Why

She had been agitated and edgy all day. Itching to find something to vent whatever was eating away at her. It could go two ways, a full blown Narc rage or silent sulkiness where everyone would pander to her to make her `happy again`

We sat side by side on the sofa watching TV. Arms crossed she had a sullen expression and her head was down, forcing her to have to raise her eyes to see the screen, making her look even more like a sulking child.

A troop of young girl dancers are introduced and they begin an energetic routine, all jazz hands and cheesy smiles, head to toe in sparkles and sequins. I`m enjoying the show when out of the blue, sensitive to others energy, I am aware of a change in Mother.

She stiffens and straightens, folding her arms tighter, she flicks both her foot and then her elbow several times as if trying to shrug something unpleasant off. The elbow thing is a frequent habit and a sure sign of trouble. And then...

"WHY can`t YOU be one of those dancers on there AMANDA ?"

Her voice was icy with accusation and anger.

Despite anticipating something was `up` I wasn`t expecting an attack of this kind. It was so random, so indefensible, without logic and yet delivered with such indignation...

How on earth did I reply, how did I even begin to explain why I was not one of these talented bright young things on the TV show..... 

Bizarre does not even begin to cover it.

She didn`t seem to need any answer and reached for her library book, elbow now on the arm of the sofa, her chin resting in her cupped hand, head down, posture slumped. 

Another familiar none verbal sign, `I`m about to go into one of my depressions, I`m not happy and you all better know it`.

I sat beside her feeling an inexpiable sense of guilt and shame. My face hot and red, my tummy turning over. I dearly wanted to leave the room but was scared it would set her off again as I had offered no defence to her question.

I waited, watching the hands of the clock move slowly round, the TV programme forgotten.

When she had been reading for a while, a few pages turned, I was reassured enough that she was focused elsewhere. Standing, I began to creep past her, heading for the relative safety of my bedroom. As my hand touched the door handle.....

`TURN THAT OFF` 

She nods at the TV at the same time as tutting at me as I had jumped out of my skin.  Whenever I showed my nerves by being jumpy that in itself would illicit an exasperated reaction, `For goodness sake why was I like that, I needed to grow out of that softness`.

The Analysis 

All these years on and after endless reading and research in my non professional way I can at least see the tip of the iceberg. I will offer my slightly more informed take on what was in her head. And what a scary place that must be !

She`s had no Narcissistic supply for a while. She has no sense of self and all validation must come from outside sources. Basically she was `rattling`, with no supply she was in need of a fix.

Seeing the TV show she imagines being the Mother of one of the performers, all the glory and attention, swanning around the studio full of grandiosity, a Narc Mother`s dream. Basking in the second hand glory of her daughter`s achievements, what a little star she had produced, why I must get my talent from her ! 
But in reality her dull little under-performing, disappointment of a daughter was just sitting beside her, achieving nothing, a failure in her Mother`s eyes.
The rush of hatred that bristled out of her was undeniable and hard to hide, not that she would of tried to.
Her unhappiness was all my fault and she let me know it by demanding to know why SHE had been denied all of that by me. Why I wasn`t like those girls who surely made their Mothers proud.

I could never be good enough, however hard I tried.

Its a sad fact that I never truly understood this until a year or so before her death, I wasted years of my life endlessly trying to please her and jumping through ever changing, ever smaller hoops.

Can you imagine if I had wanted to become a dancer, can you imagine her paying for and taking me to weekly dance classes, buying outfits and standing on the sidelines while I pranced about with the spotlight firmly fixed on me not her....
why, it`s almost laughable.