The Mother who Deleted Her Daughter’s Father Forever…

The Power of a Malignant Narcissistic Parent

I really didn’t know what I was going to write today, but I needed to write something. And as I keep thinking and grieving over the daddy-daughter relationship I never was given or permitted- nor did my father–Now, it’s story time. So gather up your favorite beverage and snack because there’s a ton to unpack here.

Starting off my earliest memories happened to be around the time that my parents divorced, (so I was around 5 or 6) I remember a lot of going with my mom to meet these strange women and all the stories she’d told them. For instance, she had a “friend” we’ll call her Sharon for purposes relating anonymity and so forth. This friend was a elementary school resource officer, yet still a police officer none the less. I was neither fond of this new “friend” of my mom’s, nor did I want her to dislike me though. However, Sharon would hear about some pretty hellacious abuse (that I never saw happen) that mom claimed to suffer at the hands of my father. She (Sharon) would try to parent me and my siblings (going so far as to spank me for touching her glass coffee table), and taking us to feed the ducks stale bread at a retention pond near her house. They were dating as I later realized when a huge uprising between Sharon and her roommate suddenly occurred over my mother’s attention and affection. Apparently, the roommate, Tristan we’ll call her, was having an affair with my mother behind Sharon’s and my daddy’s backs! In fact, I remember the confrontation between my dad, my mom, and Tristan in the front yard of our childhood home well enough to know that my mom and Tristan were set to ambush my father as he was getting settled in after a long day’s work. They left the four confused children in the station wagon at first, but then my mother berated, and humiliated my dad with all kinds of accusations of sexual misconduct with us and herself, plus physical abuse, and other gruesome acts. Then, my dearest mother declared she wanted a divorce and was kicking him out so she and Tristan could ultimately enter into a public relationship and that she’s “keeping the kids”.

This also became a war zone as my mother exclaimed that my dad will never see us again, and she’ll destroy his reputation if he challenged her at all. I’m thinking now, that if this were true about my dad that he was a woman beater, he’d have beat both of these women to pulp by the time my mother was finished spewing malicious lies out in the front yard. But he didn’t.

My father was far from happy anyways. However, all he knew was that he provided the earth and the moon for his soon-to-be ex-wife and us kids for the past 11 years, and endured the constant gaslighting, manipulation, and pure confusion she constantly created. Next thing he knew, these lies he’s just had heard spewed forth from the mouth of the woman he loved- it was enough to send anyone spiraling!
So, my dad went silently at first into the house then he reappeared with an arm full of her shoes and clothes and said things I don’t remember much of. But I do recollect him moving quickly to rid the house of her and our belongings saying, “if you want to leave me for this wannabe man then you can find another place to live,” among other things that hurt people say because they’ve been rocked to the core.

An experience that later occurred though at my aunt’s house in the driveway, my dad did lose it and slapped Tristen. He was being cornered and was only there because my mother called him and invited him for some reason or another. It was a complete ambush, that my mother would later change the story to make herself look like a victim and dismissing the fact that if anyone of these women were victims, Tristen would’ve been the “victim”. The fact that the police officer who responded to the call found zero cause for an arrest, and told my mother and her girlfriend that they can’t create conflict where there’s already high-running emotions involved. As the new person in the mix, Tristen was warned not to believe everything she hears about someone when there’s a bitter divorce on the books. The police let my dad go before he did.

My father was far from perfect for my mom. But to us he was everything! He’d let us watch the Simpsons for as long as my mother took to figure out what we were watching. Then the television would be turned to AFV or something equally silly. He did drink too many beers (but in his defense, he was married to his high school sweetheart which turned out to be anything BUT!) She used him all up, ate hims bones and spit them out to say the least. My father was unfaithful to her and their relationship was toxic for sure.

However, my mother was facilitating affairs with his old high school buddies, her old high school buddies, as well as women she’d meet and use as she could just to discard them cruelly. She also did all of this in the company of her young children and used her children to not only serve as pawns in her twisted mind games but to also provide her with free therapy. She’d freely share all the details of her misery, or her perceived profound sadness and victimization with us without a care in the world the damage she’s causing to our little brains. (We were 6, 7, 9, and 11 years old.)

So you can think what you want, but she was far from a victim of anything. As for my father, though, I remember him as the coolest(I mean cool as a fan), most loving, understanding, and most handsome man with an unconquerable, almost immortal presence unlike anyone else on the planet! But, I was 6, and I felt like he understood me when no one else had the time of day to offer me. Even if we wanted him to let us style his hair and beard with bows he’d oblige: He was the best dad and tried so hard to make us feel loved and ensured that we felt a sense of belonging.

Until my mother broke him- financially, emotionally, and mentally. For years my dad was never truly the same as he was before. He became homophobic, depressed but he fought to keep us his priority in his life, and I was his little love bug, his baby girl. I was the youngest of 4 girls and he adored each one of us and doted on us frequently, and introduced us to his friends, girl and guy friends as he saw appropriate.

Once my dad acquired a filthy and rinky-dink apartment after my mom took him for all he ever had, we’d spend every other weekend there with him. We would eat toast and drink Kool-Aid and he’d try to accommodate us the best that he knew how. We’ve awoken to big palmettos crawling my sister’s face, we’ve played on his waterbed, and we’d unwittingly report back to my mom all the details of the visit so she could dice and splice the most minute things to find fault in my dad. This was so she could take us away from him indefinitely because she feared he was a threat to her. And he could’ve been if he wanted to ruin her surely, but he wasn’t built that way.

Therefore, this is when the brainwashing took to full throttle. Anytime he couldn’t make it or be on time to come pick us up, she would deny the whole visit and then tell us “he doesn’t love us”, and “he’s got better things to do- or better yet, women to do.” she’d follow it up with an assurance of her love before she’d start severely emotionally and occasionally physically abusing us for not exceeding her impossible-to-meet standards. We would start to act out at my dad’s house . For instance, we’d start playing a slip-and-slide game in his bathroom with his V05 shampoo and conditioner, throw fits at the drop offs for my mother’s satisfaction, and be stand-offish and cruel to our dad. Except, I couldn’t mask the way my siblings could, I wasn’t convinced of his crimes and I loved him still, despite my mother’s ravings and rants. I was easily not my mother’s favorite child then, or ever, and my highly sensitive and deeply empathetic nature despised her every attempt to shame me into playing her games. But the shame was too much to take as the sensitive child that I was, and the need for her love would eventually overtake me and I’d end up losing in the end- with no love gained.

What I remember from the ages of 6-8 of mine and my dad’s relationship was the fondest memories a little girl could want to have. My dad was a free spirit and loving to his core. He would let me help steer his Pontiac Firebird as we drove any and every where. He was so gentle almost as if he had a real fear of losing us and he wanted us to always know of his love for us. He would blast Green Jelly’s 3 Little Pigs and we’d dance and and laugh to the absurdity of the song.

Not long after my parents’ separation, he started to go to church. So he’d bring us on Sundays initially, but fought in mediation with our mom for more visitations to allow us to accompany him on Wednesday evenings to church and spend every weekend together. He tried to not show emotion in front of us girls, or bad mouth our mother, but he was clearly devastated and was no match for the wicked witch of the west. He never let up, or gave up in his faith in God, the court system, and in love. In fact, he started to blast DC Talk, Newsboys, and Jars of Clay in the apartment in lieu of Green Jelly soon after he was saved and baptized in the name of the Holy Trinity.

But meanwhile, the weekdays were getting unbearable for the little 7 year old me and my mother felt most threatened by unfiltered honesty and my questions. I loved my father immensely and was a certified daddy’s girl. Now, this is where my mother saw that she had to break me and rebuild me to fit her needs. It may have been a jealousy issue because there was a lot of that, but more so had to make sure I wouldn’t let out any damning secrets of her lifestyle. Secrets like where the child support actually went since we weren’t fed adequately and we wore the most horrendously hideous clothes that made us the laughing stocks of our classes. Or the secret of her disappearing for days on end with instructions to not answer the phone unless it was she, clean her house, not to fight, and do our homework. Turns out she was living it up getting high in the night clubs around town while claiming new victims to clothe her, feed her, and have sex with her as she wished. Never did she ever care that there were men coming to the back balcony rapping on the door with hatchets, or minivans circling the block surrounding our house. When we called our aunt for emergency assistance finally we were chastised and blamed for everything. We were told we were a burden and worthless because “we should be able to fend for ourselves”. Plus she adds that if she gets in trouble because of our little stunt which she didn’t believe any of it to have had happened then we would force her to relinquish custody to our dad blah blah blah. We all were in disbelief at what we were hearing that we were to blame for the shady people stalking her for God knows what, and we were no longer worthy of her compassion or understanding. At a bare minimum we were expecting just some portion of her blame shifting but not so hefty as it were, or maybe we deserved a measly little apology for leaving us in this frightening situation. NO! It was so maddening to her that we interrupted her time out with no kids so she could live it up without any consequences to bare.

She started to drive a wedge between my father and me with a sense of urgency now. My mother would be very maniacally angry if I were to defend him any types of scenarios, or admit that I loved him as I did. If she wasn’t explosively angry then it was a particular look she’d give me to signal that I got it all wrong and I’d feel compelled to change my response.

Then, my dad met the love of his life, we’ll call her Kat. She was nice enough, tall and so pretty. Oh, and I was enamored with her ability to cook. Although it was just beanie-weenies, it was so scrumptious to a kid who was only exposed to stale whole wheat bread and peanut butter or pancakes (if my older sisters would cook them). You see, my mom wasn’t emotionally available, she wasn’t available at all at this point. We were 4 girls left to our own devices for days on end with no mediator for fights, no one to cook for us or even buy groceries. We knew we couldn’t kill each other and we were terrified of our mother so we’d live as if she were there with us. We helped each other to get to school and diligently cleaned the house since we never knew when she’d arrive back home. Assuredly, just to show her displeasure with these kids she made, and berate and emotionally torment us each for what she perceived as “a slap in the face” that we’d not cleaned to her standards, or done our homework right and the list goes on and on.

One day, she confesses to us that she only had kids to clean her house and named after household cleaning appliances like Hoover, Eureka, Pine Sol- you get the point. She’d use one-on-one time with each, pulling us out of school early, or letting one of us skip school entirely for a day in which she’d deem the child-of-the-day and turn that child against their siblings or another adult that she spontaneously discarded recently. She’d get tired of the child and say “I’m going to take you back to school” to make them vie for her affection or approval to not be in the discard pile for not giving the correct tone, answer, or attitude at any point in the nerve wracking day.

My mother would bash my father in front of me and accuse him of child molestations, rape, and then declare that He doesn’t love me anymore now he has Kat at the age of 11 or 12. As if there was a romantic relationship taking place between my father and I. I was groomed, not by my father, but by her, although I never figured it out at the time. She eventually would tell me that my father tried to force an abortion on her as she carried me in her womb. Then declare to me too many times that “she should’ve aborted me when she had the chance,”! To a twelve year old this burns like lightning hitting your flesh.

My “mother” most certainly brainwashed me to believe that my dad used me for affection and led me to believe that he’d molested and defiled me. In addition to the things she’d claimed he’d done, shed suggest in a very sneaky way occurrences that forced these intrusive false memories and dreams to confirm the alleged sexual abuse in a 13 year old’s mind.

Can you imagine believing that your dad did unspeakable things to you and living with the trauma as though it happened for years before you finally realize that your dad is innocent and your whole life is a big fat lie?? Then having to come to terms that your dad has passed away and you go on thinking that its all your fault that I cut ties and that you should have known better somehow. But I didn’t know better! My dad is now gone forever and this mind f***ery is almost too much to wrap my head around! So I can’t imagine anyone managing comprehending this.

The evil has gone on for another generation unfortunately with my children she skillfully stole from me and I’m now the new person she’s drafted to fill my dad’s part in her schemes and scams, while she and her lover play house with my 3 children and she’s actually mastered her craft this go round. My children are living my old life if not a worse version of it. It’s the undeniable evil dwelling inside of the woman who birthed me and stole my children and plays the hero and the victim all in one account But I digress- that’s the one thing I still can’t accept and can’t stop mourning over no matter what I do, its like my children are missing or dead and it’s so unimaginably agonizing to revisit the offenses and the advantage she took to get her way in what she wanted and ultimately took from me. It has made me fully understand what my father went through at her blood soaked hands and that includes her preposterous outlandish accusations and outright lies she’s fabricated to build her flock of flying monkeys. Let’s get back to the original sad story, now.

Then she was off to the races when my stepmother, Kat, and I were at odds and would point out to me that Kat hated me. I finally believed that my stepmother hated me so a 10-14 year old girl naturally hated her too. I had nowhere to turn in my distress and distrust of everyone around me except my mother. I was so confused and hurt and suicidal, and my mom had me right where she wanted me. I helped her win every custody battle and validated her every thought as her unofficial therapist again. I became so blinded by my need for her validation and love that I was the only one who stuck by her although I was dying inside as I found myself cornered and isolated. My mother would in turn ridicule me for the self harm behaviors I’d been caught doing to cope like bulimia and exercise bulimia, starving myself, pulling my hair out, and cutting myself. I just remember thinking “and she doesn’t know why I want to die?!?”.

And this is only the beginning of her betrayal and manipulation tactics, but at this point I whole-heartedly believed that my father was a monster, a pedophile, and I was HIS victim by her manipulative webs she was weaving to suck me in. I believed that my stepmom hated me and I threw gas on the fire by running away, threatening to kill her, putting bleach in her shampoo and conditioner and other crazy tactics to please my “master”.

Eventually, I found myself in the adolescent psych ward for the 3rd or 4th time out of 10 total, and apparently I was single handedly responsible for my mom losing custody of her golden children and she called me at my dad’s house to tell me that I was useless and better off dead and that I WAS dead to her. So, that next morning after a sleepless night I decided to take a whole bottle of my Wellbutrin and gulping them down with some good ol’ OJ.

I did. I went to school, as the appointment that was to have me at home that day was canceled at the last minute, I was fine until lunchtime. I went to sit with my only and best friends, Aly, Tessa, and Kam at the cafeteria table and suddenly I couldn’t hold my head up and then I lost all the strength in my whole body and Tessa carried to the deans office. On the way to meet the dean, I confessed that I’d tried to kill myself that I wanted to die. She cried and begged the dean’s assistant “to call 9-1-1 NOW!”

Spoiler alert, God had plans for me for which I had to stay alive. I waited for the paramedics to show up — and they did right in the nick of time. They said if I’d waited even another 30 minutes, I’d have been history. I also got a deep lecture about how pretty I was and how could I want to kill myself (basically because I was pretty) and it was creepy especially because I hadn’t even been given the bottles of charcoal to drink. But I digress again.

This ended me back in the hospital and I went back to my mom’s custody because I was a bad kid. I was only a product of my environment, what my mother made me into. However, this was nearly 2 years before the point whereby I cut all ties with my dad and stepmom for the next 13 years.

The worst part is still that my father died from a harrowing disease called Pick’s disease, and my mom had officially robbed me of the honor of being my daddy’s little girl. I grieve the relationship that I never had with my daddy everyday now that he’s been deceased since 2013.

I was 26 years old, in a 9 year relationship with a man who had plenty of traits of NPD, and I was pregnant with his 2nd child when I attended my daddy’s funeral. My mother came to the funeral just ridicule his dead body and mock his existence and to point out that I don’t mean anything to them (my family) and if it weren’t because of my mom, I wouldn’t have even been invited.

Soon after my dad’s death I started to piece the lies together but it was too late. My mother had won, she had to have sold her soul to be able to the things she’s done to my father, my stepmother, me, my brother and successfully turn us all against one another with zero kickback or repercussions.

And that is hardly the beginning of the antics of the truly heartless woman who birthed me, but there’s a sort of a happy ending to this story which I’ll be following this up with next week. So, stay tuned by subscribing to this blog. ***Love more than you hurt, laugh more than you cry, and remain true to you! Until next time…

I know this was a lengthy post but read it at your leisure or don’t read it if you don’t have the energy. This is mostly for me to sort through my mess that resides within the walls of my skull and anyone who can find solace in a similar experience. If you’re struggling please reach out to me my kinks are all here.