Hello my loved ones. If you're following my blog in its current iteration, heartfelt thanks and gratitude. It's been a log road of ride lately. I'm excavating six decades of narcissistic parent abuse, neglect, endangerment, abandonment, exploitation, triangulation, scapegoating, invalidation, enmeshment, parentification, infantilization and gaslighting about it all, from four "parents." And the impact it's had on me. Today I'm looking at what might be the most insidious and shattering form of narcissistic abuse and that is a parent's weaponized threats of suicide. That one thing almost destroyed me. Thank God for God and his beloved Son and Spirit.
It is currently not the done thing to use the word "suicide." I hesitate even using it now because censors will flag and ban my blog. I get why, but try telling my dad not to use the word. He was threatening me with his self-harm since I was 5. I was probably the only kindergartener who knew what it meant. Where was anyone then, to worry about what impact this had on me? I just carried that shit in my broken little heart and told no one.
And what did it matter what term was used? As if not using a certain word will change what actually happens? I wish that just changing the jargon could stop its impact. But the intent was the same. All I knew was that my daddy intended to top himself at any given moment and there wasn't a bloody thing his little girl could do about it.
So as well-intentioned as this censorship might be, it's not helpful for those of us affected by it long before there was an internet. Or anyone to know or care how we worried ourselves sick. I need to talk about this or I will run mad. I need say the words that were said to me and which have been trapped in my child mind for 55 years. And anyone who has endured the death (or just threatened death) of a loved one from self-harm, needs to as well.
Because it isn't just the person doing it or talking about it who suffers. Not by a long chalk. Especially not when it is a narcissistic, histrionic parent. I'd say that I suffered more than him. For all his talk about it, my dad liked himself quite a lot. He fancied himself a minister (no training) and was quick to point out specks in others' eyes. Yet he never addressed the board in his, which were his continued threats of self-harm when he didn't get his way.
So you may say, oh poor guy, he was really in pain. But as I look back, I'm not so sure. He was pretty glib about it. And the way he forced me to listen to his plans. He seemed to enjoy the power he had to make me miserable. I know we're not supposed to say this, but I believe, from firsthand experience that threats of self-harm are sometimes bullying. They sure as hell are traumatizing, mind-messing and behavior altering.
So we censor the word because we want to prevent further incidents of self-harm. God yes. I can't begin to describe how his threats devastated me. And warped my brain and shattered my heart. No one should suffer like that. Because say what you will about the person taking their own life being a victim, those left behind are even more so. Whether they actually do it or just terrorize people into thinking they will, they kill large parts of those who love them. And they do it very casually, leaving us to bleed out. And do all the dirty work: the guilt, shame, fixing.
So on that note, I'm going to be the one to say what a lot of us victims feel, that suicide is incredibly selfish. And I say that completely empathizing with the massive emotional pain that drives them to it. I will give special dispensation to kids and teens. I don't think they have any idea of the hurt it will cause others. I'm not even sure if they understand that it is permanent. I think many believe that they will somehow be saved. Kids think they are invincible.
But my dad? He knew. He saw how much I cared and he didn't care. I know, you'll say "he was the one hurting." "He was sending out cries for help" and "you should take it seriously." I know all the received wisdom about how family is supposed to understand, not dismiss it, etc. And I did. Every. Single. Time. He would "cry for help" and I'd jump to help and fix and bend and twist to keep dad happy. And it was never enough. He just got better at the mind games. But I didn't know that's what they were. I gave up my life and self so he'd keep his.
And he never did do what he promised. So that's good right? Sure. That's what I thought. At least dad is safe. Well, maybe so, but one of us did lose her life, her identity, her self-worth. I felt constant shame and guilt. No matter how hard I tried, he held that sword of Damocles over my head. He said dance, and I said name the tune. It became a lifelong dance marathon and it never did me one fucking bit of good.
I have very few good memories of childhood. But I recall the first time he told me that he was going to end it all, as if it was happening now. He didn't even commit to anything, just said vaguely and calmly, as if he was contemplating buying a new car, that he'd probably at some point eradicate himself. I cried, said I loved him and would miss him. And wouldn't he miss me? Uhh, no, he pondered, he didn't think so. So there wasn't anything I could do about it except suffer with the knowledge, live in fear and bend over backwards to keep him happy. I died a bit that day. I don't remember laughing much after that.
I think now that he never intended to do anything. I think he just got narcissistic supply seeing me cry, beg and grovel. I think now that it was just a ploy to keep me dancing attendance on him, his new wife and their kids. You might say, oh you must never say that to a potential suicide. I didn't. I wish now that I'd have told him that if there was nothing I could do, then quit threatening me with it. But even thinking of doing that makes me feel guilty.
And why must I not say that? I have a right to life too. A right to peace of mind and satisfaction of doing a good job. Why was it necessary that my life be destroyed over it? So what if I had told him to quit bullying me and just do what he needed to do. Would it have been my fault if he had? My gaslit brain says yes but my common sense says no. I can't control his actions and enabling him to keep jerking me around this way doesn't help either one of us. Only I can end this Spandau Ballet he put me through.
And the ironic thing is that the one who actually followed through, was me. Or I would have if it wasn't for fear of what it would do to my beloved husband and kids. Where he didn't care how he hurt me, that was what stopped me. And I know, you may think, well if you knew how bad suicide was how could you contemplate it? That's the kicker. Being guilted by suicide threats made me suicidal with shame.
And further paradox. Would I have done it to end the pain? Nope. I figured I deserved all of it and more for failing my dad. I would have done it to spare my loved ones having to suffer with such a piece of shit person as me. Which of course made me feel even more guilty. It's a cruel, vicious, self-perpetuating cycle. And trust me, you could never blame me as much as I blame myself.
But what I've learned is that self-blame is a thing we use to try to make sense of it. If it's our fault, we can do something about it. We can prevent it. Like I did all those years placating my dad. But God doesn't see it that way. You know how He says that the sins of the fathers are passed to their kids? It doesn't mean we're destined to repeat our fathers' sins. We're not automatons. The last thing I wanted was to put my kids through what I'd lived with.
The scripture means that their poison splashes onto us. We feel the repercussions more than they do. I got caught in the crosshairs of his selfishness. I got the fallout. Now I have to convince myself that I didn't fail him. He failed me. And that's going to be a tough job because the gaslighting is powerful and the voices are real. And I got a slow start. So I might not make it to the mountain. But I want to help you get there.
I want to let you know, what I didn't know because I was too young. It is not your fault. It's not your job to fix. No one has the right to terrorize you with their problems. Even your kids. It hurts like hell to know that they are suffering. I'm not saying be callous, God no. But you can't take their suffering on yourself. There's one and only one that did. Our Lord Jesus. I'm of the belief that it wasn't so much our sins but our pain that he took to the cross. You can give all you have, and it may help them. Or it may not. But it doesn't mean that you didn't give good. You are good. And it is enough. You deserve joy.
Love, mar
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