Disappearing Entities


How did I get here?

What happened to my family?

Only the main characters are still with me.

My son and my daughter exist in the real world, where I wish to reside with them, despite life’s obvious absurdities and complications, like crosses or woolen coats we have to put on in winter weather, despite rashes incurred from bearing them about the neck.

I think of one coat in particular, my first black woolen dress coat, which left a mark on the back of my neck so painful I thought I would bleed to stay warm.

But the others, the more distant living relatives, have faded into a surreal past, where happy memories compete with the cold hard reality of growing up.  I’m one of the few left now who doesn’t suffer mental illness, hidden abuse, commit criminal actions, live lies or perform suspicious behavior.

I even have an elderly aunt who lives in fear, and said recently she’d lie in court to protect an abusive relative who stole his living son’s property, and confiscates money from the living son to pay his dead son’s bills.

It feels somewhat like growing old and realizing your family really did belong to the mafia, were all brainwashed except for you, or one of your parents was not who they said they were.

And were they really?

The question is fair, considering my social security number attests I was born in Texas but my birth certificate says Indiana. I was told by a counselor my elderly, post-abortive mother still blames me for being born, and thus her jealous schizophrenia.  Yet I am verbally assaulted by the “others” almost daily, or called paranoid just for being curious about my birth.

It is like being the swan but still reprimanded for not looking and acting like a stupid duck.

Follow the leader. Do not think for yourself.

What’s wrong with Judy?

She can actually think.


The approach of evening brings with it respite, from the toils of the mind.

That is when I feel closest to those that were sane, those that loved me a long time ago, and are still capable of love, albeit from a different realm, as the sun sets.

As a child I was afraid of ghosts.

At West Point in the 1970’s there was the ghost of a Civil War cadet who haunted the barracks, and this story hit the headlines in the local publications as well as circulating around post.  One wet and spooky October around Halloween there was a bathrobe swinging incident, on a bathroom hook, and one cadet so frightened he hopped up on top of a filing cabinet to say his rosary, because he was Catholic. Apparently the thermometer outside the room had plummetted so low it cracked and the ghost disappeared when the rosary was finished.

Yes, I was afraid. I said the rosary too, even as a little girl. Honestly, I did not want a spooky ghost coming to ask me for prayers. I probably said one or two for him right away just so he’d stay away. 

I remember surveying the bathroom before I showered, staring at the door knob, or anything that looked like a hook, a knob or a bathrobe, in the bathroom, praying to God that He would never let a ghost come visit my house.

Do not put your bathrobe on the doorknob Judy. It just might swing.

That’s why I think it’s so funny that now when I hear my father’s silent voice it sometimes follows me into the bathroom, and I don’t think he’s asking for prayers, because of his basicly martyrdom death.

I think he’s already in heaven.

The joke’s on me, and my father certainly cracks jokes time and time again, just like he did this side of life, as if in evidence that he’s up there eating garbage can pizza with Uncle Frank and having an uproarious good time.

I couldn’t make this stuff up, the sentences I’ve heard silently in my brain.

I think of the time Dad referred in my head to my brother as the Manchurian Candidate, before I had ever seen the movie or read the story.

I had to google Manchurian Candidate on my iPhone to find out just what the expression actually meant.

And my brother certainly behaves like the Manchurian Candidate,  complete with the narcissist mother still brainwashing him.  Apparently, Dad likes to provide movie themes to honor my oft-stated quip that my life is turning out to be like a Lifetime Chanel Movie, after all.

So I ponder these things in contemplation.

How is it that what we sometimes see and hear and can touch is so false, so deceptive, yet reality as it exists in eternity, and the persons already there, are more alive and honest than sometimes one’s closest relatives on earth, that we can feel and touch?

It’s like all mental illness is a mockery of this joyous truth.

Mother of Christ, Mother of Christ,
What shall I ask of thee?
I do not sigh for the wealth of earth,
For joys that fade and flee;
But, Mother of Christ, Mother of Christ,
This do I long to see,
The bliss untold which thine arms enfold,
The treasure upon thy knee.



5 thoughts on “Disappearing Entities

    1. Ha! Love the lyrics, but this post is not me “on drugs”. It is me dealing with my current, grounded reality. The song you suggest however, is an excellent analogy to the long lasting brainwashing effects on children of a narcissistic parent, and how the “pills” those types of parents or relatives offer, do not help or heal.


  1. 🙂 glad you liked the lyrics, there’s a lot in there. The ‘pills’ we take (or are given) one to make us larger and one to make us small, can be a lot of different metaphorical things. And the rabbit holes we go down as well. Just remember if things get too strange, sometimes the only way out is Up. Good luck with your journey.


  2. Yes, same to you. Music is an amazing medium, and reality and truth viewed correctly are always good things. There is no way out of reality, but what at first appears strange, uncomfortable or even frightening is often, paradoxically, the journey home.


  3. From Mary A Faher via mysteryoftheiniquity.com:

    “The trip out of the narcissist’s rabbit hole and back to reality usually begins with realizations. The narcissist’s pretend world is often called a rabbit hole, because black is called white, up is called down and charades are called reality.”

    True reality and recovery for the victim of narcissistic abuse then, often begins with finding oneself practically alone.

    This is because a narcissist’s “love” is false, and if the narcissist is a family member, they will have been scapegoating and framing you for their sins for years. There will not be many family members free of the brainwashing a narcissist can inflict against you, to destroy your good name.

    Narcissists and sociopaths are truly like black holes, and there is rarely only one in a family dynamic.

    Finally it must be added that any delusional disorder with narcissistic traits (those that produce at times a feeling of grandiose self importance or mission) can manifest to the patient suggestions to go down “rabbit holes” of anger against others, those whom the patient feels has offended their pride, while they were in this altered state.

    For example, my elderly mother (a schizophrenic) really believes the logical fallacy that because I cared for her, saved her life, and brought her to the hospital, therefore I must be responsible for her having a heart attack in the first place. I am sure in her mind me bringing her to the hospital was an insult to her intelligence, playing her for the fool, like an attempt for her not to find out I “did this” to her. In my poor mother’s mind this means it is I who must not be trustworthy. And because she cannot allow that her golden child son was responsible for mishandling all of her ID cards when he took her to a VA hospital once, she goes looking down rabbit holes to find the purse she believes I stole from her.

    But rabbit holes can be applied to anyone with a disproportionate ego as well.

    For example, who has not broken up with a lover because of unsuitability, taking care not to offend that person unnecessarily? And who has had the rejected party reply “Oh thank you for rejecting me”?

    No one.

    And if the rejected party is immature, their ego is in any way narcissistic (or altered via mental disorder) they often invent confabulations or rabbit holes of sorts, that self misapply faulty intention or thinking on behalf of the lover who rejected them (not themselves).

    If the rejected boyfriend or girlfriend does this they may massage their own ego for awhile, but I can guarantee you there are no life, character or person self improvement policies, on the bottom of that rabbit hole.

    Just as no amount of crazy implying “pity” or “concern” for me on behalf of my troubled relatives will make me the troubled one, or “good luck with that” snide remarks altar my own happiness, or newfound peace, for having cut these narcissistic takers out of my life in the first place.

    After all, why should I forfeit my own birthright of sanity and joy to those who insist on looking for fool’s gold?


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