“Hello,” she said, picking up the kitchen phone. “No. Not yet. Yes, they’re both here. Okay, let me just give it to him and I’ll meet you at Neiman’s in about twenty minutes.”
Upon hanging up, my mother walked into the dining room, picked up a large white Macy’s box, and dropped it on my lap.
I was sitting on the couch in the family room, with my fiancé on my right and my father, sitting in his La-Z-Boy recliner on the left.
My father removed his glasses and squinted as the gift slid off my lap to the floor. “What’s that?”
My mother rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it his birthday?”
I looked at my father. “Last week. You didn’t have to get me anything. Really. Especially something this heavy which could injure a body part.”
My dad put his glasses back on. “Why would you give him a present and then drop it on him?”
“Warren, next time you go shopping for him. Ellen and I thought this would be perfect for him to wear to the out-of-towner’s dinner before the wedding. Speaking of which, I’m on my way to meet her at the mall momentarily.”
I opened the box with my fiancé and father, both staring with unbridled bewilderment.
“Oh. Um, thanks. Um, wow. A turtleneck and linen pants. Thanks?”
My mother walked into the kitchen and reached for her pocketbook. “Steven, if you hate it, you can return it. Do what you want.”
“No. No. It’s very sweet of you. I mean, you do know the wedding is in June. Here. In Florida.”
“You’ll need something to wear, won’t you? I asked your father if there was anything you wanted, and he said some sort of electronic thing. Your sister and I liked this, and I would think you would as well.”
My father scratched his head. “I was gonna get you the PDA we talked about, but they said that you wanted this. Did you say you owned nothing to wear for the party?”
My fiancé squeezed my hand. “I suggested that we should get him something because his closet is filled with the 80s section, some early 90s and of course six Members Only jackets.”
My mother was headed for the laundry room, which led to the garage and her car.
“Well, now he has something.”
“Ouch!”
She squeezed my hand with all the strength she could muster.
My father turned back to his golf match and asked if we wanted to go out for dinner later that evening to celebrate my birthday as he eyed Tiger Woods lining up his first putt of the afternoon.
“Oh, yeah. That, um, would be really, um, terrific. I, um, look forward to it.”
“Okay. So, you both go home and get cleaned up and can you please do me a favor and shave? Go hang up your new clothes. How about if we meet at the club at say eight? In fact, it’s your birthday, so let’s meet at the bar for a cocktail at seven-thirty.”
“Don’t you have to clear this with the boss?”
My father turned his recliner towards us, still sitting on the couch.
“I’m the boss around here. I can do whatever I want.”
I stood up. “Oh, really?”
“Really, big shot. Besides, we discussed it before you walked in. Your sister and brother-in-law will be there. I thought your mother would have told you, but I never heard it come up. We already have the reservation.”
“Oh. Some boss.”
As we said goodbye and headed for the front door, I heard my father yell, “Hey. You forgot your gift.”
Linda stared at me as I walked back to the sofa to retrieve my closets new addition, before opening the front door.
I turned up the radio while backing out of the driveway and began singing, “All I need, all I really need is good lov…”.
She pressed the button for the radio so hard it turned off and then back on. Message received loud and clear. There would be no singing.
“Don’t you get it. Why didn’t you say something?”
This was a rhetorical question. The yelling was so loud she had no reason to stop. Thankfully, she was ignoring the music. “And another thing…”
“I said, Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yes, indeed, all I really need
(Is good lovin’)
Gimme that good, good lovin
(Good lovin’)
All I need is lovin’
(Good lovin’)
Good lovin’, baby.”
While singing in my head, I’m thinking maybe this is the story of my life. Maybe she can calm down. Maybe my mother and sister could change their attitude towards my fiancé and, well, me. All I need is good lovin’. Why does trouble always follow me around? Do I have a “kick me” sign on my back or something?
“Answer me. Now! When are you gonna tell your mother that you hate her gift? You told me your father was gonna get you that PDA. She and your sister obviously decided they wanted me to look like an idiot. They do not like me. What don’t you get about that? By walking into the out-of-towners party wearing a turtleneck, I will look foolish and they know it.”
“Look, Linda…”
“I know my name, thank you. You are too nice to them. You’re not gonna say anything. I know you. You are to leave that box. You are to tell them to return it immediately. Do you understand me?”
We walked up the steps to my apartment, sans the box.
“Your mother and your sister hate me. Hate me! People know that I will be responsible for what you wear that night. They’re trying to make me look like a fool.”
Opening the door and turning on the light, I thought about the way she makes everything about herself.
Sometimes there are some thoughts that make you feel so empty that when you deeply think about it, it’s like you are a balloon with a slow leak. It’s a combination of fear, sadness, and uselessness. (I’m talking philosophically not emotionally or psychologically like how people have less self-confidence). I find myself having that feeling sometimes when I’m alone and I go so deep like I understand death.
These thoughts have come to life since the day Linda entered my universe.
Narcissist Extraordinaire
People very high on the narcissist scale are the only people that, with time, appear healthier and healthier in a relationship, while the victim appears sicker and sicker… and, to the untrained eye, a lot of times people don’t realize what’s going on and because of that, the victim ends up being emotionally abused for years and years. It gets better. Then they receive secondary abuse by professionals who don’t understand what’s going on and who think the problem lies with this person because the symptoms seem so clear.
“Look, maybe they just wanted me to look good for that party.”
“It will be a hundred and ten degrees. They want you to sweat and look like an idiot. What’s worse? I’ll be included in everybody’s thoughts. You are to tell your mother that she is to return that and then tell your father to buy you the PDA.”
“Linda…”
“I know my name thank you.”
I always seem to walk into that one.
“It was nice. They at least thought of me and I will not insult them.”
“Insult them? You are such a total moron. She dropped it on your lap. Dropped it. Didn’t hand it to you. Didn’t bring it to the club to give it to you later tonight. Didn’t say Happy Birthday. Nothing. She didn’t even tell us about the club. Your father did after she had left. They hate me, and you will not stand up for me. Tonight, you are to tell them you hate the gift.”
“But based upon your logic, won’t they think me hating it is all a result of you really hating it,” I said hoping she would see where I was headed and not continue biting my head off for something I did not do.
“I hate you!”
“What higher praise can one get from the woman he will be marrying,” I thought as I watched her run to the bedroom and slam the door. “Just shoot me now.
I exhaled and turned on the television in the living room. She was probably right. It was no secret my sister had little regard for Linda. My dad asked what I wanted and after setting my expectations high, I was let down like a lead balloon.
The yelling continued for the next three months. She was relentless. But how could I say anything to my mother? I took it. I didn’t even do anything, but I took everything. For three months I refused to bring up the topic with my mother.
I learned amidst the screaming that my sister reveled that night in seeing me in the clothes, sweat pouring down my brow.
I could not control my mother or my sister and their feelings towards the woman I was to marry.
Not My choice, but certainly my fault
My parents made the decision it was time for their youngest child to be married.
My mother walked into the house twelve months earlier. “My hairdresser handed me a phone number for him. He says she’s pretty and has never been married.”
“It’s time. He’s thirty five years old. It’s time for him to get married. Did you say she was Jewish?”
“Warren, why would I take a shiksa’s phone number? Why would Izzy do such a thing?”
“Okay. So let’s get this thing going. I mean what in gods name is he thinking? She sounds perfect.”
And there it was. She was Jewish and single. If something was wrong, it had to be with me. Nothing else mattered.
To make matters worse, she wanted to get married so badly, she ignored how much she disliked me. I did not understand what was happening but she started with Love Bombing, which is an attempt to influence a person by demonstrations of attention and affection. It can be used in different ways and can be used for either a positive or negative purpose.
This was followed by Devaluation. Because of their emotionally primitive perfect-or-worthless thinking (stuck at the developmental level of a young child) and their insistence on unattainable perfection, narcissists in relationships (with partners, family members, or friends) nearly inevitably become disillusioned. And because they lack a moral compass (again, like the stunted children they are), they do not hesitate to express their disappointment in a range of devaluing hostile behaviors, including judgment, belittlement, and rage, if not outright abandonment.
But the big one, the big one, I missed. Divide and Conquer. This is a primary strategy narcissists use to assert control, particularly within their family (In this case my family), to create divisions among individuals. This weakens and isolates family members, making it easier for the narcissist to manipulate and dominate. The narcissist sets up an environment of competition and terror in which individuals are trying to avoid an attack, often at one another’s expense. S/he favors some and scapegoats others, breeding mistrust and resentment among siblings or between the other parent and children. (This explained the box dropping and my sister’s relentless yelling at my mother about how Linda had taken me to “the other side).
I was miserable when I was with Linda. I learned years ago that when people are angry; they say exactly what they are thinking. Rarely, if ever, did she apologize. Her narcissistic tendencies showed regularly.
There is a great deal to be said about being a nice guy. “Jeez,” I thought. “I’m not that nice. So, what is it?”
I researched. I went to the library. (Please raise your hand if you remember a building called the library).
And I learned.
There’s a common misconception out there that there are only two kinds of men, Nice Guys and Bad Boys.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
A nice guy isn’t a nice guy. He’s someone who’s afraid of speaking his mind and stepping on toes, so he constantly obliges and panders to women, his superiors, and his friends in a desperate search for approval. Ouch. That sounds familiar.
To put it simply … nice guys are pushovers.
On the other hand, bad boys are the complete antithesis of the nice guy.
They don’t care about other people and are completely caught up in their own world. They will push others around, lie, and manipulate to get what they want.
That’s not me. I can never do that. Well, maybe a little.
So, what if there was a third kind of person? And what if I learned to become that person?
This option will be referred to as a “Grounded Man.”
He’s kind, polite, courteous, and considerate of others. But he also knows what he wants, speaks his mind, and will make other people uncomfortable, if need be, for the sake of his mission.
I am working towards this option. I can remain nice but speak up. Who knew one could speak up and remain thoughtful?
I am far from there, but I have changed my life. It took years, but my wife is now my ex and my sister who refused to acknowledge her continuation of making my ex look bad when we were together, is, unfortunately, a memory. Both my mother and father have passed away, as has Linda. But not before her final act. For three years she ignored court orders stating that we had a Co-Parenting Agreement. She had both of our teenage sons block my phone number and ignore my texts and e-mails, telling them daily that I, along with my family, were Hitler, Charles Manson, and Osama bin Laden all rolled up into one.
The final act was committed the week before she passed away. She and my younger son, a high school senior who had just turned 18, walked into the principal’s office with a document stating he no longer wanted me in his life. I was no longer on distribution at the school and could no longer attend hid varsity basketball games.
Upon her death, of an apparent heart attack, her sister took control of both my sons. I tried reaching out to both boys and her sister. Did you hear from them? I sure did not. (To be clear, over the course of the past three years I have sent over one hundred text messages to both boys with no response).
I pray every day and night for my sons. I pray for their health and dream of walking with them on the beach. Listening to them and hoping one day, they want me back in their lives.
Today, I surround myself with positive people. People who have stuck by me. I do not need quantity. I need quality. I needed to separate from the negative, and how hard was that?
But being a pushover? No more. It’s like AA. One day at a time and positive thoughts.
Let me tell you, it’s a lot nicer place to be.