My Parents Divorce: Narcissism rears it's ugly head

My parents never had a very lovey, romantic marriage.  They never seemed to be "that couple".  I can remember thinking when I entered my teen years, however, that I had escaped divorce.  Whew, I thought, parents don't get divorced when you are a teenager, so we've escaped that.  What a weird thought, I think now.  On some level, I must've known that things were not good.

Things had been hard for my parents for several years.  Job layoffs.  Death in the family.  But I had not expected they would divorce.  My mother and I had gone to pick up my sister from a school event.  It was a dark and very rainy night.  And she just stated it matter-of-fact.  There was no family meeting.  No time to discuss it.  No time to even process it as my little sister jumped into the car.  I was in shock, to say the least.  And then we went home, and that was that.  Parts of my life at this time are blurry.  I do not remember how she told my sister.  I vaguely remember talking to my dad about it.  I remember spending an entire month in my bedroom.  I came out only to shower and eat.  My dad checked on me once.  My mother never popped in to see how I was doing.  They were both so wrapped into themselves that I was an after thought.  Details emerged.  My mom had disliked my dad for a long time.  Felt controlled.  And now that he wasn't contributing as much financially, the straw had finally broke the camels back.  Money and security were of utmost importance to her.  And Dad couldn't provide that (well, at least not in the way she wanted).  But Hank did.  Hank was a man my mother worked with.  Somewhere, along the line she had started an affair.  And now she was kicking my dad out.  That was that.  My Dad moved out.  It was chaotic and stressful at our house.  My mother acted like everything was normal.  She was actually happy.  She felt that she had done the best thing ever.  She told me repeatedly that she needed to be happy.  She deserved to be happy.  She was sorry it effected me, but it was her turn to be happy.  I needed to be happy for her. I need to realize that this is what she needed, and I'd move on.  It wasn't that big of a deal...to her.  As I stated, things were blurry, but here are some of the highlights of this time (my high school years) that I do remember:

*My father tried to commit suicide one night.  I was in bed trying to sleep and I could hear the arguing in my parent's room below mine.  I was terrified.  I stayed tucked under the covers in my bed.  Too paralized to move.  The next thing I remember is the police officer.  He came into my room after a quick knock.  He told me he was searching for my father.  Did I know where he was?  No, I shook my head.  I was so confused.  And terrified. I had no idea what was going on.  My mother never came into my room.  Never checked on me that night.  The next day she informed me that Dad had tried to shoot himself.  My sister had come down to check and my mom made her call 911.  Dad left.  The cops came and searched for him.  She didn't know what had happened to him.  And that was that.  She made a big production of my sister.  Worried over her, got her counseling (rightly so), but did nothing for me.  Never talked about it again.

*The first time I met Hank, my mom paraded him into the house without warning.  She was giddy, almost teenager like.  She was very concerned that he meet her daughters.  She had been out with him and his children.  We had been left at home.  She never once thought about how we would feel about this meeting.  She wanted it to go well to make an impression on him.  She actually became angry with my sister and I for not being more welcoming (we were shocked).  She impressed upon us that it was important we assimilate into this new family.  She spent most of her time with them.  She often left us alone.  For entire weekends I would be in charge of my sister.  On holidays, she would drag us down and demand that we be happy.  Demand that we get along.  She never thought that she had destroyed everything we had.  She expected us to let loose of all of our holiday traditions and just follow along with the new family.  She called me selfish and a brat when I tried to preserve some things for my sister.  When I asked to not open gifts until Christmas morning, although we would happily watch everyone else open gifts the night before, she became infuriated.  I just wanted to have something left for Christmas.  Something for my sister and me.  Hank's family would be spending Christmas Day with their mother.  We would be lonely and doing nothing.  I was just trying to keep something. And never mind that this new family wanted little to do with us.   She was so happy and excited by this new life.  And we were an afterthought.

*I became very depressed.  My mother moved us away from our home, an hour away.  Stripping me of everything I knew before.  And she wanted me to be happy about it.  Happy for her that she had finally found her "soul mate".  I went to school every day in sweats and a pony tail.  I never dressed nicely.  The signs were all there.  But she never asked me about them.  Never offered counseling.  Never asked if I was OK.  I felt abandoned and alone.  And overwhelmed.  My sister leaned on me completely.  And if I went and did any normal teenage stuff (hang out with friends) I felt I abandoned her.  I could hardly handle my own emotions, but felt I was responsible for her too.  My sister would later say that, during this time, I was her mother.

*I got a job.  I stayed over often at my boyfriend's house so I could work.  I rarely went home.  I lived out of my car and a duffle bag.  I drove an hour to my high school when I did go home, as my education was so important to me and I knew I would never get the same opportunites in my mother's new small town.  My mother thought I was being a snob, but let it go.  I imagine it was easier to not deal with me.  She checked on me by phone.  In fact, would get angry when I didn't respond right away.  But in reality, she knew nothing of what I did most days.  I was 17 years old.  I fed myself.  I got myself to school. I participated in after school activities.  But she felt that SHE was doing everything for me.  She felt I owed her things.  That I should think she was the best mother ever.

*My sister was out of control.  She was drinking and sexually active and 14.  And my mom left me in charge of her.  One night she was raped.  Because I had left her alone to go out with friends.  Another friend had come over and taken advantage of her.  I never forgave myself.  I know now, that it wasn't my job to look after her.  That it was OK for me to go do something for myself.  But I felt sickened.  I didn't know what to do.  When she told me when I got home, I had no idea what to do.  But we didn't tell my mom.  We just moved on.  It's all so sad, and sick, and devastating to me now.
I was often left in charge of my sister.  One night she had a party with friends at our house.  There was nothing I could do about it.  If I called my mother, she would've been angry at me.  She would've been mad that she had to drive home from her boyfriend's house.  So, I just tried to contain the party.  Eventually, the cops came.  It was the same cop who had been in our house when Dad tried to shoot himself.  He remembered us, he said.  I lied and told him nothing was going on (everyone had left by this point.  He'd been tipped off by a girl who was gone).  He let us go.  But I know he didn't believe me.  He felt so sorry for us.  I could see it in his face.  That look awakened me to the fact that all of this was not alright.  One night my sister took off with friends.  I spent the entire night looking for her, literally looking all over the city for her.  I knew that I dared not come home without her.  When we got home, my mom was there.  We had missed our check-in phone call.  She was furious.  She grounded ME for being out late.  Despite the fact that I told her I was hunting down Erica.  She refused to listen to me.  So angry that I had ruined her weekend and made her worry.  I moved out to my dad's the next day.  As punishment, she sold our family home that following week.  There was no going back.  I eventually had to move back in with her when my Dad moved.  But I never really lived there.  I never had a home again.

*She married Hank, very shortly after words.  It seemed like a whirlwind.  At the ceremony, she was ecstatic.  She wanted my sister and I to sing her and Hank's song.  It never occurred to her this was a slap in the face to us.  That this man, who she left my father for, that this marriage, might hurt us.  Might be hard for us.  Might crush any ideas that she and my father would get back together.  It was all about her.   On the cake and in cards there was a number.  I knew this was the hotel room number they used to meet up at when she was still married to my dad.  She never told us that, but she loved that number and it was important to her.  It made me sick.  It felt so...disrespectful.  That number had been the reason for the death of my family.  And she loved it, idealized it.  She never thought about Erica and me.  How we felt.  Be happy for me Jessie.  I found my soul mate Jessie.  I'm finally happy and this is all I've ever wanted Jessie. Put a smile on your face.  Celebrate me and my adultery.  Celebrate the event that caused so much pain, and heartache, and hurt.  Celebrate the destruction of all you knew, of your innocence, of your childhood, of your abandonment.  She told me around this time that it is in the Bible that you should put your husband above your children.  And this is what she intended to do.  Hank would be first in her life.  No matter that she had made a commitment to her children first.  That this man was a relative stranger to our lives.  No matter what her children felt.  Her husband, her new life, her feelings came first.  It was HER turn she said.  When was it ever my turn, I wondered.