Category Archives: musing

Priceless memories of old friends

When, after a painful conflict with two lifelong friends, you behave with patience, kindness and maturity and an entire group of old friends unanimously condemns you for childishness and cruelty —

Priceless!

On the downside, when one of these hanging jurors is suddenly diagnosed with end stage cancer, and another is battling a serious degenerative disease, and neither one will speak with you unless you confess your unforgivable, unforgiving childish rage and acknowledge the unspeakable harm you’ve done to everybody, well, there’s a price to that, for everyone involved.

I used to make these two ailing friends laugh often. We spent many a wonderful weekend with them and all I ever felt from them was love and warmth. They now need all the love and support they can get, as we all would in their situation.

Except that I am suddenly their enemy to the death because two mutual friends who can never be wrong, terrified about their humiliating imperfect/damaged/dark sides ever being revealed, struck first and struck hard. With only a few sincerely imparted poisonous lies they convinced an entire righteous group of old mutual friends that I am a destructive monster who can neither love nor forgive.

Evil, we learn, often presents itself as righteousness. The most aggressive attackers always present themselves as the most unfairly persecuted victims. Which, itself, is also:

fucking priceless!

My father was a sometimes charming monster

He was not alone in this category of monster. Some of the most destructive monsters of all time were good looking, funny, smart and engaging. While you were admiring them they were not monstrous at all. They were wonderful, lovely, cool, special, easy to be around, fun.

Once they show you their monstrous side they are obliged to kill you. It is humiliating for them, the possibility they could be revealed as monsters. Better to take no chances, kill all the witnesses, kill them, kill anybody who tries to help a witness!

The painful challenge of the adult child of a narcissist

When somebody who can’t be wrong feels challenged, defied, they fly into a rage. It is embarrassing to lose control like that, humiliating even, and this type will blame the person they raged against, every time. “You did this to me, I just reacted. I did nothing wrong, you did everything wrong. You owe me an apology.” If you are a child, and this person is your parent, you stand up for yourself at your psychological peril.

No allowance. You’re grounded. You’re in my doghouse. You don’t love, or deserve to be loved. You can’t forgive. You cling to your hurt like a baby. You’re crazy. You don’t have the slightest clue how the world works.

This last bit is true. These types literally run the world, because they are deadly determined to always be in control so as not to risk being humiliated. It was their early life humiliation, and that terrifying feeling of powerlessness, that created their zero-sum worldview and tyrannical personality. My way or the highway, asshole. I’ve cut people dead for less than what you did to me, you ungrateful piece of shit. They demonstrate their terrible power by making good on their threats to exact payment for disobedience. If you want to be dead to them, keep insisting they had no right to rage at you.

The adult son is locked in a psych ward after some dramatic display of desperation, two days after arriving back at his childhood home. You, my friend, would be desperate too, if, whenever you needed support, one parent always blamed you for their rage and the other one always quietly agreed with the abusive parent. “We have to present a united face, so as not to confuse the child, it’s just basic good parenting” the abuse enabling parent will explain to others.

To his son he will say “your mother needs to be right, and she is right. She is used to being the boss, she took charge of her devastated family at age twelve and has always been in charge. You need to accept that she can’t be wrong, because it’s true. You are dead wrong if you think either of us is ever going to tell you that she was ever wrong, let alone abusive.”

Not surprising that two days after the adult son moves back into his parents’ home the weight of it all comes crashing down on him. I don’t know how he got to the mental ward, but I know he stayed there until they could stabilize his mood well enough to send him back into the place where his soul was crushed from the time he let out his first unanswered cries for empathy.

It is the biggest part of my current torment, to have the keys to his cell in my pocket and no way of getting them to him.

Trauma and immature parents

I’ve got to keep writing the same idea until I get it into a gentle enough form that it might be heard and considered. My credulous former friends are just what they are, there is no reaching those who uncritically embrace hateful lies, angrily close their minds, or what’s left of their minds.

I’m trying to reach a young man who is living in hell, the identical hell I escaped decades ago only by the best of luck. He is living with parents who had no hesitation to fly into a rage at a hurt old friend, arguably their closest, and embark on a deliberate campaign of lies, to destroy my good name among our fellows, when I needed to talk through a conflict with them. This poor guy is their oldest son.

Trauma, observes Bessel van der Kolk, is when we are not seen or known. When a child is upset, and parents look away, wait for the bad mood to pass, will not yield in any way, there is your basic recipe for trauma.

No reason can explain why the kid is acting this way, no explanation or understanding is possible, the crying simply must stop. Parents act this way only if they suffered similar abandonment when they needed to be comforted as infants.

An inconsolably crying child presents a challenge to every kind of parent. Emotionally immature parents, who have been damaged by the same kind emotional distancing when they were crying children in need of comfort, feel embarrassed at their helplessness. It makes them look terrible in public, too, not being able to control their child. The upset child is now assaulting the immature parent’s image as a great parent. The situation instantly becomes about the parent’s feelings, not the child’s.

It can take you decades, if ever, to recognize a basic fact about your childhood. Your strong-willed parent, who can neither be wrong nor apologize, may turn out, when you add up years of evidence, to be a bully. Bullies are created by abuse that damages them to the point they lash out at others whenever they feel threatened.

A bully is, obviously, not a good parent, they are too hurt themselves to help anyone else in trouble. They will do terrible damage they can never acknowledge or take responsibility for.

The best you can hope for, if you do enough hard work and have enough help and luck to untangle complicated emotions, is a deathbed reconciliation with the bully, full of regrets as they are about to leave this world.

I had a deathbed reconciliation with my father, a raging, frightened bully. I felt it was a beautiful mutual gift at the time, a blessing, but his “I wish we could have had this kind of talk fifteen years ago, but I was too fucked up” is about the most poignant line I can imagine a dying father saying to his son. That I can’t cry about it to this day is one of those mysteries of being a male in our toxic society, but the line is no less tragic.

If your parent is still angry at their own mother or father, in adulthood, chances are they will not be able to give you the kind of nurturing they never experienced. They will demand obedience in all circumstances and blame you as defiant and irrationally angry if you show any hesitation or resentment.

Parents who need to be right will not tolerate that kind of behavior for a minute, it will enrage them. The child learns early to avoid this rage any way they can. In the end, expressing true feelings becomes futile.

The damage is done, congratulations, the bullying parent insists they are fully justified, and now your challenge begins. You will be second-guessing your true emotions for the rest of your life, trying to avoid conflict. You may be subject to episodes of mania, rage or depression. Strictly speaking, it’s not your damaged parents’ fault, but that’s cold comfort, I assure you.

What emotionally immature parents teach their children

I pose the following for the consideration of the brother of a young man who is suffering from an episode of depression. His father believes the condition is purely the bad luck of genetics, unrelated to any environmental factors (like competitive, judgmental parents who can never be wrong) and apparently beyond the reach of human intervention. This belief is preferred to understanding that a child judged by emotionally immature parents since birth, love conditioned on not making problems, will often grow up with certain morbid sensitivities.

Consider what your parents are teaching you and your suffering brother.

In every conflict, your parents are absolutely right, and blameless, no matter what actually took place.

The world is zero-sum, black and white, without nuance or the possibility of compromise.

Anyone who challenges our need to be right, defies our family. Defiance is a capital offense.

Defamation is permissible, if the stubbornly defiant party keeps insisting on “fairness” and “compromise.”

Being raised by immature assholes is a heavy burden on the soul. It will take years, with insight and luck, to begin to emerge from the endless layers of manure that have been heaped on you since before you had any inkling of what manure is. Immature parents have every opportunity, during the years you are a helpless infant, to do infinite harm to your brand new soul. As children, they may have had it even worse than what they are doing to you, but still.

Consider, my friend, if these lessons have anything to do with a good life or are only iron guidelines required by rigid people who can never be wrong.

Living in the Age of Narcissism

What do you call a prosperous society where it is perfect, even praiseworthy, for a highly successful winner to relieve himself in a gold toilet bowl costing hundreds of thousands of dollars while, miles away, newborn babies, born to losers, die at “third world” rates because of poverty? Not a trick question. Say it with me, USA! USA!!!

If an individual prioritizes his own luxury and limitless appetite for acquisition over the lives of people he deems worth far less than him, you’d call that asshole a narcissist. It would be the most polite thing you could call him, actually. What do you call a society that prioritizes the values of a handful of these supremely entitled, socially venerated, insatiably covetous assholes over everything else? Exceptional. Unless we are living in the Age of Narcissism. A pretty good case can be made for calling the age we live in the Age of Narcissism.

It wearies me to make that case at the moment, a case so obvious and in-your-face that it hardly needs to be made. I will get at it in the future, on another day like this, when all I can see, and smell, are the evils done by these toxically virtuous pieces of shit. Some days, literally everything you see, hear and smell confirms this horrific fact: fucking narcissists rule, and they always have.

Back to hell, devils!

Clear, objective analysis and patient exposition are very important to healing from wounds that were inflicted by others. Intellectually, you can come to understand the harm done to you, the mechanism, the hows, the whys and all that other stuff. The much harder part is the emotions you are left holding, like a bag of rotting flesh.

So to those pathetic, determined devils who have done such damage to my life, out of their own damage and their undigested, unslakable rage toward parents alive and dead, I say back to hell with you, you fucking devils.