Mothers Day

My mother suffered from NPD, narcissistic personality disorder. I was watching the Sopranos where Olivia, my mothers name was Olive, threatened her son Tony with a fork in his eye saying he, a 7 year old boy asking for what he wanted, was making her crazy.

I turned it off and deleted the file. I saw where my battle with lifelong over-anxiety and lack of confidence came from. I mean afraid to leave the house, afraid to ride in a car over-anxiety.

As an adult of 20 I self-medicated with pot and lost 20 years in the sub-blue collar world of taxi. I picked up a criminal record for a joint and was terribly, lonely isolated and afraid, dumped by my NPD siblings.

Around age 40 my reading exposure to scientific rational thought kicked in (Asimov and Heinlein) and I quit pot in 1988, four years after my Mother died of tobacco. I was healing.

I had found Eastern religion and didn’t believe a word of that particular word salad, but distraction is one way to medicate fear, and the yoga women were beautiful in their skin tight stretching clothes.

By 1992 I was full time in professional art school getting back my lost 20 years. The yoga and religious communities dumped me for asking for evidence for beliefs and I was victimized by a covert narcissist woman who initially promised unconditional love and do anything sex, but it became extremely frustrating and conditional. I was to be her primary care giver while she progressed though Huntington’s Disease and dedicate my life her. I was groomed to this role by my mother, and it seems that as soon as my wife, like my mother, found me asserting my rights it was time to dump me for the next victim of her predatory personality disorder.

I was conditioned by my mother to believe the gaslighters negativity about me so that when my wife threw me out for the next guy, I was devasted, extremely anxious and crying non-stop, much as I was when my mother threw me out into the street at age 14, and I found myself in a family therapist's office at the hospital. Being deprogrammed from a life of gaslighting by toxic family, partners and religion.

Gradually, and with a new rational tool set I began to recover.

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Jerald W. Blackstock First Person Reflections
Jerald W. Blackstock First Person Reflections

Written by Jerald W. Blackstock First Person Reflections

Fine Artist Still and Time Based Fine Art and Social Satire by any means possible. Buy me a Coffee 😁 https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/JeraldBlackstock

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