Toxician's Tool
I touch on the topic of narcissism a lot because it's a very overpowering force that I consistently encounter. I was walking around, and my memory archive opened, and I remembered a situation where I was the “Golden Child”. I wasn't this woman’s daughter, but she used me to shame her daughter, and it took me about 20-something years to realize how deep it was. I was shocked to the core when I realized that I had participated, or rather been used to scapegoat someone. My point is, I have a well-rounded fat view of being the victim and the assailant. Except I wasn't directly attacking anybody, but my presence enabled chaos.
I remember always going to visit a friend that came into town, perhaps maybe once a year from London. Notably, a family friend. I would go to their hotel and stay with her. This happened to me often. Among family friends, there were a bunch of us only daughters that kept each other company. It was a relationship that was formed through our mothers, whether we liked it or not. We liked it, so no one was uncomfortable during these interactions. My poor friend would consistently be berated in front of me. Loud screams from her mom's throat would crack in the air. Her words were always harsh and direct: “YOU ARE STUPID”, with cold, cat stares. Then she would comfort her daughter. It was a twisted film to watch.
The kicker was I became the person she would compare her daughter to. In those moments, I always felt bad for my friend, but what could I really do? “Why can't you be like her? She does it this way copy her. Do it her way,” she would tell her daughter. All the while her daughter would direct blank stares at me, both of us scared. Her mother reminded me of my own mother; the only difference was my mom was not a screamer. Nonetheless, they behaved the same. When this memory came back to me, I could see her eyes glistening as the tears glossed them like a glazed donut. “Oh my gosh,” I was witnessing abuse and didn't even know what to call it. The sadness I thought I was comforting when I was with her, was much more than sadness; it was a cry for help. But what could two little girls do to help each other? Nothing. We would go down to the hotel’s pool to eat and swim, and pretend nothing happened, then laugh the whole night away. It was like clockwork every year. Witness the abuse and unsee the abuse. I just had an epiphany I am traumatized from witnessing what she was doing to her daughter. I mean, I'm here at 20-something writing about it. Yeah... don't send your kids to everybody's house. Lol, like for real.
I wonder how she turned out because we all lost contact at some point in our lives. My hope for her is that she didn't hold on to the weight placed on her head. That she puts it down and lives well. Forgetting the harsh words and public humiliation in front of me and others, and the many questionable actions I won't speak on. I felt her pain and her humiliation. I didn't see her any less, even in those moments, she was made to feel small.
Pearl