Escaping Hell: The Demon that Lived in my Narcissist Mother
STORY FOUR: FINALLY ESCAPING HELL
This was it. I would give it a last try especially since it was Christmas. I prepared myself for any and all possible angles that my mother could get angry about and I felt pretty good. I was going to help her as much as possible, buy her exactly what she wanted for Christmas, and stay late to help her clean up. With genuine compassion and selflessness in my heart, what could possibly go wrong? What I didn’t realize was how the darkest of evils, the vigilantes that camp out in our souls, disguise themselves as compassion, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and collect their vengeance. It was out of my control.
She invited her friend Julie over, also two times divorced and a woman who believed her shit didn’t stick no matter what she did. It was a friendship made in Heaven...or shall I say made in Hell.
Although they called themselves friends, my mother and Julie were always silently competing behind their phony smiles, Home & Gardens seasonal pillows and tablecloths, and the cleanliness of perfection that they spent all their free time on. A home never truly lived in and just fabricated for photographs and other charlatan eyes. No person of real heart and passion could ever compete with such dull imitation.
Julie had short blonde hair that was always blow dried. When she arrived, she wore a soft, red cardigan and a small embroidered Christmas tree lived on the upper left corner. Around her right arm hung a wicker basket full of yellow and white cheese, wheat and white crackers, strawberry and peach jams, and a bottle of red wine, all held together by a red bow with gold trim.
“Merry Christmas Cynthia. Long time no see,” Julie said to my mother.
“Merry Christmas,” my mother hugged Julie.
Julie held out the basket, “This is for you.”
“It’s lovely. Thank you. Your gift is under the tree. You remember my daughter Madelyn?”
“Of course I do. How are you my dear?” Julie said.
“I’m doing great. Merry Christmas,” I said.
“Where is your other daughter, Susanne?” said Julie.
“She moved out to Colorado earlier this year. She found herself a charming husband, a doctor. She’s due in February. At least she’s giving me a grandbaby.”
That was my cue to head to the kitchen and look busy. I found some dishes in the sink and got to cleaning them. As I was washing dishes, I could hear their conversation.
“So did you hear about Carol? Sean is actually letting her go to London with her girlfriends,” Julie said.
“Really? That’s shocking. Last year he didn’t want her to go anywhere without him. I don’t know how she’s dealt with him over ten years. What a nightmare,” my mother forced a chuckle, the kind that she believed herself but was actually born out of envy.
“It was a Godsend when I got divorced. It’s really been the best thing. True freedom,” Julie found the same chuckle inside herself.
“What do you want to drink?” my mother said.
“Do you have Chenin?”
“Madelyn, can you get us some Chenin Blanc?”
“Yes mother,” I said.
After washing the dishes, I sat with them in the living room and pretended to be interested in their conversation. My mother was showing Julie photos of my sister in Colorado with her husband.
“I was so devastated when she decided to move. She’s the only one who ever really helps me when I need it. I could rely on her for anything in the world. I am so blessed to have her as my youngest,” my mother’s voice changed to a slow and exhausting pace, a victim of hardship and loss.
“Shall we eat?” I said.
After we ate and Julie said her goodbyes, I immediately began cleaning the kitchen.
“In a hurry to leave?” my mother said.
“Not at all. Thank you for dinner. It was delicious -”
“I don’t want to hear it. You were quite rude in front of Julie. You hardly sat with us to talk and just stayed in the kitchen.”
“I’m sorry. I was just washing the dishes. I didn’t want to leave you with a mess.”
“The dishes could’ve waited. You’re always trying to look like the innocent victim.”
“Mom, it’s really not like that. I don’t know why you’re saying this. I thought tonight was great.”
We were standing near the fireplace, the crackling wood and burning embers were a backdrop to what was coming next.
“Madelyn, I will never understand how you are so different than your little sister. She would take a bullet for me. But you, you could care less if something happened to me. No wonder your father left.”
There it was. Not just a knife to the heart but a knife that continued to stab at me for years, everywhere. A torture chamber of manipulation, a wearing down of every ounce of compassion I had, the ripping away of my true self, and creating the monster that my mother lived to create with glee. She accomplished what every narcissist wants, creating themselves as a victim and making it their reality. And I was ready to deliver that reality to her.
I snapped. I turned around to look at the bright flames in the fireplace, my back to her. As I watched the long yellow and orange flames reaching for something above them, the fireplace poker came into view. It hung with its companions on the hearth. I reached for the poker.
“Will you look at me when I talk to you? Leave the fire alone,” my mother said.
I turned around to face her. My right hand gripped the poker. Lifting it up like a baseball bat, I wrapped my left hand over the handle.
“What the hell do you think you’re -”
I swung with years of fury, years of conniving words that chipped away at my insides. The blunt poker slammed into the side of her left temple and the sound of metal hitting her firm head sang a lullaby to my ears. The sound of chopping being halted to a stop, pulling out, making way for another swing. I did it again and then again. Dark red blood appeared like paint dripping down a canvas, my painting. I never wanted it to end.
Her shrieks were finally the reality she yearned for, a victim. Someone who needed everyone to feel sorry for them, to be on their side no matter what. Every swing into her head changed the pitch of her screams until they fell silent and only the crackling fire could be heard. I sat on the couch to catch my breath as her motionless body lay on the floor, the edges of her wide eyes and open mouth glowed from the fire. A Santa Claus tray on the coffee table held snowman sugar cookies. I finished off two, knowing they were probably going to be my last.
Now I’m in here, locked away for life but at least I was able to finally escape Hell.
She invited her friend Julie over, also two times divorced and a woman who believed her shit didn’t stick no matter what she did. It was a friendship made in Heaven...or shall I say made in Hell.
Although they called themselves friends, my mother and Julie were always silently competing behind their phony smiles, Home & Gardens seasonal pillows and tablecloths, and the cleanliness of perfection that they spent all their free time on. A home never truly lived in and just fabricated for photographs and other charlatan eyes. No person of real heart and passion could ever compete with such dull imitation.
Julie had short blonde hair that was always blow dried. When she arrived, she wore a soft, red cardigan and a small embroidered Christmas tree lived on the upper left corner. Around her right arm hung a wicker basket full of yellow and white cheese, wheat and white crackers, strawberry and peach jams, and a bottle of red wine, all held together by a red bow with gold trim.
“Merry Christmas Cynthia. Long time no see,” Julie said to my mother.
“Merry Christmas,” my mother hugged Julie.
Julie held out the basket, “This is for you.”
“It’s lovely. Thank you. Your gift is under the tree. You remember my daughter Madelyn?”
“Of course I do. How are you my dear?” Julie said.
“I’m doing great. Merry Christmas,” I said.
“Where is your other daughter, Susanne?” said Julie.
“She moved out to Colorado earlier this year. She found herself a charming husband, a doctor. She’s due in February. At least she’s giving me a grandbaby.”
That was my cue to head to the kitchen and look busy. I found some dishes in the sink and got to cleaning them. As I was washing dishes, I could hear their conversation.
“So did you hear about Carol? Sean is actually letting her go to London with her girlfriends,” Julie said.
“Really? That’s shocking. Last year he didn’t want her to go anywhere without him. I don’t know how she’s dealt with him over ten years. What a nightmare,” my mother forced a chuckle, the kind that she believed herself but was actually born out of envy.
“It was a Godsend when I got divorced. It’s really been the best thing. True freedom,” Julie found the same chuckle inside herself.
“What do you want to drink?” my mother said.
“Do you have Chenin?”
“Madelyn, can you get us some Chenin Blanc?”
“Yes mother,” I said.
After washing the dishes, I sat with them in the living room and pretended to be interested in their conversation. My mother was showing Julie photos of my sister in Colorado with her husband.
“I was so devastated when she decided to move. She’s the only one who ever really helps me when I need it. I could rely on her for anything in the world. I am so blessed to have her as my youngest,” my mother’s voice changed to a slow and exhausting pace, a victim of hardship and loss.
“Shall we eat?” I said.
After we ate and Julie said her goodbyes, I immediately began cleaning the kitchen.
“In a hurry to leave?” my mother said.
“Not at all. Thank you for dinner. It was delicious -”
“I don’t want to hear it. You were quite rude in front of Julie. You hardly sat with us to talk and just stayed in the kitchen.”
“I’m sorry. I was just washing the dishes. I didn’t want to leave you with a mess.”
“The dishes could’ve waited. You’re always trying to look like the innocent victim.”
“Mom, it’s really not like that. I don’t know why you’re saying this. I thought tonight was great.”
We were standing near the fireplace, the crackling wood and burning embers were a backdrop to what was coming next.
“Madelyn, I will never understand how you are so different than your little sister. She would take a bullet for me. But you, you could care less if something happened to me. No wonder your father left.”
There it was. Not just a knife to the heart but a knife that continued to stab at me for years, everywhere. A torture chamber of manipulation, a wearing down of every ounce of compassion I had, the ripping away of my true self, and creating the monster that my mother lived to create with glee. She accomplished what every narcissist wants, creating themselves as a victim and making it their reality. And I was ready to deliver that reality to her.
I snapped. I turned around to look at the bright flames in the fireplace, my back to her. As I watched the long yellow and orange flames reaching for something above them, the fireplace poker came into view. It hung with its companions on the hearth. I reached for the poker.
“Will you look at me when I talk to you? Leave the fire alone,” my mother said.
I turned around to face her. My right hand gripped the poker. Lifting it up like a baseball bat, I wrapped my left hand over the handle.
“What the hell do you think you’re -”
I swung with years of fury, years of conniving words that chipped away at my insides. The blunt poker slammed into the side of her left temple and the sound of metal hitting her firm head sang a lullaby to my ears. The sound of chopping being halted to a stop, pulling out, making way for another swing. I did it again and then again. Dark red blood appeared like paint dripping down a canvas, my painting. I never wanted it to end.
Her shrieks were finally the reality she yearned for, a victim. Someone who needed everyone to feel sorry for them, to be on their side no matter what. Every swing into her head changed the pitch of her screams until they fell silent and only the crackling fire could be heard. I sat on the couch to catch my breath as her motionless body lay on the floor, the edges of her wide eyes and open mouth glowed from the fire. A Santa Claus tray on the coffee table held snowman sugar cookies. I finished off two, knowing they were probably going to be my last.
Now I’m in here, locked away for life but at least I was able to finally escape Hell.
