Convergence

I realized yesterday, I was still searching for love, acceptance and acknowledgment from someone who will never give it to me. Someone who stood in, in so many ways, for my mother last summer. Someone just as narcissistic. Someone just as needy.

I was trying unconsciously to get it. Months later. Anything to feel like I was good enough again. To fill the void.

Because my mother is dead. She’ll never look me in the eye again and say I’m proud of you. She’ll never laugh at my stories. I’ll never be able to take care of her again and in doing so, get the golden light of her approval.

How could I not know what I was doing was manipulative and wrong? I’d love to say because I’m an idiot but… it’s not simple. I didn’t see what I was doing. I was scared, mostly. Uncertain. I didn’t trust anyone. I wanted something familiar, no matter how much it would hurt me in the long run.

I wanted my mom back. I wanted her reality. Sure, she could rip me up one side but she could also soothe my fears. Do the best you can, she would say. Don’t worry so much. And then she’d remind me of all the bad decisions I’ve made in the past. Lived through those, didn’t you?

I could tell her how much I needed her. How helpful she was. And the golden light shined. No matter what hurtful things she said, I made her happy. My sense of self was complete.

I was accused of a power trip. Of using my resources to manipulate people, to get me what I wanted. It’s true. I wanted the acceptance, love and acknowledgement from my stand in. I was in a stressful situation that left me wanting the safety of something familiar

I wanted my mom’s love. I’ll never get it from her again.

I miss her. The void is intense. I keep thinking I’ve moved on but I have not. I circle around, at times clear, at times completely lost.

My worth, my value, my everything was around making my mother happy. I found a fabulous, perfect stand in, just as needy, just as self absorbed, just as desperate. My mother is dead but the stand in is not. I was trying to find that golden light again.

It’s like an addiction. I’m used to being treated like shit, I need to be treated like shit to feel worthwhile. I joked about it last fall, in the essay Jerkaholics Anonymous, but it’s not funny anymore.

I hurt people to get my fix. Did I do it consciously? No. Absolutely not. Does that matter? No.

It’s not okay.

I’m ashamed and embarrassed.

Somewhere, deep down, I have a healthy voice. If not? I would be still going down the path, looking for impossible love. I stopped. I called myself on it. I walked away from the manipulative situation but not before admitting it. I asked another friend to give me time to get clear- really clear- about what my intentions are.

I am asking for help.

Input from people who love me flawed, mistake ridden and broken. Who know I have a healthy voice, somewhere, and won’t let me get away with ignoring it.

From Trapped in the Mirror, by Elan Golomb:

“You may see only your best and call it perfect, or only your worst and feel helpless. You have been parent-trained to look this way to please them. You may be unreachable to contradictory comment. How are you to find your blind spots and errors if your introject makes it too miserable to approach your self and your personality disregards your self’s comments as a problem.

Given such obstacles, reasonable input is called for. … We do not advance by focusing on our image. We want to change from a self-hater who refuses help and exposure to a self-lover who accepts errors and openly works on difficulties.”

I keep falling down. I keep making mistakes. But for the first time? I feel like pieces are starting to come together from so many different directions.