Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: narcissism

The family dysfunction don’t stop

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I have mourned my entire life for the loss of a sense of family. Or rather, since I realized that my family was so fucked up. It started when I was in my twenties, but I was more intent on fighting against it back then. I was angry as fuck, and I didn’t know how to properly express it. Everything up to that point was a lie or told with such spin, it migcht as well be a lie. I was extremely angry at God (with a G) in my twenties, in part because of those lies. And by extension, at my parents, though that was not safe to voice.

Yesterday, I talked about the consequences of a lifetime of family dysfunction, and I want to explore it further today.

I feel like we all have definitive moments in which we can decide to change the way we are–or not. I hasten to add that most people don’t grab those moments by the horn–me included. It’s a fact of life that it takes a lot to consciously make a change. And, more importantly, to keep it up. I made the choice to try out Taiji over twenty years ago. My first teacher was a horror show, and I gave up after close to a year. I didn’t try again for several years. When I did, I hated it at first (as I did during my first try at it0. Why did I stick it out? Because I’m stubborn and because I needed something to back up my swagger.

Another time was when I moved to the East Bay to attend grad school for a year. That was a bad decision in retrospect, but at least I got something out of it. Would I have done it if I had the chance to make the choice over again? No. Life doesn’t work that way, though.

Side note: My brother has said more than once that he had no regrets–meaning he would not change anything about his life. I get the reason why (it’s made him who he is and he’s where he is today because of it), but I could not disagree more. I have so many regrets about my life, and I would have changed them in a heartbeat.

My parents, though, have not changed hardly at all in all the time I’ve known them. Well, not in a positive way, anyway. If anything, they are more conservative now than ever, and they are acting as if they were in the 1970s. It does not surprise me, but it makes me cringe. Fortunately, I do not have to be around them in public because I would just not deal with it well.


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How deep is the dysfunction

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One of the hardest things about knowing people who are deeply flawed is that it’s difficult to convey the flaws without sounding unhinged. Because other people don’t have the proper context to absorb what you are telling them. For example, I had a horrible personal tragedy in February of last year. I told my friends and selected members of my family, but I most emphatically did not tell my parents. Why? Because I knew they would make it all about them and not about me. How did I know this? Because this is what they’ve done all my life.

I finally told them in July or August. That was enough time for me to gather the inner resources needed to deal with my parents. The next time my mother brought it up, I was able to tell her the news. I told her it had been several months, but she still reacted as if I had punched her in the face. She asked why I hadn’t told her earlier and sounded so hurt. That’s normal. I don’t blame her for that reaction. But, then, I told her she did not need to tell my father and probably shouldn’t because it would just upset him. And, selfishly, if he was upset, it would mean that he would pass the upset to me. We hung up and not five minutes later, she called back. She had told my father and he was extremely upset.

He dumped his upset all over me and then said that we should pray together. I can’t tell him I don’t pray because he would not understand it so I said that he could pray. He gave the phone to my mother and insisted that she pray right then and there on the phone. My brain disconnected as my mother prayed and I went to my safe place in my mind so I wouldn’t either explode at my mother or slam the phone down in rage.

Back story: I don’t pray. I am not a Christian and have not been one for decades. I don’t believe in prayer and I still have some bitterness over the whole thing. In general, if people don’t shove it in my face then I’m fine with it. This was shoving it in my face and it was for them, not me. My mother knows I don’t pray and yet, she did it anyway because my father wanted it.

Speculation: My mother told my father in part so she could pray at me. She knows I don’t pray, but she doesn’t like it. She has claimed that she could not lie to my father, but this wasn’t even lying. She simply had to keep her damn mouth shut–which she can’t/won’t do. As I was listening to my mother pray, I was completely numb. It’s not an ideal way of dealing with the situation, but it was the least-harmful.

I told K about it, and she could not believe it. She admitted that when I told her I had put off telling my mother about my tragedy, she (K) thought I was being…not hyperbolic, but exaggerating or overreacting. Not in a negative way, but more that she wanted to think my mother would be a reasonable human being about it. K added, “But you were right.”

Yeah, I was. Because I know my mother. In fact, her resoponse was actually more muted than I had expected. But, a few weeks later, my brother told me that my mother had called him and told him to check in on me because of the tragedy. My mother said I said it happened a month ago. Which, I did not. I didn’t tell her it was in February, but I did say several months. My mother hears what she wants to hear.


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I’m past saying goodbye

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In yesterday’s post, I mentioned James Blunt’s song, Monsters, about saying goodbye to his dying father (who is still alive, thanks to a miracle kidney transpalnt). The song is powerful and makes me bawl like a baby–but not for the reasons that most people would cite. Many of the reactors I watched talked about how hard it is to lose a parent and how this song brought all that back. Almost every reactor was taking it from the perspective of someone who lost a parent they loved. Only one man mentioned that he had a very difficult relationship with his father, but he didn’t get into it.

Jay from Rob Squad glancingly mentioned (or rather Amber did) that his father wasn’t around when he was young, but he mentioned his grandfather’s death and how mcuh that affected him. Amber talked about how her father was her safe place and got really emotional.

I want my father to die.

Some of ithe reasons are are compassionate (he is clearly suffering and he’s rapidyl getting worse. My mother is suffering as well, and she shouldn’t have to deal with this at age eigthty). But, if I am going to be brutally honest–some of it is for me as well.

I died myself a year-and-a-half ago. Twice. It wasn’t a bad experience and it wasn’t drawn-out like this. It was one night–a week unconscious, and then another week to recover. Two weeks. That’s not completely true. By recover, I just mean get enough strength to walk out of the hospital. I was weak and pumped full of drugs, but I had all my faculties. By the time my parents left two months later, I would have said I was as close to 100% as I was going to get.

That was one of the best things to happen to me in terms of changing my point of view on life. And it was the worst when it came to my family because it showed me clearly how little I meant as a person to my parents.

My father has had dementia for at least five years. Probably more. It’s become really obvious in the last few years. When we talk on the phone, it’s clear that he can’t track what we’re talking about. He can’t understand that he’s in Taiwan and I’m in Minnesota.
I try to go with whatever he’s saying, but sometimes, I can’t make that leap.

I don’t mourn him. I did that decades ago. The minute he asked why should he love me was when the last dredges of hope that he might actually give a shit about me were stamped out. He has never been a  father to me, and it only got worse as the years went on. He’s selfish, narcissistic, quick-to-anger, thin-skinned, sexist, a nationalist, and a womanizer. But only of Taiwanese women because he has standards, damn it!

It’s funny. Roughly twenty years ago, I gave up on him. He’s never going to be the father I want or need. He was never going to love me as a person, and I was fine with it. If I had never talked to him again, I would have been fine with that, too.

Around the same time, I became aware that it was my mother who was more my problem. Why? Because I expected more from her. I didn’t expect anytihng from my father. But she was my mother, damn it! She was supposed to love me. ME, Minna. Not her ‘daughter’ whoever that might be, but me as a person.


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But faaaaaaaaam–*slap*

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Yes, we’re talking about family gaain. It’s the holiday sesaon, which can make or break a family. There are so many expectiatons during this time that rarely get met. I honestly believe that if people just chilled the fuck out and thought, “We’ll hang and have fun no matter what”, so much family drama would be avoided.

But faaaaamily.

And Anut Ethel expects that there be three different kinds of pumpkin pie while Aunt Mabel will chew you out if you dare bring cranberries because that’s her thing. Uncle Bill is just there for the turkey and the Lions game, yo. Whereas the cousins just run around and play hide and seek while they wait for dinner to be served.

That’s not how any of my childhood Thanksgivings went, by the way, because I am a second generation Taiwanese American and we carved out (get it?) our own holiday traditions. I don’t remember what we did for Thanksgiving. I’m sure there was turkey and my mother made this cranberry jello salad with Cool Whip and marshmallows, mandarin oranges, and walnuts. It was really good.

Side note: My ex-SIL held a grudge for years apparently that my mother brought that to our first shared Thanksgiving because to her cranberries means just cranberries with a bit of sugar for the sauce. It’s her favorite part of the dinner and not to have it really ruined Thanksgiving for her.

I asked my brother why she didn’t just get some regular cranberries if it bothered her so much. She had assumed that was what our mother was bringing and didn’t buy any. That makes sense. And I do get that if you have a tradition, it can be hard when that tradition doesn’t happen. So, yeah, I can understand being upset for a day or two, but to hold a grudge for years? That’s my ex-SIL, for you. She can hold a grudge longer than some of my relationships lasted. I have to respect it because I have held a grudge or two in my time. They tend to fade out, though, because, well, I get bored. Also, why do I want to think about someone who I’m over?

Here’s the thing. I am very good at giving the benefit of the doubt until I’m not. When that line is crossed, then I’m done. No more benefit of the doubt given. When I’m done, I’m done.

My last therapist told me sternly that wasn’t a good thing. I retorted, “I know. But it’s who I am.” Her point was that I should set boundaries earlier, and she is right. That way I wouldn’t explode later and go scorched earth.

I’ve gotten better at setting boundaries except with my parents. My eternal bane. When I was in my twenties, I was a hot mess. I was a complete and utter mess. There was a semester in college when I was disassociating on the daily. I had anorexia and bulimia, and my mother only cared that my waist was tinier than hers. She was jealous, you see, because she had been trying to lose five pounds since she came to America and discovered butter pecan ice cream.


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The harsh reality of ‘but faaaamily’

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I have been thinking a lot about my mother lately because her calls of desperation have come more frequently–almost once a week. Every phone call follows the same pattern. She asks me how I’m doing, then brushes over any response other than ‘fine’. This is not unusual for her. She doesn’t really care how I am; she just knows she has to ask. In the past, if I mentioned I had a cold or something like that, she would have to counter with why she had it worse. It would frustrate me, and then I would quietly seethe for the rest of the conversation.

Now, if I even so much as cough, she jumps on it because of my recent medical crisis. I have to declare that I’m fine, it’s just allergies, or whatever so she won’t go off the rails. She either overreacts to my ailments or underreacts. There is no just right in this case, and I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s a narcissist. She’s learned that she SHOULD care about other people, but she doesn’t know how to do it.

She’s mentioned a couple of times recently that she thinks she might be autistic because she’s an introvert. I told her she wasn’t, at least not for that reason (because autistic does not equal introvert), but the lack of emotions part, maybe.

However, I would diagnose her as a narcissist rather than autistic, which I have done in my own head. It has really helped me deal with her to recognize that she’s just as narcissistic as my father, but in a completely different way. My father is the classic narcissist–he doesn’t care about others and only sees them as useful to him or an extension of himself (family). He has no core, and I would posit that he doesn’t even love himself. That’s part of the reason he’s been so unhappy all his life–he needs constant reassurance that he is great and the second the accolades do not come flowing his way, he’s upset.

He cannot stand being alone. It’s as if he does not exist without others around to affirm him. My parents are currently 83 (my father) and 80 (my mother). My mother has been dancing attendance to my father since they were married 55 years ago. It’s only gotten worse since they’ve aged and my father has gotten


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One Nation Under Trump

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dump trump!
Would-be king, Trump

I am terrified of a President Trump.

I am not being hyperbolic. I was not terrified of a President McCain or a President Romney, though I thought both were terrible choices at the time, of course. President Palin? Yes, I was scared at the thought of her kicking McCain down the stairs and claiming his presidency, but that now seems tame in comparison to the idea of President Trump. I thought Sarah Palin was the nadir of what the GOP had to offer America. Oh, how naive I was back then. I’m not saying she’s any more acceptable as president now than she was then, but Trump has lowered the bar to the point where I’m almost longing for W. Almost.

Trump is not qualified to be president. He hasn’t been an elected official of any sort, and while I know it’s in vogue to scoff at career politicians, I want my president to have SOME prior political experience. Would I go to a surgeon who had never done an operation before? Fuck no! Then why the hell would I want a president who doesn’t know how many articles the Constitution has? I didn’t know, either, but I’m not running for fucking president. I want my president to know what the job actually entails. I don’t want my president to be sitting on Twitter, responding to every comment tweeted his way. He calls Clinton ‘Crooked Hillary’ and Elizabeth Warren ‘Goofy Elizabeth Warren’ as if he’s an eight-year old boy. He admires Vladimir Putin and says, “If he says great things about me, I’m going to say great things about him.” This clearly shows how narcissistic Trump is and how easy it would be to manipulate him. For all his flaws, Putin is not a stupid man. I have no doubt that he would be able to make Trump do whatever he (Putin) wanted him  simply by buttering up his ego.
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