Trigger Warning: Suicide / Drug Use / Toxic Relationships
I recently cut family ties with a part of my family, for my sanity – it all comes full circle to boundaries. I have been thinking on how growing up with a narcissist and sociopath affects the relationships you have throughout your life. If you have had the displeasure of interacting with one, living with one, or being close to one, then you already know full well. I recently resorted to avoidance mechanisms when I had promised myself I wouldn’t. I won’t avoid the places or experiences I enjoy in an attempt to avoid this person. I am not the type to avoid any conflict or uncomfortable situation, but I have found my exception. I have had recurring dreams featuring different themes a good portion of my life. My theme, is being trapped inside of my childhood bedroom, or the bedroom I had as a teenager, the brief cycles I actually managed to stay in the house. In these dreams, I hadn’t been forced to interact with people, as on point with my childhood experience. I liked to hide. I was introverted. The door flew open, and in my own personal hell was the person I had expressed through detectives I wanted no contact with in real life. I instantly was livid – “NO, get the fuck out, if I am going to be trapped here, it won’t be with you” I have always been able to lucid dream and be conscious enough to interact, there are times, in my dream, I don’t even realize I am dreaming until I try to look at the time and it’s fuzzy or try to manipulate something and the law of gravity doesn’t work or it seems like this weird elaborate glitch in the matrix. – I went back and forth with the sociopath shutting down excuses and justifications and standing firm. When I finally woke up, I had two thoughts. 1. Why can’t my subconscious just leave me to my avoidance mechanisms for now? and 2. Why a reoccurring dream of being trapped in your own personal hell?
That one is personal.
One of my child hood best friends hung himself a few years back, and a year after he died, I had a dream about him. He said he had been looking for me and finally found me. I asked him what was next, he didn’t know. I sat and updated him on what had changed in my world and even asked him what it was like to speak to the living. He amusingly replied by asking what it was like to speak to the dead. – He ended up saying he had to move on and I woke up in tears. See I never had a chance to say goodbye while he was alive. After that I didn’t dream about him again for another year. This time, I found him. I remember walking through this neighborhood and coming upon a house, I asked if he was there, they let me in and said he was in the basement, so I walked down the steps and he was sitting there in the chair, when I walked through the threshold the entire room felt dark and heavy, there were rats skittering through the room when I walked in. I finally found him, but he seemed to be in this, trance. It was a recreation of the day that he had hung himself. He was being forced to repeat this day in his own personal hell that I had stumbled on. When he realized I was there, he snapped out of it and was instantly furious stating I shouldn’t be there, that I could get stuck there. I was so incredibly heart-broken and my only thought was, if this was the only chance to keep you as a part of my life I would gladly be stuck in your own personal hell. I’ve always been reckless enough to throw myself into the void. He physically shoved me out of the door frame and shut the door. In my dream I remember being angry that I had taken my shoes off and they were in the room, which is a really strange reason to be angry given the environment and exchange that had just taken place. I was pounding on the door, and when I looked around, I was floating in empty space, like a void in the universe. Then I woke up. So – to have found my own personal hell, being trapped in the household I was molested in and being stuck there…. It instantly triggered the memories of those dreams. I still am trying to figure out the correlation or significance. In one of these blogs, I’ll go into detail about my friend, because this cannot be the only understanding and impression you get. He was never violent towards me, if anything he as a saving grace through some of the times I was most vulnerable.
Back to boundaries though. About the age of 13, I stopped caring about the molds people tried to force on me. If anything, I became completely defiant and kind of a bratty little fucker that would do things out of spite because you said I should/could not. A lot of my rebellion sourced from frustration, hurt, and anger. I mean, I knew that then, but it really didn’t sink in until later on in life. By the time I was 16, I was skipping state and fully mobile with my own vehicle. Funded by myself, money from my guild tripped father, and partially by whatever boyfriend I had at the time. I had a thing for keeping dysfunctional relationships in my pocket. I was already used to that type of behavior and didn’t feel bad about manipulating them into financing food. It was a survival tactic. There wasn’t food in my brother’s house. There was always marijuana or other substances though.
I lived off dollar store food a good chunk of my life. I’d smoke up some guy on a supply that wasn’t mine, and in exchange made whoever buy food. I made friends with dealers that wanted to date me, and would get them to kick me free bags to turn around and sell or exchange to pay for whatever I wanted or needed. To this day, cereal tastes like poverty to me. On the other hand, I made friends with some super wealthy Middle Eastern men that were in college, because a friend was dating one of them.
It made it so much easier to live. They’d take us shopping at Cherry Creek. We would eat out at every meal. Hookah, hash, and marijuana were in endless supply. I had no business being there, but that life, was 100x better than eating ramen and stealing from the thrift store to survive. Even in all of that, my boundaries were fairly solid. I was done taking anyone’s shit. I started dating guys that were awful people, so I didn’t feel bad about taking their money for supplemental income on top of my awful paying job in a music store alphabetizing CD’s and recommending movies. Then it was a juggle of dating one that would kick me some cash or another that had mechanic experience and would fix my car for free.
The first time I tried hallucinogenics, I was 13 – and was told after the fact that I had been dosed in a thick milkshake from burger king. I will always remember hearing one of my brother’s friends yelling at him “She’s THIRTEEN, THIIIIIRTEEN” over and over again while my friend drew pictures in the air with an incense stick tripping balls. I remember, not being able to go to sleep on a school night because my makeshift bedroom – aka the spare bedroom with a couch, TV, and poker table were inaccessible because some gangsters were posted up drinking 40s. All the while, I hauled my ass to private Christian school and blended in as best I could. Questioning the teacher in history class about the lies being fed to us in thickly biased Christianese. I’m not going to lie, looking back, I had a ton of unruly fun. It saved me from a “crazy phase” at twenty. I had already been there, done that. It’s hilarious now, knowing I work full-time, run a house, raise two girls, come home, make dinner, and repeat. One thing all of that taught me, is that in those situations when someone tried to get me to compromise myself, I fought back. Hell no, you won’t put me in a box, tell me what to say, what to wear. It was extreme then. Now, it’s applicable in a – No that is not appropriate for me at this time. I won’t attend that life draining event I’m invited to out of obligation. I will not agree to take on more work to enable someone else not doing their share simply because I have the knowledge and ability. I won’t agree just to be obliging. When you see someone with firm boundaries, your first thought might be, wow – she’s kind of a bitch. Yeah well, maybe… but that doesn’t mean I have to defend my right to be. My rebellion, at a younger age was purely spite driven. As an adult, it has evolved into knowing my worth and accepting nothing less and not apologizing for that.
Need help with your boundaries?
I suggest google searching the Armadillo Medicine Card. It will pull up a pdf and it is one of the most significant things I’ve ever read in my life. Seriously, you’re welcome.