The Art of Intimidation
“Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering.” – Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Have you ever sat down to tell someone a story that was full of passion, travails, a glimmer of hope and have them stare off at the end in silence only to feel that sudden pained, disconnect? That is life with a Narcissist. Intimidation. That’s been my life story up until now. I was bleeding on the pages of my written memoirs or to whoever would hear. To be more precise, this is the only life I had known. Stick around. I’ll tell you an intimate story of me.
There she was, bold, brave, beautiful, accomplished, educated. She spoke, and people listened. She ran and won her race. She was everything I’d hope to be with a few exceptions. She seemed happy and unmoved by men who hurled insults to hide their lack of command, confidence, and highlighting their inadequacies. She was immovable and compassionate. Her voice was nurturing and profound. She commanded, and I hated everything about her. She had gone to Law School and succeeded. She was Attorney General of her state. She ran for Senate and won. She was Melanated, Jamaican, Asian, Black, American, born of immigrant parents, Human. She ran for President of the United States and my dad, my father, endorsed her. She is an Alpha Kappa Alpha, something I hoped to be. She made me sick. Her name is Kamala Harris, and she is the Vice Presidential pick for Joe Biden on the Democratic ticket.
She effortlessly or so I believed attained everything I wanted to accomplish from a young age. I recalled my hopes, dreams, and failures. What I did not take into consideration was how prevalent my daddy issues had festered anger, resentment, rage; for women and people I would otherwise have so much in common. Until recently, I penned myself and what I perceived as my unlovable attributes of self onto so many parts of life, making it virtually impossible to fill my cup with anything more. Success, failures, experiences or love I was full.
I woke up one day and realized a series of ongoing ever-evolving toxic relationships. Being locked in my home for about two years and punished repeatedly, I understood that something, no, me; I needed to change. This labyrinth that was my life had gone on long enough, and that revolving door had placed me in a position to where my life was in imminent danger. I needed answers, so I started asking the hard questions. Questions that keep you up at night and make it hard to eat. Questions that make you feel crazy and at times, incomplete. Questions that make you meet the same traumas you’ve busied yourself in an attempt to avoid. I asked those.
I was living a purgatory with a narcissist. And as I began to understand the behavior of myself and this person; I began to ask more questions like what’s wrong with me, why am I so broken, and how can I make it stop. I took a step out of my comfort zone to do some self-love projects. Because I knew it would mean to him that I was now making my home-bodied self look attractive for the unknown lover I started small. I did my nails and painted them clear. A burst of happiness I could feel from such a subtle act, I wanted to do more discreetly, and did.
I had therapy weekly to get out the thoughts of the week before and reveal new realizations. I then admitted to my therapist that I understood the beginning and end of who and what I knew myself to be. Narcissistic parents had raised me. With the help of my therapist, I began to explore the world of Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. We discussed the lack of love, abuse, neglect, self-mutilation, and not being enough. I learned a hard truth; my parents were incapable of love. Because this was the only love I knew it would perpetuate more narcissistic, abusive relationships. I was able to admit that my dad frequently battered my brother and sister’s mother because I heard the screams, and if I ever spoke of this, he would never love me. In saying this out loud I was able to break myself of the chains.
Through a Trauma Resolution Therapeutic session, I took on my dad. I wanted to disappear; not enough and not good enough stories. I was afraid because that girl speaking her heart to her father through person after person never really knew any other way. I was in physical, emotional, and psychological shock, but I was ready. I knew this pain and I wanted freedom from it. It worked and Kamala Harris, right after this session, on the same day, was picked as Vice President to run alongside Joe Biden. I came to realize that so much of who Kamala Harris is, was at one point what I wanted to be. My issues with her were within me.
I learned that although Mrs Harris had, had conversations with my father and had his endorsement; if she knew me, my story, my reality, he would be a scumbag to her. I found out that she prided children, their education, and made parents responsible for making sure their children got to school. Had Kamala known me she’d know that my dad stopped school payments for my education to retain money for his self-interest, leaving me many days absent an education. I learned that Mrs Harris was against legalizing sex-workers because it demoralized women and opened them up to abusive situations. Had Kamala known me, she would know that my father purchased my pornographic photos from a pimp using them to blackmail me. I realized that Kamala for the people, meant me.
In dealing with my daddy issues and what they blocked me from seeing, I am growing to understand that the woman I hated is the woman that would’ve protected me from the first man to ever hurt me, my dad. And that my father’s love for her had much and little to do with me. Had she known my story she wouldn’t entertain the likes of him. Had I had a healthy, thriving, and loving childhood, who knows, perhaps, I’d be just like Kamala Harris. For now, I’m going to vote for her, and I urge you to do the same. Trauma Resolution Therapy has allowed me to make much needed peace with my daddy issues.
Written by: S. B. Campbell