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Saturday, February 9, 2008

So I can sleep tonight

I have to get this out, so I will be able to sleep tonight.

My mother does not love me.

It dawned on me earlier today, as I was driving to work. (And yes, I've been reading more about narcissism lately.) She really doesn't love me. She does not act the way a loving mother acts. She never has.

This is a weird feeling. In a way, it's sort of liberating. I mean, look, I'm not crazy. I always sort of knew this, but I didn't really accept it because, well, who wants to accept a shitty thing like, My mother does not love me. And then, she always said she loved me. And she did a lot of surface stuff that seemed like stuff a loving mother would do. And mothers are supposed to love their daughters, for goodness sake. Who would have ever thought that an ordinary suburban mother who quit work to raise an adopted child, would provide the child with a clean pretty house and clean pretty clothes and and private school, would somehow fail to provide the child with love? It just makes no sense.

But there it is. She used me for her own purposes. She showed me off, and showed off what a great mother she was, but she never loved me. I was just a thing to show off. A possession. An object. I always knew it, and now I have my evidence. Narcissists use people. It's just what they do. I always knew it, and I was not crazy or deluded or selfishly looking after my own issues. I knew it, and I was right.

In a way, its a good thing to know that not only am I not nuts, I am also not character disordered, ungrateful, or hateful. I am not deficient in any daughterly virtue. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change the fact. The woman does not love me. She never has, and never will. She is unable.

She is the one who is deficient, not I.

It's her problem, her issue, her shame. It is she who is the pathetic, lazy, cowardly, selfish individual living in a fantasy world, not I. I bust my ass in the real world, attempting to make as real and genuine a life as I humanly can. I am not deluded in thinking that I am an honest and genuine person. She is the deluded one, thinking she is better than everyone else.

So it's kind of liberating, knowing that I am not nuts and I am not wrong, and there really is nothing I can do to make her love me, so now I can stop trying.

And it's kind of sad, too, knowing that, no matter what I do, my mother will never really love me. So depressing to think that she has made such an emotional cripple of herself, she will never be able to love her own child. She will never feel for me what I feel for my son. There is nothing left to try, to hope, or to dream. Nothing.

You just can't get love out of an empty shell.

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