How Does the Non-dupe Err?

I: Psychoanalytic Punning

Lacan wrote a lot of useful and relevant topics, but he did so, unfortunately, using a prose style that can only be described as…impenetrable.

To take his notion of The Name of the Father, for example, this is a concept best expressed in the original French, as I typically present it: le nom du père. I use the French not to be pretentious, but to get people to see the nuances that the English translation doesn’t convey. Those nuances help to tease out more of the meanings of the concept.

For example, Lacan made two plays on words with le nom du père that the English cannot parallel: these puns are le Non! du père and les non-dupes errent. Again, on the surface, such playing around with French may seem pretentious and self-indulgent on Lacan’s part, but all three of these similar-sounding expressions bring out a lot of hidden meaning in what he was trying to say.

The nom (“name”) in le nom du père represents the legalistic aspect of the concept. In nom, I hear an interlingual pun on νόμος, or “law” in Greek. The non in le Non! du père represents the prohibitive aspect. So, the father (or, the second parent, he or she who intervenes in the dyadic, Oedipal relationship with the first parent), in laying down the law against the child’s wish to indulge in the transgressive pleasure of jouissance with his mother, is saying, “No! You mustn’t indulge in your Oedipal fantasies with your mother…she is my wife!

Apart from the prohibition against incest with her, the child must also give up on his wish to remain in a one-on-one relationship with her, to have her as the only person in his life, to hog her all to himself, to have her as a metaphorical mirror of, and an extension of, his narcissistic self. The child must be integrated with the greater society, which is who the father, as the third person in this set-up, represents: to go from a relationship with one other to many Others.

II: Going With, or Against, Society

So, the father’s (or second parent’s, as against the Oedipally-desired first parent’s) introduction of laws, or what’s more accurately understood as social rules, customs, culture, and a shared language, helps the child in his or her initiation with society. Now, initiation into society includes a confrontation with its illusions and hypocrisies, which one may or may not be duped into accepting.

If one accepts the phoney social charade, or is even duped in to believing that it’s real, one tends, in varying degrees depending on one’s intelligence and talents, to succeed in life. One has learned, socially, how to play the game. If, however, one does not accept the charade, and one is not duped into believing that the charade is real, then one tends–again, to varying extents depending on how well or how poorly one’s competencies can compensate–to fail to climb the social ladder. These social successes or failures are what Lacan meant with his second pun on le nom du père, the paradox that is les non-dupes errent.

So in Lacan’s paradox, we can be both wise and foolish at the same time, but in opposing ways. If we’re the dupes of social convention, believing its illusions are real, we won’t err, because we’ll benefit from playing the social game. If we’re non-dupes, though, we will err from the straight path that leads to those benefits–generally material and those of social status–that come from social conformity.

We can call this paradox, if you will, the ouroboros of social conformity, to return to my dialectical symbolism of the coiled serpent, which I’ve used in many previous blog posts to describe the paradoxical unity of opposites. The serpent’s biting head is one extreme, the bitten tail is the opposite extreme, and the length of its coiled body represents all the intermediate points between the meeting opposites.

To apply this concept to les non-dupes errent, if we’re duped too much by the hypocrisies of social convention, our drive to do well will push us to succeed and rise high in society. Such has been the success of our phoney, lying politicians, our trendy, Top Ten pop stars, and our virtue-signalling Hollywood celebrities, among many others. Those who know how to play the game and manipulate the system to their advantage do well…because they’re so thoroughly duped by it, totally believing in the illusion; and provided they have a decent amount of ability (and good connections!), they’re motivated to work hard enough to succeed socially and materially.

These successful people have gone all the way up the coiled length of the ouroboros that they’ve not only reached the biting head of success, they’ve also gone past it, over to the bitten tail of being extreme dupes. They’ve not only been taken in by the deception, to its maximum; they’re addicted to the illusion, and when confronted with the unreality of their world, their cognitive dissonance is so great that they’ll fight tooth and nail to defend their cherished illusion.

Then, on the other hand, there are the non-dupes who err. These ones are so contemptuous of society’s hypocrisies, they despise the masquerade so much, that they refuse to participate in it. Refusing to go along, though, they also don’t get to enjoy the rewards of the system. As a result, they slide down the coiled length of the body of the serpent and reach the pain of its bitten tail. These ones are like Diogenes the Cynic, or in modern times, persecuted journalists like Julian Assange. In their martyrdom and suffering, though, they go past the bitten tail and reach the biting head, which for them represents the honour of keeping it real.

Of course, there are also those who are everywhere in the middle, on the coiled length of the ouroboros’s body. These ones are some combination of partly duped, partly erring, and therefore moderately succeeding or failing to varying degrees.

As for me, I’ve learned that les non-dupes errent has been, for good or ill, the story of my life.

III: Erring in a Toxic Family

When you’ve been raised in a family with a narcissistic parent, as I was, you live out a life with a phoney narrative built up around it. By the time you finally wise up to it (which tends to be around when you’re in your late thirties to early forties), the psychological damage has already been done.

The phoney narrative has a cast of characters that the narcissist narrator has established, a set of roles the members of the family are assigned and manipulated into playing: the narcissistic parent, who has absolute power and is idolized, practically canonized as a saint by the family; the codependent other parent, who, like everyone else in the family, doesn’t dare challenge the narrative for fear of reprisals from the narc parent; the flying monkey siblings, the chief of whom is the golden child (the dupe to end all dupes), who is favoured the most for having pleased the narc parent the most, and the lesser flying monkeys, who are the lost children, given less attention and feeling relatively invisible, but who are at least not the despised one.

The despised one, however–the scapegoat, or identified patient–is the one who defines the dysfunction of the family for being the one who flouts its rules and incurs the wrath of the narcissistic parent. This last family member is the non-dupe who errs. He or she sees past the masquerade that the rest of the family is putting on; he or she is the black sheep who sees through the family bullshit. His or her blunt honesty about the phoney situation, refusing to be duped, gets him or her in trouble; he or she errs into the realm of emotional abuse.

As I’ve discussed in a spate of blog posts, I was the scapegoat of my family. As the sensitive empath, I saw through the phoniness of their presentation of themselves as a ‘respectable,’ and ‘loving’ family. My attempts to expose their charade got me black-balled by them. I was not duped, and I erred from the path they all went on together. They, the duped, didn’t err: they all ended up with better-paying work than mine, and with the respect of their peers.

No good deed goes unpunished.

And as the Marquis de Sade observed in his prose, the wicked prosper. Such is the world we live in.

IV: The Non-duped in School

Similarly, in high school we see our classmates grouping together based on common interests, usually based on their musical tastes, through which these adolescents derive their fragile sense of identity. In the 80s, when I was a teen, there were the metal-heads, or rockers; there were the New Wavers; there were the Goths, and other fans of what was then considered ‘alternative rock’; and there were the fans of mainstream pop and rock, those who included the hero jock football players and their pretty, princess girlfriends.

Then you had people like me, who didn’t fit in with any of those categories, partly because I was too awkward to make it with any of them, and partly because I simply didn’t want to be one of them. I built my own identity around listening to prog rock, modern classical, and avant-garde music. In other words, I rejected the phoney conformity of my classmates. Not being duped by their fashionable posturing, I erred…into the realm of being bullied.

V: Meandering and the Media

Another area where, paradoxically, the dupe doesn’t err and the non-dupe errs is in that of the global media, 90% of which in the US is controlled by only six corporations who, therefore, get to decide, based on their class interests, what is and isn’t newsworthy; and elsewhere there are repeats of what is reported in such dubious sources as the Associated Press, Reuters, and Agence France-Presse, based in New York, London and Paris.

Much of the global media, including The Guardian, CNN, and many others, is given huge donations from Bill Gates (Don’t get me started on him!), meaning that he can decide on the nature of their content, which will ensure maintaining a positive public image for him.

It is in these contexts that we can understand the contrast between the journalism of Assange and someone like Vanderbilt oligarch heir Anderson Cooper, who worked for the CIA for two summers while in college. The latter is a dupe who doesn’t err, while the former is, as mentioned above, a non-dupe who has erred.

For his work in maintaining the phoney political and social narratives of our time, being himself a dupe of them as well as duping millions of brainwashed CNN viewers around the world, Cooper has done well for himself financially and in terms of social standing. For telling the truth about our corrupt political world, though, Assange is incarcerated and in poor health.

VI: Roaming from the ‘Rona

The fact that the mainstream media is so reliably mendacious is the context in which we should place most reporting on the ‘rona. That millions have been plunged into poverty during this pandemic, while the oligarchs have seen their wealth skyrocket, should give us all pause. And this is all because of a virus that, if you were to catch it, would cause you in most cases to have from zero, to mild, to moderate symptoms, or in a small percentage of cases, more serious symptoms, or death in less than 1% of cases: this reality is more than enough to raise serious doubts of what we’re being told.

As I’ve stated previously, I’m no “anti-vaxxer”; rather, I’m opposed to the mandates. Those of us who are resistant to the machinations of those who are exploiting this pandemic for the sake of their own material gain, we are the non-dupes who err. We refuse the jab as an expression of our civil rights, and because we have legitimate doubts of its efficacy at best, and its safety at worst. Because we won’t be duped by the media, we err, that is, we lose work and the ability to go where we wish. The compliant ones, whom we see as the dupes, they don’t err: they can go about and work as they wish, imagining there’s no dog leash around their necks because they never attempt to walk beyond the length of its reach.

VII: Erring Commies

A final manifestation of the non-dupe erring that I’d like to discuss is he or she who has a realistic understanding of capitalism. The dupe of neoliberalism has a blind eye to how the hell we’re undeniably living in has been caused by the aggravation of class conflict through the unholy alliance of the bourgeoisie with the capitalist state that protects their interests. This dupe insists that the mere existence of a government and its regulations precludes the possibility of our woes having been caused by capitalism, the only ‘true’ form of which is, apparently, the “free market.” By playing the neoliberal game, however, these dupes tend to fall in line, believe in the spurious notion of the ‘American dream,’ work hard for their bosses, get promotions, and achieve at least a reasonable level of success. They don’t err.

We non-dupes, however, we communists, are standing in the rain, as Michael Parenti once observed. We put our jobs on the line; we’ve historically put our lives on the line. Contrary to the right-wing propagandists’ notion that communists hunger for power, we want the power to end hunger. If we’d truly lusted after power, we’d join forces with the Rockefellers and Kissingers of the world (as the dupes who don’t err do); instead, we non-dupes who err find ourselves in, or at least sympathizing with, countries that have to endure economic sanctions and embargoes, as well as threats of invasion.

VIII: Conclusion

So, though the non-dupe errs, he or she can be consoled with the fact that, straying from the straight path that leads to material success, he or she at least isn’t selling his or her soul to the system. Our suffering should be seen as a badge of honour, for we have an integrity and a sense of principles that the duped who don’t err will never have. We’ve erred past the bitten tail of the ouroboros, the realm of failure and defeat, to reach the serpent’s biting head, where we can proudly say that we’ve never allowed ourselves to be deceived.

Keep on erring, non-dupes. Progress is not possible without it.

‘Cedrick,’ a Children’s Story

[Here’s another children’s story in verse, like my previous one, ‘Bite.’ Again, there are no illustrations for it, because I’m far from being the best drawer in the world. I hope to find an illustrator, preferably my wife’s nephew, to do justice to the story. Here it is.]

In the land of Nacada, a powerful witch
Used her magic to give herself beauty.
Named Zill, she then married a man who was rich;
But to none in the world was her duty.

The key to her beauty was throwing away
All her ugliness onto another.
To keep herself comely, she found one good way:
After marrying, she’d be a mother.

On their children, she’d throw all of her ugliness:
First, two sons, and then, their only daughter.
Then at last, their son Cedrick, who never felt bliss,
But instead, his tears flowed out like water.

For on him was thrown all of the hideousness
That the five in his home all possessed.
For, without all Zill’s magic, these five were no less
Hard to look at than her. In his breast,

Cedrick had a good heart, but nobody saw past
His repulsive exterior form.
As a boy, he sought friends, but they all were aghast
At his shape–less a man than a worm.

In their house, the five made him do all of the work–
Washing dishes and clearing the trash.
If any one duty the youth dared to shirk,
He’d get many a bruise and a gash.

He learned of a party one night; out he snuck.
There he saw…oh!…the prettiest girl!
He was far from the power of his mother–what luck!
His good looks were restored! With this pearl,

He dared to chat, dared to ask her for a dance,
And this pearl of a girl said she would.
Oh, Cedrick was glad that he took such a chance,
For her heart, like her looks, was all good.

Her name being Georgia, she said he was handsome!
He’d never been called that before!
He looked in the mirror: he looked good, and then some!
Zill’s spells didn’t work anymore.

They danced, and they laughed, and they talked ’til quite late,
And she saw in his soul a good heart.
And he saw in his Georgia a long-wished-for mate,
And from her, he would not want to part.

But by midnight, Zill’s magic had traveled far past
The more usual reach of its power.
For all five of the family now made a cast
Of their curses at him in a shower.

His deformities all had returned, one by one,
Causing him to flee from Georgia’s sight.
Her surprise came more from his abrupt need to run
Than from how his new looks caused a fright.

Back at home, he saw all his grotesqueness returned,
And his family all felt relieved
That their warts and their boils were now his. How he yearned
For his Georgia, and how she’d perceived

Him as good in his looks as she’d found his warm heart.
And he slaved away as the five dined.
He wondered if he’d get her back…by what art?
All he had was his Georgia on his mind.

The next day, she came back to him! She’d found his home!
She said, “I’ve come to set Cedrick free!
He’s no longer your slave; now, with me will he roam.”
His mother growled, “How can that be?!”

“I, too, am a sorceress,” Georgia replied.
“But, unlike all of you, I do good.
It was I who helped Cedrick to find me outside
At a dance, far from you, where I could

“Give him love and affection, a cure to the ills
That you cruelly all passed on to him.
I won’t leave him with you, ’til your ugliness kills
All his goodness. A future so grim

“Is what you five deserve, so we’re leaving you here
Where I’ll bind you from passing your curses
To others. No longer will anyone fear
Zill’s deforming, maleficent verses.”

Then Georgia and Cedrick left his troubled city,
And wed in a faraway land.
As for Zill and her family, more was the pity.
They died by her cruel, cursing hand.

For no longer could they throw their foul ugliness
Onto others; it stayed there with them,
And they rotted away. Cedrick, though, lived in bliss
With his Georgia, his saviour, his gem.

So, if something inside has been bothering you,
And you try, then, to dump it on others,
You’ll find it comes back, just to vex you anew.
Folks aren’t trash. You should see them as brothers.

What Love Is (And What it Isn’t)

I: Introduction

No, Alannah Myles, it isn’t what you want it to be.

I’m no expert in the art of loving, and I’m far from practicing it ideally myself, but I do know it’s something more specific than “what you want it to be.” Love isn’t just a sentimental, ‘nice’ word that we can throw around any way we like. It actually means something.

I believe it’s potentially dangerous to toss this word around like a panacea to any relationship problem. We can’t just say, “I love you,” or “We love you,” and expect conflicts in families or with intimate partners to be resolved, as if those three little words were like saying, “Abracadabra.”

Again, I’m not anywhere near giving the final word on what love is, or how it’s to be properly given; but there are some fundamentals that are indispensable. I bring up the issue because narcissistic and other toxic people tend to sidestep these fundamentals:

  1. Love is accepting people as they are, and not demanding that they conform to how one ‘should be.’
  2. Love is wanting what is right for you and actively trying to help you achieve that, not wanting what I merely claim is what is right for you.
  3. Love is speaking well of you and focusing on the good in you, not speaking of and focusing on the bad, or merely speaking of loving you to make oneself look good.

There are other things one could mention, to be sure, but I’d like to focus on these three, since as I said, narcissists and other toxic types don’t do these three, while hypocritically claiming to be loving.

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

II: Accepting People as They Are

While those who love you may need you to change certain aspects of yourself because they’re genuinely bad for you (drug abuse, alcoholism, criminal behaviour, etc.), these people don’t go around trying to mould you into what they’d like you to be: a mirror of their narcissistic selves.

A narcissistic parent, for example, may manipulate his or her children into conforming to particular roles, like the golden child, the lost child, or the scapegoat. My late, probably narcissistic mother (she was never diagnosed) did such manipulating of my elder siblings and me.

I’m sure that Mom rationalized her tactics by imagining that my sister, J., as golden child was merely being guided into being the best version of herself that she could be. She also would have justified her making of me into the identified patient (through a bogus labelling of me as autistic, or having Asperger Syndrome) by claiming that identifying what’s ‘wrong’ with me will be the first step to helping me get ‘better.’

The point is that neither J. nor I should be what our mother merely wanted us to be–in J.’s case, an idealized version of our mom, and an extension of Mom’s narcissistic self; and in my case, a projection of everything Mom hated about herself. J. and I should simply be ourselves.

And because Mom tricked J. into being her notion of the ‘ideal daughter/sister/mother/aunt,’ tricking her into thinking that that manipulation was for her own good (i.e., a form of love), J. tried to make me into her idealized version of a younger brother, thinking that doing so was also an act of love. It was nothing of the sort.

Photo by Emma Bauso on Pexels.com

III: Wanting What is Right for You

Granted, even the best and most loving of families and other relationships will have their share of frustrating moments. Sometimes, what they think is right for you is at odds with what you want or know to be right for yourself; sometimes, they are utterly wrongheaded in thinking that this or that is right for you, in spite of having the best of intentions.

But at least these loving people have good intentions!

They aren’t trying to drag you down, they aren’t subjecting you to emotional abuse, and they aren’t using the most vicious of tactics, as a habit, to express their own frustrations with you. When the bad moments inevitably happen, when the fights happen, you are assured that there will be apologies later, and there will be far more good times with them, affectionate times, to compensate for the bad, and by a wide enough margin to render those bad times insignificant in comparison.

If, for example, you were being bullied at school when a kid, your loving elder siblings would have wanted to help you build up the courage to stand up to those bullies, and they would have done all they could to help you. They certainly wouldn’t have jumped on the bullying bandwagon and reinforced your sense of learned helplessness, as my two older brothers, R. and F., did (J., too, in spite of her claims to want to help me with such problems)!

Elder siblings helping you learn to assert yourself would include them actually listening to you assert yourself when you need to tell them they’re angering you. They won’t just pay lip service to how you should fight back, then when you try to do so, they double down on their own bullying and silence you, because they’d only intended for you to stick up for yourself against bullies other than them.

Photo by Keira Burton on Pexels.com

J. used to be hypocritical with me in this way, when preaching that I should be assertive and tell her, R., and F. off when they were giving me a hard time. But when the time came for me to stand up to her, did she step back and listen? Virtually never. Instead, there was usually some excuse why ‘now’ wasn’t the right time to speak up. Apparently, I was too late with it; apparently, there’s a time limit for asserting oneself. One should speak up more or less immediately, in her opinion. (No logical reason was ever given for the need to be so quick with one’s sticking up for oneself, of course. It was just manipulation on her part to silence me with her ‘speak now, or forever hold your peace’ tactic.)

Wanting what’s right for you also includes wanting you to grow into the best version of yourself. Well-intentioned parents, for example, might occasionally speak inadvisedly, and accidentally say things that hurt their children. But how is a mother telling her adolescent son that he is “only good at things that don’t make money,” spoken calmly and matter-of-factly, an accidental comment? My mother once actually said that to me when I was a teen.

Similarly, back in the mid-1990s, when I, in my mid-twenties, told her that two psychotherapists, each of whom I’d been seeing over a period of several months, told me they saw no autistic symptoms in me, she seemed rather unhappy about the news. After arguing with her over a lengthy time that doubt had been established over whether or not I am on the autism spectrum, Mom–having none of the authority or expertise in psychiatric matters that those two men obviously had–insisted she was right and they were wrong. She clearly wanted me to be autistic, or at least make me believe I was: what loving mother wants that for her son?

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IV: Speaking Well of You

Finally, for my purposes here, a minimal requirement of loving you will include having kind words to say about you. Again, there will be a time and a place for critical words, when one genuinely needs to hear them; but such times should be a minority, not a majority, of the time.

The critical words should also be controlled, not wild, thoughtless, and abusive. Even anger can be expressed in measured ways. People who love you are not going to be making a game of regularly insulting and belittling you. I say this because, though it should be obvious to most people, victims of emotional abuse and gaslighting are often confused by traumatic bonding, with its switches back and forth between nasty to nice.

My mother and J. used to rationalize the horrible things they used to say and do to me, as well as what R. and F. said and did, through victim-blaming (i.e., making out every conflict with me as if it were always exclusively my fault for getting them mad, without considering that maybe they could have tried reacting to my faults in a manner that actually has a bit of loving in it), giving me long-winded speeches supposedly meant to edify me, when these speeches typically went far off-topic (e.g., J. reacting to my accusation of our mom lying to me by talking a load of irrelevant nonsense about Mom not being able to handle every problem ‘perfectly’), or saying the meaningless words, “We love you,” when the last thing I’ve ever felt from any of them is real love.

Photo by Lisa on Pexels.com

Saying you love someone isn’t about pointing out how good you, the giver of love, are; it’s about seeing the good in the receiver of your love. Narcissists fail–or rather, refuse–to grasp that simple fact. If you see no good, or never mention any good, in the person you claim to love, then why do you claim to love this person? Is it just out of family obligation (i.e., if this person wasn’t a member of your family, wouldn’t you hesitate to abandon him or her)?

There’s no doubt in my mind that my mother and J. would say, or would have said, that they love(d) my cousins, L., S., and G. You wouldn’t know this, however, to hear how Mom and J. (have) spoke(n) about them. My mother in particular bad-mouthed our cousins in the most vicious ways over a period of decades, especially G., the youngest. On one occasion, she said G. “was being his usual boring self, talking and talking, and we all wished he would just go away.” On the other side of the coin, over all those decades, I’d never once heard her or J. say a kind word about him. Not even one. It’s not as though it couldn’t be done; Mom and J. simply didn’t want to.

People don’t love other people for no reason; they do so because they value those they love, which means seeing the good in, and therefore speaking well of, the beloved. Providing food, clothing, and shelter for someone, and only these three–without also providing loving words of comfort during sad times, encouragement during challenging times, and congratulations during successful times–is merely fulfilling material obligations, treating the receiver of ‘love’ as a job to be done. The loving person fulfills these obligations with joy; he or she would never regard the receiver of love as a burden.

My family heaped a mountain of verbal abuse on me over the decades. Words of kindness were a small minority, and they were generally insincere. Their insistent words of “We love you” sounded a lot more like them flattering themselves than making me feel valued. Such talk isn’t love. Now, I’m no expert on love, but at least I know what love is not.

J., just a week before the publication of this post, found me on Twitter and tweeted me a happy birthday wish, hoping that my wife and I are doing well. I didn’t respond, because I know this kind of graciousness from her is superficial and meaningless, given all I’d endured from her and the rest of the family for decades before. Her message was an obvious case of hoovering, and I’m not going to fall for that. She’ll have to do a lot more than send me birthday wishes if she hopes to get back in my good graces. She, R., and F. must confront the wrongs they’ve done to me over my life, and I know they don’t want to do that.

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V: Conclusion

As I said above, how I’ve defined love is pretty obvious except to those who have been abused, then subjected to the gaslighting that it was all done “out of love.” My definition is far from exhaustive, and while it isn’t made up of the sufficient conditions, it certainly has some of the necessary ones.

If those who ‘love’ you aren’t accepting you as you are, and are demanding that you be someone else, whom they prefer (I’m not talking about changing a few bad habits as necessary), they aren’t loving you.

If those who ‘love’ you don’t want what’s right for you and aren’t, on at least some level, trying to help you achieve what’s right for you (I don’t mean what they merely say is right for you, but what actually is right for you), they aren’t loving you.

If those who ‘love’ you either can’t or aren’t willing to do such a simple, straightforward thing as to speak kindly to you and emphasize the good, rather than the bad, in you (I don’t mean that loving people should never criticize you, but that they don’t harp on criticism constantly), they aren’t loving you.

These three things are fundamental and indispensable. If they aren’t there in the relationship, it doesn’t matter what other good things the person who ‘loves’ you does (i.e., such superficial things as buying you stuff or meaninglessly saying “I love you”). Other good things ought to be added to these three, but the three must be present.

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Remember: loving you isn’t about how great they think they are, but about how great they think you are…despite your faults.

Scapegoat

The narcissistic mother rules them all.
The codependent father won’t stand tall.
The brothers are lost children; they feel small.
The daughter is the golden child, Mom’s doll.

The scapegoat takes the fall. He wants to be set free.

The toxic family gangs up on him.
They bully, scream, and shout, on any whim.
His hopes at winning arguments are slim.
The chances of them changing remain dim.

They blame their woes on him. He dreams of liberty.

His mother lies, claims he is mentally lacking.
His father gripes, since he at school is slacking.
His brothers threaten; they’re always attacking.
His sister feigns concern…has he her backing?

Their false image is cracking. One day, he will flee.

His mother fabricates smear after smear.
His father won’t speak out, seems not to hear.
His brothers take advantage of his fear.
His sister gives her voice, but not her ear.

The scapegoat’s out of here. He now begins to be.

Abusers’ Cloud of Willful Unknowing

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In my post, Absence Makes the Mind Go Fonder, I wrote of how the low emotional intelligence of abusers in the family will cause them to say and do foolish things that go totally against their interests as far as maintaining family unity is concerned, because they value controlling the abuse victim over healing old wounds and trying to rebuild a relationship with him or her.

The abusers’ narcissistic, inflated sense of self, a False Self, causes them to have no sense of introspection. One could call it ‘the Dunning-Kruger effect of abusers,’ where the more abusive they are, the more they’re committed to a delusional belief that they are not only not abusive, but are an especially kind and loving group of people.

I have to be blunt and call these people who they are: pardon my French, but they are assholes. In fact, they are worse than assholes, for they don’t even know they’re assholes. They refuse to contemplate the very possibility that they’re assholes. At least with those of us who are victims of emotional abuse, our cruel inner critic keeps us aware of our faults; the abusers, on the other hand, seem to go through their lives thinking they’ve done nothing wrong.

I discovered this reality about my late, probably narcissistic mother, my golden child older sister, and my two older bullies…er, brothers. This group of emotional abusers actually think they’re an exemplary family.

It doesn’t matter how nice the abusers are to each other, or to their own kids, or to other people they meet out there in the world. If they scapegoat even one family member (in my family’s case, me, as well as my three cousins), they are already abusive assholes from that fact alone, because even a half-decent family would never treat their own flesh and blood, for all of his or her admitted faults, in that way.

They don’t, however, seem to know the truth of their dysfunction. Some kind of mental mechanism, some cloud, must be what they use to protect themselves from ever knowing.

Wilfred Bion, in his book, Learning From Experience, wrote of something he called -K (‘negative knowledge’), which represents a stubborn refusal to gain knowledge. He says that the origin of -K is an infantile form of envy, as Melanie Klein described it–the wish to spoil the good breast of the mother by projecting bad things into it.

This infantile envy, as with Klein’s notions of the paranoid-schizoid (PS) and depressive (D) positions, only starts with the baby; these mental states continue throughout life. Just as there’s an oscillation back and forth between PS and D (Bion notates this oscillation more or less as PS <-> D), so can there be an oscillation back and forth between envy and gratitude throughout life.

So this envy, as exacerbated in such dysfunctional families as those run by narcissistic parents, can be the source of a stubborn refusal to learn (-K) from previous mistakes, the low emotional intelligence I mentioned up at the beginning of this article. Now, according to Bion, the acquisition of knowledge (K) starts in the commensal relationship between mother and baby, the soothing container/contained relationship. As the child grows, he or she learns how to do the containing, essentially, for him- or herself, the processing of irritating raw sense data from outside into tolerable experiences and thoughts. (See here for a thorough explanation of Bion’s and other psychoanalytic concepts.)

Sometimes, however, we need others’ validation, or containing, as we grow older. Then, the acquisition of K is a symbiotic relationship between the self and other people.

When one grows up in a family with narcissistic parents, with golden children for siblings (either relatively so in comparison to the scapegoat, as my elder brothers were compared to me, or in the absolute sense, as with my elder sister), and oneself is made into the scapegoat, or identified patient, no such symbiotic relationship of people helping each other grow in K will exist to any substantial extent. No empathy is felt between family members competing for the love of the narcissistic parents, so there’s little containment, or soothing, of each other’s agitations and anxieties.

Instead of soothing forms of communication, which Bion described as a passing back and forth of energy through projective identification, family members pass back and forth negative energy, or negative container/contained projections and introjections. Feelings of anxiety and agitation then metastasize into what Bion called a nameless dread, or what I would simply call trauma.

Instead of communicating, family members fight, which increases mutual alienation and an aversion to learn anything from each other, to grow in K. This mutual alienation has been caused by the machinations of the narcissistic parent, who envies the sensitivity of one of his or her children, and who thus spoils the goodness of that child by using gaslighting techniques and by teaching the siblings to despise him or her.

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The contempt that the golden children have for the scapegoat is rewarded with the ‘love’ that the narcissistic parent gives them for their loyalty. This ‘love’ and reassurance causes them to be smug and self-satisfied in their attitude; they never suspect that they’ve misunderstood the scapegoat, and they’re convinced of the ‘morality’ of their despicable treatment of the victim. This is the essence of -K as derived from envy.

As I would extrapolate from Bion’s explanation in Learning From Experience, the abusers, instead of cultivating a superego and having a proper sense of right and wrong, they develop a “super ego,” an inflated sense of their own worth, which makes them believe they’re too superior to learn anything with regards to their relationship with their victim…a relationship of -K and negative containment.

Bion says, “It is a super-ego that has hardly any of the characteristics of the super-ego as understood in psycho-analysis: it is a “super” ego. It is an envious assertion of moral superiority without any morals. In short it is the resultant of an envious stripping or denudation of all good…” (Bion, page 97)

The negative containment “shows itself as a superior object asserting its superiority by finding fault with everything. The most important characteristic is its hatred of any new development in the personality as if the new development were a rival to be destroyed. The emergence therefore of any tendency to search for the truth, to establish contact with reality and in short to be scientific in no matter how rudimentary a fashion is met by destructive attacks on the tendency and the reassertion of the ‘moral’ superiority…” Negative containment “asserts the moral superiority and superiority in potency of UN-learning.” (Bion, page 98)

Anything unpleasant about the abusers is projected outward and onto the victim instead of properly dealt with. This is negative containment, a passing on of negative energy, not in the hopes of having it soothed, but with the aim of making others suffer it, so the abuser doesn’t have to suffer.

The abusers imagine the negativity to be all on the shoulders of the victim, so the abusers can now kid themselves that they are normal, mentally healthy, and fully-functioning, respectable members of society.

Abusers thus don’t even know they’re assholes.

That cloud of willful unknowing protects them from contemplating the truth about themselves.

Ignorance is bliss.

One way this refusal to know things shows itself is in how the abusers refuse to acknowledge the consequences of their own actions. My mother’s lies about my supposedly having an autism spectrum disorder, described in the language of narcissism (an obvious projection of her own pathologies), resulted in the family taking the attitude it had towards me that I, with all of my own faults and peculiar childhood behaviour, was ‘born this way,’ rather than manipulated and bullied into behaving as I did.

Telling me, about nine or ten at the time, that the psychiatrist who’d examined me (or so Mom’s legend went) said I was, apart from being autistic, so extremely retarded that I should have been locked away in an asylum and they should have “thrown away the key,” my mother didn’t want to take any responsibility for the psychological damage she’d done to me. My ‘having grown out of’ this extremely inauspicious mental state was, according to her, “a miracle from God.” (She wasn’t ever religious.)

Instead of confronting how her tactless choice of words had affected the psyche of an impressionable child, she decades later modified her lie with a new and equally phoney, amateur diagnosis (in the early 2000s, when I was in my early thirties) that I have Asperger Syndrome, since it was obvious that I’ve always been far from mentally incompetent. This refusal of hers to learn from past mistakes not only proves my point about her and -K, but it was one of the things that caused my permanent estrangement from the family.

One of the other major causes of this estrangement was her insistence, back in the mid-2000s, that I–having lived in East Asia since the summer of 1996–not fly back to Canada to visit my sister and her then-terminally-ill husband because, apparently, I’m so “tactless and insensitive” that I might put my foot in my mouth and inadvertently say something to agitate and upset the already grieving couple. It seemingly hadn’t occurred to my mom that simply telling me to be careful of what I said would have sufficed; or more accurately, she didn’t seem concerned about how tactless and insensitive her own rejecting words were to me.

That infuriating, estranging incident was followed ten years later, in the mid-2010s, with a kind of reversal of roles for her and me. By this time, I’d realized just how horrifyingly habitual her lies, triangulation, smear campaigns, and divid-and-conquer tactics were that I knew I never wanted to fly home to visit her in Ontario ever again. I told her so, right after she’d told me a string of about seven lies, in a brief and blunt email. As if she’d completely forgotten having had the same rejecting attitude towards me ten years earlier, she put on this melodramatic reaction of having been so “hurt” by my email, which was really just me trying to protect myself from further mind games. Really, though, that “hurt” had just been my having caused her narcissistic injury.

Once again, she let -K come between herself and her last-born son.

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My older brother, F., used to bully and terrorize me all the time when I was a kid in the 1970s and 80s. One doesn’t need to be a psychologist studying stress in early childhood to know that bullying children will cause them to develop dysfunctional, self-isolating habits; it should be common sense that constant bullying of a child will make him or her fear the world and self-isolate in order to feel safe. Emboldened by having heard Mom’s nonsense about ‘my autism,’ F. many years later, when both he and I were adults (and he, over six years older than I, therefore should have had the maturity to know better), attributed my solitary tendencies to an intrinsic vice I’d been born with rather than admitting to himself that he had always been one of the chief causes of my self-isolating.

-K strikes again!

Similarly, my elder brother, R., and elder sister, J., said and did mean, hurtful things to me over and over again throughout my adolescence and young adulthood, never contemplating the damage they were slowly but surely doing to their relationship with me, abuse usually provoked either by relatively minor things I did to annoy them (slamming doors, eating all the cereal, procrastinating with washing the dishes, or…my idiosyncratic musical tastes, FFS!!) or the desire just to have fun making me feel worthless.

J., as the chief golden child of the family, chooses to blot out all the bad things she did from her memory because of how unflattering it is to her; on the other hand, she magnifies the significance of this or that memory of her having done favours for me, as evidence of her ‘boundless love’ for me…all to flatter herself. The fact is, people tend to remember the hurtful stuff more than the helpful stuff, by a wide margin. Still, it’s inconceivable to her, R., and F. that I would remember their majority of nasty moments over their minority of nice ones.

Because of this skewed perception of how they treated me, they’ll assume my estrangement from them is based on an ‘ungrateful attitude’ on my part, rather than my having no illusions about how ‘helpful’ they’ve all been to me. J. fancies that she, during my adolescence and young adulthood, was trying to help me build self-confidence and assertiveness skills; that she constantly spoke condescendingly to me and barked verbal abuse at me whenever I tried to stick up for myself, to silence me, makes me doubt the sincerity of her ‘intentions.’

This kind of puffing up of their pride at my expense–Mom’s amateur psychiatry, J.’s trying to remake me in her image (as Mom had done to her), and R.’s and F.’s imagined superiority to me–is what I mean when I talk about the ‘Dunning-Kruger effect of abusers.’ The more vicious abusers are, the more they delude themselves into thinking they’re being kind to their victims.

Charles Bukowski once said, “The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.” I’d say the same thing can be said about the relationship between the smug, self-satisfied abusers and the abused, who engage in endless second-guessing.

I say it’s high time that we victims of emotional abuse stopped doubting ourselves and our experience of our tormentors. If they can be cocky and over-confident, blissfully unaware of what assholes they are, then we can be reasonably confident of our understanding about what was done to us.

Just because we may have never told our bullies that they’re assholes, doesn’t mean they aren’t assholes. Their -K, and their refusal to link their mistreatment of us to our natural, estranged reaction to them, is their fault, not ours.

We didn’t deserve to be bullied just because we may have this or that fault. Legitimate anger doesn’t translate into the illegitimacy of abuse. We weren’t bullied because of defects in ourselves, but because of defects in our bullies.

Their not knowing of their defects doesn’t make those defects non-existent. In fact, their cloud of willful unknowing is what makes their defects especially apparent.

Loving Families Don’t Drag You Down

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One thing that the family scapegoat, or identified patient, may find remarkable–when comparing his (or her) relationship with his toxic family to other people’s relationships with their far healthier families–is the conspicuous lack of affection the former has for his or her family, as against the healthy affection felt in normal families.

Now, something that the scapegoat has, which the flying monkeys of the toxic family don’t have, is an honest view of the lovelessness of that family. The narcissistic parents and their flying monkey sons and daughters boast of how ‘loving’ they are as a family; but such boasting is really just reaction formation, used as a cover for the family dysfunction that is their reality.

We scapegoats know that love is not just something in words–it’s mainly in actions. The toxic family can say they ‘love’ the scapegoat over and over again until they’re blue in the face, but the scapegoat who is wise to them won’t believe a word of it.

The reason we don’t believe these empty professions of love is because those who have ‘loved’ us so much keep dragging us down. Yes, even the best of families have their share of conflicts and frustrations between members, but there is no systematic degrading of one member by the others.

One way I often got dragged down by my family was that I was constantly infantilized by them. They would talk down to me as if I were an idiot, speak condescendingly to me as if I–for a long time already an adult–were ten years old, and treat my attempts to stick up for myself as if I was being ‘mouthy.’

This is one way a toxic family can retain power over the scapegoat: by making him or her feel like an eternal, overgrown child. This way, the victim feels overawed by the victimizers, never able to see past their illusory authority, and never able to fight back and free him- or herself.

If your family truly loves you, they want to help you rise as high as possible. They celebrate your every success, and they empathize with and comfort you whenever you experience a setback, failure, or otherwise heartbreaking moment.

When toxic families do these good things for you, it’s the exception, not the rule, which is, as I’ve said above, dragging you down. Healthy families dragging you down, on the other hand, is the exception to the rule…which is raising you up.

No, no family is completely good or completely evil; but the healthy ones are predominantly good, and the toxic ones are predominantly evil. So, when in an argument with your toxic family, if they mention their good moments with you, which they’ll do to manipulate you, confuse you, and guilt-trip you into falling back in line and believing their b.s., remember that those ‘good moments’ are the minority, and that they fade into insignificance compared with the many more bad moments.

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Instead of celebrating my successes, my late, probably narcissistic mother tended to find ways to drag me down. Back when I was in grade four, and I was getting my first As in school, I was naturally proud to tell my parents about my new achievement; but this was around the time she started spouting off about my supposed autism. (Read here to learn about my mother’s autism lie in detail, and how I came to the conclusion that my childhood ‘diagnosis’ was all a fabrication of hers.)

In the form of a kind of back-handed compliment, she would claim that my new academic success was a manifestation of a “miracle from God” that I’d been pulled out of a state of extreme retardation (associated with ‘my autism’) to become a reasonably intelligent person. Her plan had always been to make me feel, somehow, behind everyone else. It was gaslighting at its most brutal.

Even if I really had an autism spectrum disorder, be it a mild one like Asperger Syndrome (AS) or the more severe kind she’d claimed I had, any reasonable mother who loves her child would never tell him or her that this academic success was a “miracle”: she’d just say she was proud of him. She wouldn’t prate on and on about psychiatrists recommending locking him or her up in an asylum and throwing away the key (as my mom did to me), even if the shrinks had really recommended that! My mother would have known that the psychiatrists were wrong in their judgement, and she would have tried to encourage me as best she could.

She wouldn’t have said that she wasn’t sure if I would have made a good garbageman, as she did (I’m actually a teacher). She’d have had the common sense…and the love for me…to think to herself, He doesn’t need to know what they said about him. Telling him what they said would be harmful to him.

But none of what my mom said to me was about love (though she certainly pretended she was speaking out of love!) or about common sense. It was about tricking an impressionable child into believing he was inferior to his siblings and to everyone else around him. The “miracle” had just made me a little less inferior…and I should be thankful to God for that, apparently.

Her intentions were all about dragging me down, for she didn’t want me to get any higher.

Now, that one time in my childhood was the first major time that my mother dragged me down when I was rising up. The second major time she did this was twenty to twenty-five years later, when I’d proven myself a successful, capable English teacher in East Asia, and I was about to marry my Taiwanese girlfriend, Judy. Mom decided to revive discussion of ‘my autism’ in the form of AS.

Since my life had already improved to the point where she couldn’t reasonably sustain an argument that I had ever been mentally incompetent, and since talk of miracles from God would have sounded inane to the ears of a man in his early thirties, my mom knew she had to modify her lies to make them plausible in the context of my new life situation. Hence, she shifted from talking about classical autism to the mild, socially inept form of Asperger Syndrome.

Still, it had the same effect of dragging me down: she could remind me of how awkward I was as a kid, reawaken those old feelings of pain and insecurity in me, watch me get upset, then enjoy her new source of narcissistic supply.

God forbid that I should ever cross the line and build self-confidence! The very idea that I should ever feel as though I fit in with other people was anathema to her. Small wonder she smiled like a Cheshire cat when she said that I, as a teen, had the maturity of a small child, as a young adult, had the maturity of a teen, and as a then-33-year-old, had the maturity of a 23-year-old. I was infuriated; but I’ll bet she thoroughly enjoyed making me feel that way.

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The fact that I was going to marry Judy and never go back to live in southern Ontario must have been at least a huge part of Mom’s motive to drag me down like that. By no longer living near her and the rest of the family, I would no longer be controlled by them, the way they’d once controlled me, back when I was a kid living in Canada.

Mom wanted that power and control back, as did my older sister, J., Mom’s golden child and ‘mini-me,’ so using AS to stir up my old insecurities and make me feel emotionally dependent on them was a desperate, last-ditch attempt to hoover me back into the dysfunctional family relationship.

Mom, of course, wasn’t the only one in the family to drag me down. As I said above, J. was a huge contributor to the problem, always rationalizing her attitude, as Mom did, with claims that she was ‘only trying to help‘ me.

During a visit to Canada that I’d made with Judy back in about the late summer of 2001, we were all at a picnic. I had made a preference of drinking one particular drink (orange soda, as I recall), and J. decided to nag me for drinking so much of it that there’d be too little left for anyone else. I don’t think anyone else there really cared, but J. couldn’t resist making 31-year-old me feel like a 10-year-old.

As I discussed in a previous post (scroll down to Part VI), on that day at the picnic, J. also expressed distaste at the idea of me marrying Judy. Did J. think her disapproval was going to deter me from marrying the woman I love? Does J. think my marrying Judy has been the decisive factor in my not returning to Canada, when it is my family’s toxic nature that is the real decisive factor?

By hoping I wouldn’t marry Judy and would return to Canada, J. was trying to drag me down. She failed.

Another dragging-down that I experienced, back in my teens, was because of my eldest brother, R. I’ve written before of the long rant he gave about our father supposedly loving us more or less based on our academic performance. It was an absolutely nonsensical belief R. had (he having been in his early to mid twenties at the time, so one would have expected a more mature attitude from him), one I suspect our mother planted in his head when he was a kid; Dad was just trying, in his dysfunctional way, to push us to work harder at school (by shaming us, sadly, if we failed), and getting disappointed when we didn’t do better.

Anyway, as an ego defence against R.’s belief that we all thought he was “the idiot of the family” for having quit high school back in the mid-70s, he claimed that he’d known many who got high marks at school, and who were “absolute idiots.” Now granted, it was a fault of mine at the time to allow myself to be unduly influenced by the opinions and flippant attitudes of others, but I was just a kid then. R. made me believe that there was no reason to take any pride in my academic success, so I lost much of my motivation to work hard at school, thus limiting my job prospects after graduating.

My doing well at school was one of the few things I had in my teens to feel good about, and this was with Mom’s nonsense about ‘my autism,’ and her supposed worries of having to continue to take care of a ‘forty-year-old moron’ (yes, she described me with that last word) in the far-off future. R’s bruised ego was more important to him than his youngest brother’s already fragile self-confidence, and he dragged me down even further, as Mom had been doing.

The times that my other elder brother, F., dragged me down were too numerous to count, and so varying in their bullying and sadism that I hardly know where to begin listing them off. Trauma tends to make one forget many of the bad memories, so I tend to repeat the same ones over and over again. Suffice it to say, along with all the verbal abuse he (as well as that of Mom, Dad, R., and J.) had subjected me to on a regular, almost daily basis, F. was the one who got physical with me: hitting me, spitting on me, threatening beatings or (on one night) to throw me outside in the Canadian winter cold (remember that I was a kid at the time: he was much bigger than I), and so many other degradations that to him were “fun.”

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The long-term psychological effects of bullying and childhood adversity have been extensively studied. The research shows that children subjected to this kind of emotional abuse suffer all kinds of problems, not only a lack of self-esteem, but also from problems relating to other people, trust issues, emotional dysregulation, and escape in such forms as maladaptive daydreaming.

The family would attribute these problems of mine to ‘my autism,’ with no empathy for me, but instead with a judgemental attitude, never taking any responsibility for the huge role they played in causing these problems. (To be fair to them, no, they weren’t responsible for all of the problems, but they were responsible to enough of an extent that they should have, but of course essentially never, acknowledged their role, and should have shown a sincerely apologetic attitude.)

My father, though not really part of the narcissist collective that the other four made up, was a seriously flawed man who dragged me down in other ways than they did. He rarely defended me against the attacks of the other four, and rarely sympathized with me over the problems they caused for me. His biggest fault, though, was his right-wing thinking, with all the attendant bigotries; and he taught me, in my youth, to think in those ways, from the mid-1990s to the late 2000s.

So while I didn’t directly suffer narcissistic abuse from him, I did suffer emotional abuse from him in the form of psychological corrupting–in this particular case, him teaching me his prejudices. Though I, in my initially liberal attitude, resisted, I eventually succumbed to an agreement with his mean-spirited attitude, through having heard an ongoing repetition of his slurs on blacks, women, socialism, etc. Those fifteen-odd years were truly lost years for me, his having dragged me down to such a base way of thinking that I now deeply regret.

His death back in 2009, I must say at the risk of sounding terribly unfilial, was a liberating moment for me, since I no longer felt I needed his approval for my beliefs. Consequently, I did something I never thought I’d ever do: go from the political centre-right to the far left, as you can surmise from my other blog posts.

So my message to you, Dear Reader, is this. Do you find yourself sitting on the fence with respect to your relationship with your family? If you feel frequently hurt by them, but you’re still not sure if the bad times are such that you consider the good times not worth putting up with the bad, ask yourself if the times they drag you down are the majority, or just the minority. Is their dragging you down more significant than their raising you up, or vice versa?

The answers to these questions should determine whether or not to go no contact with them.

Toxic Families: Better Than the Scapegoat?

One of the ways that a toxic family justifies their abusive treatment of the scapegoat, or identified patient, is to characterize themselves as more moral, wiser, stronger, smarter, more mature, more giving, etc.,…you get the idea…than their chosen victim. Accordingly, they imagine that all their taunts, insults, scolding, condescension, verbal abuse, manipulation, and even physical threats are meant ‘to correct’ the family scapegoat, ‘to help‘ the victim to see the error of his or her ways.

Personally, I’d love to know how bullies, liars, and gaslighting narcissists can actually be in any position of moral authority, let alone be better than the scapegoat, however flawed he or she may be. Still, the victimizers manage to continue deluding themselves that they’re superior.

What’s worse, the victim has been so thoroughly manipulated into buying into the toxic family’s narrative that he or she constantly engages in second-guessing; for no matter how clear that narrative’s falsity is to see, the family’s constant lack of validation of the victim’s experiences of their mendacity is a blinding fog that causes endless pangs of self-doubt.

One thing to remember about the toxic family’s pretensions to moral superiority is they are just that–pretensions, an outward show meant to impress others. This is part of the agenda of collective narcissists. Such theatre is especially obvious in the family golden child, whose False Self of outward goodness is often a carbon copy of the False Self of the narcissistic parent.

I experienced emotional abuse from my family in the form of gaslighting: my late mother, who I have good reason to believe was a malignant narcissist, lied about me having an autism spectrum disorder in order to project her own faults onto me, to control me, and to undermine my ability to develop self-confidence–the link at the beginning of this paragraph gives the full story. Another form of the abuse I endured was bullying, a few examples of which are given in this link, as well as some from my elder siblings, Mom’s flying monkeys, <<<given in this link .

Then there was the family’s explosive rage and verbal abuse in response to usually rather minor offences of mine; and there were smear campaigns Mom made against me and my cousins, as well as her use of triangulation to replace direct communication between my siblings and me–that is, efforts made by my mother to divide the family against each other. Some loving family.

Because of all these awful things that she and my older brothers, R. and F., and my older sister, J., did to me, they who felt no empathy for me and rarely if ever respected my boundaries (and my siblings’ abusive actions were almost always defended by our mother, as hers were by them), I grew so fed up with them that I, like so many other family scapegoats, reduced all contact with them to a minimum by the 2010s, and since Mom’s death in 2016, I’ve had no contact with my siblings at all.

To them, my refusal to be involved in any way in their lives is further ‘proof’ that I’m selfish and uncaring, that I’m ‘crazy’ for imagining that our mother could ever have had any malignant intent or have lied to her family, and that, in going no contact, I’ve refused to respect the notion of preserving the ‘sanctity’ of the family unit.

Now, here’s a question for them: if we were to look beneath their surface goodness, would we see them as really being any better than I am (presuming I’m as bad as they say I am)? How is gaslighting and bullying a family member not selfish or uncaring? How are explosive anger and yelling verbal abuse, over usually little more than trifling offences, not at least temporary insanity (ira furor brevis est)? If accusing one’s mother of lying and abuse (charges far from being implausible) is crazy, surely blowing up at someone over minor provocations is much crazier.

And finally, and most significantly, NO CONTACT as a refusal to respect the need for family oneness is a two-way street, as far as my relationship with my family is concerned (i.e., they’ve been almost as no contact with me as I am with them…not that I’m complaining about that, of course!). Almost fifteen years ago, my mother claimed that I hadn’t “earned” the family’s respect because I virtually never emailed my siblings–R. and F. in particular–since my having moved from Canada to Taiwan.

What my mother conveniently omitted to mention is that R. and F. hardly ever emailed me, either: does this mean they haven’t earned my respect? I feel no affection at all for my “brothers” because their (and Mom’s and J.’s) constant, almost daily bullying of me as a child, teen, and young adult back in Canada, including countless examples of verbal abuse, insults, physical threats, and other demeaning acts on me alienated me from them. F., the physical abuser, could be particularly sadistic. Given this train wreck of a relationship, why would I want to communicate with them?

More importantly, the division between my older brothers and me (as well as that between me and J.) wasn’t so much to do with my faults as it was the fault of my triangulating mother, whose half-truths and verbal manipulations stirred up all the resentment needed to keep us all apart. Hence, she was being a hypocrite to blame the problem all on me.

R.’s, F.’s, and J.’s preservation of family unity is hardly any better than mine. They fancy themselves to be so much more loving to their respective families than I am to them. (Bear in mind here that I’m being charitable to them by assuming this goodness; for, since I know just how low they’re capable of being, who knows what ugly things they may have done, behind closed doors, to their kids over the years?) In fact, they’re only loving to those within their inner circle, not to those in the wider family.

Theirs is a conditional love–love for them is just obligation to care for others. They’d much rather love those family members who are easy to love, like F.’s daughter, who I suspect has been groomed to be the golden child of her generation. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not an easy person to live with, let alone to love…but isn’t family love supposed to be unconditional? Safety from abusive treatment shouldn’t be dependent on being ‘easy to love.’

There are ways of expressing frustration with family members, being frankly angry with them, without being cruel or contemptuous; in fact, showing contempt towards those who frustrate you tends to increase, not decrease, the undesirable behaviour, because constantly harming people’s self-esteem puts them on a downward spiral of self-sabotage, not an upward one to self-improvement.

As they are with me, my siblings feel nothing but contempt for our cousins; for as I’ve discussed in so many previous posts (many of whose links are given above), our mother bashed her nephews constantly, and R., F., and J. uncritically accepted all of her bad-mouthing of our cousins. Our middle cousin, S., is suffering from paranoid delusions and hallucinations (probably brought on by an excessive marijuana-smoking habit, among other drug use, which he started in his teens), but the family won’t lift a finger to help him.

Helping the mentally ill is a daunting task, to be sure, but the family won’t even try; they certainly didn’t after I tried to help S. by confronting him with the problem directly, and after I begged Mom and J., in all futility, back in the mid-2010s to help him…yet I am the “self-centred” one.

If it upsets R., F., and J. so much that I have “given up on” them, if I’m such a low form of life for holding on to grudges, and if they’re so much better than I am about ‘doing what’s right,’ then why can’t they actually be the better people, and make efforts to patch things up with me? That is, not just try to suck me back into the family and treat me the same as before, but actually open their minds to my side of the story, and take responsibility for the role they played in our mutual alienation? Sometimes being better means admitting when one has been worse.

This doesn’t mean that I want them to contact me, of course; for though it’s only natural that I, like anyone, would want to heal family wounds and have a normal, healthy relationship with my own flesh and blood, I know that their trying to contact me would only be another attempt at hoovering me. It would be a formidable task for any of them–my three elder siblings, my nephews and niece, or anyone else in the family–to convince me that their wish to be reconciled with me is on the level.

Regardless of whether or not I’d want them to try to contact me, though, an effort far more vigorous than the two times J. tried to do so (after Mom’s death) would be needed for them to prove that they really care about me. It’s always only J., the golden child, who tries to fix things with me, and that’s only because Mom obligated her to be the ‘perfect daughter/sister/mother/aunt/etc.’ Neither R. nor F. will give the slightest thought to contacting their younger brother. Honouring the memory of our late Mom and Dad–and unlike me, R., F., and J. consider her memory more than worthy of being honoured–would demand a reconciliation of them with me, but they won’t do it.

As I said in my post on the coronavirus and its impact on them, they showed no interest in finding out if I’m OK. Granted, I didn’t contact them either, of course, but they’re supposed to be so much better than I am when it comes to caring for family. They’re supposed to have the maturity that I lack to rise above the long-held grudges, to be willing to do whatever it takes, and ‘to do what’s right.’

Don’t misinterpret my meaning. I didn’t want them to contact me then, and I still don’t want them to contact me now–I never will: I bring this all up merely to prove my point. They never loved me. And if I’m such a bad person for not loving them, they’re no better than I am. They’ve no right to judge me.

So if you, Dear Reader, find yourself traumatized by a toxic family that claims to love you, yet blames you for all (or most of) your family’s dysfunction, don’t let them shame you or guilt-trip you for choosing to distance yourself from them. You aren’t being selfish: you are protecting yourself.

Bullies and gaslighting, lying narcissists have no moral authority over you, no matter how much they posture as if they do. If all they ever do to you is make you feel bad about yourself, they aren’t loving. And if they aren’t loving, they aren’t better than you.

In fact, for all your faults, you’re probably better than they are.

Analysis of ‘The Manchurian Candidate’

I: Introduction and Quotes

The Manchurian Candidate is a 1962 political thriller directed by John Frankenheimer and written by George Axelrod, based on the novel by Richard Condon. It stars Laurence Harvey, Frank Sinatra, and Janet Leigh, with Angela Lansbury, James Gregory, Henry Silva, Khigh Dhiegh, John McGiver, Leslie Parrish, and Douglas Henderson.

The story is about a communist conspiracy to use a sleeper agent, Raymond Shaw (Harvey), to assassinate the American president so his chosen vice-president, Senator John Iselin (Gregory)–a McCarthyite red-baiter in public, but secretly a communist–will become the new president, using the assassination to gain emergency, dictatorial powers, thus making the US into a socialist state. Put another way–and as a leftist myself, I must be blunt here–this film, as entertaining and thrilling as it is–is simply a piece of Cold War, anticommunist propaganda.

So, Dear Reader, you might ask why I would choose to write up an analysis of a film to whose ideology I’m so opposed? Because, apart from my ability to distance myself emotionally and ideologically from such a film in order to appreciate its artistic merits (good acting and writing, etc.), I find it interesting to do a kind of psychological study of the story, to unearth the unconscious motives of the writers (Axelrod and Condon). Since, apart from the McCarthyist paranoia of the time, there were very real capitalist conspiracies aimed at subverting and undoing the socialist states, to restore capitalism to them, I shall endeavour to prove that the writers were projecting their own conspiracy-mindedness onto the USSR and Maoist China, while little Freudian slips popping out here and there reveal who the real conspirators were and are.

Here are some quotes:

[Repeated line] “Raymond Shaw is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever known in my life.” –said by Major Ben Marco and Cpl. Allen Melvin (James Edwards)

“Allow me to introduce our American visitors. I must ask you to forgive their somewhat lackadaisical manners, but I have conditioned them – or brain-washed them, which I understand is the new American word. They believe that they are waiting out a storm in the lobby of a small hotel in New Jersey where a meeting of the ladies’ garden club is in progress.” –Dr. Yen Lo

Chairlady: You will notice that I have told them they may smoke. I’ve allowed my people to have a little fun in the selection of bizarre tobacco substitutes… Are you enjoying your cigarette, Ed?
Ed Movole: Yes ma’am.
Dr. Yen Lo: Yak dung!… hope tastes good – like a cigarette should!

“The Queen of Diamonds is reminiscent in many ways of Raymond’s dearly loved and hated mother and is the second key to clear the mechanism for any other assignment.” –Dr. Yen Lo

[repeated line, to Raymond] “Why don’t you pass the time with a game of solitaire?” –Mrs. Iselin, etc.

“His brain has not only been washed, as they say, it’s been dry-cleaned.” –Dr. Yen Lo

Dr. Yen Lo: Attractive plant you have here.
Zilkov (Albert Paulsen): Thank you, doctor. It’s actually a rest home for wealthy alcoholics. We were able to purchase it three years ago. Except for this floor and the floor above it, which is sealed off for security purposes, the rest functions quite normally. In fact it’s one of the few Soviet operations in America that actually showed a profit at the end of the last fiscal year.
Dr. Yen Lo: Profit? Fiscal year? Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! Beware, my dear Zilkov, fires of capitalism are highly infectious. Soon you’ll be lending money out at interest. [Chuckles] You must try, Comrade Zilkov, to cultivate a sense of humor. There’s nothing like a good laugh now and then to lighten the burdens of the day. [To Raymond] Tell me, Raymond, do you remember murdering Mavole and Lembeck?

“I have here a list of the names of 207 persons who are known by the Secretary of Defense as being members of the Communist Party… I demand an answer, Mr. Secretary. There will be no covering up, sir, no covering up. You are not going to get your hands on this list. And I deeply regret having to say…” –Senator Iselin

Mrs. Iselin: Would it really make it easier for you if we settled on just one number?
Sen. Iselin: Yeah. Just one, real, simple number that’d be easy for me to remember.[Mrs. Iselin watches Sen. Iselin pour Heinz Tomato Ketchup (with its “57 Varieties” slogan on its label) onto his dinner plate]
[Cut to Senate chamber]
Sen. Iselin: There are exactly 57 card-carrying members of the Communist Party in the Department of Defense at this time!

“Why don’t you go and take yourself a cab and go up to Central Park and go jump in the lake?” –Bartender, overheard by Raymond, who had just primed himself to receive a command by dealing the Queen of Diamonds

“I keep telling you not to think. You’re very, very good at a great many things, but thinking, hon’, just simply isn’t one of them. You just keep shouting “Point of Order, Point of Order” into the television cameras and I will handle the rest.” –Mrs. Iselin, to Senator Iselin

“What was Raymond doing with his hands?… How did the old ladies turn into Russians?… What were you doing there?” –Marco, to Chunjin, while they’re fighting

“My mother, Ben, is a terrible woman. A terrible, terrible woman… You know, Ben, it’s a terrible thing to hate your mother. But I didn’t always hate her. When I was a child, I only kind of disliked her. But after what she did to Jocie and me, that’s when I began to hate her… Jocie Jordan – Senator Jordan’s daughter… Thomas Jordan’s daughter and Johnny Iselin’s step-son… Years later, I realized, Ben, that I am not very loveable… Some people are loveable and some people are not loveable. I am not loveable. Oh, but I was very loveable with Jocie. Ben, you can’t believe how loveable I was.” –Raymond Shaw

“I despise John Iselin and everything that Iselin-ism has come to stand for. I think if John Iselin were a paid Soviet agent, he could not do more to harm this country than he’s doing now.” –Senator Thomas Jordan

“I’m gonna beat that vile, slandering, son-of-a-numbskull to a bloody pulp.” –Shaw, of Iselin

“So the red Queen is our baby. Well, take a look at this, kid… and while you’re looking, listen. This is me, Marco talking. Fifty-two red Queens and me are telling you – you know what we’re telling you? – it’s over. The links, the beautifully-conditioned links are smashed. They’re smashed as of now because we say so, because we say they ought to be smashed. We’re bustin’ up the joint, we’re tearin’ out all the wires, we’re bustin’ it up so good all the Queen’s horses and all the Queen’s men will never put ol’ Raymond back together again. You don’t work anymore. That’s an order. Anybody invites you to a game of solitaire – you tell ’em: ‘Sorry, buster, the ball-game is over!'” –Marco, to Shaw

“You are to shoot the Presidential nominee through the head. And Johnny will rise gallantly to his feet and lift Ben Arthur’s body in his arms, stand in front of the microphones and begin to speak. The speech is short, but it’s the most rousing speech I’ve ever read. It’s been worked on here and in Russia on and off for over eight years. I shall force someone to take the body away from him. And Johnny will leave those microphones and those cameras with blood all over him, fighting off anyone who tries to help him, defending America even if it means his own death, rallying a nation of television-viewers into hysteria to sweep us up into the White House with powers that will make martial law seem like anarchy. Now this is very important. I want the nominee to be dead about two minutes after he begins his acceptance speech, depending on his reading time under pressure. You are to hit him right at the point that he finishes the phrase, ‘nor would I ask of any fellow American in defense of his freedom that which I would not gladly give myself – my life before my liberty.’ Is that absolutely clear?” –Mrs. Iselin, to Shaw

“I know you will never entirely comprehend this, Raymond, but you must believe I did not know it would be you. I served them. I fought for them. I’m on the point of winning for them the greatest foothold they would ever have in this country. And they paid me back by taking your soul away from you. I told them to build me an assassin. I wanted a killer from a world filled with killers and they chose you because they thought it would bind me closer to them. [She places the sides of his face in her outstretched hands.] But now, we have come almost to the end. One last step. And then when I take power, they will be pulled down and ground into dirt for what they did to you. And what they did in so contemptuously under-estimating me.” –Mrs. Iselin, to Shaw

“You couldn’t have stopped them, the army couldn’t have stopped them. So I had to.” –Shaw, to Marco, after killing his mother and Senator Iselin

“Made to commit acts too unspeakable to be cited here by an enemy who had captured his mind and his soul, he freed himself at last and in the end, heroically and unhesitatingly gave his life to save his country. Raymond Shaw… Hell… Hell.” –Marco

II: A Brief but Necessary Digression

American paranoia about foreign governments trying to undo American “democracy” is not limited to communist conspiracies, of course, though in recent years such paranoia has been linked with communism. For the past four years, we’ve heard nonsense about Trump being a supposed puppet of Putin and the KGB (which hasn’t even existed since the dissolution of the Soviet Union!); now, Trump’s supporters are claiming that Biden is a puppet of Xi Jinping…a Manchurian candidate for our times, as ridiculous and unfounded an idea as the Russophobic one.

What is never acknowledged in any of this paranoia and red-baiting is that the US and its capitalist and fascist allies, past and present, have conspired to undo socialist governments all over the world. The rise of fascism and Nazism in the 1920s and 30s, bankrolled by capitalists, thwarted attempts at socialist revolution in such places as Italy and Spain, and helped Hitler rise to power.

Elsewhere, corrupt Nikolai Yezhov, head of the NKVD and traitor, helped the imperialists in their attempt to tear apart the USSR from within, necessitating Stalin‘s purge. Trotsky, though paying lip-service to antifascism, was willing to work with fascists in his attempts to overthrow Stalin, who as General Secretary was so far from being an actual dictator that he attempted to resign from the position four times, but he couldn’t because the Central Committee knew he was doing such a good job, and because the Russian people loved him. Decades of treasonous acts in the USSR slowly helped weaken the system until its final dissolution in 1991.

Elsewhere and more recently, Juan Guaido is a kind of ‘Manchurian candidate’ for imperialists in Venezuela, as Añez was in Bolivia. Then there are the pressures being put on China now, from such collective ‘Manchurian candidates’ as the imperialist collaborators in Hong Kong and Taiwan.

During the Cold War, the CIA manipulated the media through such diverse methods as Operation Mockingbird, the diverting of left-leaning intellectuals away from Marxism-Leninism towards Trotskyism, postmodernism, abstract expressionist art, etc., and through the production of such anticommunist movies as The Manchurian Candidate.

III: Nothing Is As It Seems

The point I was trying to make in the last section is that what we’ve been taught was true during and since the Cold War (including this current cold war) has typically been far from the truth. This sense of deception pervades the film, too…in ways both intended and unintended.

The world is tricked into believing that Staff Sergeant Raymond Shaw rescued his squad from the enemy during the Korean War. Two of his men were killed during the rescue…or so the story goes. Actually, Shaw killed the two men himself. We are also tricked into believing that his mother and stepfather, the Iselins, are ultra-patriotic, far right-wing fanatical anticommunists. Actually, it seems they’re working for the USSR and Maoist China, in full knowledge that Shaw is their sleeper agent.

I’m arguing that we can carry the film’s deception even further. The fear of communist ‘totalitarianism’ is, as I said above, a projection of the Western imperialist ambition to rule the world and impose predatory capitalism on all countries, whether they wish it or not. So, the narrative of a communist takeover attempt on the US is itself a deception. There are occasions even in the film itself that suggest that the narrators are, if only unconsciously and in a piecemeal fashion, willing to reveal this deception.

IV: The Korean War

To put the opening scene–of the American soldiers with the South Korean prostitutes in the brothel–in its proper context, we have to understand the true context of the origin of the South Korean state. It was never a democracy to be contrasted with the ‘totalitarian’ North. South Korea was always an American military occupation, part of the Cold War effort to contain communism.

The two Koreas are more than willing to have their nation reunited, but the West would want the North first to embrace capitalism, even if only in the way that Vietnam did. Continued military exercises between the American military and their South Korean collaborators have continued to build tension, justifying the DPRK’s nuclear weapons program, since they’ll never allow the US to repeat their having bombed every inch of the North during the Korean War.

The procuring of South Korean prostitutes, something these conservative, modest people would never have normally allowed, for American soldiers was one of the many ways that the US forced their way on the Korean people. Now we see who is really trying to take over another country…and we see it right at the beginning of The Manchurian Candidate, the film’s first Freudian slip.

Chunjin (Silva) appears to be a collaborator with the Americans until their ambush by the communists. Later in the film–once we’ve understood him to have been working with the communists–he’s become Shaw’s personal servant, and here we see Chunjin as the stereotypical Asian: meek and subservient. (It’s also interesting to point out here that the two main Asian characters in the film–Chunjin and Dr. Yen Lo–aren’t played by Asian actors, but by American ones in Yellowface.) In his service to Shaw, we see no connection with the communist conspiracy; he doesn’t do anything to advance the Iselins’ cause. It’s as if he were just working for a bourgeois, just for the employment. This mundane employment of him is another Freudian slip.

V: Sleeping With the Enemy

The scene with the demonstration of Shaw’s abilities as a killer–that is, the first of the nightmare scenes–begins as a seminar of sorts on the topic of flowers, held by a group of daintily dressed old ladies. What strikes me about the ladies we see, be they the white ones of Marco’s dream or the black ones of the dream of Cpl. Melvin (Edwards), is how bourgeois they look, in stark contrast to the Soviets and Maoists who, we understand, are really in attendance. And bourgeois is bourgeois, regardless of sex or skin colour.

We’re to understand that these recurring nightmares are, as it were, video replays of the exact same incident that occurred with the communists; even the soldiers’ impression that they’re actually with the ladies discussing flowers, as a result of brainwashing, is a repeat of their experience as captives in Manchuria during the Korean War. Since when are dreams ever detail-for-detail repeats of past experiences from beginning to end? The only aspect of the dreams that seems dream-like is Shaw playing solitaire, but with no cards in his hands.

I would say instead that these dreams are just dreams, symbolic of a more general experience of being indoctrinated and transformed into mindless, remorseless killers–the unthinking American soldier who just obeys orders. The traumatic element of waking up screaming from a nightmare is just symbolic of soldiers’ PTSD. As far as the communists are concerned, their giving of orders to kill people, without mercy or pity, is a projection of ruthless imperialists onto their enemy. In any case, according to the Communist Interrogation, Indoctrination, and Exploitation of Prisoners of War (pages 17 and 51), there is no evidence that ‘brainwashing’ results in the kinds of permanent radical changes in personality and loyalty of those subjected to it, as seen in The Manchurian Candidate.

As I see it, the ladies, symbolic of the imperialist bourgeoisie, are the ones giving the orders to kill. We are led to believe that they are the illusion, and that the communists are the real indoctrinators; I’d say it’s the other way around. Recall that the triggering of Shaw to obey orders unquestioningly is–upon playing a game of solitaire (a card game played alone, this solitude being symbolic of alienation), caused by the uncovering of the Queen of Diamonds–symbolic respectively of both maternal authority and capitalism.

That it’s also called the red Queen may, on the surface, suggest the red of socialism. It may also be the red of the Republican Party, of which the Iselins are more than likely members. And the maternal authority of the red Queen links well with Shaw’s domineering mother.

It’s important also to link the notions of sleeping, dreaming, brainwashing, and the unconscious. These soldiers are unaware of what they’re doing; they’re being hypnotized into a state of unquestioning obedience. In a larger sense, this is what happens to soldiers in general, regardless of their political affiliation or what country they’re loyal to: they’re transformed into unthinking, killing machines–unthinking, unconscious, unaware automatons.

And while we’re on the topic of the unconscious, Jung noted a tendency, called enantiodromia, in which an extreme conscious urge can provoke its dialectical opposite in the unconscious. This notion in turn leads us to a discussion of the dialectical unity of opposites. One tendency will phase into its diametrical opposite if pushed to an extreme, an idea I’ve symbolized in previous posts with the ouroboros, the serpent’s biting head and bitten tail representing those meeting extreme opposites on a circular continuum, which is symbolized by the coiled length of the serpent’s body.

So, in the unconscious, in this dream of a switching back and forth between ladies discussing flowers and communists discussing the brainwashed American soldiers, we can switch from the notion of the former discussion being the illusion, and the latter being the real event, to the notion of the former being real and the latter being the illusion. We switch from one extreme opposite to the other, through Jung’s enantiodromia.

In other words, in a dream in which the writers of this story would have us believe that ladies discussing plants is really communists discussing their plot involving Shaw as their sleeper agent/assassin, I would argue that it’s the communist conspiracy that is only apparent, and that the bourgeois ladies, symbolic of imperialism, are the real conspirators whose schemes are projected onto the Soviets and Maoists. The ladies’ inclusion in the dream, however symbolic it may be, is therefore the key to understanding who the real manipulators are.

VI: A Few Capitalist Freudian Slips

One Freudian slip, in my interpretation, occurs when the chairwoman of the flower ladies talks about indulging the American soldiers’ smoking of cigarettes; then she turns into Dr. Yen Lo (Dhiegh), who jokes that this indulgence “tastes good, like a cigarette should,” a reference to a commercial slogan, something inherently capitalist. What seems to be a communist joking about capitalism should be seen as a capitalist promoting her economic ideology.

Later in the film, when Shaw is in a rest home the Soviets have purchased, supposedly healing from an injury from a hit-and-run incident, he has actually had the brainwashing mechanism activated, and he finds himself part of a conversation Yen Lo is having with the Soviet Zilkov (Albert Paulsen) over whom Shaw should kill to test if his brainwashing is still functional. In his brainwashed state, Shaw can be described as being in a dream, unconscious; therefore the sight of conversing communists can be deemed an illusion, an unconscious projection of American, imperialist plotters.

So when Zilkov tells Yen Lo that the purchasing of the rest home has yielded a profit, and the latter light-heartedly speaks of the evils of the profit motive, we can see this as yet another Freudian slip revealing capitalist, rather than communist, plotters (at least symbolically speaking); for communists would never speak of worker exploitation in a spirit of levity. To show further what a capitalist in communist clothing Yen Lo is, we learn that he leaves to go shopping at Macy’s [!].

VII: Who are the Oppressors, and Who are the Liberators?

It is assumed throughout the movie, as it was throughout the Cold War and up until this day by most people, that the Soviets and Maoists have just wanted power for its own sake. No reference is given anywhere in the film to all of the achievements of the communists in their efforts to eliminate famines (contrary to the lies that communists deliberately starved people), illiteracy, unemployment, homelessness, discrimination against women, etc. There’s no reference to their efforts at establishing universal healthcare, free education, the reduction of poverty, or the transformation of backward, peasant societies into modernized, industrialized superpowers in a matter of a few decades. Since the end of the Soviet era, we find a consistently large number of East European people nostalgic for the old socialist states, as well as having a love of Stalin.

On the other side of the coin, the US is portrayed as a bastion of freedom and democracy rather than a nation founded on the slavery of blacks, the genocide of the American aboriginals, and a class system that keeps the poor poor in spite of the lies of the “American Dream.” On the one hand, we have an African-American psychiatrist in the film (played by Joe Adams), but on the other, the supposedly leftist Mrs. Iselin mocks Chunjin’s name in the typically racist bourgeois fashion.

Hence, my charge that the accusation of a tyrannical nature in the communist characters is really a projection onto them from the real tyrants, the capitalists. An epidemic of homelessness can be seen in such cities as Los Angeles, San Francisco, Toronto, London, and Dublin. Such forms of hostile architecture as spikes put on the ground and bars on benches, to prevent the homeless from resting on private property, and laws against feeding them, are clear indications of the cruelties of capitalism; yet millions are still deluded that capitalism is freedom, and that socialism is oppression.

The liberal bias of this film would have us believe that the extreme right-wing thinking publicly displayed by the Iselins–a reaction formation against their, as we understand, private communism–is no more uncomfortable an extreme than socialism is, and in fact is also virtually identical with it. This is that old, pernicious horseshoe theory, as unfair to communism as it is inaccurate.

VIII: Shaw’s Relationship with his Mother

It is clear from the outset that Shaw is a sick man. His brainwashing, being made to follow orders that would be repellant to his nature, can be seen as symbolic of a kind of psychotic break with reality; for if one’s sense of reality were intact, one would never put a bullet in the head of one’s beloved wife or her father, and one would never ride in a taxi to Central Park and jump in the lake.

(Recall the link above [Part V] that concluded that there’s no evidence of brainwashing having a permanent effect on the psyche; in fact, the original Chinese use of brainwashingxinao, had a positive meaning, that of purifying the mind of unwholesome attitudes and beliefs, which the Maoists used with the intent to rid people of reactionary thinking…though not with the sense of forcefulness and manipulation that the anticommunist propagandists have accused the Maoists of.)

Shaw’s being triggered to obey on the sight of the Queen of Diamonds–associated with his “dearly loved and hated mother,” as Yen Lo says–shows how powerful Mrs. Iselin’s influence is on Raymond. His being made to play solitaire, as I mentioned above, is symbolic of his loneliness, for as we know, “Poor friendless, friendless Raymond” is “not loveable.” In Condon’s novel, Raymond’s father divorced Raymond’s mother (then committed suicide) long before the beginning of the story (when he was a twelve-year-old boy), so for many years, it is as if he never existed for Raymond at all.

Lacan‘s theory of psychosis, of which delusional paranoia is a manifestation, is based on something he called foreclosure, which is a disavowal of, and a refusal to acknowledge, the existence of one’s father. Shaw is so repudiating of his father that he won’t even acknowledge his stepfather, Senator Iselin, when Chunjin makes the faux pas of referring to Iselin as Shaw’s father.

According to Lacanian theory, the father is crucial in bringing a child out of the dyadic relationship with the mother (part of the narcissistic, mirror-like Imaginary Order) and into the broader society (the Non! du père forbids the child to indulge in an Oedipal, incestuous relationship with Mother, making him enter the Symbolic Order, a world of language, social customs, laws, culture, etc.). Any child who fails to make this transition from one-on-one with Mother to a wider relationship with friends is going to be in trouble. Such trouble is what we see in friendless Shaw.

Something that is only implied in the film (Mrs. Iselin giving Shaw a long kiss on the lips) is made explicit in the novel: her committing incest with him. Though partly motivated by sexual perversity (she had powerful Oedipal feelings for the father who sexually abused her as a child, and she transfers these feelings onto Shaw towards the end of the story because he reminds her of her father at this time), she seduces her son, in all likelihood, as an extension of her long-existing narcissistic wish to control him.

So the trauma of having an incestuous relationship with his mother has compounded the difficulties he has in his dyadic relationship with her, this trap that won’t allow him to have healthy relationships with other people. This makes it easier for her to control him.

Now, her total control over him raises a significant question: if she and Senator Iselin are secretly communists, how come Shaw doesn’t know anything about it (until the end of the movie), or even suspect it? Perhaps the novel, which I haven’t read, has a rationalization for keeping him in the dark for so long; but I don’t buy it, whatever it is. With Mother and son being so close [!] for so many years, something had to have slipped out at some point, exposing her hidden ideology.

We can suspend our disbelief that his brainwashing has made him unaware that he’s a sleeper agent (for this assassination mission is classified information), but not for his ignorance of his mother’s ‘communism.’ For if her right-wing blustering is just a charade, why does she do it with him in private places, too?

Her maternal dominance would be enough to make him not only keep her secret, but make him a secret ‘commie,’ too. Her dominance pervades his life in more than her physical presence: it’s symbolized in the Queen of Diamonds (symbol of a capitalist mother, in my interpretation), in the old ladies’ discussing flowers, and in his transference of his mother onto Jocelyn Jordan (Parrish), his sweetheart when she wears the card as a costume at the party meant to reunite her with him.

It’s interesting to contrast his relationship with his mother with that of Jocelyn. His mother is the whore, the bitch; Jocelyn is the sweet, nice girl, the angel. A similar submissiveness can be seen in Eugenie Rose (Leigh) and her relationship with Marco. This Madonna/Whore dichotomy is typical of the right-wing ideology of the writers, who would project the whore aspect onto communism, rather than admit that their sexism is a part of capitalism.

IX: The Assassination

It’s understood that, according to Dr. Yen Lo, the key to triggering Shaw’s obedience (as well as freeing him from it, as Marco will realize) lies in the Queen of Diamonds, symbol of his (as I’d have it) capitalist mother’s dominance. Marco presents a forced deck of all Queens of Diamonds to Shaw’s face in the hopes of freeing him from the brainwashing.

We don’t know if Marco’s plan works (Shaw is supposed to call him before the assassination of the president, but he doesn’t) until the very end, when Shaw, instead of pointing the rifle at the president, points it at the Iselins and kills them.

The plan has been to kill the president, followed by a short but rousing speech by Senator Iselin, giving him sympathy and emergency, dictatorial powers: those of a communist, or of a fascist?

If the Iselins really are communists, then the film’s lampooning of paranoid McCarthyism through clownish Senator Iselin is self-defeating, since the very premise of the film and novel is that there indeed were communists who had infiltrated American politics. The Manchurian Candidate intends both to satirize and to justify Joseph McCarthy, an odd thing to do.

On the other hand, contrast the obvious opulence of the Iselins (private jet, Mrs. Iselin’s pretty clothes, their beautiful home) with the far more modest possessions of even the top-ranking Soviets and Maoists, whose privileges over those of the proletariat were small compared to the privileges of the bourgeoisie over the poor in capitalist countries. Neither Mao nor Stalin ever wore finery or had scores of luxuries, but Mrs. Iselin does.

She leads me to another point: she says to her son that she’s worked and fought for the communists, and that once she and Johnny Iselin have taken power after the president’s assassination, she will get revenge on those very communists who have taken Raymond’s soul away from him, they who have also underestimated her. How has she, who wants revenge on them, worked for them? As Yezhov did? That is, pretending to be a communist while secretly working to undo them?

Such duplicity on her part makes perfect sense, given the nature of the film’s themes. At first, the Iselins seem like McCarthyist cartoon characters; then they seem–in a shocking plot twist–to be the very communists they accuse other American politicians of being; and finally, upon blaming the assassination of the president on the communists, the Iselins assume emergency, dictatorial powers and–in my interpretation–reveal themselves to be outright fascists!

Since the liberal writers of this story think, as many today do, too, that there is little if any difference between fascists and communists, it should matter little to them if the Iselins are on the far right or the far left. But to leftists like me, who know of the huge sacrifice that Stalin’s Red Army made in defeating the Nazis and saving the world from fascism (for the time being, at least), losing about 27 million Soviet lives in the process, the difference between fascism and communism is like that between night and day. Indeed, the only unity to be found between these opposing extremes is a dialectical one, that is, a struggle between the two, of the one passing into its opposite once the former has been defeated, like going past the ouroboros’ biting teeth over to its bitten tail.

When I write of the projection of conspiratorial intent from the capitalist West onto the socialist East, as I sense is in the creators of the novel and movie, I understand the use of this defence mechanism, to deflect guilt away from the writers, to be unconscious. The writers weren’t consciously aware of how they were denying their own guilt in slandering socialism with the attribution of imperialist vices. Ego psychology explains how much of ego defence is unconscious, and thus more effective when undetected (see also Mitchell and Black, page 26), since much of the ego itself is unconscious and preconscious.

This unconscious state is perfectly symbolized by the way Raymond doesn’t know of the crimes he’s committing. He imagines someone else has shot his wife and father-in-law, just as we assume that communists are responsible for the deaths of tens of millions of people, rather than capitalists.

When Toxic Families Are ‘Helpful’

[NOTE: please read the second and third paragraphs from this post before continuing. Important–don’t skip reading them!]

I: Introduction

Part of the condescending attitude that toxic families have towards the scapegoat, or identified patient, is the idea that they’re ‘trying to help’ him or her. This is the lamest rationalization they can come up with when, really, they’re just trying to impose their will on their victims.

In their collective narcissism, they imagine that they have it all together, and that the scapegoat is clueless. If the scapegoat is doing something his or her bullying family simply doesn’t understand, he or she is judged rather than listened to. Not the slightest attempt is made to understand the scapegoat. It is assumed by the toxic family that the scapegoat, in his or her idiosyncratic or eccentric habits, is ‘wrong’ to be acting those ways, and therefore must have his or her behaviour ‘corrected.’

It never occurs to the family bullies that maybe they are the ones who have the problem (or at least are to a large extent the problem), and that whatever personality problems the scapegoat may actually have, that those problems were largely the result, directly or indirectly, of all that bullying (as opposed to the scapegoat having been ‘born that way’). The notion of pulling out the beam from their own eyes, so they can see clearly to help their brother get the mote out of his eye (Matthew 7:1-5), is lost on them.

This is one of the central problems I had with the five people with whom I had the misfortune of growing up in the same house. Each of them more or less had an agenda for me, something I was supposed to conform to, and when I didn’t conform, they made life very difficult for me.

II: My Parents

Though his agenda for me was quite irritating in its own right, my father was probably the least unreasonable of the bunch. At least when he tried to push me into getting a Bachelor of Commerce when I started university (at which I was failing miserably: I ended up dropping out of it half-way into my first year), his intentions were good…if misguided. He wanted me to get a high-paying job, and to do well in life. When it didn’t work out, he was disappointed, of course, but his attitude wasn’t rejecting of me as a person.

Enter my mother, whose intentions were nothing less than malignant. In her narrative about me having an autism spectrum disorder that I, about a mere ten years before this writing, learned was not only utter nonsense, but was also–a pretty dead certainty–a deliberate fabrication, she’d wanted me to be a loser my whole life, too afraid in my ‘mental disability’ to face the challenges of the world, emotionally and financially dependent on her, totally under her control. I was strong-willed enough, however, not to play that role, not to live the underachieving life she’d planned out for me.

In her lies, however, she smugly went on and on about how labelling me with classic autism (when I was a child), then with Asperger Syndrome (from about 2002-2016, when she died), was meant “to help” me. Honestly, people aren’t helped when labelled; they’re helped when listened to. And being lied to about mental deficiencies you don’t have don’t help you…they’re the opposite of help.

How is robbing someone of his confidence, from childhood to adulthood, supposed to be a form of help?

III: J.

My older sister, J., also tried to be ‘helpful.’ In her opinion, I can’t do anything right. She made it her mission to change just about everything in my personality. Apparently, I don’t dress correctly. I don’t listen to the right music. I don’t have the correct political views. Any time I express an opinion she’s never encountered before or considers odd, it’s automatically ‘wrong’ rather than an opportunity for her to see things from a fresh perspective.

Yet if I ever defend my ways with any measure of vigour, I am the closed-minded one, not her.

This snotty, know-it-all attitude of hers had a perfect rationale: she was getting me to see the ‘error of my ways.’ She has always deluded herself into thinking that what she was doing for me, back when I was living with the family in Canada, was for my own good, an act of love. As the family golden child, she felt obligated to play the role of the ‘loving sister,’ and correct my errant ways.

Her attempted ‘corrections’ of me were really a projection of our mother’s ‘corrections’ of her, since our narcissist mother manipulated her into playing the role of golden child as much as Mom manipulated me into being the scapegoat. J. mistook Mom’s mind games for love, imagining Mom was trying to make her into a ‘better’ person; for this reason, J.’s pushing me into being a ‘better’ younger brother was something she thought was an act of love, rather than a form of bullying and manipulation…just as Mom had bullied her into being the perfect daughter, a projection of Mom’s idealized version of herself. Mom’s False Self became J.’s False Self.

I refused to be an extension of J.’s ego (and of the negative side of our mother’s), as J. should have refused to be an extension of the positive side of Mom’s; but J. didn’t have the guts to refuse it, because getting Mommy’s (fake) love was all-important to J. My freedom from bullying and gaslighting is more important to me than getting Mom’s, or J.’s, fake, oh-so-conditional love.

What J. fails to understand is that this urge to change me into an utterly different–and ‘more acceptable’–person is another rejection of who I am. Love is about accepting people as they are, even though their imperfections are annoying from time to time. J.’s rejection of me, therefore, was the opposite of love. It was the opposite of helping, too.

IV: F.

Next, I must come to the attempts of my older brother, F., ‘to fix’ what was wrong with me. Now, I must confess that, when I was a child, and especially as a result of when we moved from the Toronto area to Hamilton in 1977, there was something seriously wrong with me. My family’s ‘diagnosis’ of my problems, however, was not only terribly wrong, but also to a great extent caused by them.

I can’t blame them for the move; that couldn’t be helped. My then-best friend, Neil, lived in Rexdale, just down the street from our house, and having to move away left me emotionally devastated (I was seven or eight years old at the time). On top of this, I was being bullied at school…and on top of that, I was being bullied at home…mainly–and in a largely physical way–by F.

He used to rationalize his anger towards me by claiming that he was frustrated that, in Hamilton, I made no attempts to make friends (actually, I made many attempts, but my social awkwardness made most of those attempts failures). One of the effects of bullying, as well as of adverse childhood experiences (ACE) in general, is that one tends to self-isolate, to protect oneself from further bullying. It never occurred to F. that he was one of the main causes of the very thing I was doing that, so he says, was frustrating him.

His attempt ‘to help’ me go out there and make friends was to force me to play baseball. He’d throw a ball to me, and I’d swing at it with a bat. It didn’t matter to him at all that I didn’t want to play baseball. One of my bad habits at the time was engaging in maladaptive daydreaming (a self-isolating escape from reality into fantasy–a mechanism, really, for coping with trauma), something the family had every good reason in the world to get me to stop doing, but something they were going about in all the wrong ways.

Granted, I can’t expect them to have had all the answers to fix this complicated problem, but I can expect them, as my family, to have a loving enough attitude to empathize with me, to attempt to get at the root of the problem (bullying, ACE, and my traumas related to these and to the loss of Neil’s company), rather than thinking that shaming me would make me stop the maladaptive daydreaming.

Similarly, to be fair to F., I couldn’t have expected him, a teen at the time, to have had the maturity to understand that forcing me to play a sport I didn’t want to play wasn’t going to work; but I could have expected my parents to have done their job and told him that he couldn’t make me like baseball. Of course, the fact that Mom was lying to me about autism, as well as winking at almost all of F.’s bullying, should indicate that she wasn’t interested in helping me at all.

Indeed, she was cultivating the very trauma, self-hatred, and alienation that was making me behave the way I was.

V: R.

Now, my eldest brother, R., never really tried to bend me to his will, to be ‘helpful’ (the reason being that the smug egotist never gave a shit about me). He never did, that is, except for one time, when our mother was dying. (I discussed the whole story in Part 6 of this post: “Is My Mother Dead?”)

Several months prior to the story given above (and described in detail in Part 5 of that post: “More Elaborate Lies”), Mom had told me a string of about seven lies about my cousin, S., and his mother, my aunt (a more detailed account of these lies is given in this post). Understanding these stories is key to having the context behind this issue with my brother, R.

My mother had already been a proven liar with her autism and Asperger Syndrome fabrications; these two, and the seven lies told me in the late summer of 2015, were three of the eight outrages she perpetrated against me, as listed in VII: Conclusion, from this post. All of these outrages were more than enough for me not to want to talk to her on her death bed, a very mild punishment given the enormity of what she’d done to me.

Immediately after having told me those seven horrible lies by email, Mom had the audacity to pressure me into getting on an airplane and flying from East Asia (where I live and work) to Canada to visit her, because she “would love to see [me].” She expressed herself as if she’d done nothing wrong, and I was expected to snap to attention and do her bidding. By telling her in an email reply that I didn’t want to see her, nor did I ever want to communicate with her by email or phone, because of her “Lies, lies, and more lies,” I was simply trying to protect myself, but she predictably spun my response as if I’d gone crazy and had “hurt” her, a typical narc tactic.

I actually did end up talking to her–once–on R.’s cellphone while she, 77, was in hospital, dying of metastasized breast cancer. During the phone conversation, she never took any responsibility for her lies, the acknowledgement of which could have been a wonderful moment of final healing and reconciliation between us. Instead, she not only pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about by accusing her of lying, but she also laid a thick guilt trip on me for being a “self-centred” son and for having “hurt” her. Then she congratulated herself on having given me “the most love” when I was a pre-teen.

So, when she’d been lying to me, around when I was from nine to twelve years old, about an autism spectrum disorder I don’t have–using such extreme language as to say that psychiatrists had recommended locking me away in an asylum with mentally retarded people, or that I might not have even made a good garbageman when I grew up–and when she did virtually nothing to stop the bullying I got from R., F., and J., she was giving me “the most love”? I was furious.

The above is the context in which R.’s wish to have me do what he wanted should be understood. After the ordeal of having to listen to Mom talk to me that way on R.’s cellphone, I chatted with him. I tried to get him to understand why I’d been acting the way I was, in response to her lies, but of course he didn’t listen to a word I was saying (presumably imagining I was making her death ‘all about me’ instead of about her…actually, I was making it all about her). Anyway, he talked some clichéd nonsense about how ‘Mom loved us all our lives, so now it’s our turn to love her back.’

He wanted me to call his cellphone number to chat with her regularly between that time and her eventual death–an easy and perfectly reasonable thing to do, on the face of it…if your dying mother happens to have been a genuinely good one who ‘loved us all our lives,’ but in my mother’s case, I beg to differ.

Needless to say, what R. wanted wasn’t helping anybody, except her in her narcissistic schemes. This ‘brother’ of mine never showed any real interest in contacting me the whole time I’ve lived in East Asia; the only reason he wanted me to contact Mom is for the same reason the family has ever acknowledged my very existence–as an extension of them. When I never made those calls he’d requested of me, he began cyberstalking me. He had the bad luck of stumbling upon a video I’d made and posted on YouTube (under my original name back in 2009), an obscure little recitation of Philip Larkin‘s poem, “This Be the Verse.”

Now, Mom had just died, and he was very upset with my embittered recitation (a pain he could have easily spared himself if he’d simply minded his own business: he knew I was mad at Mom, so he should have known that sneaking around in my online affairs would have been like walking in an emotional minefield). Below was his snarky comment, almost a word-for-word quote, which I’ve since hidden from the YouTube page because of how triggering it is for me:

“Disturbing words from a disturbed individual with an imperfect mother who loved you more than anyone else on the planet. You misunderstand her, just as you misunderstand everyone else except yourself. Shame on you.”

Everything he said in this comment is wrong, except for the very first two words…and even their correctness is dependent on their interpretation. My words weren’t disturbing for having been crazy and way off the mark; if so, they wouldn’t have been disturbing, but easily dismissed as nonsense. They were disturbing to him because they were true. Mom and Dad really did fuck us all up, and R. doesn’t have the guts to confront the trauma we all received from our parents.

VI: Everything Wrong With R.’s Comment

As for being “a disturbed individual,” though I do believe I suffer from C-PTSD (caused, for the most part, by…which five people, I wonder?), I’m not any more inherently “disturbed” than R., or F., or J., or any other average person. Making a video in which one vents one’s frustrations against the family one has been hurt by doesn’t make one mentally ill, just emotionally scarred.

Calling her “an imperfect mother” is meaningless. Is anyone out there perfect, R.? I’m not concerned with Mom’s imperfections; I’m concerned with her lies, triangulating, smear campaigns not just on me but on our cousins, and her divide-and-conquer agenda. Loving mothers don’t do these things…period! News flash, R.: I’m “imperfect,” too; but there is a double standard in our family as to whose imperfections are tolerated, and whose aren’t.

R. has no idea who “on the planet” has loved me more or less; nor does he have any idea how much or how little our mother ‘loved’ me. All he knows is that neither he nor F. have ever loved me, or even liked me. He projects, onto the whole world, his and F.’s unbrotherly attitude towards me to justify how shitty they’ve always been to me. And incidentally, R., Dad loved me, and my wife loves me–in spite of their own frustrations with me–far more than Mom or J. ever did.

R. also has no idea of who I understand or misunderstand. I actually understand our mother all too well. R. flagrantly misunderstands me, and to this day he wilfully refuses even to try to understand me, as do F. and J., because judging me is far more fun than it is to examine how the events in my life shaped my personality. Imagining I was ‘born this way’ (i.e., Mom’s description of ‘my autism’) means they don’t have to rethink anything.

I, on the other hand, in spite of how judgemental I’m being to the five of them here (everything that goes around, comes around), have made efforts to understand what must have happened in the lives of all five of them to have made them what they were and are to each other, to me, and to our cousins. You can read about my speculations here, among other posts I’ve written on the subject.

I also never had the advantage of witnessing their early years, as they had for me. They could have, with reasonable ease, worked out the life events that made me what I am, but didn’t, not because they couldn’t, but because they never cared to try–listening to Mom’s lies about me was sufficient for them. I, on the other hand, who had virtually no first-hand material to work with, cared enough to try to construct theories about how they became so nasty to me.

To put it briefly, R., F., and J. traumatized me because Mom and Dad traumatized them when they were little. Our parents, in turn, were traumatized by such things as the Great Depression, the Blitz, and the early death of my maternal grandfather. None of them were ‘born that way.’

R.’s final remark, that I “misunderstand everyone else except [my]self,” doesn’t even make sense. People who misunderstand everyone around them are by far the least likely to understand themselves, because personality development is all about symbiotic relationships with others. Our misunderstandings of others are usually projections of our misunderstood, unexamined selves.

This overgeneralization of his, emotional rather than logical, was obviously meant as a slur on my supposed autism, defined by my family as a kind of narcissistic self-absorption. This is an outdated conception of what autism really is, and a projection of their collective narcissism onto me, the identified patient.

“Shame on you” was meant to guilt-trip me into communicating with the family and apologizing to them for expressing what I had a perfect right to express (in the video), and for establishing boundaries where I had a perfect right to establish them. This attempt at goading me into doing what they wanted me to do proves once again that their trying to be ‘helpful’ was all fake and phoney.

VII: Did Mom Really Die in May of 2016?

Here’s another thing: though I assume that Mom really died back then (the pendulum swings towards it being only probably true…I never saw a corpse!), it’s still possible that my original speculation, that her death had been faked, was at the time correct.

With the combination of everything that happened back around April and May of 2016–my being informed of my portion of the inheritance in Mom’s will, the above comment from R., an email from J. saying that I had some belongings left in Mom’s home, a notice about her funeral mailed to me (presumably with photos: I never opened the package; were the pictures of Mom Photoshopped?), etc.–it really seems as though she died, hence I said so here.

But as it says in this video, one of the ways a toxic family tries to hoover you back into the relationship is to make a false alarm (e.g., a member of the family is ‘dying’). I’m still assuming she really died back then, as the evidence still leans that way. In any case, if she hadn’t died in the spring of 2016, she’s probably dead by now (i.e., having died at around the age of 80), from old age and a ‘broken heart’ from my having gone NO CONTACT. Incidentally, I will not be held responsible for a ‘broken heart’ that she’d brought on herself with her lies and manipulation.

Now, if the family had been faking her death back in the spring of 2016, if they had been lying to me about her worsening health–right after I’d accused her of lying, which they, of course, dismissed as nonsense right as they were engaging in further deception of me–then they are even more reptilian than I’d originally understood them to be, and my actions are all the more justified.

To my knowledge, assuming the above is true, they haven’t tried any more stunts on me since then…thank the gods for that.

VIII: Conclusion

Anyway, in sum, these examples that I’ve given should help you understand, Dear Reader, that toxic families don’t help you in any way, in spite of their claims that they do. They don’t help you get better work. They’re unfit to diagnose you with any mental condition. Their bullying doesn’t encourage you to make friends–the trauma it causes does the opposite of that. Their constant criticisms destroy your self-esteem, making it all the harder for you to thrive in life. And they can’t reunite a family–literally–to save anyone’s life.

Now, I know that I’ve said a whole lot of harsh things about my family, and perhaps, Dear Reader, you’re finding my harshness rather grating; but try to understand the pain and hurt they caused me…for decades, without any sincere expression of remorse. When one has that much pain bottled up inside oneself, one can’t help but spew rage against one’s victimizers over and over again.

This leads me to my next point: my repetition of largely the same incidents, over and over again, after having discussed essentially the same things in so many previous posts. Part of my purpose in all of this repetition is a processing of my pain through writing therapy, a putting of trauma into words. It is part of the process of healing, and if you have gone through the same kinds of things, I recommend doing this kind of writing again and again, to heal yourselves.

Rewriting Your Life Story

Because of the trauma we suffer as victims of narcissistic and emotional abuse, we tend to ruminate about our past long after the period of abuse is over. The past can dominate our lives, through such things as intrusive thoughts, so much that it’s as if the painful period was our life in its entirety.

How can we break free from the past? There are many methods that can help, such as meditation, putting our trauma into words, using self-hypnosis to treat the past as something no longer relevant to our present lives, or using auto-hypnosis to imagine a new, idealized family to replace, in our minds, the abusive family we grew up with.

Another method, suggested by Michele Lee Nieves in this video, is to rewrite one’s life story. Instead of rehashing the same old pain from before, now that we’re out of the abusive relationship, we imagine a new, positive end to our life story to give us a sense of hope and purpose in our new lives.

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To give an example, I’ll rewrite my own life story here and now. I’m going to parallel it with many points in the legendary life of the Buddha: this is not meant to imply that I’m in any way even remotely comparable to him in the saintly or enlightened sense (I’m quite the opposite, actually, and I don’t mean that in the dialectical sense!), but rather that both life narratives chart a course from the realization of suffering to a striving to end that suffering. I find such correspondences to be inspiring in my quest to be healed. Let’s begin:

I was born into a petite bourgeois, middle-class family who fancied themselves very capable. My parents imagined themselves to be the ultimate authorities of their world, like a king and queen.

My mother, as I’ve explained many times in a number of posts, was a habitual liar, gaslighting, triangulating, and doing smear campaigns against me and my cousins to the rest of the family. My elder siblings, her flying monkeys, helped her bully and emotionally abuse me. Because of her many needless fabrications, I can see her as the very personification of illusion, the māyā, or powerful, illusory magic, as it were, that addles the mind, deceives us, and thus causes suffering.

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It was as though she’d died shortly after I was born, for I afterwards felt little affection from her, just the illusion of maternal care masking an agenda to keep me in her control. I was a sensitive child, and the rest of the family had little patience for me. My father wanted me to get a high-paying job in something like business: I had no interest whatsoever in such things.

When I was a young man, I finally ventured out into the world and learned what it was really like, as opposed to the world my family had hoped to keep me inside, with superficially pleasant things to keep me distracted from the truth. A number of things I saw outside made me understand the illusions of home.

I realized that my mother, the personification of all those illusions, was getting old. Her ideas about me were old and outmoded, having no more usefulness in my life. In fact, they’d never been useful.

I realized that she, as that personification of māyā, was a sick woman. Sick with breast cancer, but more importantly, sick with some form of pathological narcissism.

Finally, she died, not only physically, but also as any kind of guide in my life. In fact, she’d never been a real guide. As I said above, it was as if she’d died only about a week after my birth.

A fourth realization came after her death, though: I learned of people who overcame their trauma, and who were able to live their lives in peace, in spite of their previous suffering. I thus decided that I wanted to achieve the same peace.

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Naturally, there was resistance from the family, but I insisted on having my way. I renounced them as the toxic environment that they were and are. Even the inheritance money my mother left for me–a lot of money!— I gave up, insisting that the lawyers give my fourth in thirds to my older brothers and sister.

I gave the money up–an act most people would consider foolish, of course–because I felt it would be hypocritical of me to feel such animosity towards my mother on the one hand, and yet say, “Oh, but gimme-gimme the money!” on the other. I had to be consistent with my principles: if I was to renounce the family, I had to renounce everything, even sacrificing the good parts.

Also, giving up the money was my way of telling the family that my motives are far from always self-centred, an attribute they used to justify their bullying and demeaning of me. If all there was to me was selfishness, why wouldn’t I just take the money? I had a perfect legal right to it, and I could still say that Mom’s giving it to me came nowhere close to compensating for all the injuries she’d done to me. Still, I gave it up…because contrary to what the family believes about me, not everything in me is about getting more and more for myself.

Finally, I gave up the money because I didn’t want to feel in any way obligated to have anything to do with them anymore. I didn’t want to be beholden to them at all.

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My next move was to learn everything I could about the root causes of the abuse I’d suffered (narcissistic mothers), and about how to heal myself. I learned a lot of useful things, but I also turned a few bad corners (e.g. spending a lot of money on an online course that gave me only minimal help; also, sharing many of my blog posts on these topics on Facebook pages with unappreciative members…a.k.a. haters). I’ve found myself more inclined to find the answers I need on my own.

I’ve also found meditation helpful, though temptations distract me. I’ve been assailed by doubts about whether I correctly interpreted the meaning of what happened to me as a child; this is known as second-guessing. The guilt-tripping and shaming that that toxic family subjected me to, as well as all of their gaslighting, was the basis of my second-guessing. Overall, however, I’ve managed not to cave into these doubts.

Other temptations have not been so easy to resist. Feelings of anger towards my former abusers, sometimes in the form of intrusive thoughts, distracts me from focusing on what I call the Three Unities (those of Space, Time, and Action) that give me soothing peace if I concentrate hard enough. Other times, it’s lustful desires that break my concentration. Usually, though, it’s simply itchiness. In the long run, I manage to overcome these distractions.

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Now, outside of the healing power of meditation, I nonetheless struggle with my emotional pain, and it causes me to manifest self-destructiveness in the forms of sleeplessness, poor nutrition, and a generally unhealthy, irritable mood. Add to all of this my C-PTSD tendency to catastrophize any problem, and I can pull myself down very low.

Thankfully, I have the love of my wife, who–despite how difficult she finds it to be patient with a man as irritable as I am–makes sure I get a reasonable amount of fruit in my diet, among other healthy foods. She is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Since her having helped me through my worst emotional period, just following my mother’s death and my estrangement from the family, I have shown more resolve in practicing meditation and in formulating a philosophy to help me heal. When it comes to the roots of narcissistic abuse, I’ve come to understand certain basic truths:

  1. While the experience of a kind of, so to speak, psychic mutilation is common and universal, some have it far worse than others.
  2. This psychic mutilation is a lack that gives rise to desire, which in turn causes more suffering; and those whose psychic mutilation is more severe (as among those with NPD or other Cluster B personality disorders), causing in them even greater desire, those people in turn cause ever more suffering.
  3. This suffering and psychic mutilation can be healed.
  4. It can be healed through the following: having the right understanding of the above three truths; making a firm decision to heal; speaking with kind, rather than violent, words (to oneself as well as to others); acting with kindness and selflessness to others; writing, with the most vividly descriptive of words, about all of one’s pain; making an effort to resist the old, painful habits, while striving also to revive and sustain new and healthy habits; always being mindful and remembering to strive for the goal of healing; and meditating with the most focused of concentration.
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In the process of moving towards this goal of healing, we must remember to strive with diligence, but also with moderation. We mustn’t expect too much of ourselves too soon, and we mustn’t beat ourselves over the head with shame when we inevitably fail from time to time. At the same time, we mustn’t be lazy or complacent, lest we backslide into our previous, mutilated emotional state.

One thing to remember is that the ego is an illusion, the narcissistic looking at oneself in the mirror or pond reflection, a defence against psychic mutilation. This fake ego, taken to extremes, leads to pathological narcissistic states. We aren’t permanent entities unto ourselves; there is just the infinite ocean of the universe, and we are all just drops of water in it.

As difficult as this all will be to understand and achieve, we can take refuge in the notion of our universal potential to be at one with the peaceful, oceanic state of what I call the Unity of Space, what Hindus call that identity of Atman with Brahman. We can also take refuge in all the teachings we have learned from, these written here above and those from outside sources. Finally, we can take refuge in the community and empathy of fellow sufferers, fellow victims of narcissistic and emotional abuse (whether online or in one’s immediate physical vicinity); and we can take refuge in the internalized parental system as discussed here.

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In life, I will continue to face difficult people, and will face challenges; there is no escape from problems, but if I face those difficulties with the philosophical ideas laid out here, I should be able to cope reasonably well. Happiness doesn’t consist in an absence of problems; it consists in the ability to deal with them.

Along with problems, though, life will sometimes give us blessings. We should always be grateful for every good thing that comes our way, and never take blessings for granted. Besides, gratitude, felt regularly, increases happiness.

I have a lot to be grateful for, especially during the past twenty-four years. Instead of being the absurdly wrong things the family claimed I would be (My mother wondered in her lies if I, an ‘autistic‘ child of about nine or ten, would ever even make a good garbageman; my bully-brother F. growled that I’d be “a loser for the rest of my life” back when I was a teen), instead of me being any of that nonsense, I have become a successful English teacher, one who not only teaches the language, but also aspects of Western culture, as well as political concepts.

I have a wonderful wife whom I love dearly, one who also suffers my ill temper with far more patience than I deserve. Now, if I can fully heal from my early traumas, she’ll see how much of a good man I can be. My wish for her to see the very best version of myself should be plentiful a motive in me to strive hard for that healing. This success would give a much-needed, and much-deserved, happy ending to so sadly-begun a life.

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As you can see, Dear Reader, I started my narrative with the sad, inauspicious beginnings associated with the family’s narcissistic abuse. Then I moved into a gradual transformation of the bad beginnings, through my reflections on all that was wrong, into a growing sense of knowledge of myself and the world surrounding me. I ended on a happy, encouraging note, one that would inspire me to continue down the good path.

When you rewrite your life story, my suggestion is to write in a similarly transformative narrative arc. Good luck with it! 🙂