If you were not the Golden Child in your narcissistic family, consider yourself lucky. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
I can hear Scapegoats worldwide mumbling under their breath. And I do admit that being the Golden Child has some perks! As an only child and eldest grandchild (I'm sorry, cousins! Now I "get it!"), no one knows that better than me! I was the Golden Child by default. There were treats and presents, hugs and cuddles, fawning and praise.
But it came at a price. Sooner or later, you have to pay for the presents. The cuddles come with conditions. And there are strings attached to the treats. I was thirty-one before I realized that I had to pay the piper for my Golden Child status.
His price is absolute control over every facet of your being — mind, body and soul.
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Reading old emails exchanged with my captors makes me sick. Nauseated. Loquacious lovey-dovey’s and toe-curling coo’s drip from our email conversations. The contrast between our communication back then is in stark contrast to the barbs and silences now.
It’s contradictory. Crazy-making.
Stockholm Syndrome overwhelmed me again last night, wracking my frame with guttural sobs. As tears poured down my cheeks, a voice I barely recognized as my own cried, “What did I do that was so bad? What happened to all the love? Why did they do all this shit to me? Did they ever love me at all? Did I ever truly love them? Did they ever have empathy for me?”
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Lenora Thompson writes a great blog...she's been there, seen that, and lived to tell the tales. - Facebook friend