Sunday, July 12, 2020

Raiding the Archives

I decided to do a bit of digging into my parents' past. Upon checking with the provincial archives, I discovered two things; divorce records are public domain, and secondly, anyone can order a copy. So I did. I received 123 pages of legal documents (some duplicates, so about 115 unique pages), including a hand-written letter my mother (the narc) wrote, which was entered into the record as an affidavit, and which became the basis of questions in a later deposition.

Nothing in that letter surprised me necessarily; she has harped on about her divorce for more than 50 years.... However, what DID come as completely new information was that it was SHE who brought the divorce action. She has always claimed my father "abandoned" us. Completely false. I also didn't know she had threatened several times both in the letter and the deposition to leave the city with us to prevent our dad from seeing us. This was at odds with the fact she wouldn't acknowledge she was divorced and continued for years to call my dad her husband, even after he had remarried. It was so, so weird. It wasn't "I am divorced and my former spouse is remarried," it was "My husband is living with another woman and they don't have a real marriage."

It should be noted here while she was carrying on about my dad and "his women," (the only woman being someone who became my step mother and was for 33 years) my mother was herself dating someone - she the sunday school teacher and he the deacon - and this resulted in her falling pregnant and them having to marry very quickly. She will have become pregnant slightly before she got her decree absolute. She's a very skilled hypocrite....

The other revelation, which makes sense of her relationship with me and with my two sibs, is the clarification of our roles to her, and the clarification - like crystal clear - she at no point saw us as humans separate from her, but as the means of expression.

She has always scapegoated me, but these documents confirmed she has done so at least since I was nine (when all the custody proceedings were in full swing), and likely before that. I don't have any particular memories but a younger-than-nine-year-old child wouldn't recognize scapegoating or gaslighting.

The hand-written letter and the later deposition are fascinating with respect to scapegoating though; my mother put words in my mouth: she made claims - numerous times - about what I was saying to her or telling her. For instance, she claimed I told her, and I quote, "Daddy says you're sick, sick, sick in the head and we don't have to listen to you." This. Never. Happened. She makes this statement three times in the deposition as something I allegedly told her, and curiously, it is always in exactly the same format: three "sicks" followed by "in the head, and "we don't have to listen to you." It's weird. She claimed I told her my dad said this to us. I know this is a full lie. Anytime - up to and including when we were married adults with children of our own - we'd ask our dad what went on, his reply was always "It's a long story." He never said anything more than that.

My mother makes several statements about things I supposedly said to her, including that I (specifically me) wish to see less of my dad - absolutely false - and that I (again, specifically me, not my sibling and I) are disturbed by my father's "lovemaking in the front seat of the car and in the pool." This specificity is so, so weird. My dad was a preacher's kid who struggled very much to find a path to remarriage, as he'd been told since birth he'd burn in hell if he committed adultery - and in Baptist world, a marriage after divorce is adultery. The idea he'd engage in "lovemaking" in front of his children is ridiculous. None of what she claims happened and she contradicts herself several times between the letter and the deposition.

The short form is she has always used me to voice what she will not say herself. Where it concerned my dad and my step mother, my mother would claim I said terrible things about them, when it was she doing it. She put words in my mouth to my teachers, to a couple pastors, to people we knew. I spent most of my pre-teen and teen years being utterly confused about what was going on, because people would confront me about what I'd "said," when I hadn't said. It took me ages to understand she was lying to everyone. For the record, I haven't seen her in seven years, but she still claims I'm somehow wrecking her computer... or her life. It varies.

My next youngest sibling is mentioned but once in the entirety of those documents and not at all in the hand-written letter. I"m not sure whether this was due to her being invisible to my mother, or because she was the "golden child" so my mother protected her. Predictably though, as neither I, our our youngest sibling has anything to do with our mother, the golden child is now the unfortunate recipient of our mother's wrath and abuse.

I'm after my mother's counselling records now. I'm almost certain I won't be able to find any records of her therapy sessions with my dad prior to their divorce, but I know I will find family counselling records and can access them because I was there. I've read some of them. I'm going to get copies so I can re-read.

Fascinating shit.

Monday, February 10, 2020

Wait! You're Taking THAT out on ME??

I get into loops in not-rare occasions; loops of thinking about events and what I could have, should have said at the time... had I understood what was actually happening.

There are so many events I remember as being confusing and weird and incomprehensible; so many times shit would go sideways and I would have no clue why and would be standing there like I'd been hit by lightning of a sort. In retrospect, knowing what I know now...

The first I remember was when she was 20. She was dating a guy who was quite a lad - slick, self-absorbed, and someone I suspect was treating her more like an accessory than a person, and who I think was likely cheating (I don't know this, but I knew that guy on and off for about 20 years). I was at her house one night and she began insulting me and calling me down. It still hurts thinking about it. Shortly after that, this guy was gone.

One of these instances occurred at my sister's house. She and I had had some disagreement about something - I don't remember what, but these incidences were common and had been since we were little kids. I detest arguments and I detest more feeling like I've done something for which I should apologise, so that's what I set out to do. I went to her house, sat at her kitchen table, and told her I was feeling badly about our argument and that I was sorry we'd argued.

One always hopes the response to an apology will be something like, "Thanks, I appreciate that." But no... her response was to fly totally off the handle point her finger in my face and yell at me for 15 minutes... I left in tears, devastated.

Another time, I was at her house for our parent's 70th birthday. She was agitated and annoyed, and a day after this shindig emailed me some caustic edict about how I had disrespected her daughter, and terminating with "Manners. Get some."

At yet another point, she was dating some guy from the US. She was angry and agitated for several months. After an alarming visit to his home, which was "off grid," down a long driveway, hidden by a huge berm and with "private property" signs lining the way, she realised he had broken into her on line accounts and had been deleting her male clients.

Looking back over these known incidents and another one from way back when she was about 20 years old, I think I have identified what was going on; she has been in many unpleasant, sometimes abusive, and twice, dangerous relationships. In every instance, she has been absolutely silent about what is going on in these relationships but has taken her anger and frustration out on me.

Then there was the US guy, who was abusing her (not physically, but I'm sure that would have become a feature). He lived out of town and had built a huge berm along his driveway, and had installed a series of "Keep Out" signs along the stretch. She said it was weird. She broke up with him after that, not because THAT was weird, but because he had broken into her computer (she said.. ) and her social media and had begun deleting her clients from her emails and social media. Although she had been very abusive towards me during this relationship - which I knew very little about - after she dumped him, she called us - my spouse and I - to help her protect her information and block that guy... Note pattern beginning to emerge.

Then there was the French guy who she was dating when she hosted our parent's 70th. He also lived away and obviously wasn't going to be able to commit easily given the distance. Also included in her email about her daughter was some rant about how it was rude to speak French in a room full of non-French speakers... I dunno... is a sideline conversation unrelated to an unheard by anyone else in the room rude?

And then there was a cocaine addict... She called me up and asked to go for walk... she wanted my blessing, I think, to date this guy, who she acknowledged has a huge problem but who she thought she could "support." I did NOT give 'permission." I told her she was crazy, that cocaine addiction is the WORST, that those people often spend all their own money and that of anyone they're with... I don't know what happened, but given this was one of the few times I didn't end up being the brunt of her wrath, she might have taken my advice.

Then there was the six-year-long relationship characterised by pathological jealousy, stalking, anger, verbal abuse... As a note, she is extremely private - fine - but secretive - not fine, so nobody knew what was going on in that relationship.

Some years later, I agreed to attend counseling with her. Prior to the day of our counselling session, it seems they had been arguing for days. I found out that day they'd been in counselling for a while. When I arrived to the appointment, I found her sobbing outside the counsellor's office. She was on the phone with her then-boyfriend of five years. She was so agitated that day and the counselling session became an opportunity for her to express her anger.Within 30 minutes of us beginning the "counselling" session, she was already accusing me of all sorts. This escalated into her yet again yelling at me with her finger pointed at my face. The counsellor said nothing, which I still find bizarre. My sister left shortly before the end of this session. I left in a suicidal fog and walked the 45 minutes from the office to my home.

Related to this was another time she lit into me. She had invited us for dinner, but called literally as we were walking out the door with food in our hands to tell us to delay our arrival for two yours. I found out later she and this stalker had been arguing for hours and she hadn't been able to prepare food... but who did she tear into? Me. Why? because I was inflexible not being able to wait around for two hours for dinner with zero notice.

Anyway, speed forward to now, yet another incident in February, where she launched into me, but was angry about issues I was not party to and couldn't do anything about.

It strikes me now, from the distance of non-contact, she has used me as her target throughout her life. To be fair, she learned this from our parent, who has scapegoated me since I was a tiny child (read the previous post for background).

She has lately contacted me suggesting she owes me some apology, but she has no clue how deep is the pain I live with on the daily. No clue. She doesn't comprehend how much she's contributed to it by siding with our abusive parent, and by engaging in it herself.

I don't doubt there will be another few times where she'll get herself in to a bind can call me to sort her shit out - except now the answer is NO (unless she is in physical danger, which I can't rule out because she is unfortunately stupid about men)...

Sunday, September 29, 2019

The terror of being ill around a narcissistic parent

My mother has a full-on HATE for anyone who is ill - she claims it's just them needing attention. Obvious illness causes her to express rage and derision. For hours. I don't know what happened to her that she is so violently hateful of vulnerable people – although I know from personal experience, her mother - my grandmother  - was much the same. 

In my adult life, when I've been employed (I have been self-employed for almost 25 years) I had a terrible time calling in sick no matter how sick I was.  I always felt I would be called out as a liar. It was terrifying.  I'm in my late 50s and even now, being ill to the point I can't work really bothers me; I feel a deep sense of guilt, like I'm committing some type of fraud, and fear whatever response I might get. Some of that is my mother’s reaction to sick people generally, and how she handled me being ill specifically.

As a kid, I had terrible colds; I would often be up coughing all night and exhausted for weeks from lack of sleep.  I still went to school - by choice because feeling unwell at school was preferable to being in the house with her, enduring her endless rage.

In the worst years, I maintained my social life, being between 16 and 17 years old when the cruellest of this was going on. My mother railed on that my “never being home,” was why I was sick. That and the night air, which she claimed the doctor had told her was keeping me sick. According to her, I was doing everything I could to stay sick and keep her up at night. She argued my entire goal was to cause her as much distress as I could.

I remember once when I was very little – maybe 8 or nine – I had a bad earache. I remember sleeping in my mother’s bed and her saying she wished she could take the pain away, and I remember that statement didn't ring true. As I grew up, she became more and more hostile towards me and particularly when I was sick. Those many nights I'd be coughing so hard, trying to stifle the sound into my pillow, she would burst into my room in the early hours screaming at me that I was keeping her awake on purpose and was trying to wake the whole house, that I was selfish. She didn't care at all how sick I was, didn't offer help or medicine, never mind I was nearly barfing from coughing so hard... It was horrible. I was sick, exhausted and terrified she'd turn up screaming at me at 3 a.m..

My "favourite" incident of her going ballistic because I was sick was in the week after my boyfriend visited over the winter holidays in my 12th grade year. This incident set off a chain of events that reverberated for more than 10 years after.

That December, my boyfriend, who lived away, came to stay with us over the winter holiday. Meeting him for the first time, my mother vacillated between being sugar-sweet and trying to make an impression on him, and being a full-fledged bitch. Near the end of his stay, she did a bizarre, really weird thing - the catalyst for events to occur a week later. He and I had come in late-ish from a New Year’s Eve party; She heard us come home, but we didn’t hear her emerge from her bedroom.

My mother’s controlling personality and her “religion” make for her being extremely caustic about intimacy, sex and relationships – insulting, derisive, weird. We weren’t allowed to share a room – and I get it; it was her house – so before parting for the night, we did what in-love 17-year-olds do and had a little make-out session on the couch. Her sudden, “That’s enough of that!” revealed my mother standing in the dark, observing us. She then disclosed she’d been watching us for 10 minutes. It was, among the many, many weird moments of her parenting, a pinnacle of her bizarre behaviour. We were mortified, embarrassed and of course subject to her barrage of insults and abuse. I still feel sick to my stomach remembering it; it was extremely peeping-Tom of her. So gross.

In the days after my boyfriend left to return to his home in another province, I came down with a wicked cold.  All the parties we’d been at and all the shared food we’d consumed were likely the source of whatever bugs I had, and as a 17-year-old, I was doubtless not as careful about hand-washing as I could have been – nor was anyone else. I was sick enough the week after the winter holiday I couldn't go back to school. My friend (a gal my mother absolutely detested for some reason - but she hated all my friends, so true to type) came over to bring homework material. 

My mother hadn't contacted the school to see if there was homework.... my fault that I wasn't there to get it myself, and I was just trying to get attention... endless, but I had called my friend and asked her to bring over whatever I needed to be working on. My mother absolutely freaked out at my friend, who she cornered in the front hall of our house, my friend’s back against the front door, unable – or too terrified – to leave, as my mother screamed in her face, called her names, tore into her character, shamed her. It was horrifying.

After four days of being at home, subject to my mother’s endless abuse, despite still being sick, I went back to school and to my job serving tables in a busy restaurant. At the end of my first night back, I left by the staff entrance where my step-dad (who was amazing) and my mother (who bullied him) were waiting. My dad often picked me up, but this time, she was with him and my suitcase was in the car. It was 9:30 at night, I was tired after my shift, still quite sick, and VERY confused about what was happening. I don’t have words for what happened next; they drove me to the hospital and left me there.

I have almost no memory of what had actually happened that night. It was so deeply traumatizing I have only vague and incorrect memories of that night even now.

In my memory, my parents drove to the hospital and we came together into the lobby. I went to the bathroom and came out minutes later to find my parents gone and my suitcase abandoned in the middle of the lobby.

I didn't know I had spent two hours with a psychiatrist – I have still no memory of these two hours or having met with or spoken to anyone. I only remember entering a typical hospital public restroom, doing my thing and leaving in the usual time it takes.  I only discovered what had happened after yet another terrifying incident of my mother’s irrational rage, occurring almost 10 years later.

The incident that led me to discover almost four months of mostly-lost memory was spurred by my mother’s behaviour one particular day about two months after I got married, when she was visiting my house. I was juggling new spouse, new home, young child, new marriage, and on this day, caring for my daughter and my friend’s child – a one-year-old.

My mother has a bizarre propensity for getting herself into rages. The usual trajectory is she says something caustic or critical about another person. Whoever she has said the thing to might respond with a counter of some type, at which point she blasts off into some explosive tirade.

As per her usual, this is exactly what happened. She launched into a rage within 30 minutes of arriving and began seething about my new spouse (who wasn't there) and my dad (definitely not there). After an hour of it, I finally couldn't take it anymore and asked her to stop slagging them off, that it wasn't fair or right and that she was not welcome to come to my house and tear into people, particularly when they weren't there, or to subject me to her shit in my own house. 

This made things worse by orders of magnitude.  She wasn't having it and doubled down on her attacks on my spouse and my dad, and screamed she could come to my house whenever she wanted, and I couldn't stop her... So bizarre.

As my mother slid into her rage, I put the kids in my bedroom in the crib, so they'd be out of danger, if not out of earshot. My mother - enraged, and irrational - and now resorting to striking me - refused to leave; she said she couldn't go because she needed her purse. I opened the front door and threw her purse onto the front lawn hoping she'd follow it. Nope. She still wouldn't leave and was in a massive, irrational frenzy. This is when I called the police.

By this point, we were both screaming.  I was pleading with her to leave, which became "you have to leave," which became "GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" 

Suddenly, she went from full-on rage to dead calm; she spat out that she was leaving, adding her usual barrage of what a terrible person, mother, wife, daughter I was and how “everyone” knew how “sick” I was. But rather than heading out the front door, she went down the hallway, opened my bedroom door and scooped up my child. She tried to leave the house with my baby in her arms. This did not go well for her... 

I admit I threw a few hard punches to dislodge my child. This was the first time I had retaliated with purposeful violence. My mother had struck me many, many times in the past with fists and with objects. Sidebar: once she chased me upstairs with a carving knife – one she still has. I locked myself in the second-floor bathroom, but she kicked the door in and stood there with the knife in my face, screaming at me. Terrifying.

I had often defended myself, or had run off, sometimes down the street in the dark - once in bare feet in winter - but I had never reacted this way - consciously, purposefully resorting to violence with the goal of hurting her.  That she would attempt to take my child made me blind with anger.

It. Was. Horrifying. 

When the police finally arrived, she saw their vehicle pull up, threw herself into the couch beside the door, and as the officers came through the open front door, she bleated "Help me, she's trying to kill me."

I had already told dispatch what was going on - and they'd heard her screaming her head off in the background, so the police were aware of what was going on, that she was attempting to take my child, that she was in my house and refusing to leave. The officers managed to coax her out the door and into her car, to a cacophony of her pleading and desperately trying to convince them she should take my child. 

As much as my mother attempting to abduct my child was horrific, as were the hours leading to that moment, and the years before, and her regular, horrifying, middle-of-the-night attacks on a sick teenager, I'm glad - strange word to use - it happened. Her rage and her having tried to take my daughter that day compelled me to find out what had transpired 10 years earlier. 

That incident was a turning point. I knew then I needed to comprehend what was going on and what had been going on my entire life. I knew I had to understand as much as I could about her – and, by extension, about me. The gaslighting my mother is so expert at had led me to question my fitness as a parent and my sanity from as far back as when I was in fifth grade, when she would tell me, on an almost-daily basis, she had people watching me.

I started calling around. I remembered a couple counselling sessions we’d attended as a “family,” and I knew which hospital they'd taken me to and knew that there must be a record. When I called the hospital, I was transferred to the psych unit. Reception confirmed there were records of that family counselling and gave me the names of the people who'd seen us. My call was then transferred to a doctor - a psychiatrist - who said he remembered me, and that he'd met with me for two hours on that night many years earlier. 

I was STUNNED to understand I'd spent two hours at the hospital with a psychiatrist. I remember walking into the hospital's main reception area, my step-dad putting my suitcase down, me walking forward into a small white bathroom and walking out soon after to find my suitcase sitting in the middle of the floor, and my parents gone. I remember calling our then-pastor, who came to pick me up, and spending two or three nights with him and his family, sleeping in their den on their pull-out.

I had no memory of anything else (even now), and asked the doctor if he was sure he had met with me. He was, and said he had a file with names, dates, and record of that meeting. Writing this now, 40 years later, I'm still amazed I remember nothing of this night beyond these incorrect details.

I requested access to the file and said I wanted to come in and read it. When I arrived to the doctor’s offices in the basement of the hospital annexe a few days later, he was at first very reluctant to let me read the file - because, he said, my mother was not there, so something about consent. I said that file was also about ME and I WAS there. He relented but said I could not copy anything, or take the file out of the small room he put me in. Fine. I had notepaper with me and I did copy. Furiously.

This file was a compilation of notes from the initial intake – that two hours I remember nothing of – and several family sessions. I was utterly stunned - again - to understand we had attended EIGHT family sessions. Even now, I have no memory of these sessions beyond two.

We – my mother and I – had attended family counselling sessions in the past, usually with a minister at our church or a school counsellor. My mother had tried many times to find a counsellor who would say I was crazy, and threw around “schizophrenic” like she was some expert on mental health.

As a sidebar to her behaviour in counselling, this anecdote:
When I was 15, at her insistence, we'd met with our then-pastor. He had heard her out on a couple prior occasions, and I think she thought he was an ally. However, within 15 minutes of the start of the session, she exposed herself, her anger, her behaviour, and the abuse she was heaping on me. He identified several issues and suggested she shouldn't treat me the way she did and that things would be easier if she weren't so harsh. 

This, predictably, resulted in furious, loud outrage on her part, and her stalking out, as was her usual response to anyone pointing out she might have contributed to the situation. She accused our pastor of attacking her, and of conspiring to ruin her reputation in the church. Bizarrely, but not unpredictably, she turned on that man with a vengeance. Although she had led the charge to see him hired as our pastor, she launched a vicious campaign to discredit him, and have him fired.

Her personality and tendency to extreme outbursts were well-known in our church of barely 150 people (on a good day when dessert was served), so her campaign was unsupported and unsuccessful. Her efforts resulted in him remaining with the support of the greater congregation, and her leaving our church and to begin attending the very large church up the road from us - a church she had spent many years maligning for its demographic of "all those wealthy people who look down on me." It was bizarre. 

In my memory of the counselling sessions following the hospital incident, I was there with my mother, my step-dad, and a female counsellor. I didn't remember her name, nor do I remember how I got to these sessions or where they were held. I was living with my dad at that point, so likely he drove me, but I don't have any memory of getting there or leaving or being dropped off or picked up. 

In the two sessions I have in my memory, my mother was OUTRAGED. I remember her being utterly furious at the psychologist for having identified my mother’s negative, angry behaviours and their effect on me and on my siblings and step-dad; and I remember her furiously lashing out, calling the counsellor names, accusing her of making stuff up, of being unfair, of colluding with other people who were out to get her. She stalked out of both sessions claiming everyone was against her (she said this regularly, along with "You can hardly wait until I'm dead.... ").

As I sat in that small, windowless cubicle reading the notes written by the psychologist who did the sessions, I remember being relieved that she had identified my mother’s extensive personal issues. This was the first time I’d had anyone – particularly an adult – identify my mother’s serious mental issues. The counsellor observed my mother took no responsibility for her actions or behaviours, or anything she said; that she perceived herself as constantly set upon and persecuted by other people; that people were out to “make her look bad;” and that she was still furious at my father for leaving her. The counsellor wrote my mother was dealing with her mental distress by making me her target. In her notes, the counsellor identified my mother as intensely angry and having deep-seated feelings of maltreatment. She wrote, "The mother is scapegoating her child." Yes. Yes she was. From the time I was about two years old.

Discovering the truth about the night my parents left me at the hospital, and knowing the extent of counselling, how many sessions there were, identification of my mother's serious personality issues, and understanding - finally - those were not my fault, and knowing the extent of them was horrifying but a relief.

That counsellor wrote my "behaviour" issues, which she identified as my acting out as a means of self-preservation, were a direct result of my mother's scapegoating.

I began to heal after that. Very slowly. I was completely out of contact with my mother for almost two years after that, but there were many relapses, many times I tried to have a relationship with her; many, many more of her outrages, her abuses, her irrational anger, her tearing me to bits, and the time she lashed out at my parenting with “You’re a terrible mother; you don’t feed your children potatoes.” Yes, she actually said that. That comment caused a huge crack in the “matrix.” That comment, and my mother’s apparent narcissism, irrational, unpredictable, abusive behaviour are the foundation for the vast raft of reasons for our present reality.

When my children were in their early teens, she began directing her anger and treachery towards them in person, and in emails. She told them they were “heathens” and that she was sorry they would never go to heaven. In emails, she wrote things like, "I don't know why you hang around those people who hate me and want me dead." Six years ago, she finally, terminally, crossed the line. (Chapter six million... to follow).

Am I still amazed that I have no memories of that hospital visit and six of the eight counselling sessions? YES. Do I still struggle with taking time out when I’m ill? Yes. Do I feel guilt about being out of contact with my mother? Yes.

But I understand that guilt and why it is misdirected. The guilt I feel is attached to a mythical "good, loving mother" who doesn't exist, but who I have abandoned. Six years ago, when I finally hit that terminal wall and suspended contact with my mother, that guilt was suffocating. My extrication left my sibling with care and feeding of this abusive woman, who has since turned her abuse on this sibling – the was-golden-child (chapter six-million-two-hundred to follow). For the record, there are three of us siblings. The other one literally fled the country, where they have a “relationship” with our mother from a safe distance (chapter six-million-three-hundred to follow).

In the last three or four years, I've come to understand this guilt and its context; every child’s enduring wish for a good mother who cares about them, is kind and loving, and engaged in a caring, unobtrusive way. However, in my case, this mother does not exist and never has. I finally understand there is nothing at all I can do to elicit the good mother. I can let go of feeling guilty for abandoning what is a fantasy mother who doesn’t, and never did exist. The real thing has serious personality challenges that no amount of me "being good" will fix. It took me 50 years to get to this point, many bouts of deep, terrifying depression, much self-flagellation and self-hate, but I am finally out. 

Monday, September 16, 2019

I feel all the time but I don't know what I'm feeling...

One of the most difficult things about being the child of a narcissist (or someone with borderline personality disorder - BPD) is untangling emotions, understanding what one is feeling, why, if the emotion is attached to something, someone, some event, or if one is generalizing.

As I sit here this morning, I have an intense feeling of upset, slight anger, foreboding, fear, frustration. About what? I haven't untied all that yet.

In the list:

I've had a client contact me about a project I've tried three times to complete for them. They must contact their client to make sure the site is prepared, and they haven't. Frustrating but I can't fix it for them - they drop the ball but I take the hit.

I have a friend needing help moving stuff, which I'm happy to do, but I'm a third party to the machinations, so sitting about waiting on that stuff to be coordinated.

I'm travelling with a group next month, but not positive of accommodations, and unhappy about a potential addition of $500 US to my costs resulting from my having done a good deed...

I'm pissed off we've had dead air from an organization we've been trying to contact since May this year. This angers me so much because their behaviour is ridiculously unprofessional and we're left wondering what we've done.

I'm bored; work is too quiet thanks to a continuing sluggish economy.

I'm annoyed with myself for procrastinating over several need-to-be-completed items that will take only a few hours to finish.

I'm so very angry at my sibling over their handling of a change to our parent's living situation and that siblings demands for money but a refusal to say WHY.

I'm also furious at this sibling's deep unwillingness to be clear about what is going on, particularly, as I understand it, they were on the verge of losing their home, and the home our parent was living in. This sibling chose to be angry and confrontational despite our many offers of help.

And I'm furious at another sibling for having taken nearly half a million from our parent and lost it all. Every damned penny of it, and $45K from an investor, and $80K from another person's parent too... this is a whole other story....

I'm struggling to figure out which feelings go where and if they're even worth entertaining. And I'm sick to my stomach and I don't know why, and I know I'm pretty close to burying my head in the sand that is Reddit, or in my addictive craft habit. I have lately come to understand how I use these as "treatment" of a sort.

Growing up as the child of a narcissist is a distinctly unbalancing experience. There's no variance in how the narcissist approaches whatever it is they're angry about - and they're always angry about something.

It is never their fault and they always react on maximum volume, no matter how infinitesimal whatever the issue might be. There is no emotion one can feel and/or express the narcissist won't somehow attack, minimize, misrepresent.

They can spend hours or days haranguing, but when the harangued person finally crumbles into tears, or resorts to rage, the narcissist doubles down. There's no emotion one can feel or express that the narcissist will accept as valid; emotion is always an attack on the narcissist no matter what has precipitated that emotion.

When one is subjected to this from an early age, to be blunt, it fucks you up.

The net effect, particularly when all this starts when one is a tiny kid (2 years old in my case) is, as an adult, the victim often - almost always - misinterprets what people are saying, or what they mean by what they're saying. I am, as a rule, confused and uncomfortable about where my emotions are coming from and I have a difficult time understanding other people's emotions. I am aware I read in other people's feelings, but am terrified to ask if they're actually feeling the way I think.

I usually default to believing they're angry, or they detest me - this being a result of my parent's regular assertion when I was young that they had "people" watching me all day, every day, whether I was at school or with friends (I had so few friends; my trust was shattered at such a young age, and I never knew who these "people" were).

I always feel as if I've done something terrible - a persistent, ungrounded foreboding. Someone saying, "Hey can I talk to you for a second," releases and INTENSE fear response in me. Always. You will understand in employment situations, where people must collaborate many times a day, the "Can I talk to you?" thing made my work environments unbearable and terrifying. For the record, I work for myself now and have mostly done so for about 25 years.

I struggle to let things roll off me and to understand when something needs a response, or when there is no point in even thinking about it, let alone responding to it. I am never confident in whether I have appropriately dealt with a problem, or responded correctly to a question, or an issue. I feel most of the time I've made things far worse, by addressing them at all.

This weirdness has not been helped by the couple occasions when I've been blamed for something completely out of my control; once a pipe burst in a room I was in, and the woman of the house - my former spouse's mother - came steaming down the stairs yelling "what did you do?" at me. I was sitting there, stunned that water was suddenly pouring out of a wall behind all the shit she had stacked up there, having had no clue there were pipes there.

I have three adult children and I am fascinated (and envious in a sense) by how expertly they deal with the day-to-day issues they have, and how well they solve work-related stuff, and by their excellent friendships - with each other and with actual friends.  I'm also amazed I managed to raise three kids who can do that. I'm very glad my distinct issues seem not to have transferred to them. They're great collaborators and skilled at conflict management and resolution.

I feel unbalanced most of the time where it concerns my emotions: I'm either flat, meaning I feel nothing, or experience far less emotion than someone else might in the same situation, or I'm often full-on torn apart by a comment or event someone else might barely register.

I feel I am always letting people down, never doing the best I can do, cutting corners, being shitty. This is my narcissistic parent speaking, and I know it, but this horror began when I was very young.
Although I know it isn't logical, it is deeply internalized. I've heard it said children raised in such environments are permanently-affected, as the trauma causes changes to their DNA. I haven't read too much on the subject, but colloquially, I'd claim it true.

Where it concerns my siblings, my emotions are particularly hard to manage; I shift between concern for them - they were victimized as much as I was, in different ways - and anger towards them for not taking off the blinders they find so comfortable.

I am very concerned for my one sibling, as they are enmeshed in a not-at-all-positive way with our joint torturer/parent. I have deep concerns as to how this sib will react to this parent's death (this parent being 90 years old presently), and how they will adjust to the absence of this still-narcissistic, parent who has, I understand, added stalking-type behaviours to their contact with this sibling.

At the same time, I am beyond furious at this sibling - for how they have scapegoated me, in concert with our parent, for more than 45 years, how they fail utterly to see how, more and more, they are exhibiting the same characteristics of this parent (and of this parent's own also-narcissistic/BPD parent), for how they protect our abusive parent, how they prey on me for help, but reject any help offered - except when they are in dire straights - and ignore me entirely when whatever crisis they may be having has been solved. Since early this year, my overriding emotion is a desire to literally tie this sibling to a chair and punch them until they feel the deep pain I've felt my entire life.

The other sibling ... I also feel so much fury and anger towards them. I cannot comprehend how they can sleep at all, let alone live day-to-day knowing they are the one-and-only reason none of us have an inheritance, and why the other sibling has been footing the bills - all of them - for this horrifying parent we share. This sibling has exhibited a bizarre vacillation between having near-murderous feelings toward this parent and attempting to have a relationship with them. For the record, their joint relationship has been spectacularly and catastrophically unstable for most of this sibling's 47 years.

Well-meaning people will often say, "Just let it go," but they truly do not comprehend how children of narcissists experience emotion, and how confused and often fearful those children (who may be adults in their late 50s) are. If we're struggling to wade through a lifetime of it, imagine how little a probably-caring but uneducated person might understand.

The net effect of my inability to appropriately parse and navigate my emotions has been the development - among several issues - of profound body dysmorphia to the point of obsession as a stand-in for dealing with the moving parts.

This dysmorphia coalesced on a specific day when I was 13 years old thanks to an off-hand comment made by a good friend, who I know meant absolutely nothing by it. I was going down the stairs in our school, heading to class - she being on the stair directly behind me - when she made a comment about the structure of my hips and butt. I can remember that moment and I were I in that school, I could walk to the exact place - the exact stair I was on - when she made the comment.

Literally from that moment on, this dysmorphia has been a daily, draining, torturous fixture in my waking life. It is the first thing on my mind when I wake - and I wake three or four times a night - and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep. It doesn't help my sibling is a fitness professional (driven to some extent as a means for them to cope with their own demons I suppose), who has no shame about shaming me and how I look, whether that be the body scan or an insulting comment.

This dysmorphia is coupled with an ever-growing fear of being in public looking like I do. This is compounded by my having competed in a fitness competition four years ago, and then returning to a normal weight and average strength for a person of my age. Hating how I look also keeps me out of the gym: I'm embarrassed to be "normal" after having become so fit and strong.

In my case, that bucket-list item, the competition, was approached as a means of, "SEE! I'm not gross!" rather than something I pursued purely on my own terms, for my own reasons. I'm now fighting with entrenched dysmorphia made worse by having become very fit and quite thin for that competition, but not having the tools to deal with being a normally-sized person of my age. On the rare occasion I see my sibling, their habit of body-scanning me, and their unshielded look of disgust after that ... it doesn't help, and it makes me want to injure them all the more. Vicious circle for sure.

If you're reading this and wondering why I don't get help, I assure you I have tried. I have used - with some success - one of the on-line counselling services when the issues with my sibling were such I was feeling suicidal. It was very helpful to have a faceless, but experienced psychologist willing to read my long accounts, and make observations and suggestions. To not have to be face-to-face where he could see me, how I look, and to have counselling sessions not diluted by my terror over how I look - it was a good solution.

I have recently sought out mental healthcare services; however, despite physical health care being easy to access and covered under the country's health care plan, mental health services are not covered and are very costly, or if provided on a sliding scale, not dependable.

I need care several times a week for at least a year, but at a cost of about $2000/month, it's impossible to afford. It is not for a lack of desire and willingness to get help; it's a literal inability to afford the care I need. The doctor I saw recently diagnosed me with severe anxiety - filed under "No shit, Sherlocke," - and prescribed a specific medication to help. The drug she prescribed has a significant side effect - predictable weight gain. Definitely no bueno. Like 1000 percent no bueno.

I am not in contact with my siblings or my parent - and yes, this is extreme, highly guilt-inducing, and difficult to swallow. I know, however, contact with this parent is poisonous, and contact - currently anyway - with the siblings is likely going to affect me negatively.

I know what it's like to have to talk myself out of walking into traffic or driving into a semi - it is utterly, utterly terrifying to be at that point and to know what might trigger that again, and how bloody close - twice in the last eight years - I came to saying "aw, fuck it," and driving across the line on purpose, despite knowing doing so would end my intense pain but would ruin my own children's and partner's lives.

I cannot stress this enough; when someone is in THAT much despair and so desperate to end their own pain, and they know doing so will have a massive, permanent effect on their loved ones, you MUST understand how unbearable it has become for them.

Neither of these siblings is willing to acknowledge their parts in any of it. They are, at times, like starving dogs with respect to goading me. One of them - maybe both - seems to enjoy pushing me to the point of pure, blinding despair. I don't know what they get out of it but it seems to satisfy something for them. Then again, they learned at the feet of the master, given our parent was ravenous for the high of torturing (in an emotional way) me, teaching them how to scapegoat, and expert at alienating us siblings one from the other. The effects of this parent's efforts are cell-deep and permanent.

A bit of advice for people who like to give advice, particularly to people like me: Just don't.

I guarantee you, if you had a happy or reasonably stable childhood, you cannot possibly understand the chamber of horrors that is a childhood overseen by an angry, unfulfilled narcissistic parent whose sole purpose in life is to create as much pain, despair, fear, sadness as possible as some means of obtaining power, and edifying themselves.

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

Nobody was paying attention....

 Last week, my mother moved from her two-story home into a supported living facility - much smaller digs - and the excavation was initiated. Somehow, she has managed to acquire enough stuff for four families, despite being very elderly and a widow....

Among all this stuff, surprisingly, is a small archive of my report cards from a couple grades of elementary school, two from junior high school and one year of high school.

It was riveting and heart-wrenching to read the comments on those reports - all hand-written, dating back as far as 1966.

Our home life was, shall we say, disturbed. My parents fought - not regularly, but spectacularly - and finally separated when I was maybe five, which is the year I started kindergarten. Their relationship was acrimonious. Actually, not "their;" her relationship with him. Brutal. As it was the 60s, we, my younger sister and I, stayed with our mother. My mother has the most spectacular case of narcissism I've ever met, although I didn't know that until maybe 10 years ago. Such affected people do not great parents make....

I read those hand-written comments with a shifting mix of chagrin, anger, embarrassment, and wonder. In all those years, did not one single person - teacher, librarian, principal - ever wonder what was going on? It was the 60s/70s and people didn't meddle back then - certainly not teachers; they had enough on their plates between planning lessons, working five days a week and doing everything by hand, so probably paying attention to the more personal aspects of their students' lives was too far outside their area of attention. I understand that. But.

See, I grew up in total, daily chaos. My mother was always angry about something, angry at me, angry at what I was wearing, how my hair was, who my friends were, how I spoke and acted... you name it, she found something in it to be angry about. I was, until five years ago, her scapegoat. I think I still am, but I am out of contact now, so whatever she might say about me, I don't hear.

When I was in second grade, the bulk of the comments on my report cards were that I was distracted, occasionally confrontational, not doing well, rushed, missing fundamentals. At home? M mother would pick a fight with me every morning. For a period of a month (I was little; could have been a week, could have been three months; it was fucking terrifying, however long) and then threaten to send me to boarding school.

So yeah, I was distracted, because I was terrified of what might be happening - what my mother might be doing or calling or planning during the day, or what might happen when I came home after school. It wasn't a maybe; it was a for-sure. If the what-might-happen was relative peace, it was a rarity that was proof of the rule, and the calm before a certain storm later, or the next day, or....

By the time I was in fifth grade, her terror campaign was well founded and deeply rooted. My mother reminded me on a regular basis she had people watching me and reporting back to her about what I was up to during the day. Can you imagine what it's like to be an eleven-year-old child who is convinced she's being watched all day, every day??? Like, who do you trust?!

During all this chaos my mother remarried. He was excellent. Really. We'd known him since we were born so he wasn't a stranger at all. He married my mother (the sunday school teacher) because, despite her outwardly puritanical, judgemental views on sex and relationships, they were screwing around and she became pregnant. If you're the puritanical, once-divorced sunday school teacher in a baptist church, in the 70s, you must, at all costs, keep up the appearances....

The upside was he was a great dad and we got a little sister out of it. The downside is we got a little sister out of it and I went from being my mother's constant target to being that, and the scapegoat for ANYTHING she didn't like - my sister's teenage behaviour, and anything that our new baby sister did that my mother didn't like. Apparently, I was going around behind her back "teaching them to misbehave." That accusation continued up to about 10 years ago... the 'baby' was 45 years old by then....

When I was in junior high, I was bullied. Endlessly. One guy put his foot in my back and pushed me down a flight of stairs. Later, he took to following me home. In eighth grade, my so-called best friend decided she was furious at me because I'd made one other friend, so she chased me home... with a stick. Then she never spoke to me again.  One day couple of girls, twins, waited for me outside the school, the back side, in a corner not visible to the street or windows, threatened me, pushed me off my moving bike, attempted to steal my bike. In home Ec. class, someone stole my bra while I was trying on a dress I'd made in that class. An hour later, I was horrified to see the boys kicking my bra down the hallway.  A boy in several of my classes took any opportunity he could to harass me. One day he decided he hated me and, right outside our science class, he pulled a huge clump of hair out of my head - hurt so much. I wacked him with my binder - and was hauled into the office and chastised for the "friends" I kept. A few months later, he slapped me across the face in full view of an auditorium of kids.... I was ridiculed for my hair, my size, my build. You name it, it was up for target practice. At any point did any teacher or parent step in? Nope.

My mother, of course, was carrying on as "normal" which meant I was never sure what would be on the other side of the front door when I came home after school, but it was never good. Once, when I was 13, it was really, really bad: she was in a fury over how I was doing the dishes - criticizing absolutely everything to the point I began screaming at her to leave alone (this kind of harassment was the usual - almost any time she screamed us into cleaning up, she'd also spend the entire time screaming it wasn't good enough).

That's when she picked up a knife - a 12-inch long, bone-handled, serrated knife she had beside the stove (which, by the way, she still uses, 40 years later). She was terrifying anyway, but armed? Holy shit ... so I raced out of the kitchen, up the stairs into the bathroom and locked the door. She kicked the door in and held that knife to my face - in our second-floor bathroom with one of those 60s-style wide, narrow windows high up in the wall. You don't know terror until you're pinned against a wall with your crazy-ass mother shaking a knife to your face and threatening you and there's no escape.

So yeah, my schooling suffered. I was angry. I was scared. I daydreamed. I escaped into a book or up into my head. I looked for any possible means of escape - which, for the record, did not include drugs or alcohol.

Not a single teacher ever asked if I was ok. Not one. In twelve years of school, how many teachers does one have? 60? I know some of this had to do with the era - people didn't meddle and given divorce was such a horrifying event still - common enough but still considered a morally-contentious choice.

Hilariously/sadly/confusingly, my mother used to write comments back to the teachers on those report cards - it was always their fault I wasn't doing well, and true to her character, she was an exemplary parent, and had expectations for everyone's behaviour. As she'd been a teacher herself, she was bizarrely judgmental, and her imperiousness was more pronounced.

In fifth and sixth grades, I volunteered as a library page in my school. I LOVED that job. The school was always quiet - mornings, 7:30 to 8:30 or so and sometimes after school. It was safe, and provided a legit means of being out of the house. And I really liked the librarian, Mrs. Woods. Like, a LOT. She always had a smile on. She was nice.

Even that bubble was burst, though. When I was 28 years old, I was out for groceries with my two babies - I think I was probably pregnant with my third at the time - and ran into Mrs. Woods. I was really happy to see her. During the conversation, I made the fatal mistake (being a stay-at-home mom at the time and it being the late 80s and being that mothering wasn't necessarily considered a job), of replying "not much" to her question of "What are you doing these days." Her reply was, "Well, you always were a bit lazy."  I was DEVASTATED. I wasn't, and I'm not now, lazy; I was an eleven-year-old child with a chaotic, scary home life turning up almost every morning for two school years to shelve books, to get some peace and stability.

I till struggle day-to-day with feeling like I belong, like I have the right to belong, with feeling like I'm not contributing to anything, like I'm failing, like random shit that happens is my fault, like with bad things wouldn't happen if I weren't around, with living.


There was an "into traffic" incident about two years ago - the second, the first being the result of agreeing to go to counselling with my sister, who spent an hour of a two-hour session with her finger in my face, screaming at me. The first "into traffic" indicent scared me a LOT and took two weeks to come down from. The second was even worse. I was driving alone on the highway and struggled for the entire 90 minutes to not drive across the centre line. Semi-trucks are big. The driver is up high. It would be a bump for them. That's where I was in my head for and hour and a half....

My family members don't think I hear their whispers of "well, you know how she is." They don't know how devastating their petty little comments are. They don't acknowledge their actions and they don't understand they scapegoat me, or, if they do, they're somehow justifying such lifelong abuse.

My sister continues to scapegoat me - this month of moving my mother gave her the opportunity to unload her resentment on me - and to be fair, this time she copped to it; she called me to tell me how resentful she is (except she ignores she chose the situation she's in, and that I had zero input into it), so at least there's that - but yet again, after her having unleashed on me, demanding money from me, but refusing to let me understand what she, or my mother actually need, we're back to radio silence and, "Well, you know how she is."

No, you don't know how "she" is, because you don't give a real fuck.

It took me years and years and years, not a little therapy, and total non-contact to get to a place of reasonably good functioning, but there are still moments or interactions that throw me into chaos.

But at least now I have all these report cards spelling out all my faults and failings - why would I be surprised my mother kept them -  that will reinforce just how separate I am from the family and how invisible I was at school, and how important it is for my family members to maintain me as the scapegoat.

Friday, May 05, 2017

The dogs of hell. #unleashed

.... you narcissistic, conceited, self-centred old boot! In almost 80 years what have you done? What have you contributed besides three girls who never had a mother but who suffered through your endless, ridiculous fits and tantrums; who lost their fathers - yes, two of them - due to your fucked up world view; whose childhoods..... never mind: what childhoods?

And now that you've achieved (yet again on the backs of others, having done little to contribute and nothing to deserve) living quarters in a place you can show off from, you're still making every one's life a living fucking hell! Are you never ever satisfied? And for the record; nobody cares a damn about where you live, how big 'your' house is, how 'expensive all these horses are' or about your 'rich clients.' Nothing. Not one bit do we care about any of that. Nobody does. Only you. And no, none of that has anything to do with you. You're still a fucked up, mean, old woman.

You're stupid beyond comprehension to believe that any of that has anything to do with you or any reflection on you. You are nothing to anyone beyond being the crazy, bitch of an old lady who lives in that house. Yeah, the house that most people have begun avoiding just to stay away from you.

Here's the truth you old bitch. You are a joke. Full on. There's barely a soul whose spent more than a day with you who doesn't know you're as fake as a wooden nickel and measurably less useful. There isn't a soul who doesn't know you're a poser and a liar and a conceited idiot.

Are you three years old? Are you still that spoiled bratty little kid? Fuck! Grow up already! Isn't it time you made some steps toward being a human rather than the most disgusting, painful, stinking putrid boil on all our asses? Is this your legacy? You're going to go down in history as one of the most despised people there ever was?

What did you ever do for anyone?

Your kids? You spent years and years and years poisoning them against others - their dad! Their grandparents; their aunts and uncles; their cousins and even them against themselves, and you spent years poisoning others against them! Who does that to their own children? You could write a book on how to abuse, isolate and ruin a child.

We never learned to love. Oh sure, we heard all about it - you stuffed your stupid false pack of religious lies down out throats hard enough to choke the life and spirit out of us but we never saw anything even remotely close to 'love' from you. You have always been to busy making everything, every event about you. You are the 100% pur laine version of a narcissistic asshole.

You taught us how to never trust, never believe -even in ourselves: oh never mind; you never gave us any reason there was anything about us to believe in. We were the shite that trailed about your house making a wreck of your life. Yeah. Forgot.

Everything's about you. Everything that goes 'wrong' is about you; everything that anyone does is to 'make you look bad.' Let me tell you this: you do a fine, fine job all by yourself; you have not for one second needed anyone else to make you look bad.

And now you've resorted to 11 p.m. temper tantrums forcing your daughter, who's been working 6 a.m to 11 p.m. for weeks, to come chasing after you so you don't get your idiotic ass killed on the highway because you're such a fucking attention-seeking baby! And then you take two or three hours of another daughter's time having yet another poor-me tantrum? Fuck you. You know why they didn't call me??? Because I will tell you the truth.

You're the worst of the worst. We put up with you. Tolerate. That is it. We do NOT like you and there's no way we've even thought about loving you. You're less lovable than a ton of squashed maggots.

Here's the reality that you choose to blind yourself to.
You've been married to TWO pretty decent, hard-working men, both of whom provided everything for you and your children. You haven't worked a full day since something like the spring of 1961. Busy work does not count and neither does the copious time you've spend meddling in other people's lives and trash bins! What the hell is up with that!?

You have three children who are all blessed with great minds and health and strength but whose spirits you stomped and killed over and over again because you are incapable of tolerating anything you perceive as competition, even from a two year old baby.

You have lived in a wonderful home - that someone else paid for; you now live in another wonderful home - that someone else is paying for; yet, you have never been happy because neither home has been big enough or rich enough for full of enough costly things THINGS! that you could show off, as if those THINGS somehow make you a decent person in any respect.

You have an excellent education that you've squandered.

You've had friends, all of whom you've alienated at best and many of whom you've caused to hate you, despise you, distrust you and laugh at you.

The one thing that saves me from hating you entirely is that I'm sure you know, somewhere in your fucked up, denial-bound mind that you've created this hell and now you have to maintain it. Anything else would require you to be honest to yourself and about yourself and you are far too self-centred and false to even consider that option, so hell for all concerned it is.

I'm sure you wish, as much as I do, that you were dead. That is the one thing that saves you and - you can take some of your weird brand of comfort in this - keeps us bound in the hell you seems so determined to keep burning.

Dear LGBTQ....

Dear Non-binary people;

I get it. You struggle: for recognition; for equality; for safety; for compassion; for acceptance. I get it, and I know it has been, and will continue to be for some time yet, probably, difficult and frustrating.

I also get it you hate labels. You don't want to be different, outsiders, unacceptable, sinners, disgusting... labels suck. You're human.

So when you create new terms - labels - for me, in your terminology CIS-gendered, you apply the same de-humanising tactics you're desperate to stop. Because I'm also human. That I don't occupy any of the letters of LGBTQ does not render me weird or lesser.

I get it; you don't want to be marginalized

Labels blow. For everyone. The only viable label is HUMAN.
or invisible, but creating labels for people whose lifestyles, genders, genitals, orientations you don't like, understand or live, doesn't make your struggle easier.

Friday, February 12, 2016

Street Preacher's dilemma: Claims evidence, but is pissed off when asked to show it....

UPDATE:Frustratingly, the person with whom I had this conversation never replied to these questions, became very upset to the point of hostility and blocked further communication.

Prior to running off to hide from questions he was unwilling or incapable of answering (mostly because I think he was pretty uncomfortable with the answers he might have had to come up with), he did say I had been pretty convincing and were he looking to leave religion, he'd have to consider this stuff. I asked him exactly what he would be incapable of doing, with respect to the street people he works with, if he had no religion at all: he did reply "Nothing," but qualified it all with stuff I no longer have access too.... bummer.

Also unfortunately, and this is my error, because he blocked me, the rest of the conversation is no longer visible. I'm annoyed by that, as I'm quoting him without evidence here. Not fully kosher.

He continues to work as a street preacher - part of a group that is vocally anti-human with respect to LGBT people, and implicated in several legal proceedings in this city, as a result of his group entering City Hall in a manner City Hall found threatening, and which caused City Hall to be evacuated and locked down more than 30 times.

Also, I'm sorry to report, this guy has doubled down and become even more entrenched. His Facebook is (sorry, mean) laughable. His group has engaged in such stupid tactics including engaging one of their more stupid members, a bus driver, to refuse to drive a bus with ads from the LGBT community on the outside, as it somehow removed his freedom of religion (it does not in any way, and he didn't have any issues driving buses with ads for birth control, or bars that use blatantly sexual means to advertise)... so dumb.. and then that pawn tried to run for mayor. I think he had about 60 votes, all from his church pals. Idiotic.

Anyway, if you are a religious person, and you're interested in answering those questions below, I'd be super fascinated to have your answers.


  • Hey ME, I replied to your comment on the 'march for Jesus' post. I hope we can have a chat as I have gone down many roads in my research, including the 'Jesus is copied from other Gods' theories, you may not be aware that even secular historians have debunked those theories and yet they still float around. Anyway I would love to chat with you on these subjects and more. I love skeptics. FYI I'm not a church going Christian, and we would probably agree on our opinions of that lot.
  • Today
  • 1. HOW do you know your god is the right god and the only real god, when there are more than 4000 suggested by humans.

    1a. Please apply your answer to the question above to Shiva. 1b. Please tell me exactly what evidence you have for your god and how it CANNOT be used as evidence for any other god.

    2. Please explain how your bible, which contains more than 400 contradictions and more than 1000 falsehoods, historical inaccuracies and completely impossible stories, is evidence.
    3. Please discuss the facts of DNA and specifically mDNA in that those decisively, absolutely prove Adam and Eve never existed and the fact science shows absolutely and conclusively there was NEVER a point in human history where there were only two humans.
    3a. Given DNA conclusively, absolutely proves the Adam/Eve story to be impossible, original sin is not real. As such, there is no reason for the later blood sacrifice. 3b. Given there is no original sin, explain why your "god" who is "perfect" and "all knowing" screwed up so badly it decided to kill everything and everyone.
    4. There is no evidence for "Mary." The "virgin" story is impossible for two reasons: IF she was inseminated by a "sprit" or "god" or "angel" and those "beings" are not human, they cannot have human genes or DNA: therefore, "Mary" could NOT have produced a male child; no human DNA/genes, no Y chromosome, no male.
    4b. If your "Mary" existed and had a male child, the father of that child was decidedly male; therefore not a god, unless you're going to invoke magic or you're going to give your "spirit" or "angel" human genes, which again falsifies your story.
    5. Given the many, many excellent schools of archaeology in the world, and particularly in the middle east, where there is very much a will to find evidence of various religions (specifically, christianity and islam), with respect to the story of the wandering jews, there is absolutely NO evidence whatsoever there were people in taht very small are of land, wandering about for 40 years: no bones of the animals they would have had to eat; no evidence of any settling - pots, cooking fires, animal bones; no evidence of members of their group dying- and there MUST have been deaths. WHY is there no evidence? Given the size of the area these people were alleged to have wandered, explain how they managed to avoid contact with other humans?
    6. Given there is utterly no evidence at all, and definitively so, how do you explain the population of the earth TWICE via incest, first via two people who cannot have existed and second via a family of very, very elderly people.
    6b. Given Noah was 600 years old and his wife and children were also very elderly, and given none of them had any experience ship building and given Noah was an uneducated farmer, explain these items:
    • How did Noah build such a vessel?
    • How did Noah know about kangaroos, iguanas, koalas, komodo dragons?
    • How did he acquire these animals? 
    • How did he know how to feed them? 
    • How many animals above the estimated 14,000 (low estimate) did Noah ALSO have to load on that boat in order to feed the carnivores? 
    • How much food did he have to load to feed the animals generally? 
    • How did Noah get the Kangaroos back to where they came from, when there would have been no food for them along the way?   
    6c. How big is a cubit? There are two measurements in the bible; either your wooden boat was 2/3rds the size of the Titanic or it was 18 miles long. 
    6d. Given two years ago, a team of experience ship-building engineers built a wooden boat of the approximate (smaller) size of said arc, but with all their skill and experience could not keep the boat afloat longer than a week, how exactly did your 600 year-old man and his ancient family keep their boat afloat whilst feeding all those animals, dealing with the daily tons of excrement and keeping the animals from killing each other.
    7. You have made a presumption here, being I am unschooled in the christian faith. That is your fatal error. I am a member of a family wherein there are pastors in this generation (five) and in EVERY ONE of the last ten generations. I grew up in an evangelical church and was a believer until I was 35, at which point I began asking questions about the many, many inconsistencies, errors and falsehoods presented by members of my faith group.
    I am VERY interested in your ANSWERS here.
    I am NOT interested in any comments to the effect I "hate god," am "rejecting god," am uneducated about christian theory.
    I am interested in answers specifically addressing these questions.
    Also, as you have mentioned the march for "christ," may I ask you to:
    • point out specifically the verse in the bible that specifically says "one man, one woman," and please be specific too about where what you find decisively overturns the many, many other verses in the bible speaking to multiple marriage, force marriage, marriage by rape, marriage and concubines... SPECIFICALLY, where in your bible does your "god" say one man, one woman.

    • Also, please will you point out the verses in the bible that SPECIFICALLY say slavery is wrong. Please quote chapter and verse where your god or your "jesus" specifically say - before, when we said where to get slaves and how to treat them, we're rescinding that now.
    As I said, I am expecting SPECIFIC answers to these questions. Except for where I've asked for specific bible verses, you may NOT use the bible of evidence or proof of your premise: you must support your premise by extra-biblical sources. AIG does NOT count, as it is absolutely refuted and does not use extra-biblical resources.

    You may not use William Lane Craig, as he is also endlessly refuted; you may certainly not quote Ken Ham, as he is demonstrably ridiculous; you may not use "The case for Christ" which is also definitively debunked and its author exposed as a plagiarist - as a journalist and since then.
    I await your evidence. If you have it, and it is viable, I will share it and you will win a Nobel prize.
  • Oh, and you also may not call me names for having asked you to substantiate your various premises.

  • Oh... and I'm going to post the entirety of your answers, OK? I'll delete any reference to either of us, to protect your identity.

    I'm assuming you're going t
  • Oh, and please do not insult me by saying "you won't accept any evidence I present."

    If it is viable, substantiated evidence, absolutely I will accept it.

    MR: Why so hostile? I have been polite and friendly towards you. {"Hostile" is a commonly-used slag by christians when they're on the spot (and other religious types, to be fair), and when they're confronted with questions they either can't answer, haven't thought about, or have thought about and don't like what they've discovered. In 99.9% of these exchanges, the christian will resort to diversions - you're hostile, you hate god, why are you so angry, you must have been hurt, etc. etc., rather than answering any question. This, of course, renders them false. Either their religion is true and there are concrete answers, or it isn't and they don't}
  • Anyway, I guess you are angry at us crazy Christians LOL.
    (No, absolutely not. I just asked a series of questions. Unfortunate christians seem to interpret "defend your faith" as "you're angry at us.")Funny thing is I bet that we would agree on many of your dislikes of Christians, (I don't dislike christians; I dislike it when they do everything they can to avoid answering questions). I don't like most of them either. You probably steriotype (sic) us as all the same but there is a vast difference between the church crowd and my tiny crowd who go out and demonstrate the power of God. Nobody can prove God anymore (sic) than can prove life forming from non life without an external cause.....

    ME: Please quote me directly where I say "I dislike christians."
    Please identify what you see as "hostile."
    So you state here "nobody can prove god." On what grounds do you believe in your unprovable being?

    MR: Since contacting you before, I have decided not to engage in these conversations anymore. (Huge surprise. So much for "Anyway I would love to chat with you on these subjects and more.")

    Don't you agree it's pointless? We just disagree. You see we will never agree because our foundations for viewing the world are so different. You (appear) to live by a 'fact' based, 'if you cant prove it, it does not exist' worldview (sic), and I live from a spiritual worldview. I suspect you are not willing to consider anything that exists outside of this physical dimension, so our conversation will be biased towards your ground rules which you have already outlined. The main reason I dont (sic) engage in these conversations anymore is because I have dedicated myself to helping others.

    I currently (sic) spending all my spare time helping people who are deeply depressed and in bad addictions. There is such a need for these people as they are everywhere. I used to have the same problem for 30 years but I was instantly set free in a supernatural way, never to return to those addictions. I have seen others instantly set free as well. So as you can imagine, suffering for 30 years in ways I will spare you, to having and instant, supernatural experience that took all that away, gives me a lot of belief in those sorts of things. I am thumb typing this on my phone at work, so forgive any bad spelling.
  • ME: As you have already diverted this conversation away from my questions, I will take it you have no intention of attempting answers.

    MR: See above, you are displaying hostility now (nope. Asking him to clarify his intentions, as he opened with "Anyway I would love to chat with you on these subjects and more.")
  • ME: Are you not confident in your beliefs enough to discuss them with respect to the questions I've asked you? Again, you're diverting. I invite you to take this opportunity to answer my questions above.
  • MR: You get to set the ground rules for the grid we work within? 

    ME: As I noted above, Mark, I asked you not to insult me by suggesting nothing you can present will be acceptable, yet in your note above, you write, "I suspect you are not willing to consider anything that exists outside of this physical dimension, so our conversation will be biased towards your ground rules which you have already outlined."

    Yes, evidence matters. On what grounds do you "believe" what you say you believe?
  • You're welcome to set the ground rules, as long as they don't include, "just believe it because if you don't, you're going to hell."
    How do you establish if anything exists outside the physical dimension?
  • MR: You see, you are steriotyping me with churchians (sic, sic) (avoid avoid avoid....)
  • ME: Please identify where I stereotyped you?
    I've asked you several questions and am looking forward to your answers. I have invited you to set the ground rules I have stated I will accept any viable evidence you present.
    How have you established if there is anything outside the physical dimension and what it is?
  • MR: Listen, I'm at work right now, I cannot give this my full attention. I will try to speak to you this evening. I am thumb typing on my phone. I am not like the Christians you have met, I guarantee you 100%. I don't even really like that term as by it's very nature it steriotypes (sic) and pigion (sic) holes. Like if I keep referring to you as an athiest. (avoid, avoid, avoid, divert)
  • ME: I am very interested to know your answers. These are fair questions put to you based on what you have written here.
    You are more than welcome to refer to me as atheist, humanist, secular, because those are true and apt.
    Well, Mark, so far, so good. #predictable
  • MR: See above. I will try, but how can you prove that, I have no idea but to demonstrate it. Come with us next time we go to the streets to heal people. But even then, it can be easily dismissed as placebo, mind over matter etc.
  • ME: Please Mark, will you start at the beginning and review the questions above. I am very interested in your answers to those questions.
  • What is your evidence for "healing?" Are you suggesting people who are literally sick come away from your events cured? 
    How have you established they were sick in the first place? 
    What testing did you perform to establish if they were sick and with what?
    What testing did you perform to establish they were no longer sick?
  • MR: I dont have events. I approach people on the street. I see people with injuries and ask to pray for them.
  • ME: Can you tell me please: if you had been born in Iran, are you sure you would be christian?

    • Is your family christian?
    • Would you describe Canada as a predominantly judeo-christian culture?
    • That was not my question: how do you establish they are ill?
    • How do you establish they are no longer ill following whatever intervention? 
    • And you have evidence these injuries disappear?
  • MR: My family are athiests. I was raised to believe in evolution.
  • ME: I'm going to stop proposing questions now. I invite you to review all the questions here and to answer them. I am very interested in your answers and I will say this again: anything you propose that is verified and substantiated, I will absolutely accept. Any evidence or proof you have, anything you can substantiate, I will absolutely accept. 

    MR: The only evidence I have is the reaction I get. OK, I have to stop now. Got to work. Gonna get fired LOL. I will do my best later
  • ME: Just as a point of order, religion and evolution are two different subjects...
  • MR: Disagree STRONGLY LOL
  • ME: Please print this conversation and please, please respond to each question. I am very interested in your answers, your evidence and your substantiation.
    Regardless, they are two different subjects. There is overwhelming evidence for one and none for the other.
  • MR: Although before I disagree, I need to know which evolution you refer to (Darwinian, macro et)
  • ME: Let us deal with the set of questions I've asked you.

    I am very, very interested in your answers, so please, I invite you to take this opportunity to address those questions.