Infancy Memory

My earliest childhood memories are unpleasant. My mother attempting to extract feces from my body using a stick. In this case the stick was a thermometer. I was an infant. Not even a toddler. This set off a flurry of nightmares about DeeDee coming to take my DooDee our family word for feces. 

There was a loose wire at my window that would whip and wake me and this caused me to wet my bed and my angry mother would throw me onto the guest couch and remake my bed. I remember her rage. I was little.

When I was three and a half I woke up with mecurichome over my genitals. I was in the adult ward of the hospital in New York City on Christmas. My biological father 6 foot 4 inches tall was called out of hiding to walk me down the hall so I could pee in a bucket of warm water since everything down there burned.

Kindergarten, my tonsils taken out on New Years Eve. I remember the metal colander and ether covering my mouth and nose and that awful smell pumped into my face.  My mother red lipsticked smiling walking backwards smiling and waving. That replayed in my head for decades. Then dots made everything disappear.

My sister hated me because my Aunt and Uncle brought me gifts. I was five.

When I was six I was in the hospital for the third surgery this was during summer vacation in Rye Hospital in NY. My mother was in heaven decorating my bed with pink and yellow and orange crepaper flowers and sprayed on perfume. Then she bought me a book about a girl who gets her appendix out. My step-father bought me Abby Road vinyl Album by the Beatles.

 My mother was trying to fix me up with a black girl with a broken leg at the hospital. I remember it hurt to laugh or stand up. Once again my sister hated me for all of the gifts and attention. The newspaper came and took my picture advertising a rocking chair donation. This newspaper clipping was kept for decades in our photo album. Not my participation in school plays or dance recitals because our parents never came to those.This was the cherished Hospital photos! 

The role was cast as sick daughter. Even at the memorial for my Step Father the only picture of me was a hospital photo from age 6. Not my career or my awards as an illustrator and artist. Nope. This tribe want the sick child even to this day.

When a narcissist realizes they can’t control you, their next move is to try to hurt you by controlling the narrative. They twist stories, play the victim, and convince others that you’re the problem, all because they lost control of you. It’s a deliberate attempt to rewrite the truth through manipulation. Maryam