Day after Day

In the posts I have made on this Blog I have mostly written about particular incidents or time spans in my childhood and moving into adulthood about how things were for me with my Parents. How things were for an only child with a Malignant, Personality disordered Narcissist for a Mother, a woman who had been taking Valium and sleeping tablets regularly for years, who had a history of mental health issues and was chronically histrionic, who had uppers and downers as if Bi Polar, a woman who had had a troubled childhood and was at times both disturbed and disconnected from reality.

My Father was her enabler, he was a coward when it came to ever standing up to her, no matter how extreme her behaviour, a bully whenever she bade him to be, distant emotionally and lacking in empathy, preferring to look the other way whenever I needed his support or protection. Many incidents have been easy to recall and record as they are etched in my memory as are the emotions I felt as the years passed and I grew through the stages of my life and her behaviour changed and adapted to remain a looming and ominous presence, all thinly veiled under a fake smile and declarations of only ever meaning well despite every move she made regarding me proving the exact opposite. What is harder to document is the day to day existence and the myriad of emotions I processed as the lonely hours passed by. 
  I can say I was always on edge to various degrees. Whatever I was doing I forever had a heightened sense of awareness of all that went on about me. In fact I still do. If I was on my own, in my room perhaps, I would be listening out for voices, footsteps, a door opening, my name being called, or any loud noise. Along with the sounds there was sometimes the silence to contend with also.
 Perhaps even more so in the silences there was an expectant tension, wondering what would shatter the silence.....her wandering mind suddenly becoming agitated and some wild unprovoked accusation being spat at me, heralding the beginning of some drama ? Or me making a noise that may startle or wake her and light the touch paper of her temper ? Or perhaps worst of all her lowered voice as she gave my Father chapter and verse of some misbehaviour, it would drift through the house and would go on and on, peppered with my Fathers brief responses, slowly becoming louder and more insistent until she in turn got mad at him too if he wasn`t too bothered to be enraged on her behalf.

Those times it was just a matter of waiting for him to come and find me, either for a telling off or for a good hiding, this either depended on how much appeasing he felt she needed or how tired and inpatient he was feeling. Giving me a few good slaps and raising his voice to convince her I had been punished to her satisfaction would hopefully mean he was off the hook and in his mind that was all that mattered. Occasionally he would begin with a question and I learned pretty early on that a truthful answer and as I grew older, a logical explanation of the crime in question, complete with me pointing out the inconsistencies of Mothers version, would do nothing to save me, in fact it often got me in more trouble as me being in the right wasn`t allowed and proving it came under the heading of `being cheeky and full of myself` and children, even adult children should always defer to the insanity and untruths of their Parents, well my Parents certainly. As I write it occurs to me that my Father hardly ever had any reason to tell me off over anything, it always came from something my Mother had a problem with. I think that goes to show I wasn`t the errant, wilful girl my Mother constantly painted me as. I instinctively strived to stay out of trouble and not provoke her and when I was naughty it was pretty minor compared to most children who`s upbringing was far healthier than my own.

And so on a daily basis I began to develop survival skills from quite an early age. There was an unspoken code of conduct I adhered to. In my 20`s I worked as a waitress for a while and utilised a childhood skill, just as good waiting staff make themselves invisible while people are eating and suddenly appear when something is required of them, such was my strategy at home with Mother. It was best to keep out of the way and as quiet as possible when she was lost in thought, napping, reading or watching TV, anything in fact that did not require another to assist her. The rest of the time I was expected to be within earshot of her summoning me and be available in an instant for running an errand or doing a chore. The more skilful I was at adhering to the code of conduct the more she beamed her approval at me, using phrases like "You ain`t much trouble am ya Mand" or "You`re a good little elp to me you am". Anything that had to be provided for me was carefully controlled by her. Here the code was that I should never feel free to request whatever I wanted whenever I felt like it. I was to wait to be offered. If I should dare to ask for something it was usually `we`ll see`, which meant that I would have to pay for it in some way, be especially compliant and helpful until I had earned it, or as she was eternally just one wrong word by anyone away from a narcissistic injury, a request by me could create all sorts of unpleasant possibilities if it was ill timed. The code of conduct also included playing along with the false face both she and my Father presented to the world. She was either the tearful victim of some injustice, the frail invalid battling yet another health crisis or the despairing, well intentioned Mother. Father had a supporting role where he hovered by her side and nodded agreement to her distorted truths and I was conditioned to accept that any attempt to share an accurate picture of the reality of my life at home would be challenged with a fury. It was against the code of conduct for me to ever have a voice, ever be heard or ever speak my truth.

I tried hard to read her emotions and in the process developed the unhealthy trait of choosing to ignore my own. I was watchful of her and should I see she was withdrawing into a depressive state I tried extra hard to be both entertaining and helpful, useful whilst at the same time no trouble at all to her which was the expected code of conduct when she was on a downer. I also dreaded my Father getting home because without warning she may flip and her low mood would all be down to some misdemeanour of mine and then I would have to fend off my fathers anger because I had "Upset ya Mother again" and he knew her state of mind would be hard work for him to deal with. Everything was always my fault. And so day to day I rose, listening for sounds, was she up and agitated, up and calling me to tell me there would be no school today as she needed help in the house or with a food shop or was she still sleeping, which meant I could get ready in peace and get off to school without waking her. If it was a none school day I could take some time for myself but also try to get ahead with any chores I knew I had or better still spot something before she did and when she mentioned it I could proudly tell her it was already done, even that could go either way if she had it in for me. If it was in her mind that I was for it then whatever I had done would be done to her dissatisfaction for some bizarre reason. She was well tuned to those who tried to manage her wrath and if she felt her anger was being repressed before she had had the pleasure of venting it then the wilder she would get.

Throughout the day I would be continually aware of Mothers tone of voice and behaviour, I was forever tense, on edge, Fight or Flight mode was my default state of being. Ironically though I had nowhere to actually take flight to and fighting back against two adults, neither of who cared much for me, well that would of been unthinkable. I obediently did as I was told, trying hard to please to avoid her sudden wrath and if I`m honest, forever in hope I would master the skill of being good enough and therefore maybe, just maybe, be worthy of a little warmth and love, just enough to shake off the feeling I was not worthy of either. I took any chance I had to retreat to my room, to read, daydream, listen to music {quietly} and listen for them and my being summonsed. I navigated the highs and lows of her mood swings like a sailor out at sea. I strived to survive the storms and stay afloat somehow, I watched the clouds and gauged the winds ready to adjust my sails and though at times I drifted through still waters and enjoyed a brief respite I knew it would not last long.... somehow safe harbour was forever out of reach. And this state of affairs doubled as my childhood. So it was, day to day, day after day.....