The voice of a child who never spoke

Reads: 269  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
Raised by a narcissistic mother

Submitted: June 27, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 27, 2014

A A A

A A A


The voice of a child who never spoke
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
First of all I must state that I am the third generation of males on my father's side with an inferiority complex.
I have noticed that both my grandfather and father have both gotten married to women who help accentuate this personality complex, by finding women who yell, bicker and complain, and have absolutely no room to listen to the other side of the argument.
These women will always put you down, and find the negative in whatever it is you have to say. And to make it worse, they are unable to take a compliment when it is given, they will always turn it back on you stating that you are trying to manipulate them.
My grandfather dealt with it in silence, he would be attacked verbally without ever speaking a word back, but I was told by my father that he was a heavy drinker, I guess to numb out the noise.
My father took a different route with my mother, he decided that if she didn't have any patience to hear what he has to say, he would yell at her and sometimes even throw tantrums, by throwing stuff around the house.
I have not gotten married yet, but I have also noticed that every girl I have been with so far has been exactly like this, and currently I have not found a way out of this cycle that has been haunting my family for generations.
But I must add that my parents did get divorced, and my father seems to have found a way to overcome this destructive relationship with his current girlfriend, they have been together for many years and still are.
.
And on my mother's side, we have the Narcissistic Mother complex, which hopefully has ended with my mother, and my sisters god forbid did not get infected by it.
My mother is the second generation that I know of who has this complex. She was raised up by a narcissistic mother, who made her life a living hell, by making sure my mother had no room to develop her own personality, and instead was forced to behave exactly as her mother permitted. As a result, my mother who couldn't be a child as a child, was forced by the very nature of her own development, to experience her own childhood development when me and my sisters were trying to grow up.
.
What my mother experienced from my grandmother, I had experienced from her all those years, something which by the very nature of her own narcissism she is incapable of seeing.
I was brought up in a house where I was terrified of speaking my own mind, if I would speak too softly it would go unnoticed, and if I spoke any louder it would be met with terrifying yells and threats. All the while, I would always hear from her how lucky I am, and how horrible her childhood was, and to thank god that I have her as a mother and not my grandmother.
I would notice the way my father dealt with my mother's inability to make room for anyone but herself, by yelling back at her, louder and more aggressive than she would be yelling at him. I was six years old, when I saw this tactic, and for some strange reason I thought it might work for me as well, but the only thing I got was the belt.
Always afraid of being hit with the belt again, I always made sure that even when I really needed her attention, not to be so aggressive about it. So I would get loud, but to the point I felt it wouldn't have severe consequences. But this more subtle tactic was immediately squashed again, by sending me to my room for hours on end.
This happened many times over the years, where every time I would get a bit excited, I would be sent up to my room. There was no room for me in this house, for my ideas, for my emotions, and for my needs, I had no voice, I was not allowed to have a voice, and I was punished every time I dared to have one.
.
Just to make the situation more understandable, I will explain what it means to develop as a child. It is the time in a person's life, where they experience having and dealing with their own emotions, which can only be done by the extent their parents or guardians are able to also accept the child's emotions. If a child is in a hostile environment, one which reacts to that child's emotions in such a way that will make that child feel guilty or ashamed of having them, he or she will be too ashamed to feel these emotions, and thus too ashamed to reveal them, or to act on them.
Because of this hostile environment, I was not able to deal with basic emotions, like fear, anger, jealousy, happiness, grief…  at some point I did not even know they existed and was confused when anyone would mention them. Social dynamics is all based upon a person's ability to feel and express his or her feelings, and when forced to communicate without emotions, and in my case communicate solely on intellect, your mind and your words resemble more mathematical equations than they would an everyday sentence.
.
I decided one day that I just couldn't live like that anymore, and that I needed to leave the house. I think I was about 7 the first time I decided I needed to run away, I even tried to take my sister with me, she was close to 5 back then. We made it a block from the house when she started to cry, and she left me no choice but to take her back. But I couldn't stay there, I had to leave, so I left again. I was 7 years old, and I didn't know where to go, where would I sleep, and who would feed me. I was completely helpless at that moment, sitting on a curb on the side of the road, realizing that I was trapped, I couldn't leave the house even if I wanted to, I was practically a hostage.
I made a choice back then, and it was the hardest one I have ever made, and that was to give up my own voice, so that I can have a roof over my head, and food in my stomach.
This is a choice that I am not proud of, and wish I had a bit more courage back then, maybe I could of found a way to leave the house, even at the age of 7.
.
Life outside the house wasn't much easier as well.  I was born in the States, and was brought up in Staten Island. I was an Israeli-Jew in an almost all Italian-Catholic neighborhood, a fact that meant very little to me, but meant a great deal to my mother. She always reminded me, how our stay in America is only temporary and as soon as my father has enough money, we will leave. This of course created a dynamic, where I felt I was an outsider, even though I was born there, and spoke english like everybody else.
When you believe you are an outsider, and hear it enough times by those closest to you, people start treating you as such, it is almost as though the universe compels them to.
I used to have "friends" I would tag along with, I would almost never speak, only listen, there was this one friend, I would go to his house a lot, he would play Nintendo for hours, and I would sit next to him and watch. He asked me in the beginning if I wanted to play too, but I always refused, and eventually he stopped asking.
.
So how does a child who is terrified of taking any space at home, and convinced by his own mother that he did not even have space outside the house, find any room for himself in the world. The answer is, he doesn't.
But I did find that I could live inside of my own mind, I would day-dream and imagine while I was awake, and dream at night in bed. I felt really comfortable in my dreams, I didn't want to wake up. I remember many nights, I would have to get up and pee, and I would prefer just going in the bed so that I could continue dreaming. They have taken everything else from me, I wouldn't let my small bladder take away the only thing I had left.
Of course, if you ask my mother, she would say I am exaggerating, making this whole thing up, she couldn't possibly refute the facts, everything I said did happen, even she would agree to that, but even today she won't allow me to have a point of view. She has her side of the story, and being as she is, for her, it is the only side of the story there is.
And in her story she is being victimized by a 6 year old, who throws tantrums, pees in his bed and does not know how to abide by her rules, and no matter how hard she tries, he never seems to grow up, staying 6 for about 5 years in a row.
.
My father wasn't really a father at all back then, he would yell at my mother a lot when he felt something was important, but me and my sisters were never that important, and when it came to us, he would stay silent, and allow my mother to dictate what goes on with their children. I tried sometimes to get my father to help me with my mother, but he would always leave it up to me to deal with the situation by myself.
Most of the time he was at work until very late at night, so except on the weekends, he didn't really have a clue what was going on with us.
.
There are very few moments in my childhood that I remember as happy ones, and over the years I have convinced myself that happiness means something else completely, for me the meaning resembles better the meaning the majority has for the words peaceful and content.
.
I haven't found a place amongst people even until today, I am 32 years of age, and have no idea how to have a normal conversation, I do not know how to have friends, nor do I know how to be in a romantic relationship, because I do not know how to speak my mind.  I have had years to find the words to tell this story, but when it comes to revealing who I am on the spot, I just can't. Everyone seems to be years ahead of me in everything which involves social dynamics, and they all prefer someone capable of expressing themselves back, then someone like me who takes his time doing so.
I think socially I am still as undeveloped as a teenager, but my mind has evolved so much more than people my own age, just for the simple fact that I have lived in it for 32 years.
.
Some might think I am telling this story to get your compassion or maybe to shock you.
Some might think I am just sharing my experience so that others might learn from my own experiences in life. Some might even think this is a form of entertainment. Be it as it may.
The truth is, I just want my voice back.
.
I am not sure if I have made this clear, so I would like to emphasize that I do not blame my parents for the way I felt back then I was treated. I do believe that they were completely unaware of how much pain I was in, and how much pain they caused me. I am sure they were also unaware of how important it is to respect their own child's reality. Overall I believe they acted at the time in the best of their ability. It would be unfair to judge them by their own imperfections, and for that reason I judge them as I do everyone else, by their intentions alone, and in that regard I cannot find a single fault.
I am grateful for the time they both took in trying to make sure I had all the qualities they thought necessary for a happy life, they both understood things as best they could.
.
I would also like to make another thing clear, I do not believe that God is anything but good, nor do I believe he makes mistakes, and thus everything in this world which has happened, which is happening, and which will happen for me and for everyone else is all for the greater good.
.
May all beings be happy :-)
 


© Copyright 2018 Tamir. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

More True Confessions Short Stories