The first sign that things were not going well after I moved in to care for my mother, was the growing sense of revulsion I began to feel towards her. In the beginning I felt the affinity that a son should feel towards his mother, and I was looking forward to helping her after her stroke. I was counting on the proximity it afforded us to be a catalyst for re-bonding. The silver lining of her illness was such that it imposed a way for us to make up for all the lost time from our past.
What I really needed was to keep reminding myself that her absence from my life was from her end and not mine. It was her that created the category 5 shitstorm, and skipped town.
The visits at the skilled nursing facility were always stiff and distant. Something I attributed to her hating her condition and being away from her home and cats. I also became aware of just how biting her remarks could be. Another thing that was there in the small snippets of time we shared during my adult life, but really didn't take root in my mind as this being the way she is 24/7.
Her house was not the cleanest and so I methodically started cleaning the things that were less than clean. Like looking at the vent over her stove and noticing caked grease to the point of it being nasty. I would choose a small cleaning battle and when that battle was won another would present itself and I would declare war on it. Mind you, I never voiced any opinions here. I never saw something and said what most people would have said which would be...."Holy fucking Shit! That's just nasty and I'm fixing this before another meal is cooked here. I may have an adult disconnect with her, but the ever present child in me never forgot the things that will induce a narcissistic rage. And what induced her narcissistic rage at this late date was whatever I happened to be doing at any given moment. Even if it was in her best interests. She was getting visits from a home health care agency and they could have yanked the rug out from under her and sent her to a retirement home cat quick. So I did my best to keep her house top shelf clean and her well fed.
I won't go into the months of gas lighting that followed. The rage attacks that came from no where and were inciting by nothing. We all have our stories of incredulous acts by our malignant narcissist. We begin the journey thinking these acts are happenstance. And then we find it is intentional. I think this is evil and I think they love being this way. If it is intentional, all they have to do is stop. But they do not.
They exist in some alien world the rest of us are not privy to. They are all motivated by a force that none of us can relate to. There are nuances in their perceptions that don't register with the non disordered, but send them on a gas lighting campaign or into a seething rage.
Narcissism has to be a form of autism. Their interface with the world fits just well enough to make them appear functional, yet keep us shaking our heads in disbelief.
It's hard to shed light on vibe of evil of the personality disordered. Like cock roaches, light is the very thing they avoid. They deny any thing about them that is less than perfect. And they will never be coaxed to examine themselves, or submit to analysis by others.
This is our dilemma. We have a person we want to love, but who wreaks havoc on our lives any time we get near them. And they can't be fixed.
So fuck'em !