Where do I go from here?

Alright, after I reached the point where most substances were toxic to me,  and after numerous visits to conventional and alternative doctors (over a period of about two years), I began to understand. My immune system was barely functioning, my cortisol was in the dangerously high range, and my other hormones were at abnormal levels.  At that point, that I had a choice: continue as is or save myself. Get rid of the source of the anxiety or continue to deteriorate. I had to think long and hard about that. I didn't think I was worth saving in any case, but I was feeling absolutely terrible. I really didn't want to feel this way any longer. So, with the help of my wonderful therapist, I cut contact. I did it.

It made a world of difference in my life. It also left a huge gap that, a few years later, I started to fill with a sex and love addiction.

How to Recognize Covert Incest

I wish I had seen this list a LONG time ago. 

Excerpt from
Dr. Patricia Love's The Emotional Incest Syndrome: What to Do When a Parent's Love Rule's Your Life
Bantam Books, 1990

(From http://botkinsyndrome.blogspot.com/2008/07/covertemotional-incest-checklist-long.html )

  

Indication of an Overly Close Parent-Child Bond

1. I felt closer to one parent than the other.
2. I was a source of emotional support for one of my parents
3. I was “best friends” with a parent.
4. A parent shared confidences with me.
5. A parent was deeply involved in my activities or developing my talents.
6. A parent took a lot of pride in my abilities or my achievements.
7. I was given special privileges or gifts by one of my parents.
8. One of my parents told me in confidence that I was the favorite, most talented or most lovable child.
9. A parent thought I was better company than his or her spouse.
10. I sometimes felt guilty when I spent time away from one of my parents.
11. I got the impression that a parent did not want me to marry or move far away from home.
12. When I was young I idolized one of my parents.
13. Any potential boyfriend or girlfriend was never “good enough” for one of my parents.
14. A parent seemed overly aware of my sexuality.
15. A parent made sexual remarks or violated my privacy.
    
    
    
    
    I recently came across a photo my dad took of me--he sent me a disk with my some childhood pictures he took of me as a gift--that shocked the *^#$ out of me. High school. I am posing for him. Seductively posing. I wanted to throw up. I don't remember this at all. 
    
    
    
    
    
    
    Part B. Indication of Unmet Adult Needs
16. My parents were separated, divorced, widowed, or didn't get along very well.
17. One of my parents was often lonely, angry, or depressed.
18. One of my parents did not have a lot of friends.
19. One or both parents had a drinking or drug problem.
20. One of my parents thought the other parent was too indulgent or permissive.
21. I felt I had to hold back my own needs to protect a parent.
22. A parent turned to me for comfort or advice.
23. A parent seemed to rely on me more than on my siblings.
24. I felt responsible for a parent's happiness.
25. My parents disagreed about parenting issues.
    
    
    
    
    Part C. Indication of Parental Neglect or Abuse
26.  My needs were often ignored or neglected.
27. There was a great deal of conflict between me and a parent.
28. I was called hurtful names by a parent.
29. One of my parents had unrealistic expectations of me.
30. One of my parents was very critical of me.
31. I sometimes wanted to hide from a parent or had fantasies of running away.
32. When I was a child, other families seemed less emotionally intense than mine.
33. It was often a relief to get away from home.
34. I sometimes felt invaded by a parent.
35. I sometimes felt I added to a parent's unhappiness
    
    
    
    
    CHECK, CHECK, CHECK TO ALL. If you find yourself checking off all of these indicators, please, be kind and gentle to yourself and realize you were the VICTIM. Nothing that happened was your fault. Children do NOT cause their own abuse. 
    "If your checks tend to be clustered in the first and second sections, you may have been enmeshed with a Romanticizing or a Sexualizing Parent. If your checks are clustered in the second and third sections, you may have been enmeshed with a Critical/Abusive Parent. If you have checkmarks sprinkled throughout these three sections, you may have been alternately loved and abused by the same parent, or one parent may have abused you while the other adored you. Reflecting on your life history will help you sort this out."

Mindfucked

Reading from Sanctuary for the Abused, I came across this passage, which helps clear my confusion about 1) how this covert incest with my father, where sexual acts did NOT occur, led to my struggle with sex and love addiction and 2) why I had to completely exorcise him from my life in order to get better (I'll go into this more in a later post).

...since the atmosphere in which they were raised was sexually charged, it is common for survivors of covert incest to use sex as a means to intimacy. This can result in sexual addiction or other types of dysfunctional behaviors as an adult.

Covert incest can persist all the way into adulthood. As long as one remains in such a relationship, it is impossible to form healthy relationships with others. Unless the close bond with the invasive parent is altered, the parent will continue to interfere in the life of the child, causing problems to arise in relationships.

If the invasive parent refuses to change the nature of the relationship, there may be no other recourse than separation. This separation can be temporary or permanent. What is important is for the child to set firm boundaries which the parent cannot cross. Depending on the severity of the situation, it may even be necessary to permanently separate from the invasive parent.

It was the atmosphere that I was living in--and more so when dad's girlfriend came into the picture. My therapist uses the term "mindfucking" to describe my experience. And that's apt--you FUCKED with my HEAD, not my body, dad. And after that, I got the two confused.  I began searching for someone like him, at the same time as struggling to hold on to a healthy marriage. Thank God my husband was so intuitive, so smart, and had his head screwed on straight. Thank God.

My wedding was planned for October of that year, and in September, my father announced that HE was marrying the girlfriend. Talk about stealing my thunder! There was something very obscene about that, and I still can't put my finger on exactly what it was. I didn't attend his wedding (he didn't really expect me to, thank goodness), and I was trying to focus on my own impending marriage. He was passively aggressive during that time; he made promises about the responsibilities he would take care of for my wedding, and when the time came, he acted as if he had never promised anything. He volunteered to be the MC for my wedding, announcing when events would happen, etc. And he didn't do it. My wedding was chaotic. He didn't give a toast. He walked me down the aisle with an angry frown on his face; the wedding photos of us break my heart. He never wished me well. Before he left, he hugged me close and said "We'll talk." That was it. That was how my father sent his daughter off to be married.

And since then, I hadn't been able to have sex. It was mostly me; I was depressed, I was confused, frustrated, angry, and not allowed to vent my feelings toward the person responsible. He never took responsibility for the fiasco that my wedding became. He said only that he never agreed to that role at my wedding and then claimed he "forgot" because of a minor stroke he had a while ago. (He used the stroke as an excuse for all of his action from then on) I, for some reason, came to the conclusion that sex wasn't important. That my marriage was a sham because my husband wasn't physically affectionate like my father. I couldn't accept him for who he truly was--quiet, reserved, with a pool of love for me that was deeper than the ocean floor. He may not have been as extroverted about his feelings--he didn't express them in words as much--or as openly affectionate--he believed in private displays of attention rather than garish displays in public places--but, my God, did he love me. Twenty years later, I realize how foolish I was. How messed up and ungrateful for the person my husband is. My husband showed me through his actions what love is. My father flaunted lip service and infatuation.

(Image from botkinsyndrome.blogspot.com)

Dear husband

My husband is a rare kind of man. A real caretaker with a huge heart. Who else would have put up with the mess that was me. We met at the high point of my college experience, when I was immersed in literature and writing and beginning to feel just a little bit free. We had a honeymoon period before the shit hit the fan, that is the divorce and my dad's insane obsession over this "love triangle." But once that began, what I thought would do no harm, actually did tremendous damage. My father tried to emotionally enmesh with him at the same time as I was trying to "love" his girlfriend. But my husband has excellent radar and felt something wasn't right, so he held back. He simply observed the dynamics.

I was so wrapped up in this jealousy that my father stoked at every opportunity. I used to be the center of his world, for better or for worse. Now, he had no use for me except to admire his new "possession." It was as if I was no one; I'd lost the only identity I ever had and I was an empty shell. I felt completely dispossessed and abandoned. I feel into a horrid depression my during my last semester and stopped eating, going to class, and did only the minimum amount of work to get by. I moved my mattress onto the floor so I could be close to the TV and wouldn't have to move very far for anything. I became isolated and lonely and dh was the only person I saw for days at a time. Many days I refused to get up in the morning, and this is where dh became a saint. I wouldn't have expected anyone to stay with me while I was in this state, but not only did he stay, he became my nurse. He lifted me out of bed, got me dressed, fixed food for me, held me when I cried (which was most of the time), made sure I did what was necessary for survival. This is how we lived as gf/bf for many months.

Terrified by this rage and jealousy I was feeling toward dad's girlfriend, not understanding what it meant and not being able to control it, I was happy to let dh play the role of the responsible caretaker as I let myself sink further into hopelessness. And that began our pattern of relating to each other for many years.

The religious aspect

My father struggled a lot himself, I know. And I knew what his parents were like, and he was just repeating what he was subjected to, really. His mother, I am positive about this because of what I witnessed between the two of them--and then his need to move far away from his parents--was deeply emotionally incestuous with him. She was most likely a very different person--loving, caring--to other members of the family, just like my father is, I'm sure. It was just me he had difficulty with. His father was desperately passive aggressive. Even near his deathbed, he was guilting me for not visiting enough. This was all my visits at the nursing home consisted of: "Hi Grandpa. How are you?" "Why don't you visit me more often?" "I do visit." "Well, don't wait so long next time."

My father and his parents had horrible, upsetting phone conversations every Sunday morning, ending with dad on the couch staring glassy eyed at the TV for the rest of the day and well into the night.

Dad also struggled a lot with religion. He held onto Jewish rituals with a grim severity, as though it was meant to torture him. I dreaded the "holidays"--they usually ended up in anger or silences, and definitely fear. My father taught me to believe that if I didn't repent for my "sins" and ask his forgiveness each Yom Kippur (Jewish day of atonement), God wouldn't forgive or love me. Each holiday, a blackness overcame the house as we all solemnly got ready to go to temple and my father's mood got more and more sour.

When I discovered Jesus, years and years later, I found a loving God. Not the God of my father.

Ready to continue the story

I'm  having a tough time getting this last chapter out.  It's convoluted and fuzzy and difficult to think about. But I will give it a try.

I'm finally at a college I can call home. I'm having a good time, doing very well at my studies. Dad's happy, he visits me often, we have slumber parties in the house I am renting with roommates. Then, what seems to me to be out of the blue, he tells me he and mom are separated. Okay, I can live with that, long overdue. THEN he says he's seeing a woman...and living with her, if I remember correctly. So, he's just telling me that he's leaving my mom and already with someone else? Then he wants me to meet her. It's oh-so-important that I meet her and immediately. Okay, I'm rather shocked but what would be the harm, I think.

They come to visit soon after, and I meet her for the first time in a restaurant, where she spends an hour sort of talking to me, and dad's physically all over her. At the end of the lunch, she tells me she loves me and gives me a necklace. I am quite uncomfortable with all this--I don't even know this woman, let alone LOVE her! And I have a funny feeling I've been bought.

For the next year, I try hard to "love" her. Dad constantly pressures me to know if I love her, isn't she so great, she's the best cook, they talk a bit about their sex life at dinners. They give me expensive gifts. As long as I am hugging her and seem happy about it all, things are fine. I feel completely lost-my feelings are that something is very wrong here, I really don't like this woman at all, I'm nervous about dad. I try to talk to him about my concerns, but he doesn't like that. I can't seem to have my own feelings about this issue and express them or act on them. My discomfort is very high. My sister points out that she has a drinking problem. I read about histrionic personalities and recognize this trait in her. She gets nasty when the attention isn't focused on her. From experience, I know there's no way out here. Either I do what dad wants or, well, I'm not sure what. I don't live with them so I can't be punished in the usual way. But there are the phone calls that last over an hour consisting of silence, and I can't get myself to hang up on him. There's the fact that he's paying for my therapy (!!!!)  and college and could withdraw all financial support. I'm dependent on him, I realize. We would fight over the therapy money- I would have to beg for it, he would want to know what I was talking about in therapy. Needless to say, this therapy was ineffective. I don't have a job, I've been scared shitless about the life I would lead without completing college.  I am frightened. That's when I turned off and became an automaton, going through the gestures, smiles, hugs, talking about feelings with them, letting her dress me up like a doll, admiring her cooking, their material possessions, her intelligence...visited and stayed in their guest room, awake all night shaking, sweating, and holding back vomiting. Every single night I was there. When I came home, I magically felt better. When they visited (and my dad never visited alone anymore), the same thing happened, only it kept getting worse and worse. My soon-to-be-husband and I had moved in together by that time and didn't understand why I was so ill every night during visits and for a good week after, not for awhile, anyway. I blocked out anything of my own to be enmeshed with them--it felt like survival to me. When I graduated, I worked for a year or so, then decided to go to grad school in psychology...why did I chose this? Because he and his wife were psychologists. I attended his alma mater and studied with his colleague. I completed the one year then stopped. I made enough money to get by in a decent job, but I was afraid I couldn't live without their gifts. I had become very dependent on them. They enjoyed flaunting their wealth, talking about the things they owned, their condo, fancy cars, 5-star restaurants, cruises. They were constantly very physically affectionate around me, uncomfortably so. I didn't need to see that much. But it was a condition of being. I started to resent my husband (soon-to-be) because he didn't treat me like my father treated his girlfriend. She had a bigger engagement ring than I did; dad kissed her more than my man did me, dad gave me more than my man could. I was jealous, sick with jealousy. And as long as I was drawn toward my father in that way, he and his girlfriend were happy.

I kept getting sicker. I started having allergic type reactions to foods--over a 5-year period I became unable to tolerate most foods, as well as chemicals, like shampoo or soap. The whole world felt like an enemy, out to hurt me. I tried to talk to dad and tell him how all this was affecting me, but he couldn't hear. My life moved forward in time, but I was stuck. I was chronically depressed, suicidal at times, starving, stuck without any energy or ambition in what should have been my most energetic years. I finally had to do something. I just wanted to have a relationship with dad, not his wife. This woman was toxic to me. As was my father, but I couldn't  cope with that at the time. I tried to cut back on this intensity and intimacy with her. Dad got angry, and he began to punish by withdrawing his approval and enthusiasm. Wrote letters telling me how much I was hurting him by rejecting her.  I didn't understand-what was the big deal? If I wanted a relationship with her, shouldn't I be allowed to do that in the way I needed? No, I wasn't. It was dad's way or nothing.

I don't know, I tried my best but I couldn't be in this triangle without making myself ill. And the thing was, there was no physical abuse! What the hell was wrong with me that I couldn't be in relationship with these people???

Words of Wisdom for Today

"People have a hard time letting go of their suffering.
Out of a fear of the unknown,
they prefer suffering that is familiar."

~ Thich Nhat Hanh ~

The missing piece

Since I've been writing a lot about covert incest, and this type of abuse revolves around parents' dysfunctional marriages, I feel I must describe my parents' marriage. Honestly, I don't think they really had one. They must have, in the beginning, fallen in love and wanted to be together for the rest of their lives--and that much information I'm not privy to. I only know what I witnessed, which was two people living separate lives in under the same roof.

When I was in elementary school, they separated for a few months. I remember feeling relieved, that life was a lot less stressful this way, and I actually enjoyed visiting my dad at his little beach apartment, my sister and I sleeping on the mattress on the floor with the sound of the waves crashing outside. It was fun. And then we would go home and there was no tension or other negative feeling. However, they decided to get back together in the end, and the really dark times began. I think I understand, being a new mother myself, that raising children is a two-person job, and doing it alone is scary and terribly difficult. I just wish they had been happy together.

As the years went by, as I progressed into middle and high school, they stopped hiding their problems from us kids so much and simply began to co-exist. My mother spent most of her home time alone in the bedroom, the bed covered with papers, surrounded by her work. My father spent his in his leather chair or sofa in front of the TV. No interaction, just silence, between them. And during the worst years, when the living room was on the path to my bedroom, I could expect some kind of drama as I tried to make my way quietly through the house--my dad was always waiting, always ready with an accusation of something I had done wrong. Or wanted to talk.  He never left the room on weekends and evenings, and that meant no peace for me.

This went on until I left for college, and still continued when I returned from Europe. They didn't spend any time together, and my dad constantly complained to me that they didn't have any friends because my mom didn't like to go out.  He talked to me a lot about how desperately he wanted to be social and how lonely he was. I didn't know what to do for him except to listen and give him a hug, ask what I could do...He seemed to be happy when he could talk to me, when I did something nice for him. I felt like I was the only person in the family who had any control over being able to make him feel better. Hence, it was my responsibility for making him happy when my mother couldn't. Or wouldn't.

As for my mother, she seemed to prefer my sister over me. She never said it; she stated that she loved both of us equally, but my sister got away with a lot. She was my mother's confidant, so it seemed to me. They seemed to be especially close, even to this day. Not "best friends" kind of close--there was often some sort of friction, but they were in RELATIONSHIP with each other, which was more than I felt I had with my mother. I think the same was the case with my sister and dad--she once told me she felt she never had a father because he was so consumed by me. It was true and it was sad.

My parents eventually divorced when I was in college (the second time); I was in my early twenties. He remarried soon after, and my mother is still single. My father's new marriage is when all of the covert incest symptoms began to rear their ugly heads, and I'll write about that next.

More life story

I ought to finish my story before I move on to anything else. In a nutshell, my childhood was spent trying to please my father and avoid his depressions and rages. (I often wonder these days if he was actually borderline; I will never know.) When I left for college, things deteriorated even further.  My first year, I was trying to figure out what I was about, where I fit in in the world, and what direction to take any future career. It was hard enough without enduring my father’s constant harassing phone calls demanding to know what I was going to do with my life, what major would I choose, and to make sure I wasn’t wasting one cent of the tuition money. He would call and demand answers every day. I didn’t have answers—what nineteen year old would? I was confused and scared because I had figured out I wasn’t in the right atmosphere; I had picked the wrong school and made a major mistake. I did my best, but I wasn’t learning or becoming interested in anything and my grades weren’t particularly noteworthy, either. I went home between semesters and asked my parents if I could transfer schools, do something else—I was quite unhappy. That time is also a blank in my mind, but the end result was being driven back there despite my pleas. I gave up and simply lay motionless in the back of the car the entire trip. Silence again.

After another month of demanding phone calls, I couldn’t take the pressure. I packed up one night, bought a one-way plane ticket to Europe and left. Told no one. I spent two years in Europe, working menial jobs, living with a man, trying to figure things out.

After a few months, my parents managed to track me down. I really wanted nothing to do with them, but out of guilt, started talking again. I was feeling terrible about not having finished college, about not having a career. I wanted to be a professional yet I had no prospects. My father was kind and loving and promised that if I came back, he would change, that things would be different, that I could find a school that suited me better. He also reminded me of how I had no future where I was. Even though my boyfriend and I wanted to get married; I wanted to become a citizen, learn the language, and start work on some kind of a profession, it was a long haul to a far-away dream. This would be easier, quicker, and daddy loved me and would help me. Or so I believed.

This Dirty Bird Will Learn to Fly

"As I fall apart, I learn to fly; this dirty bird will learn to fly!"

I am not an innocent--I've seen way too much, lived way too much for that. But there is hope for all of us who have delved deeply into the figurative underworld.

Ah! Validation!

As I searched the web for informative blogs on the topics of the narcissistic parent, covert incest, and toxic families, I stumbled on this gem: One Angry Daughter

"One Angry Daughter's" situation similar to mine; and as I am accused of being "sick" for having a personal yet anonymous blog, well, I think this blogger and others like us are on the sane side of the aisle. Just look at what happened to her:

Unfortunately, I underestimated their internet search skills and left a path (albeit a convoluted one) right to this blog. As such - I know they have read everything. To anyone who thinks if you can just tell your family members that you think NPD, alcoholism, BPD, etc... are in play and maybe they will get the help they need - let my experience be an example that it may not.

Same here. And our intentions are the same as well:

I hope by sharing my experience I can help others going through a similar situation. I want other DoNMs, ACoNs, ACoAs and other victims of emotional abuse to know it is not their fault and they have the power to walk away from the source of the abuse. Even more importantly - you have the power not to fall down that slippery slope and pass on the abuse to your children.  Having the strength to face your past to become a healthier person can stop the cycle.  

Survivors of emotional abuse thrive in community with each other, especially as we walk away from the source of the abuse, as One Angry Daughter states. It is too easy for us--being already vulnerable to pain inflicted on us-- to feel guilted and shamed into believing that we are the crazy, manipulative, dysfunctional person in the family, that we are making these issues up in our heads. That alone is enough to push us under deep water--the lack of empathy ans validation that comes with this type of treatment by our families of origin.

I welcome connections with other bloggers in this type of situation--please don't hesitate to leave a comment if anything you read here helps or hurts, or you'd like to join together as a  blogging community.

Breakthrough

Dateline MSNBC: Caron Breakthrough Program

This is the intensive treatment program I went through when I was on the verge of suicide at the end of a destructive love addiction; this was my journey through Breakthrough...my wonderful therapist registered me here; I was alone and terrified when I hit rock bottom,  and she helped me safely get to this sanctuary in rural Pennsylvania.

This program saved my life. 

The only way I can express what this was like and how it felt watching this documentary is by free association:

dysfunctional modus operandi: isolate; be with people all the time-no privacy, not allowed to be on your own for a minute-exhausting. no naps, live with a roomate; trade addiction for food comfort; same therapist-Randy) (male); rceived financial aid to attend, for which i will be forever grateful; so hard to watch, painful.
stay connected-can have the feelings and stay connected to the group. its the connection to the group that heals....I am worthless. I should be dead. oh my god this hurts

this is psychodrama, the "walking through the valley of the shadow of death"--and it will heal you if you allow yourself to enter the depths and be broken.

I think John was incredibly brave to allow himself be filmed while going through this most personal of experiences. "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now i'm found; was blind but now i'm free.:

felt safe. group was tougher, didn't like them all, felt their judgement 24/7 for what i had done, but in the end, I loved them as a group. I loved them for what we all did for each other, together. lost touch but they are still with me, in here .

being present, all the time, no distraction. really, reallly scary

Moments

Life is not measured by the number
of breaths we take,
but by the moments
that take our breath away.  -Schiller, "Moments"

What were some of those moments for you?

For me, saying my marriage vows. The birth of my daughter. Discovery of Cornerstone Community Church. Watching my husband play with our little girl. Meeting my soul twin. Crying until the fog lifted in the dark of night. Staring into my feline companion of 17 years' eyes, saying "I love you" as he took his last breath.