what I did. If I told my mum he would kill himself and if I just didn't go with him, he would kill himself. It was coming up to Christmas and he had given me an advent calendar, he said he was going to kill himself on Christmas day if I hadn't run away with him by then. He said to remember every door I open, is another door closer to him killing himself. Before this I really enjoyed advent calendars like most children, but I couldn't open the doors anymore. My mum eventually noticed and asked what was wrong. I lied and said I had just forgotten at first, but I was so ill with stress and had become withdrawn, which wasn't like me as a child, she knew there was something was wrong. Luckily, not long before Christmas my mum listened to my father talking to me on the phone (it was the late 90s so we had a landline with 2 handsets). He was asking me to run away with him again, but my mum heard and run upstairs and slammed the phone down. I remember feeling such a sense of relief, I was upset because I thought my father was now definitely going to kill himself, but I was so relieved the responsibility had been taken away from me. That was pretty much the last time I ever spoke with my father. As far as I know he's still alive, he never did kill himself anyway.
Speaking about particular memories or events doesn't really do my fathers abuse justice, I could write forever and fill a library, and other than a few particularly bad memories that's not what's stuck with me into adulthood. It's the feelings that stay with you, I remember the atmosphere change when he would come home. The anticipation, knowing something bad is going to happen but not knowing when, just waiting for it. Also the opposite, sudden shocking violence for no reason in an otherwise calm situation. These are the things I remember much clearer and much more vividly than any particular event or moment.
Is has clearly had a huge impact on me, my mum and my brother throughout our lives. Tragically my brother has very similar behaviour to my father as an adult. It started in adolescence once we had escaped him. My brother almost replaced that behaviour in our lives albeit not as bad. My mum went on to have another abusive relationship with a narcissist during my teenage years and has struggled with people taking advantage of her my whole life. I've become more like my mum, I've struggled with making myself heard and find myself being taken advantage of often. I work in healthcare but I still dont like being around blood. I'm 35 and I can't buy an advent calendar.
Throughout my life I've often wondered why nothing was ever done about my fathers abuse. The neighbour's must of heard the violence, my mums family knew at least partially what was happening. I think it must of been obvious from the outside. I used to explain it away by thinking "it was the 90s, things are different now", but honesty I'm not sure that they are. I'm sure theres plenty of people in the exact same environment I grew up in.
You could explain my fathers behaviour in clinical terms; he probably had ASD and lacked empathy, allowing him to hurt people close to him. He was certainly sadistic and took enjoyment from hurting people. He had a lot of frustration and resentment for how his life was going and he was an alcoholic which made these things more volatile. So back to the start, does evil exist? I don't really know, but my father is the closest I've ever been to it.
My father was always a violent man. He has been his whole life. He would always blame his upbringing, citing abuse he had suffered from his foster father. I later found out this wasn't even true, one of his foster sisters wrote a book about her upbringing. In her version of events my father is the perpetrator, not the victim of most of the abuse. Obviously I only knew him as an adult, but this pattern of being abusive and then playing the victim was exactly the behaviour I watched growing up. He was emotionally and physically abusive to my mum, me and my brother for the first 11 or so years of my life. At the time I didn't recognize the abuse because I had no other frame of reference. It was just what happened in our house, I was unaware it wasn't normal. For example if my mum was leaving the house, she was only allowed to take me or my brother with her, one of us would always have to stay with my father. This was usually me as my father was much more abusive towards my brother. He did the classic "good child, bad child" treatment that narcissists often do to their children. It was usually me as the good child, but not always. It wasn't until I was older that I realized how controlled we all were by him whilst I was growing up.
My father would mostly use physical violence to control my mum and brother, where as he would mostly use emotional manipulation to control me. When I say my father was violent it doesn't really do it justice. There was always a sadistic quality to his abuse, he would often have a look on his face like he was enjoying himself and would instigate opportunities to be violent in otherwise calm situations. The emotional abuse is harder to explain.
We escaped from my father when I was about 11, but due to his emotional blackmail, I was still sent to visit him once a week, on condition my father didn't show up to collect me drunk (this was often, so thankfully I didn't go every week).
These are the times that really stick in my mind as the worst of the abuse for me personally. Although I had witnessed terrible abuse happen to my mum and brother, for whatever reason I had always been spared the worst of it. He would always try to make me be on "his side" against my mum and brother and I remember it feeling really awkward and embarrassing. This behaviour escalated once we had escaped from the family home and on my visits to see him he would try and convince me to "run away" with him. I knew what the repercussions of this would be at the time and I was always terrified he'd make it happen somehow. He would talk about this endlessly on a loop as he always did when trying to force his will on somebody and eventually claimed he would kill himself if I didn't go with him. I wanted to tell my mum about what was happening at this point but felt my father would kill himself if I did, so I couldn't tell her. This carried on for a number of weeks and then I think I didn't see him for a few weeks during this period. This was probably because my father was still harassing my mum regularly, he would wait outside our house in his car or shout abuse through the letter box if we were in. Once he even tried to ram into our car when we were driving down our road. When I did eventually go back and see my father he told me he had tried to kill himself because I hadn't run away with him.
As traumatic as it was I only really have a few clear memories of those times. I remember a couple of particularly bad beatings my father gave my mum or my brother, I remember him beating the dog when my mum was out, but the memory that sticks with me by far the most is what he showed me after he tried to kill himself. First he showed the cuts on his arms, he had cut vertically down his biceps and forearms, long cuts that covered most of his arms. He hadn't bandaged them and they hadn't been stitched. They weren't still bleeding but they were open wounds. Next he showed me the room he had done it in. There was so much blood in that room, the bed and bedding was completely covered, it was on towels that were bunched up on the floor, there were blood marks on the wall and bloody hand prints on almost everything. I remember thinking at the time I didn't realise how he could of lost so much blood and still be alive. He told me if I didn't run away with him he would make sure it worked next time. I was 11 years old.
I remember feeling sick with stress almost all the time during this time period, I couldn't run away with my father, but I felt like I was going to be responsible for his death regardless of what I did. If I told my mum he would kill himself and if I just didn't go with him, he would kill himself. It was coming up to Christmas and he had given me an advent calendar, he said he was going to kill himself on Christmas day if I hadn't run away with him by then. He said to remember every door I open, is another door closer to him killing himself. Before this I really enjoyed advent calendars like most children, but I couldn't open the doors anymore. My mum eventually noticed and asked what was wrong. I lied and said I had just forgotten at first, but I was so ill with stress and had become withdrawn, which wasn't like me as a child, she knew there was something was wrong. Luckily, not long before Christmas my mum listened to my father talking to me on the phone (it was the late 90s so we had a landline with 2 handsets). He was asking me to run away with him again, but my mum heard and run upstairs and slammed the phone down. I remember feeling such a sense of relief, I was upset because I thought my father was now definitely going to kill himself, but I was so relieved the responsibility had been taken away from me. That was pretty much the last time I ever spoke with my father. As far as I know he's still alive, he never did kill himself anyway.
Speaking about particular memories or events doesn't really do my fathers abuse justice, I could write forever and fill a library, and other than a few particularly bad memories that's not what's stuck with me into adulthood. It's the feelings that stay with you, I remember the atmosphere change when he would come home. The anticipation, knowing something bad is going to happen but not knowing when, just waiting for it. Also the opposite, sudden shocking violence for no reason in an otherwise calm situation. These are the things I remember much clearer and much more vividly than any particular event or moment.
Is has clearly had a huge impact on me, my mum and my brother throughout our lives. Tragically my brother has very similar behaviour to my father as an adult. It started in adolescence once we had escaped him. My brother almost replaced that behaviour in our lives albeit not as bad. My mum went on to have another abusive relationship with a narcissist during my teenage years and has struggled with people taking advantage of her my whole life. I've become more like my mum, I've struggled with making myself heard and find myself being taken advantage of often. I work in healthcare but I still dont like being around blood. I'm 35 and I can't buy an advent calendar.
Throughout my life I've often wondered why nothing was ever done about my fathers abuse. The neighbour's must of heard the violence, my mums family knew at least partially what was happening. I think it must of been obvious from the outside. I used to explain it away by thinking "it was the 90s, things are different now", but honesty I'm not sure that they are. I'm sure theres plenty of people in the exact same environment I grew up in.
You could explain my fathers behaviour in clinical terms; he probably had ASD and lacked empathy, allowing him to hurt people close to him. He was certainly sadistic and took enjoyment from hurting people. He had a lot of frustration and resentment for how his life was going and he was an alcoholic which made these things more volatile. So back to the start, does evil exist? I don't really know, but my father is the closest I've ever been to it.
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