I know there has been some debate about self-diagnosing but when Don says it was bad, you can believe it was. Last summer I met a psychiatrist at the U.C. Davis Medical school dept. of Education. I was there as an actor hired to play the part of a patient for the second year medical students.It was a psychiatric case, a middle aged man seeking medical treatment for depression. He had been misdiagnosed because he had never shared his childhood trauma and no one had ever asked.
In orientation I started to sweat, the case struck a nerve. I followed the psychiatrist out to the hallway and asked to speak to him. I then shared some of my story. After about ten minutes he went to find a room for a more in-depth interview. We spoke for an hour. He invited me to come to the clinic for intensive treatment.I see a therapist once a week and a psychiatrist every other week with the director joining in on the session.I signed a released so that the session could be filmed. Apparently there is a department head, a psychiatrist at U.C. Davis who is studying my case. I've been diagnosed with complex ptsd. With anxiety and depression, both symptomatic. Also dissociation, symptomatic or the disorder, it's not clear yet.
Three psychiatrists and a therapist, all paid for by the clinic. Just for telling my story... and Don's.

I forgot to mention that this psychiatrist is the director of a clinic with 1500 patients.

Wow! I'm so happy to hear that you've not only found some help, but a way to use it to help others that have been in your circumstances or those similar.

I hope dear old dad lives long enough to see the movie. Now THAT would be a FHE to remember.

Mormonism is a philosophy founded on works. When anything isn't "working," their only prescription is more Mormonism - more programs applied with greater intensity. This is the message my TBM wife would receive from any LDS source: bishops, Relief Society confidantes, the Ensign, Meridian (or as I call it, LDS Fanatic) Magazine.

We *have* to attend Church - every activity. We *have* to have Family Home Evening - no matter how much contention ensues. We *must* have food storage and 24 hour rescue kits.

Our children each rebelled in their own ways: son committed ever more serious crimes; one daughter took a scholarship to a university on another continent; younger daughter has no ambition whatsoever.

A narcissist is not restrained by Mormonism. If anything, they can be encouraged in extreme behavior.

I've very sorry for what both you and Don have been through.

And I'm kind of amazed at how you both have coped with such trauma.

Wishing you the best . . .

Bravo to the Bagley boys for talking about their experience to enlighten all of us.
The toxicity of narcissism needs to be shared more often with the world. Good, bad or mixed; our childhoods affect our entire lives. Much credit to those who overcome abysmal parenting.

I'm glad that Jeff has come forward about the psychological fallout of an abusive authoritarian Mormon upbringing. Both Jeff and I have been diagnosed with symptoms of anxiety and depression, in addition to other mental health problems. We've both spent time in institutions and therapy sessions. One of the short stories I'm presently working on is about a narcissistic father who consumes half of his family income for himself and lives a second life of secret indulgence. We were supposed to believe that it was approved by the Holy Ghost, who spoke surreptitiously to our father and justified his selfish acts. That justification was provided by Mormonism, a system that favors narcissists like no other. It's time to step up and be heard. Thanks, Jeff.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/13/2016 11:13PM by donbagley.

I hope that you will do EMDR therapy! Eye Movement Desensitization has done a world of good for my ptsd, and its anxiety!

Wow. Just read the original thread on this one.

Paradox, your story and your feelings so closely match my own that it's scary. Especially the part about your mom playing the passive/aggressive game and being so awful and manipulative when appearing to be witty and happy and caring to everyone on the outside. To this day, I cannot speak to most people I know honestly about my mother. They just don't get it. When I speak the truth about her, people just look at me like I'm a horrible person, like I'm Laman and my parents are Lehi and Sariah.

I'm so sorry. I am now a 43 year old man and it feels like I will forever be trying to undo the damage of the first 23-24 years.

The church and dysfunctional families are so closely intertwined that it is difficult for me to separate one from the other and figure out what has been the most psychologically damaging. You mentioned church teachings that enable narcissists to abuse. I would add "honor thy father and mother" to that list.

"forever trying to undo the damage?" I have a friend and she and I have both been talking about this same thing. We both had extremely narcissistic mormon mothers and upbringings. And we keep asking each other if the pain ever ends. Truly, it is in many ways as if they won. If their desire was to limit us and ruin lives, they have.

I told my friend that my mother undermined me so many times growing up. She ruined the first half of my life and it seems that because I can't heal it all, she still influences the last half. I want to be done with it all and move on. But, there is always some level of hurt and of fear. Any new thing that I approach is in fear. Where is the person who will knock me down this time? She may as well still be alive in the fact that she still haunts me this way.

And I feel like there is so much of this odd self absorbed narcissism in the church. That it compounds the problem for victims trying to make sense of their life wreckage. When there is one or two family members like this, it is devastating. When you have continually had to deal with it, it's demoralizing. And then, it compounds into Complex PTSD. And I am continually questioning myself as to what it is about me that seems to draw in such self absorbed narcissistic nuts or if there really is just that many in our culture. Do I , because of my mother, still wear some invisible neon sign that sais "I am here to scapegoat and abuse?" No thanks! I'm' so done with that.

I finally feel that at fifty years old, I've grown up enough to say, "No. I won't return love and kindness for dismissal and meanness anymore! And they can go to hell!" It's about time I was able to do that!

I Love this!!!... ""No. I won't return love and kindness for dismissal and meanness anymore!

Condolences and kudos to the brothers Bagley.

Thank you, Jeff and Don.

Jeff, I hope you return and report, because you are helping all of us who have PTSD. My very large, violent bi-polar brother bullied and tortured me my whole life. My TBM parents never protected me from him. When I got big enough to kick him, my parents spanked me for that. I left home as soon as possible, and the abuse continued verbally with phone calls, and physically at family reunions, until I broke off all family contact. I would not allow him near my children. He sexually abused two little girls in our family. They are now almost 30, and are very messed-up. All of the Mormon parents involved DENIED anything was wrong with my brother. Some even laughed at him, calling him a "dirty old man." He had three different lawsuits for sexual assault, from various neighbors. Still, he was a favorite in our ward, and bore his testimony every month. Whenever my parents went out of town, Mormons would invite him over for dinner, and he was oh so charming and appreciative.

My point is:

"Mormonism, (is) a system that favors narcissists like no other."

Amen to that!

Well, you know the church is all about "deny it and it never happened." Of course, that depends on how popular you are in the morg. Anything can be over looked if you can charm the right people. But, try to be a genuine good person and watch how you are never good enough.

I've said it before, my parents were far from perfect and they made a lot of mistakes. Maybe my mother had a mental health issue, but who wouldn't who led the life she lived and the things she went through. She deserved to go a bit crazy.

But we were the family that didn't appear perfect. There was no facade. My dad especially was a what you see is what you get type of person, so we weren't treated well in mormonism. And when my life fell apart because of mormonism, they were there for me. They never ostracized any of their children who left mormonism, which was most of them.

I'll say it again, after reading here for years, I've learned to be SO grateful for the parents I had, honest, good-hearted people who loved their children above all else.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/14/2016 07:22AM by cl2.

I'm female, 50s, and my shelf also held all of the abuse. It crashed down on top of me about 15 years ago, when a kind person persisted in explaining how I had misread/filtered/filled their words/statements, substituting my own distorted version for their actual side of the conversation. Up to that point in my life, I had no awareness of the mind games going on inside of my head, used to avoid/cope with the beatings, sexual abuse, mental/emotional/physical abuse and neglect I suffered as a child/young adult.

After escaping the abuse, I was numb for many years. It allowed me to function, but I had no focus on my own best self-interests. I worked to the benefit of everyone but myself. I couldn't actually feel the empathy that seemed to be the driving factor of my efforts.

I emotionally isolated from/rejected personal relationships from everyone, except gay men. Their suffering, their isolation, their fear, were things I could feel - not my own, but theirs. There was no fear of sexual advance, but we could share real hugs. I never shared "my story," but could feel theirs. They were real men, powerful and gentle, alive with curiosity, opinion and passion. I felt so safe and honored that each would be so emotionally generous to call me a friend.

So a loving person crashed my shelf, but neither of us suspected/expected the latent toxic fallout that was to come. Flashbacks, supressed memories, triggers, dissociation, the whole PTSD emergency phase bag of garbage. Two-three months of my life disappeared, and still, I can recall only snippets.

I had some treatment, but it wasn't very specialized then, not even widely understood. About 1.5 years after that, still processing "new" memories, feelings, rage, deep sorrow, my spine decided to exhibit symptoms of all it had suffered. Having had lost all my girlie parts at a young age (abuse trauma), no HRT, I had started losing bone mass. To be brief, I'm now 2.5" shorter now than I was, all spinal decay. That's a lot of "ow."

Even though my father was dead when my shelf crashed, his death probably being the safety my mind required for the crash to occur, the injuries he inflicted continue to tear my body apart. GI disease, kidney stones, hair loss, premature aging galore.

The p-docs helping me to cope with the physical pain, as a permanent part of my life, tell me that CBT, basically ignoring/redirecting the negative thoughts about it, is the way to go.

Remembering/honoring and processing the long-denied emotions of the long-term abuse is how to move through and discard them.

I'm so freaking confused most of the time. I think I'm a godamned miracle for the ability to get out of bed, get some clean manner of clothing on my broken body, and make it to my job, sit there in pain and function in a productive and friendly way. I hang on to the ability to support myself by the thinnest of threads.

I still can't relate to most of the women I know. I simply have no interest in their pursuit of the immediate. Please note the "I know" part. I now live in a red state, never knew that cammo was a color or basketball a religion. I moved here in flight of my family, and now don't have the means to move again. I still reject anything that reminds me of my mother, Mrs. It's-All-About-Keeping-My-Marriage. Even being my true feminine self in public is difficult. At home alone, I'm all girl.

So yeah, the so-called parents should have never birthed me in the first place, but they did, and here I am, every authentic inch of me. For me, the pain is permanent.

Oh, and, pets rule. Coffee should be its own food group. This board helps me to breathe. I tend to put too much cheese on my burritos. There are positives on which to focus. :)

(((HUGS)))

Thank you worn down for such apt and beautiful prose to describe such an ugly indefensible tragedy...i hear you...its grim...the future yawns like a wide dark chasm of the unknown...those whove escaped such tragedy can in no way grasp the desperation just getting thru one more day can entail...yet flail on we must...problems never come as lone assasins but as legions...im pulling for you...the human spirit may overcome incredible adversity...so glad that jeff and don have found a way to soldier on...really what choice do we have...none that are socially acceptable

can someone link the original thread?

She was one of the coldest, most cruel and unkind people I ever met. And since I was the only child, I was the focus of most of it.

One of the weirdest things I remember was when she and I drove to the store. She took a different route coming home. I didn't recognize anything, and asked, nervously, "Are we lost?" She began to laugh and said, "Yes, we are lost. You will never see your Daddy, or your grandmas, or your little dog again. Never."

I begged her to stop and ask someone for directions, but she just kept laughing and driving. I cried and cried (I was about 4). When she stopped at a stop sign, I jerked the car door open and dived out. I ran as fast as I could, darting between houses, figuring that if I got far enough away from her, I could dare to stop and ask for directions, because I knew our home address.

She drove home and organized a search party. When I was found, no one would listen to my side of the story. Everyone told me what a BAD, BAD kid I was, and I got the daylights beaten out of me.

This was just one episode. I don't think my mother was capable of caring about anyone but herself. Eventually, I won a scholarship to a university several hundred miles from home. Those years were among the happiest of my life.

And then I was stupid enough to marry another abuser.

I've finally gotten away from both of them, found a wonderful partner, and learned to trust. But as Don and Jeff have pointed out, there's no regaining those years you lost of being hurt and terrified. The best you can do is just keep putting one foot ahead of the other.

I genuinely loved my children. They never even KNEW their grandmother. I wouldn't permit her anywhere near them.