Living in the Shadow of the Furher: it’s a lot like how it was with Ray and Caroline who ran their so-called family like a cult. Only the roles were reversed, mother was the narcissistic, dominating blowhard and father was the passive, stand alongside. The neglect was probably the worst part, it instilled core beliefs of worthlessness and hopelessness. At times, the toxic attention set up co-dependency and a willingness to do almost anything to please them. I lived in fear of causing disappointment and rage and tried to do everything to make myself worthy or at least useful to them. I had no right to exist unless I was of use. Needless to say, the relationship was extremely one-sided and transactional. I never knew this until much later in my life. At the time, I thought it was all I deserved and kept trying to deserve more. Of course, they would change the rules as I got better and better at meeting their demands. Trying to justify my existence became my way of life. I was also physically and sexually abused but the psychological torment was most persistent and most pervasive.
Any way, living under 45 and his so-called spouse has brought back a lot of unhappy memories. The lies and crazy-making gaslighting he engages in is just like they used to do. The total self-centeredness and lack of empathy demonstrated most recently by his infectious car parade reminded me of how I used to have to accompany my mother while she drove the car around for hours until I fell asleep in sheer exhaustion. One time, I couldn’t help it, I had diarrhea in my seat. She usually was very irritated and angry when I was ill but this time I was astounded she didn’t blame me. Those people he forced to drive him around were hostages to a narcissist and I know what that’s like. My heart goes out to them and I hope they don’t become ill. But, having to do something like that for a completely dishonorable person who happens to have control over their work lives is bad enough.
In my life, I’ve often turned to movies to help me endure, to go on when I can’t go on and they have helped me to decide to go on. 1999 was a particularly good year. The Celebration and American Beauty came out. The Celebration is about finally having the strength and courage to tell the truth to power, to out the family abuse and secrets, which I eventually was able to do with my family. American Beauty is about the kids escaping, making an independent life for themselves, away from horrible physical and psychological abuse. I also did this, but at great cost to myself as I no long have anyone in my family as those people chose to stay with the cult leaders. The cult leaders are now dead. I found out about it on Ancestry.com. I’m glad they’re dead.
Any way, I still live with the worthlessness and hopelessness. You see, they never go away. I have been permanently damaged, literally. Years of therapy has only helped me to intellectualize it, to label it , to categorize it. Sometimes, movies touch the place that has no words and helps me to carry on. Most of Ingmar Bergman’s films have helped me in this way. American Beauty has a scene in it that I watch every year or so. It’s the “I need to remember” scene. I treasure The Celebration because it shows siblings rallying around one another, to support each other in naming the monster and banishing him. Of course, I wished that could have happened in my family, but it didn’t.
So, the reign of terror by 45 and his minions has been upsetting on a personal level to say the least. I can imagine it’s been hell for most everyone else, too. Because, you see, as someone who once “drank the kool-aid” and couldn’t see the lies for the truth, I towed the line in a cult and I know that cult members suffer too from constant fear and despair. Only the true narcissisists are free from any feelings like that. Being under the control of a narcissist, part of the cult so to speak, is fraught with IED’s created by the supreme leader. Deprogramming is painful as well, and most people can’t survive it or even think about it. I can tell you there is personal shame with it that you just have to learn to tolerate. Intellectually, I know I was just a kid and did what I had to to survive but in my heart, the abyss of worthlessness and hopelessness threatens to get a little larger all the time. I fight it, on good days. I tell my story to have regard for myself and hopefully someone else is helped by the telling of it, too.
The night alone and the day on fire 