Its odd, growing up under the care of a sociopath.
Maybe "care" is the wrong term. Its more like I cared for them and raised myself and two others while they were a fiend for attention.
Sociopaths are prone to hurt other people, to search for attention by any means possible, to get their way in any fashion. My mother was no different.
She wasn't the only sociopath in the family either. Her mother and sister were also by definition prone to sociopathic behavior, or at least the literal image of a narcissist. Maybe there were others I never noticed, but those three were clear as day not necessarily "right," if you know what I mean.
To gain attention, my dear mother tended to be injured often. She would find herself with broken bones, because she just so happened to fall off the curb or a single step. She had constant neck pains, and always had to see the doctor because it was always too much to handle. She managed to get a black eye too, claiming a box fell on her face in the garage, but I know she had hit herself on purpose as she sat in front of the doorknob and would hit her face against it.
She found injury by pills her favorite. I say this as she loved to overdose on more than one occasion. Did you know she would pass out on top of me from her highs so I could call for help, so she could be doted on? Did you know she ended up not getting enough attention from this, so she kept taking more pills? Did you know living without attention wasn't enough, so she killed herself with an overdose so she would forever have that attention with her ever so loving memory.
She hurt people with her pathological lying too. Told my dad she loved him, but told her sociopathic mother she was unhappy. Told her sister she was scared for her life when her love never laid a hand on her, but would giggle like a teenager with her best friend over how much she loved her wonderful husband.
Looking into my memories, she was never really alive and there, just faking it like any other sociopath.
She had those dead eyes just like them.
Who the hell was she?
And am I fated to become her?
After all she raised me. Or, I raised my siblings as I observed her.
I don't think I could be her. Not when I'm looking to bring joy to others, and try to ignore myself and pretend I'm really here in hopes to help another.
No.
I couldn't be my mother.
But what scares me is I see it this in my sister.
She learned to hide it fairly early on, and acts almost like a human being. But sometimes I see it in that little girl when she just stares at me, just like my fucking mother.
Why?
Her eyes are hollow and dead too.
Sociopath.
