Our partner

Sad story waiting for happy ending.
This was originally a thread post before I learned that there is such a thing as a blog on this forum. Sorry for the long post originally, I had no idea I could just write in here in fact this is my first time in a "forum" so pardon my manners if I have not followed the etiquette very well. :-S

This is an excerpt from a recent affidavit I had to write about my parents.. In brackets are lines I have inserted to give a little more history on our situation. Emotional incest? HPD? I just have no idea.

Meet my mother. If there is any way for progress to be made it's important to be realistic and truthful so here's me doing just that.

4. My first early childhood recollection of my mother’s disturbing behavior is as follows: At a very young age, my mother "S" began an obsessive relationship with Mike D (Mike #1) whom was a married man with a family. While married to my father, "S" would talk to me about Mike D on a regular basis, as though I was a girlfriend her age. I was approximately 6 yrs old at the time. When the love affair with my mother and Mike D went sour, my mother began following him with me in the car. She would pick me up from school, and immediately drive from my elementary school, to the parking lot of the West V Inn located on ---------. The hotel was owned by Mike and his brother E. We would sit in the car while she talked about how "she loved Mike, but he hurt her, and now she wants to see what he's doing, because she knew that he was spreading lies about her to the hotel staff". I recall watching Mike’s red 80's model Cadillac, wondering why my obvious boredom and requests for dinner time were being ignored.

5. Occasionally, my mother would actually go into the hotel with me in tow, to ask the staff where Mike was. I could tell that the hotel staff were uncomfortable with my mother being there. In addition to watching Mike’s car, my mother would tell me in detail that she would go at night to "drive by" Mike's house, for which I was also present for on a few occasions. One of the stories she was particularly proud of included the time when she decided to open a garbage bag from the dumpster at his home, and spread it across his driveway. Her stalking lasted a few years as I can recall, and eventually Mike and his brother E came to our house to confront my mother about her obsessive behavior. With my father and I, Mike, E, and my mother present, an argument ensued and ended with E kicking our pet dog. After this confrontation, my mother continued her obsession but her tone had changed as she began trying to become Mike's savior from his alcohol addiction. She relentlessly sent him information about addiction, and many letters outlining to him that he was going to die. She even began reading the obituaries, and seemed completely consumed (obsessed) with getting a job at the morgue so that she could be the first to know if he died. Shortly after, Mike D died in his sleep from a heart attack and his wife and family demanded my mother stay away from them. This pattern of her trying to “save” people would become increasingly common.

6. After the original Mike D, came her next extra marital lover Mike M. My father also had lovers, but with the exception of one woman named G, whom I met on one occasion, my father did not rub his extra-marital lovers in our face the way my mother would (or even talk about them when we were children), by inviting them to Christmas dinner and by having them interact with us on a daily basis. I remember my brother and I being upset with my parents’ “swinger” lifestyle at a very young age. There was a constant deep sadness felt by my brother and I because my mother and father were yelling and screaming at each other every few days, with bouts of normality in between, when my mother was preoccupied with grooming me for a professional career in music. (At age 16 my mother took me to a restaurant and told me every gory sexual detail about my father's suggestion of joining a swingers club, my mother's disgust, and then my mothers reasoning for her own lovers that followed right until this very day. My mother now shares a residence with Mike M and my father (who is still married to my mom).

7. At a young age, my mother put me into music lessons followed by studio recording sessions, in what would eventually become a (serious) full time hobby for both of us. Like everything else in her life, S became obsessed, this time with securing herself a songwriting career by launching me into the lifestyle of a full time (pop singer) musician. Though I enjoyed this at times, there were many occasions where I felt my mother would go too far and it made me uncomfortable. The older and more independent I became, the more it threatened my and my mother's music relationship which for me was starting to feel unhealthy. Though I loved making music, there was no price for the freedom to follow my other goals and my own dreams in life (seen as a NP trait by my mother). At age 21 and no longer living at home, I had a serious talk with my mother to let her know that our “too close for comfort” working partnership would have to change if I was to remain happy writing music with her. The talk turned into an argument (and though I can not deny that the argument was a heated one, I now hear my mother quoting things that have been twisted into her own interpretation always ending in some mental health evaluation by her). Consequently, from that point on to this very day, my mother has completely abandoned me and has not said a kind word to me since. I am now a 34 year old woman and the argument ensued when I was 21.
(My 20's resulted in a dark and very sad time, my heart still hurting for what should have been an exciting and productive time filled with family support for the dreams I was trying to make a reality for myself. I am still continuously reminded that trying to figure out what career path I was to take in life in my 20's was a self serving and narcissistic disorder because I didn't have my mother's needs in mind.)

8. Though I attempted on numerous occasions to rectify the situation by seeing my mother's many recommended psychologists (8 in total), and by attempting to visit my parents on happy terms by keeping things light and as positive as I could, I have been met with emotional cruelty and unjustified hatred from her. The psychological abuse and her obsession with me became so extreme and frightening that I would regularly change my phone number and address so that my mother and father could not find me. (If I didn't change my phone # I would receive countless text messages at all hours of the night, and if she knew where I lived she would use my mailbox as an outlet for her rage. In the times that she did find me I was harassed with strange packages in and thousands of emails about treatments for a slew of ailments that the 8 psychologists we jointly visited concluded that I did not suffer from. At one point I had received emails stating that because of me, she was going to find a tree to hang herself. (I was completely devastated by this, at first feeling sadness and panic but I also felt very angry that a parent would knowingly inflict this kind of terror on their own child. (Regardless of my mother's behavior I loved her but had no way of communicating without feeling completely violated as each and every therapist was deemed incompetent by my mother shortly after the sessions began). There were times where we would go to therapy on a weekly basis, and after several week we would find conclusions for arguments and even make apologies, amends, celebrating afterwards with a toast of wine or a dinner together somewhere. It never lasted long as my mother would change her mind out of nowhere and start the diagnosing process all over again.

9. I also received graphic packages with oddities in them such as a Barbie doll with a sash on it that read "V(my name) Princess Barbie". That same package came with a binder with a picture of my face plastered on the cover and a "Princess Barbie manual" manifesto written inside, complete with a cartoon drawing done by my mother depicting a bloody crime scene on a desert island with us and people we knew as the characters of her bloody illustrated story. (Herself lying in a bloody pool as the victim and a cartoon drawing of me holding the knife) Among countless packages just like the Barbie one, there have also been recent packages left at the business I now own, left for my employees who were instructed to be given to me while I was away from my office. The package she left for depicted me as the plant from the musical "Little Shop of Horrors", and my mother now calls me by the name of "Audrey" instead of V, with Audrey being the carnivorous plant from the movie..

10. Among the thousands of strange and unsolicited emails I received from S, a few stood out as especially disturbing. I received a few emails from my mother graphically describing my father’s alleged “sex addiction”, which has not been diagnosed by a doctor or proven by any qualified therapist. In the emails, my father was having an online romantic relationship with another woman. The exchange between my father and the other woman consisted of regular everyday chit chat, romantic sentiments, and it was soaked in loneliness and a longing for affection from another human being. Considering the state of my mother and father's marriage I found this to be completely understandable. My mother included photos of my father’s penis for me to see, completely violating my father's privacy by sharing photos that I know my father would not have wanted me to see. I felt it was a disgusting violation of both my father and my boundaries, but I believe my father has a problem waking away from her even if it's to protect his very own sanity.
(More on the emotional incest angle: My mother's intimate details of her affairs when I was a youngster, as well as some of the traits that the other readers have described. IE) Barging into my room against my wishes when I was changing in my teens, making comments about my breasts and growing body, telling me that "sex sells" when I was a very young performing artist (age 13), sewing sexually exploitive clothing for me and taking photos of me when I was 13 and even younger (a very sexy green polkadot tasseled bikini for a child in grade 4) and allowing me to wear makeup to school as early as grade 2 and 3 then defending me when teachers felt it was inappropriate. I always felt exploited by her and though I went along with it (what little girl wouldn't want to wear makeup to school?) I look back now and see how unhealthy it all was. She should have been helping me with homework which is something that never happened though she did like to remind me that I had better do well in music because I was "handicapped" in all scholastic areas. My mother encouraged teachers to help me in school but I do not ever remember her helping me with homework and because the situation at home (and after school) was so inconsistent it was very hard to concentrate. I recall being very aware that my parent's behavior was toxic even at a very young age. Later on I also felt violated by her attempts in my early 20's to marry me off to some religious fanatic she had met (while I had a steady boyfriend). Though I have always made healthy choices in the men I dated before I met my husband, she would try anything to drive them away and didn't even like the polite med student who was my first boyfriend, calling him gay. Every man I dated was labeled with the possibility of being "a #######1" or "#######1" as my mother would put it, or was degraded as a weirdo etc. Continuing with boundary violation, she ended up contacting boyfriends by email to warn them about me. She sent one email to a previous boyfriend telling him that I had someone else on my mind, and that he wasn't going to last long because I belonged with the previous fellow. It was a mess. Every man I had a relationship with in my 20's has moved on, some with families and not even one was on the fence with their sexuality. I remain friends with people from my past and thankfully everyone had a mind of their own and saw right through my mother's attempts at sabatage.

11. Even after all of her abuse, like any child who loves their parent, I tried to make amends by pretending things were "normal" showing up once in a while at their hotel and residence. The resulting visits oscillated between hopeful, ok, and a complete disaster, and I found my mother’s emotions so unpredictable that I was either a villain or an angel in her eyes, depending on the day.

12. During my last (and final) trip to to visit my parents, I brought along my Fiancé "D" for the first time to meet them. Though there were definitely uncomfortable moments, for the most part the trip was passable with everyone getting along relatively okay. I managed to put aside the loud comment made by my mother (at the moment my mother greeted us at the door and before she had been introduced to my fiancé for the first time) about how small my breasts were looking in the coat I was wearing.
A short while after D and I returned home, we received an alarmed phone call from D's parents who live in a different country, a 4 hours drive from my parents. We were informed that my mother and father had showed up unannounced at their home, introducing themselves for the first time. Apparently they had looked up D's parents last name on Google Maps, and had decided to show up at their acreage in the evening unannounced, to warn them of the many psychological disorders that my mother had diagnosed me with. As confirmed with D’s parents, after 3 hours of being talked at, my mother and father in law had to ask them to leave. My mother asked them for their email address and D’s parents declined. Once we were told about the very tasteless visit, I called my mom and dad to simply ask them "why". I was met with yelling, preaching, and belittling on the phone, with a refusal to apologize for frightening D’s parents. After begging my parents on the phone "please do not contact D's parents again", my mother put together one of her famous creepy mail packages and contacted D’s parents once again, via post mail. I am not sure what was sent as D’s parents are now protecting me from having to read or deal with any more abuse and boundary violation from my mother S. Subsequently I was forced to plan my wedding without my parents attending as everyone felt violated.

13. In summary, I believe that both my brother and I have suffered lasting emotional damage from the erratic behavior of our parents. By now we deserve some peace and quiet and some stability that we have found in friends, extended family, and loved ones.

14. There is not a day that goes by that I am not longing for love from my parents. It was not an easy decision to cut off communication with them, but it is a necessity. I would love to have a healthy relationship with them, but I feel that after too many failed attempts, there needs to be closure, unless my mother is able to get an assessment and proper treatment.
Longtimecoming
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Found. My enabling fathers thoughts on a forum.
   Thu Dec 06, 2012 10:19 am

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Found. My enabling fathers thoughts on a forum.

Permanent Linkby Longtimecoming on Thu Dec 06, 2012 10:19 am

I am feeling raw today after writing on my father's internet group for parents of estranged children. I was/am very angry with what I read there and the total lack of understanding. He talks a lot about getting me to understand his pain, but aside from vague "sorry you feel that ways" he can not grasp how loosing my family over my mother's misguided intentions on making me her business would make me feel less regarded than a piece of poo they scraped off of their shoe. My mother wrote me this letter today, likely after hearing that I made my presence known there.

"I’ve made a few allegations.
I allege that you are a “drug addicted” Narcissist who doesn’t give a $#%^ about anyone but you, and your drug: attention, adulation and praise.
I allege that you’re a cold blooded predator.
Go ahead, prove me wrong. Show me you have a heart, show me that you give a $#%^.

You’ve had since 1998 to approach me with humble apology for having harmed me.
You’ve had since 1998 to feel bad and recant all the horrible things that you said to me.
You’ve had since 1998 to offer restitution: repayment of the business loan you stuck us with when you took off with all the assets.
You’ve had since 1998 to make an effort to communicate with me, face to face, heart to heart.
You’ve had since 1998 to offer to pay for counselling and invite me to partake.

Since 1998, you’ve done nothing but criticize me and make every attempt to silence me.

You chase me and make the effort to make good your apology.
You chase me in making attempts to communicate.
You chase me with your offer.
I’m waiting. I’m here.

Go!!!

There’s only one thing that will cause me to risk a relationship with you and that’s YOU telling me,
“Mama, I’m sick of this, I’m ready to do whatever it takes to get back to being that loving, caring and connected human being I used to be”.
I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I’m willing to work with you toward healing."


This "loan" that she speaks of was never discussed with me when I was a child attending voice lessons, nor was it discussed when I was older that I would have to refund these so called "gifts" in the future. The ONLY discussion we had of any nature was with a lawyer present (which can be verified by a 3rd party) that IF I was to make a career out of music, ONLY when I made money from this would I be responsible to pay her a percentage. To clarify, I did not make any money and only did it for the enjoyment of music it self. At the time, I was 18 and the lawyer (a family friend) advised me strongly (in privacy) not to sign the agreement my mother had written up because I didn't know what I was getting myself in to and he didn't trust my mothers intentions. With all of this, how is it still so hard for my father to understand that supporting my mother in reminding me of this injustice would not be most mindbending-ly unhealthy thing for a child to hear AT ANY AGE, let alone when I was a bratty 18 yr old trying to find my way in the world. Honestly, the hardest thing for me to read on that entire forum of my fathers, was my his story about how he noticed the most spectacular mushrooms growing in the BC forrest and went on to describe them. Just last week, I posted a photo on my FB account of the most beautiful mushroom I found and spent the evening enjoying looking for it's scientific name on the internet. I wished I could be there, sharing the many things we have in common, but instead I am reminded countlessly about how much my career choices have ruined my mothers hopes for being a songwriter. I know that the mushroom picking with my father will never happen, and how sick is it that this is all I want from a parent when my mother does is sits and stews about imaginary money I soposedly owe her? I know as solidly as granite that I will never go mushroom picking with my dad, because as long as they are rubbing my nose in those perceived wrong doings, I will not be participating in AN...

[ Continued ]

1 Comment Viewed 4178 times

NPDs and special occasions

Permanent Linkby Longtimecoming on Thu Aug 16, 2012 5:13 am

Well here we are. A few days to my wedding date and good old mom is going crazy, trying as hard as she can to make my wedding miserable with the small amount of contact she is able to make with me. An old email address I keep open is her last link to me. Though I keep hoping she will use it to say something loving, it never turns out that way. I don't respond back, but I keep the line open for 2 reasons. 1. In hopes that she will somehow have a breakthrough with a therapist or a sudden complete change of personality (wishful thinking), or 2. Just in case she decides to do something extra crazy so that I know about it and can get her some help. She likes to tread on the borderline of schizophrenic, chanting about god and her pure intentions while she abuses me, and also about various figures in history that she feels support her cause (Hitler, Lucifer). She also occasionally likes to tell me how she believes in aliens and her psychic powers. Barf.

I had kept my wedding date a secret after she had ambushed my mother and father and law last year (see original post) and tried not to publish the wedding date etc online, but somehow in signing up for gift registries, Sur La Table decided to advertise my wedding online without my consent or knowledge. Lovely. None the less, it was she who decided to boycott my wedding in the first place so I find it interesting now that she blames me for not inviting her. This is typical behavior for her. Eventually I did un-invite her for good reason. She made herself look like a crazy person in front of my new family and became too difficult and painful to handle. In the end, it was't worth the heartache for us to have her attend. At least the location is completely off the map, unless the sheep and the goats have internet access.

So as my future husband and I prepare for a celebration of love and union, I thought I would share the ugly reality of special events for children of NPD mothers and parents so that the people who suffer right along with me have something to relate to, behaviors they recognize, and hopefully a point of reference in case there are still those of you who wonder "was it something I did to deserve this"? No, it wasn't, and if your parent sends you bull**** like this you are perfectly justified in not allowing them around the people you love. Below are emails from my mother after she had decided to high tail it out of this forum after not liking what the general public had to say about her madness. Hope you like youtube as much as I do (insert eye roll). Keep in mind that she is writing to me, a 34 yr old woman knowing full well that I do not follow her idea of god..


From: <s@shaw.ca>
Subject: (No Subject)
Date: June 19, 2012 11:36:50 PM PDT
To: v@hotmail.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pl5uFvoYy8c

Someone who has little or no empathy, will find it hard to relate to the message in this video.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: <s@shaw.ca>
Subject: (No Subject)
Date: June 20, 2012 2:51:50 AM PDT
To: v@hotmail.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttDe29nBuzA&feature=endscreen&NR=1

I pray you'll be our eyes
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know

Let this be our prayer
When we lose our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
To a place where we'll be safe

I pray we'll find your light
And holds it in our hearts
When stars go out each night
Remind us where you are

Let this be our prayer
When shadows fill our day
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe

A world where pain and sorrow will be ended
And every heart that's broken will be mended
And we'll remember we are all gods children
Reaching out to touch you
Reaching to the stars

We ask that life be Kind
And watch us from above
We hope each soul will find
Another soul to love

Let this be your prayer
Just like every...

[ Continued ]

0 Comments Viewed 2380 times

Her imaginary supporters

Permanent Linkby Longtimecoming on Thu May 17, 2012 2:06 am

It's helpful for me to be here somehow.. I don't know why, but even reading and solidifying that my mom has mental and emotional illness helps me heal in some way. I don't feel sorry for her in the way that she wants me to, but I do feel sorry for her inability to be happy and I'm sad that she has no way of changing this for herself. I have a wonderful life these days, with so much support around and nothing but good memories to make. I don't ever remember feeling envious of her now, or at any point in my adolescent life. I was welcome and open to working with my mother on a music career until I had a look around me to see what was happening. So how was it that she made me feel uneasy?

I remember feeling embarrassed and worried about what would come out of my mother's mouth when we were around people and that included music executives she herself worked so hard to establish relationships with. She would do all of this tireless work networking, arranging, planning, only to turn people off, and then banish me from working with people she perceived as a threat, even if it was originally her own good idea. I saw quickly that this career she was pushing me toward was never going to have a chance if she was the person doing the talking. When I was 18 and still living at home, we spent months getting excited about working with a music production couple responsible for discovering one of America's top female pop artists of the last decade, with credits that included production for the now deceased Michael Jackson. My mother was a phenomenal networker and with the demos we wrote together as well as my singing ability, she convinced them to come to Edmonton to work at writing some songs together in a local studio. They agreed and funded a trip on their own dime form LA, and when they arrived in the middle of our Canadian winter we were delighted to see that they were as genuine and sincere as had come across in on the phone. We got along marvelously for the first 3 days they visited, working together to write and record, but on the fourth day... my mother decided that she didn't want to share song credits equally with these two experienced song writers because they had rearranged my mother's poem into a format we could successfully use to make a song. When we got together in the morning at their hotel after a night of reworking, my mother was horrified that one half of the songwriting team had moved around her original song lyrics. My mother stood there in front of me, confronting and accusing these kind strangers of wanting all the credits to themselves when they only wanted what we had agreed to do in the first place, co-write. Who were we to tell these people who had come all the way to Canada to work with us that we were to retain 100% song credits for songs that were masterfully reworked by these professionals. The way my mother reacted was completely embarrassing to me but I was only 18, unable to protest about the way my mother was speaking at them in such a confrontational tone. I remember standing beside my mother, tightly squeezing her hand as if my secret jolt would soften her speaking tone or make her less offensive. It was a tense moment and after that embarrassing uncomfortable confrontation, the couple who came to visit politely declined future involvement. After they left, I called them secretly to let them know that I was so happy to have had the opportunity to work them, and that I very much appreciated their time for visiting. They gingerly let me know that my mother's reaction to co-writing songs was confusing considering this was the reason they had come to work with us in the first place. They were hoping that one day I would consider working with them on my own but that the option to work with my mother was something they were no longer interested in. Completely disappointed, a few days after the production team had left and things settled, I talked with my mother about my desire to continue working with these people....

[ Continued ]
Last edited by Longtimecoming on Thu May 17, 2012 2:40 am, edited 1 time in total.

0 Comments Viewed 2920 times

Speak up and be punished (triggers, reader beware)

Permanent Linkby Longtimecoming on Sat Apr 14, 2012 6:02 am

A common phenomenon with my mother.

I have long bouts of silence where I do not contact my mother at all, and those bouts usually last from one to 3 years after feeling exhausted by not getting anywhere but hurt and dragged around to the next mental health professional who again tells me that the problem lies with my mother's unhealthy expectations from me. I ignore her crazy emails, block contact, change my #, etc so that I can live in peace without having to repeat my self, and our story to the next mental health professional. All of the communication that we have done with any mental health professional thus far has been verbal so I guess this is the first time I am writhing down my plight here as I prepare for my final "reference this blog" response to any of my mother's sick emails and mail packages to me. It has been strangely therapeutic because now I know that she has a reference point she can read until A) Something clicks, she connects with something someone writes and realizes that she has to do some self healing for some of the behaviors I have described, before she can have successful relationships with family, or, B) She keeps repeating herself like a broken record, speaking for me, over me, and continues to fail to realize that there is another human being on the other line who is not going to ever understand why she did what what she did unless it's in the form of "I'm sorry that happened and I will stop this because there is an obvious problem happening here with me".

The pattern I have had in the past is this. The more I agree to speak, the more I get the stalker version of my mother coming at me with emails and weird packages with barbie dolls, religious scriptures, and the like. The more I try to be truthful, open and straight forward with her, the more abstract and manipulative her messages to me become. After she is finished with compounding the fact that I was only worth $40,000 to her, I get bombarded with youtube videos and poetry insinuating that she is such a savior, a martyr, a helpless mother who just wants the best for her children. Then the cute youtube videos come. Heartfelt stories of mothers saving their babies from disfiguring physical illnesses, puppies and kittens playing with each other, and then bam, a seething email thrown in for good measure and a disturbing youtube video of a dog standing over his owner after he died. It's enough to give me nightmares and believe me it has in the past. Mom-mares happen at least once a month.

On my 24th birthday during a time that I had no contact with my mother for several years, aside from sporadic, joint, and weekly 1 to 7.5 hour sessions at a psychologist's office together, I received a birthday gift wrapped and delivered by my visibly concerned brother. A gift he thought, couldn't be a bad thing right? In front of the 15 or so people who had come over for dinner that evening, I opened her gift to find a frightening mix of goods inside of a lovingly wrapped package. There were 2 cards. The first card was a funeral card with a grey silk rose attached, and inside the card she attacked me about the $40,000 I owed her while hallmark "apologized for my loss". The second card was from our family poodle terrier cross Sniffy... Sniffy on the cover of the card, wished me a happy birthday. The actual gift in the wrapping was a self help book about betrayal. The cover of the book was a frightening photo of a rabid dog jumping jaws open, at a toddler through a window. I broke in to tears.

Now, after all of these posts here on this forum that my mother has been reading, I have started to receive her emails again. It sure pays to speak up with all of the valuable youtube videos I receive in response to my honest confession. How heartwarming. I can't wait to join her for therapist #9. This will never happen.

From: Name <@shaw.ca>
Subject: Mothers are all the same.
Date: April 13, 2012 10:18:13 PM MDT
To: name@hotmail.com...

[ Continued ]

0 Comments Viewed 3605 times

NPD's and gifts

Permanent Linkby Longtimecoming on Fri Apr 13, 2012 10:45 pm

I don't claim that my mother suffers from NPD as I am not a qualified professional, but many of the traits I have been reading about on this forum have resembled our situation very closely. As I see it from my mother's point of view, her problems with me revolve around my ungratefulness towards her "gifts".
The main cause of our argument 13 years ago is detailed above and doesn't exactly involve a gift per say (more of a business), but it does involve something that was given to me (without me being made aware of the fine print) and then expected to be returned before I was allowed to have a relationship with my mother again. The terms of the gift left my family devastated and most members are now alienated from my mother and father who are not interested in seeing the perspective from the other side of the coin. My mother wants me to apologize for my selfishness, come to her door bowing my head, and agree to various assessments and treatments for ailments which my mother has studied at great length.

As described in my original blog post, as a child I happily went along to singing lessons, music recording trips, etc. As a young adult I started to feel uncomfortable with some of the behaviors my mother was displaying around me, and around other people we were working with. I wanted freedom, I wanted out, and my mother wanted $40,000. The only agreement I remember making with her was when I was 18. We agreed verbally (and almost on paper with a lawyer) that mom's investment would have to be returned if we ever made any money from the music we had made together (think the Judds here). We never did make any money, yet I was made to feel that I now owed my mother this money.

After the sheer trauma of loosing my family to this $40,000, I had a very hard time accepting true gifts from people or even good will or a helping hand when I needed it. It took a long time for me to feel comfortable accepting gifts or generosity from anyone. At one point in my 20's in between a jobs, I would rather have starved than have to ask someone for a sandwich, and I did. Luckily that time didn't last too long and because I was so determined not to have to ask. I worked like a crazy person to make sure I never had to repeat that IOU feeling again.

Aside from the obvious pseudo gift I have focused on in this blog, when I think back there were other "gifts" relating to my mother that had equally uncomfortable terms. Take my 18th birthday for example.
For weeks prior to my birthday I had some knowledge that something awesome was coming together thanks to my brother who wouldn't tell me exactly what was going on, but happily hinted watching me squirm with excitement. When the day actually arrived, we had reserved a table at Boston Pizza where my mother, (can't recall if my father was there), brother, a female friend, and a music producer/friend of my mother and I were in attendance. All of us had a really great time together that evening eating pizza and happily chatting the night away. When it came to the "gift" portion of the birthday evening, my brother had put together a scavenger hunt, hiding little notes and clues behind plants in the restaurant that eventually led me upstairs to the lounge where a brand new $800 condenser microphone was waiting with the bartender. I was beyond thrilled and my mind raced with the possibilities of a whole new way of recording songs. I was completely blown away. After the tears and gratitude I was made aware that our producer friend contributed $200 towards the microphone, and my mother contributed the rest of the $500 for the purchase. I was beyond grateful to both of them and carried the mic case around like a baby. Shortly after receiving the gift I started working with a few musicians on my own time. We paid for a few recording sessions and I was excited to use the my new vocal instrument! When I went to take it with me to a recording session my mother stopped me as I was leaving and...

[ Continued ]
Last edited by Longtimecoming on Sat Apr 14, 2012 2:20 am, edited 4 times in total.

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