Sketchbook page from December.
6 December 2025
I can feel myself entering the “real world” my parents always warned me about. I am finding out that the real world is nothing like what they said. I don’t even think that they know what the real world is.
Both of my parents live in some sort of narcissistic pipe dream. I thought that my mother was different but no, they’re both unbelievably narcissistic and authoritative. My mother just hid it under a level of empathy that turned into manipulation once you got to know it. It’s odd, though, because neither of them seem to express this neurosis to the outer world. Neither of them ever let the facade drop in front of others. Perhaps they’re too afraid to show ‘weakness’ to their friends and family; instead they project every built-up thought or emotion onto their children.
This toxic environment keeps eating its own tail – the parents’ insecurities are projected onto and cause issues in the children, which in turn inflame the parents’ insecurities further. The “real world” that my parents spoke of actually lies far beyond this ouroboros of a family system. The real world is a society in which everyone fends for themselves. Every man for himself. I was not raised in preparation for this. I was raised as a product of this; a whim that my parents followed to fulfil their life goals.
I was raised to submit, to obey, to be seen and not heard. For some children, this system gives them the space to build an internal world of self-reliance; to build an identity seperate from their parents in spite. I, on the other hand, developed an early addiction to my parents’ love. I’m not quite sure yet why this is. Was it autism? An attachment disorder? Anxiety? Or was it just in my DNA?
Humans are born relying on others. Why was I not allowed to want that? Someone to rely on? All I wanted was the unconditional love that my DNA promised. But there were conditions from the minute I was born. And these conditions exacerbated the built-in neuroses within each member of the family. A never-ending cycle.
I was never taught to be a person. I was taught to suppress my own opinions, emotions, boundaries, desires, and needs. I was told to get rid any part of me that made me my own person, not my parents’ child.
I was raised to be an obedient child. Nothing more.
Teaching myself to be an adult is the most mountainous challenge I’ve ever met. Especially when attempting to come back to the family dynamic as my adult self. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.
[I must remember to be grateful for the only unconditional love that I have ever experienced, and that is from my sibling. Shared trauma really does create an unbreakable bond.]
