Thou Shall Not Set Boundaries in This Family

I deserved better, not only from them, but also from myself. What they ceased to recognize is that I was no longer the timid, people pleasing, always agreeable doormat that they’d all come to know and love. I had discovered my voice, yet they preferred I had just continued drinking the vodka.

Thou Shalt Not Set Boundaries

“It’s too easy to criticize a man when he’s out of favour, and to make him shoulder the blame for everybody else’s mistakes.” – Leo Tolstoy

Sadly, my family required that I continue to live up to their highest expectations as a pathetic, unemployed alcoholic doormat. Believe it or not, being an employed alcoholic garners you a higher position in the family. Being an unemployed alcoholic garners you isolation, abandonment and the darkest nights of your soul.

If only I hadn’t have told prospective employers that I had a felony, a kid, no car and I couldn’t work around alcohol. Maybe then my family wouldn’t have thrown me and my little boy away.

I have come to a place in my life that certain types of communications have become intolerable. Once they were accepted because frankly I didn’t know any better. But today I do. In fact, I know that boundaries were quite in opposition to my mother’s narcissistic agenda our entire lives.

I deserved better, not only from them, but also from myself. What they ceased to recognize is that I was no longer the timid, people pleasing, always agreeable doormat that they’d all come to know and love. I had discovered my voice, yet they preferred I had just continued drinking the vodka. My youngest daughter- I just realized is The YOUNGEST ACTUAL ADULT in our family and even she has a far better understanding about all of this than the two senior members still attempting to dominate what is rest of our family through deception and threats which are not always so carefully veiled.

I’m quite confident that with this “seriously poor attitude” of mine, any opportunity for growth to climb up the ladder in this family is pretty much nonexistent. I caught a glimpse of what’s up there, beyond the top of that ladder, and from what I can tell, I’ve got much higher property values right where I stand.

They told me to go get well. -so I spent well over a year “getting well.” In reality I’ll most likely be addressing recovery in one way or another for the rest of my life.

Perhaps they might like to catch up. – but it’s an awful lot of work and a serious time investment of which so far none are willing to take on. There’s that hostile and aggressive attitude of mine again. But after hearing mean and nasty remarks made about you to you via a misdialed text it’s beyond painful.

“I found peace of mind when I walked away from small fights not worth fighting. I stopped fighting for people who gossiped about me. I stopped fighting for those who didn’t respect me. I quit worrying about those who wouldn’t value me for being me.” ~Dana Acuri

I am still surprised in regards to just how strong a denial system can actually be. And even though I’d broken through a large portion of mine, I truly believed that they were the healthy ones! I’m just so grateful that I possessed the ability to recognize how very sick I had actually become, and be willing to change it.

I was recently informed that by calmly defining clear and definite boundaries which included refusing to tolerate or engage in any future discussions that I identify as belittling or being strategic in nature or appear as a manipulated set up- that I was being insulting, rude and aggressive. And then three times accused of drinking.

They “Hope I’m working my program…”

Establishing boundaries…standing up for myself as an intelligent being, oh…and basically with a conscious decision to remove myself from emotion-so that for once I’d be taken seriously….I simply said,

“NO MORE.” These same words I’d said 6 years ago to my abuser, have brought about similar consequences. A disapproval masked by an immediate delivery of a defensive and dominating deflection. (I swear that tongue twister was not planned out. I couldn’t have made that work if I’d tried!)

Simply an attempt to establish boundaries accompanied by an explanation that the bar had been raised and the level of respect which I had previously accepted would no longer be. If, for example, I’d not asked for financial help in the last year, then for what reason should I be expected to explain why I didn’t currently have a phone line? With care, I constructed my words so as to ensure that the full expression of love would be understood for the basis of this conversation both for myself and for him. I explained that I needed to protect my fragile self-esteem and sobriety. Yet every one of my explanations and attempts to communicate any of my feelings were received and interpreted only as a defiant attack upon he and the family. (I’m assuming he’d been referring to the family, as he kept referencing “We” & “Us” throughout the discussion when I clearly informed him that I was addressing him alone in regards to the way the night prior he’d been quite demeaning to me while intoxicated.

“Stop looking for a scapegoat in your life but be willing to face the truth within yourself & right your own wrongs” ~ Eileen Caddy.

That Bus I was thrown under? Not sure why it was necessary to switch gears into reverse and then right back into Drive again. My mission to spread public awareness about Covert Narcissistic Abuse is founded on a solid foundation and my resolve has not wavered. Every single relationship that is lost due to character assassination or smear campaign just proves to me exactly why I CANNOT back down, and be assured, I will not back down. Your threats of relationships with my children possibly being severed, no longer carry weight or substance. I WILL NOT BE MOVED. Nor will I be intimidated by your illusory reality ever again. This purpose is not even my own any longer. This is God’s show…HE IS THE DIRECTOR- HE IS IN CHARGE- AND I AM ONLY ABLE TO FACE GIANTS BECAUSE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAITH, TRUST and RELIANCE UPON HIM.

Ample opportunity was for provided for both to stop the charade. I just wanted healing, honesty and a willingness to engage in an open dialogue with one another absent any deception that was occurring, one of whom even finally offered an unapologetic, “I’m bored, and I sit here alone all day. What do you expect? Don’t talk to me about anything then.” Every pure and true act of love that I’ve extended and every truth I have begged for was coldly ignored or straight up rejected.

I live in silence no more. As three separate therapists tried for 5 years to guide me into a truth I couldn’t bear to accept.

There was a REASON WHY I chose HIM.

We seek out what is Familiar – We seek out what looks like family. “HE” was much worse, so much worse-no one believed me then, either. It’s excruciating when people believe the perpetrators over the victims. SO WHY EXACTLY DON’T PEOPLE BELIEVE US?

Today, We are a nearly 12,000 strong community of Gaslight Survivors that as a collective voice refuse to be intimidated by the relentless incoming cannons you shoot at US! The innocent ones, the ones YOU abused, the ones YOU manipulated for decades, and yet when you’re perfect “image” is put up on the block, the complete absence of any conscious, integrity or soul becomes nauseatingly transparent.

The attacks have begun…All the
“mentally unstable”
or the tired and worn out
“substance abuse”
“jealousy over So & so “ and/or the…
“She’s just bitter….””…can’t stand to see me happy” artillery has been launched.


I am the kindest freaking human being in the world! So seriously? I forgive again and again and again. I’ve never once claimed to be perfect, but I did not deserve this in my childhood, my second marriage, and certainly not now. Not one of these people, with all their money, real estate, 401Ks or material possessions could pass a polygraph. What abuser can? I’ll tell you who could though…this “white trash, unemployed, AA card carrying, X-felon and cookie baking, garden growing, simpleton grandma, that’s who!

All the toxicity, a completely fabricated history, MY HISTORY, which until I implemented “NO CONTACT” would still be force fed to me. If I posed too much opposition to the “spun story” then it would be fed to someone else with a naive or trusting nature. Hell, the story would be recited to anyone at all who’d listen, and all the while a deliberate undermining was taking quietly erodying what was left of my life, my relationships and my reality. The only way to survive was to walk away. The last conversation brought me back to the sheer insanity of trying to maintain a clear and logical conversation with someone who is deliberately trying to create confusion with a nonexistent scenario within the conversation. It’s an impossible conversation which always ends up with you being projected as the antagonist.

The conversation being referred was a flighty attempt out of what I imagine could only be sheer desperation and intoxication, to create “a something out of nothing” spun story….Ironically coming only a few hours after I’d effectively maintained an articulate, logical and nonaggressive discussion, in which I had for the very first time in my life set rightful boundaries. After an unsuccessful attempt to violate said boundaries, came the bitter sting of a completely unsuspected betrayal. Receiving texts clearly not intended for me, I had now become the complete antagonist in the conversation earlier that day. How had I become “The Bad Guy?”

The Flipping of the Script

By seeing through the bullshit basically. I had addressed the deflection, inference and the subtle but steady undercurrent of disparaging and dismissive comments intended basically just to trip me up. So now the script had been rewritten. *Flipping the script. Now the story was, “I’d probably been drinking, was aggressive, rude and insulting, and blowing his phone up all day while he was at work and wanted to just be left alone” Well okay then, I just hope someone has a fire extinguisher nearby when his pants combust into flames.

“It’s too easy to criticize a man when he’s out of favour, and to make him shoulder the blame for everybody else’s mistakes.” ~ Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

“ I don’t know what she is trying to do. They are insulting , rude, aggressive. I told her last night I doubted she is sober. She is going on and on. So tired of it.”

So the feigned concern has been noted and documented. Both may now drop their “Go-To Plan” as the “We’re just so concerned about her, her mental health or I think she’s drinking again…or, or something.” act has worn out it’s originality and audience appeal.

Mr. ABCDEFGHIJKLMNO…the night before was attempting to convince me that he was not significantly impaired by texting almost the entire alphabet to me. As one might gather from the ridiculousness of this, yes he’s had multiple dui’s. Perhaps he reckoned that I might just not notice the previous nonsense he’d already texted…the alphabet….smdh. I would never in my wildest imagination believed that I would not provide this person with cover for his past mistakes. I’ve always kept a shield of silence for both of them until now. I can only survive so many injuries from their lack of compassion, communication and covert manipulation. Walking away is evidently the only choice they’ve left me.

This is their “go-to” or method of operation when someone finds them out. Well the recent attempts to undermine my credibility were so poorly executed by that sadly intoxicated family member whom I previously would have laid down my life for.

The proof is in black-and-white – the conversation’s transcript as well as clear attempts to divert me from staying on point throughout the conversation. – The mind games that I was now so familiar with were unsuccessful so then when his attempts to flip the script failed miserably, he came back dangling the proverbial carrot which I’ve been chasing all of my life.

Love.

This encounter perfectly exposes an assortment of textbook narcissistic tactics and it will be in detail and publicly posted only because of the following:

I’m done sheltering evil with my naïveté and my silence. Love? They’d rather see me in jail or dead than for me to break my silence.

Anyways…What’s Love Got to do with Any of it? I’ve only enough love left to spare for the pure and honest hearts left in this world.

They’ve attached to me over the years, their wickedly sharp barbs of Guilt, Secrecy and Shame which I carry NO responsibility for, thus I have laid all of it down at their feet. It was never mine to carry. Not then, not now, not ever.

“Every group feels strong once it has found a scapegoat.” ~Mignon McLaughlin

This is THEIR secret, NOT MINE.

although it continues to pain me deeply… I did not start the fire.

It was already burning before I even took my first breath.

2 Years Sober & Steady

Writing found from March 11, 2016

Two years ago today my life changed in a way I never imagined. I had to hit bottom in a devastating turn of events that completely shattered my life along with those around me. Today I give thanks to my Creator for knowing what was best. I give thanks to the police officers, hospital staff and the correctional officers who had a job to do and did it well. I thank The Fellowship – Narcotics Anonymous and Valley Sober Living. I thank the Judge for placing a bail high enough to save my life. I thank my family, friends and those who stuck by me when by all rights could have walked away. I had such a hard lesson to learn. Today I am clean and sober by a miracle. Many people were placed in the right place at the right time. By God’s Mercy and Grace I am alive. I am sober. And I am loved. Gratitude abounds and I wish there were enough words to express how I feel in this very moment after just learning that one of us did not make it out alive. Today I have my precious children,my grandchildren, dear friends too numerous to count and my sobriety. Again, and again I give thanks.

Kacie Brockman

And yet, just one year later, I would plummet from the warmth of that wagon straight into the ICU.

Why?

Only now do I understand.

Karma’s Balloon Payment

But there it was, the complexity of their lies ultimately pummeling the simplicity of my truth. That is when I knew for certain that Karma had arrived perfectly on time. It was the worst possible time for my years of truth mismanagement to come due.

Balloon Theory Explained

Initially upon my acceptance back into the family, in a clear maneuver to evade culpability for her own atrocious behaviors, she stated, “EVERYTHING IN THE PAST WILL BE LEFT IN THE PAST. AGREED?” And then only days later she presented me with one of her bag-o-tricks – that I provide full disclosure about absolutely everything, or risk losing certain relationships which for me held such innate value, purpose and meaning. As was customary for my supporting role in her productions, I complied and cooperated. It wasn’t an interrogation on the spot but rather a well-thought-out plan to extract as much guilt, humiliation and shame humanly possible for as long as possible. This steady and reliable supply would keep her demons fed, for a while anyways.

So when you’ve had a spiritual and moral ass kicking, and you come through to the other side where you embrace the light of the sun rather than seek safety in the shadows, you develop an intolerance to every nature of deception. From false pretenses to hypocrisy to every day, run of the mill back-biting, because to experience it’s suffocating heaviness is unbearable. You come to a place of reverence and a desire to protect the truth.

So when I’ve said lying is so much easier, No, I retract that. It was perhaps easier for the ever so fleeting moment, but when that bill came due, it was game over. I was destroyed physically, mentally and spiritually. It was truly my own personal Armageddon. There would never again be flirtations with falsehood nor any dances with dishonesty. I’d been pummeled by the very same absence of integrity and dishonesty that I’d become complacently removed from up until that day.

You might be just like I was. You might feign innocence and think it’s not a big deal, but hey, that’s your karmic loan that your securing. And yet I know that there are people that don’t deceive others because I’ve met them, a lot of them. They don’t do it for attention, they don’t do it for personal gain, they just don’t do it period. I also know this because I know what I did then and I know what I do now. Big difference. I chosen to live a life of goodness and truth just as my father did. When I leave this earth all I hope for is that any memory of my existence be of laughter, goodness, or truth.

This is the truth about my lies. They worked really well for a while. Until my father died. That is when the world stood still, the ground beneath my feet faltered….and I was heading for the moment of God’s truth and no longer mine. If you’re one of the good eggs, thank you. Because I believe in the ripple effect and I believe that we could all make this place so much better if we start caring about others more than we cared about ourselves. But if for whatever reason honesty and truth tend to fall on the back burner more often than not, just a warning from personal experience-be prepared for the inherent nature of Karma’s severity and unpredictability. Because the bill will come and when it does, the interest due will be in direct proportion to ANY suffering that was endured because of your deception.

Tell ya what…I’ll make this easy for you. I know precisely what the balloon 🎈 payment consists of, so listen up because you do NOT want to go into this blind. Let’s just say, it is no less than a customized karmic nuclear holocaust that could deliver a beating with such severity, you’ll never again want to look at that deck of cards of deception let alone play with them. Yeah, it’s kinda like that.

Five and a half years ago an insidious and systematic manipulation of the truth came within inches of utterly annihilating me. It was a mob attack of lies and slander I couldn’t even conceive of. But there it was, the complexity of their lies ultimately pummeled the simplicity of my truth. That is when I knew for certain that Karma had arrived perfectly on time. It was the worst possible time for my years of truth mismanagement to come due. And my God, the balloon payment required was nothing less than my own precious child.

Lemondrop Liars

“And it was determined that THAT was a lie. “

Maury Povich

I learned to lie by the very best, my mother. A theatrical, dramatic, and visually stunning woman, who could charm her way through life, or so she thought. I learned early on about white lies. Harmless lies that quickly evolved into what I now refer to as lemon drop lies. But it took me a “minute” longer, more like 40+ years to discover that my Mama had leveled up in the lying games.

The occasional white lie went something like this, “Oh no, we can’t make it, my husband has to work that night.”

Then came the lemon drop lie, “Oh no honey, we’re not racist, it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s black. We don’t have a problem with it. We’re just protecting you from the other parents that do.”

When I say leveled up, I’m not sure how to describe the lie other than a complete and unstable depart from reality. It goes something like this, “ You know Kasie, I just realized that I’m not as strong as you are anymore.” We were on a Skype call and she was down south at my brothers house. Now also important to mention, no one was talking to me at the time. Except for her. I mean for months. Nobody would talk to me, or answer my calls or my emails. But she would, sometimes. And she picked this specific visit at my brother’s house 600 miles away, to skype me out of the blue. Why? To set the trap. That is why.

She’d begun to wage a smear campaign against me. At first I didn’t understand what she kept talking around/talking about (you know exactly what I mean if you’ve ever experienced one of the covert narcissist’s attacks. They’re often so confusing but of course you’re the one, the only one that can’t understand them) so I asked. Her timid, childlike reply was, “Well, that time I came to your house and you shoved me out of the garage, I realized that I’m just not as strong as you are Kacie.”

She had certainly upped her game to a new level alright. I was frozen in sudden confusion but slowly what she was doing began to take hold. I slowly replied, “Mom, …what are you…doing?” She proceeds to repeat herself in the same manner as before. I suddenly realized she was laying a trap. I firmly responded, “Mom…listen to me clearly, I have never touched you or pushed. Not once, not ever.”

“You most certainly did Kacie, you just don’t remember. You were probably drinking. Anyways you know that isn’t why I am calling you, I’m only talking to you because I love you and I’ve missed you. Why do you always want to fight” Then leaving no opening for a response, she continues, “I’m not going to allow this. I’m having a good time here with your brother.”

Yeah, um…ok. No. She clearly called to set me up on camera alleging that I’ve physically abused her. I appropriately defend myself because it never happened and now somehow I’ve started a fight with the intention to ruin her trip.”

Continue reading “Lemondrop Liars”

When Beautiful Lies Die With Bitter Goodbyes

Happy Trails ~ praying it’s perhaps only a sad detour until we meet again, somewhere out there…beyond right and wrong, pain and fear, past all the learned defenses and manufactured resentments. Back to the imaginations of our childhood that sprang wondrously to life by the magic of our innocence and the sound of our laughter. We were trailblazers together riding our schwinns, making our own dirt roads and spending so many hours beneath those old moss covered oaks. I’ll never not for a minute, an hour or a day, will I ever forget you. The real you.

If This is What Goodbye Feels Like, I Don’t Ever Want Another Hello

By Kacie Brockman

Located below contains the actual texted dialogue between the Golden Child and the Scapegoat. Roles which have been assigned and revoked all our lives by the Maternal Covert Narcissist which I can no longer call my mother. She had her work cut out for her no doubt. All that triangulation, manipulation,deception, invalidation, yes, all of that work finally paid off. She’s achieved her pinnacle of success. Breaking apart a bond that no one on earth, not me that’s for certain, ever believed could have been broken. Well, this scapegoat, black sheep, throw away, disposable and oh my goodness, let’s not forget, (in hushed, sing song whispers, and nodding heads, “a littttllle unbalanced”) child is still standing. This divinely treasured and priceless woman of grace and beauty is still standing. Even if standing alone.


And, no…the good family friends and extended family members, no, they will most definitely NOT be standing beside me. That’s okay. I believe I have a precious few rogue soldiers, that believe in me, yet one never truly knows. I do know this. I don’t need to be surrounded by a life-support system of adoring friends or to be coddled as my superficial wounds are cared for by synthetic family members. As God as my Witness, my Savior and my very Existence, I don’t need another living soul to believe me anymore. I know the truth, about “Him” (The-X) and about “Her” and I know how they were when company came over, and I know who they were when no one was around. Damn light switches is what they were. If I sound a little harsh, please let me explain something, for 49 years I believed a beautiful lie. But a lie cannot hold up, it will without failure come crashing down. You become frozen, attempting to absorb the absolute loss…staring at the rubble of the only belief system you’ve ever known. It’s trash, all of it. So even the good has gone bad. Because knowing the truth of it all, it’s like painting with acrylics- very quickly 2 can get muddled together becoming, well, a nothing color. Yes, there is in fact the color of nothing. It’s quite ugly by the by the way. Sometimes I imagine if I was a color…ah…well, no one can ever really be a color now can they?

So now my memories are brittle and chipping away thanks to their relentless gaslighting, and my faith in people? Oh my goodness no. Not again my friend. After last night? After this bone-biting, deep betrayal? No thank you. I’m still standing, yes. But barely…should a strong breeze come by? ….well, there’s no guarantee. Funny thing is, there never has been.


Less than 4 minutes ago, one of the most poignant pieces which I believe I have every written or will ever write, well, I wrote. I felt an energy flowing through my fingertips as I bled words from my soul through this keyboard. I wept, I was naked and honest and probably very close to delivering something of lasting and solid worth. And then I clicked “Save Draft”.

POOF! It was gone. Gone into another dimension, realm, or maybe into an overflowing garbage can in some alien’s kitchen, but with certainty, it was GONE.


Those 5 stolen paragraphs were my goodbye. How on earth can a lifetime of memories and laughter and love be exquisitely written and encapsulated in 5 simple paragraphs? Well it was, and it was beautiful. It would have been the perfect goodbye to my first best friend in the whole wide world, my brother.

“Gee, thanks mom!” as I flash a giant pearly smile that’s been embedded in my psyche since I don’t remember when. (Oh! But she would because she remembers everything!) I sometimes wonder if she did it every day… the gaslighting. (I’ll tell ya one thing- it was roast beef NOT liver. It had strings around it. I must have been six.) I remember so much now. Over half a journal in 30 days are filled with her gaslighting. The incidents of abuse were always remembered wrong, my memory always being discounted and dismissed as exaggeration or being “so creative.” My very last question to her would be, “Why? Why did you have to break US? You are closer to the grave than the cradle, so why break the bond between he and I? You’re a selfish, self-centered ego fueled shell of a being still refusing to accept the reality of what YOU have done. Flipping through this tear drenched, composition notebook, I try to imagine what it must have been like to be you. But then I remember what it ,was like to be me. Each gagged and blindfolded memory violently choking on every one of your replays and sound bites. I was NOT happy when you sent Brian away. I was 11, I remember. You can repeat that all day, every day, until your dying day, but I screamed for you to stop the car because he wouldn’t stop running after us. I screamed at you remember? You with the phenomenal memory, do you remember how long he ran for??? I do! A long time, I know because I watched him until he was too small and I couldn’t see him anymore. I can still see him running, even now, I can see him. That is how long he’s been running! Look in the goddamn rearview mirror! See him? I know you do! And I hate you for trying to convince me that I was happy without him. I hate you for your relentlessly repetitive lies about so much that happened, or how I felt. You were ALWAYS correcting me about how I felt . How is that even possible? I remember him being forced to eat his entire meal off the ground because he chewed with his mouth open! Well you prepared in 30 minutes or less your alternate reality and fed it to me, the “once upon a time golden child.” Though I may have held that forced bite of your “the plate was just set down on the floor for only a second and then picked right back up” story in my mouth for a while, I never swallowed it. Today I spit it right back out at you! Because I remember him sobbing on the floor. I can STILL hear him, can’t you? Cant you?!!! No. No of course not…so now you’ve assigned me to carry the sharp barbs of being a liar, mentally unbalanced, or whatever you can cling to that will discredit this child’s surprisingly accurate recall. No longer is my memory being held captive and starved of the actual truth. And now you’ve even gotten Brian to buy into it and do some of your dirty work. I thank God every day that I’m the scapegoat now. I thank God every day that you reassigned roles. I thank God every day that I will never again have to sit at your table, because eventually, by your bullshit or my booze, I would have likely choked to death. Perhaps that’s what went so wrong with your head. You created this “reality” of being nothing less than a loving, doting, selfless mother and you actually swallowed it! You swallowed your very own lie. And somehow, I doubt I will ever really know, but you got Brian to swallow it as well. I remember you telling me that Grama didn’t like me, and even that she didn’t want me around so much. She thought that I was lazy and that she liked my cousin a lot more than me. Was that even true? Why over so many years had you still forbidden that I ever have any contact with this cousin? Wait. She knew. She must have known. Wow. I just now realized, she must have found you out, the mask must have slipped that long ago.~~~ There’s more, so much more, but Yeah…if I could force one truthful answer from those forever painted and lying lips of yours, I’d just ask, Why?”


Is this for real? Is this what a clean and sober goodbye feels like? Really??? Because if so, I never in my lifetime want another hello.

No, the dance was NOT worth the pain. NO. The sunshine was NOT worth the rain. Not THIS pain. Not THIS rain. This is Shit. Shit beyond shit, and this shit cannot be censored to appear anything less than absolute homegrown 100% Grade A SHIT. A goodbye without a voice or a vice is excruciating.


It has been a little over 48 hours, and I had myself convinced that I was surely going to pass away last night. My heart exploding with each beat, shallow breaths, and a sense of doom then surrender…of a white flag…I had nothing left in me to fight for anything. So I said, truly I said this out loud “God, its me again. I’m so sorry I wrecked this life you gave me, but please just take care of my children, and my grand babies, God, it’s okay if I have to go to Hell, I understand, but please oh God, please grant my babies, all of my babies eternal life with you. I love you and I’m so sorry God. Amen.” And I closed my eyes and waited.


Well I must have gotten tired of lying there in the dark, waiting for my soul to be collected, and so I fell asleep. I awoke slightly before dawn, my pounding heart had settled, the emotional pain was still present but was being quiet. Much more quiet. I could breathe. So I quietly got up, hoping not to awaken the screaming, painful loss again, found my way in the dark to a new bag of chips ahoy cookies. Cradled them in my arm and grabbed my precious ice cold gallon of 2% milk. I sat right in the middle of the floor, in the dark, drinking out of the gallon eating my cookie, and I figured well, I guess I’m gonna live after all. I guess I better get back to work. Because there are people, a lot of people who need to know they’re not alone, and there’s a way out of this shit storm, even if only one night at a time, one breath at a time, or one cookie at a time. We will find a way out…oh, better make that 3 cookies at a time, we’re gonna need them.

Upon my final review, I’m afraid I went about this conversation entirely the wrong way. I had the right reasons, but the wrong approach. I hold things in far too long, and then out of left field I deliver an unexpected downpour of emotions, ideas, beliefs, thoughts, etc. I know that setting boundaries and being able to communicate my feelings is imperative to my continued sobriety, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have the hang of it yet, the delivery that is….and by text?… (SMDH) That being said, I still must stand my ground. I was not once deceptive, aggressive or condescending. I was asking to be heard, validated and my boundaries to be understood and respected. Apparently my voice was received much differently. And apparently my brother has become quite comfortable manipulating the truth. I may have been abrasive, I may have been too harsh (still don’t think so, but the possibility still exists.) But when he asked me to leave him alone that night. I did. He continued the conversation the following morning, not me. He engaged continuously throughout the day as did I. Everyone knows I’m wordy. It’s just me, always has been. But what happened at the end, when he sent me those final texts. The ones that were clearly meant for anyone in this world rather than me. I’m telling ya’ll, that truth? It makes a painfully sharp pillow to sleep upon when night closes in.

This link provides clear insight into the covert manipulation and various styles of communication which clearly harbor abusive and controlling intention. I am doing so not to be vindictive or to prove anything. I no longer need to prove a thing, because I now trust my own intelligence and intuitive ability. I do so because my silence is no longer a harbor for their twisted games and scapegoating. At the onset of all of this I simply asked that we address the dysfunction that has plagued our family for my lifetime by means of family counseling. The preferred route by others was that I shut my damn mouth. Even if it meant my sanity or my life. Silence was not only expected, it was demanded. I chose my sanity. I chose my life. I chose me. And THAT is why I will never “shut my mouth” when speaking the truth.

The display of strength and intelligence by the scapegoat is unacceptable and boundaries intolerable. So the narcissist’s interns, puppets, or golden children have been trained to silence the whistleblower by a secondary psychological abuse. For if the severe toxicity of the family’s dysfunction is exposed, the reigning narcissist’s house of cards, which took a lifetime to build, will indeed come to a total and catastrophic collapse.

LAST TEXTS EVER EXCHANGED BETWEEN THE GOLDEN CHILD AND THE SCAPEGOATED CHILD.

This blog entry dedicated to ko and kb, you both have kept me alive this week, no joke. Knockem’ Out & Keep Breathing.

Pray

This new idea challenged every single derogatory comment, harsh criticism, and uneducated label I believed…

Pray

Part 1

by Kacie Brockman

I remember the first night in rehab. Mind you, this is the first night out of jail, the first night understanding that I would never see my child again, and also realizing that I had nothing and nobody left in this world. So when I asked the house mother, “What do I do?” I was not prepared for her reply.

“Pray.”

Excuse me, what?

She had to be kidding. I needed help. Concrete, real, serious help. And that’s all she had? Pray? I truly believed I was in some cheesy hokey-Podunk rehabilitation center as she obviously had no professional training if that was her best answer.

But that was all she had,

And so that was all I got.

That night anyhow. Later she gave me something more, or perhaps it was an intercept by God. All I know is that I had been given a reprieve.

On Mother’s Day 2014, when I could not call, write or see my child and absolutely believing he was gone from my life forever, I was at the bottom, and I think the lowest I’ve ever been in my life actually. I reached into a bag that had been brought down by my family that contained approximately 10 Vicodin tablets, which a friend had given to me many months prior.

I took 2.

4 hours later, I took 3 more.

The next day I swallowed 5 with a smooth glass of ice-cold 2% Milk, and then I waited for the relief to embrace me, an embrace of comfort and warmth that I’d come to know far too well.

Then the counselor announced there’d be a drug test that evening. I’d been there only a few days and still on a highly monitored release until sentencing. And now I knew it was all over. My own damn doing. What now Ms. Book Smart?

I prayed.

For those who do not understand alcoholism or drug addiction, let me ask you this. Have you ever felt the sharp, agonizing pangs of loneliness and despair? An aching and relentlessly brutal sense of abandonment deep inside of your soul? But if somebody, anybody, would just come up and hold you for a moment, you might be okay? Might you be “just okay” for a minute?

Until you’re able to wrap your mind around this, you will never be able to fully understand what it’s like to be an alcoholic or a drug addict. So please, put your judgment down. In fact, put it away, far away. Because you don’t yet possess the capability to help an addict when you have no idea how excruciating it is to feel so utterly alone in this life. This world, this very existence can be unbearable for some, and if they know there is a way out, even for the briefest moment, they are going to take it. I mean, it’s sitting there…. right there beside you, only a short text away.


It’s indescribable how in that very moment, there is this absolute mental barricade that blinds you from seeing the ruinous reality that has already manifested in your life. The very existence from which you are now trying to escape from and which was significantly created due in part to that damned dependable, escape hatch.

It became a personal experience of infinite imprisonment inside Pandora’s Box- or another translation, Hell on Earth.

Often contributing to this perpetual cycle is that whatever the alcoholic or drug addict is feeling, enduring, or merely trying to survive through, are the reactions and verbal assaults from loved ones who’ve been deeply affected. Family or friends might inadvertently continue to reinforce the embedded belief system of the addict by voicing their own valid resentments and understandable anger.

As difficult as it is and while it might take enormous restraint, it is not in anyone’s best interest to vomit up your anger and pain upon the addict.

“You disgusting, immoral useless piece of trash drug addict, alcoholic, junkie, yes you are alone, for a good reason! My God, look at you! Get it together. You’re the only one who can fix this! Who in their right mind would even give you another chance? You’ve been given so many. You’ve burned so many bridges. You’re Pathetic!”

And please, for the love of all that is right and holy, do not, I repeat DO NOT establish a tough love agenda without Professional Support AND Education. This has proven deadly when applied irresponsibly without giving the addicted family member an option or opportunity to go to rehab or providing them with a positive reinforcing and achievable goal. Think BEFORE you react.

In my life, in my experience, this was precisely the case. I was efficiently and effectively cut out like a cancerous growth that had infected the family unit as a whole. Final words spoken to me before the procedure began will never be forgotten as they’ve been branded into my heart, my spirit, and my being for always. Yet, although some of my family had issued statements stemming from sincere concern, anguish, and pain, others, which I have now come to understand, were carefully crafted to inflict the most significant collateral damage possible.

It ends up a catch 22 for everyone. I have been blessed or cursed if you will, to have experienced both sides of the coin. At one time I could have told you which hurt more, yet today after all of it, I tell you this, each is equally paralyzing.

Mercifully a few months later came a day by which that indoctrination was to be critically challenged. One voice, it took only ONE person who possessed the power and strength to create some severe holes in that belief system. These are the words, her words, that changed everything.

“”I’ll tell you who you are—- amazing daughter of the highest King. An heir to the throne. Redeemed. Restored. Delivered. Beautiful. Wonderful. His workmanship. A masterpiece. You have been born for such a time as this! You are a conqueror, an overcomer, and an amazing friend! You are real. You are loved. You are amazing, and God has put a destiny and purpose in you. The only truth is what God says about you-and well, he made you, so you’re pretty darn special!”

S. Dillon

This new idea challenged every single derogatory comment, harsh criticism, and any uneducated label I’d come to accept and believe.


Pray

Part 2

Coming In From the North We Have Wind Speeds Picking up…

“Meteorologists rank hurricanes from one to five based on the Saffir-Simpson scale. The scale is a yardstick that takes into account a hurricane’s wind speed, storm surge, and air pressure. The scale begins with a Category 1, the least powerful and dangerous hurricane, and moves towards its climax at Category 5 — the most catastrophic.”

Category 1 hit me when I miscarried my son in 2004. Then I faced a Category 2 when I almost lost my second son in premature labor, forcing my hospitalization for 2 months and then my baby’s for another 3. Category 3 came with little warning as well. This storm lasted for an excruciatingly long season, subsequently resulting from my incarceration. (which for legal purposes I am not YET at liberty to discuss publicly.)

Then the Category 4 shit storm of 2018, which again buckled me to the ground. I am still Convinced of an agenda born and nurtured by a relentlessly manipulating matriarch. My conclusion, real or perceived, is that her plan was to extinguish my existence from her perfectly choreographed performance. I had become too much of a liability, always asking questions and probing for the truth. I gave her the opportunity she’d been watching and waiting for by falling off the wagon once again. She knew it was coming, hell she was the producer/writer/director of my life for God’s sake.

I am an alcoholic. Plain and simple. I’m accountable and responsible for EVERY SINGLE TIME that I ever placed that bottle to my lips. No one ever forced me, and of that, we can be sure.

But what if?

What if there was a cog placed in the machinery decades before. Or, for example, a virus if you will, which had been deliberately released to infect the host. What if someone wanted me, my inquisitive nature, my tendency to express trauma through writing, my high intelligence, what if they tried to contain that somehow? What if by creating/causing/spoon-feeding a lifetime of absolute inner confusion, fear, and self-doubt, slowly but steadily ensuring a structural weakness of some kind would appear leaving the host with zero credibility? What if it were more beneficial for me to be sick than well? What if by a simple tug here or push there, I could be entirely manipulated with pinpoint accuracy?

Think these “What if’s” preposterous?

Think Again,

And Again,

And Again.

I began to clear away the wreckage and rebuild. Alone. Alone except for one small but incredibly powerful and determined rogue soldier who’s always been able to think and react with complete independence. Still, beside me come what may…

Recently a Fierce Shit Storm forecast forgot to announce it’s arrival. It was coming in from the North and bound to arrive within minutes. There was absolutely no time to prepare. And so it hit. And it hit hard. No amount of preparedness would have helped me to escape or stopped the catastrophic fallout from this storm. All I could do, yet once again…was pray.

As cliche as it may sound, I got on my knees, and I begged my Creator for wisdom, strength, and discernment.

And I prayed, “Please help me, I can’t do this anymore.” And BOOM- prayer answered. Well, sort of…I wasn’t going to get out of it that easily. There was a pop quiz first before the answered prayer… I had to take an enormous leap of faith.

By enormous, I mean nothing left in the physical world to support your jump whatsoever. But you jump because it’s the only moral choice you have left. There are always choices. Always. But (whom/which/what) do you choose to serve?

Be careful what you pray for and be prepared to receive what you prayed for. If your feet aren’t steady and your mind isn’t ready, an answered prayer can be awfully slippery to hold onto.

Isaiah 42: 16-18

And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them…

When God permits suffering, He also provides comfort. Trust me on this fundamental truth. He doesn’t allow you to endure life’s arduous trials without giving you the resources, support, and understanding that you will need to get through it.

Isaiah 41:10

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

On the surface, it looks insurmountable, whatever tribulation or difficulty you may be facing, as impossible as it may seem, it is absolutely survivable. And you will be okay.

These life lessons provide us with opportunities to gain wisdom, compassion, and experience to become the complete and whole human beings that God intended for each of us to grow.

What I want you to understand, it’s okay to fall apart, it’s okay to break down and completely crumble when faced with an undeniable truth, a severe life transition, or maybe a devastating health issue that’s beyond our control, it’s perfectly okay to fall apart…

But stand back up. No matter what, always get back up. You don’t stay there, you can’t. However comfortable it may appear at the moment, if you stay there, you will most surely die there.

So you will rise, and you will rise again. With each obstacle that we overcome, we are stronger, wiser, and more capable of facing the next one and the next one, and …well, you get the picture.

If you feel like you can’t stand back up, if you genuinely believe in your heart of hearts that you cannot arise out of the muck and mire, out of the trauma, or quite frankly, an excruciating shitstorm, then call out to God. YOUR GOD. Your source, your Creator, your Lord, your higher power, I don’t care what “translation/identification” of God you choose, because from my experience, he’s been there when I didn’t have any idea what or whom to call him. He still appeared and provided me with his divine comfort, mercy, and grace.

And to be quite honest, God should have been my FIRST choice, not my last resort. That understanding would have made this entire journey far less painful.

He will send angels that don’t look like angels, they may look like strangers you might pass on the street, or perhaps they might seem like an old friend from high school that you haven’t seen in 30 years, or they could look like someone that would never be accepted by society’s “norms.” And you know what? When you are broken and afraid, and you don’t know what direction to move on this game board of life’s new and dangerous reality, those angels will guide you home. They will guide you back to self. They will teach you about who you are, about what you are capable of, and they will teach you about your worth, your value, and your real purpose. And I promise you, by the grace of God and the angels that he delivers, you will always find your way back home.

Always.

Love, Kacie

“…And you can take that to the bank! ; )” -Michelle G. – a guardian angel of sorts

About Me:

Online advice to Felons who cannot find work: Become a Blogger 😳


“I don’t see how a world that makes such wonderful things could be bad.”
Ariel
The Little Mermaid

In 2014 I was charged with attempted murder. (true story) The first and only crime I’d ever committed. I have taken a few disastrous detours in my life, but none as off road as this. Once you’ve experienced facing life in prison, well the little hiccups in life like a few overdrafts on your checking account, or waiting in line at the DMV don’t seem to cause any real worry.

You have to believe me when I say I didn’t do it. O.K. well, no, actually no, you don’t really have to believe me because apparently I really did try to kill the schmuk. (More about that later in blogger land.).

However with a B.A.L. of .397, I couldn’t really tell you what exactly happened. What I do know is that I am clearly an alcoholic. And I needed serious help.

Fast forward five years, and voila, here we are!

Today I am raising my 11 year old son as a sober and awakened being, rather than acting as a bystander watching my own life unravel. I have taken ownership of my past, and present…only God knows what our future holds. Today I am an active participant in my own life and making enormous strides toward an incredibly bright future, where I no longer allow others to write my story.


I did NOT look like this at my arraignment unfortunately.

My children and I have paid long enough and dearly enough. This cover up has gone way too far and I will speak the truth. I will shout the truth if need be to save a single soul from the living Hell I have endured.

That being said, well there’s been some bones that have been rattling in the closet for some time now, and I’m figuring they got a story to tell. Silence harbors secrets, and I’m pretty sure these secrets are getting a little dangerous to keep. I know that I’ve personally been put through a shit storm to keep these secrets silent. And today, I speak with strength, courage, and a little bit of menopause, when I say, “No More!”

God is the only reason I’m alive today.
He gave me the courage and wisdom necessary to face some unimaginable obstacles in 2014 and today the strength to stand alone, once again, in the face of truth.

I admittedly made some catastrophic decisions that irreversibly changed the course of my life. But while I own my sins of yesterday, there are some that refuse to own a single one of theirs. I wouldn’t mind in the least really, because I believe that karma never loses an address, however some will not let me live in peace. They have relentlessly continued their charade and manipulation of truth at the cruelest level imaginable. With the information that has come to light a little over a month ago, I have no obligation to keep quiet about the covert psychological abuse that occurred during my mother’s reign over our family. It was deliberate and covert. And it somehow served a purpose for her that is twisted and at times sadistic. I refuse to provide her with soft lighting throughout my autobiography.

On that note, I must always keep in mind that in somebody else’s story, I am quite possibly the scoundrel, the arch nemesis, or quite simply, the bad guy.

So welcome aboard, and please keep your hands and feet in the ride at all times….it’s likely to get a little bumpy…

; )

Good Vibes & God Bless~

❤️ Kacie

Life Ain’t Got A Snooze Button, Buttercup!

I sometimes think that my denial was a damn good tranquilizer. 🙈🙉🙊

Plllleeease…. let me sleep in a little longer. ….I’m not ready to wake up yet.

The alarm clock of truth has woke me up once again and I can’t hit the snooze button of denial anymore.

Elation, joy, release, and sanity pouring like deliciously, sweet honey into my soul, and yet….simultaneously experiencing one of the deepest heartaches my conscious mind can yet fully comprehend.

There wasn’t really that much different between that day and any other day, except for just one thing. My 74 year old mother told me to sit down. She then excitedly and in a strangely childlike voice, told me she had gotten engaged. With bated breath she waited for my response. I cried.

That might not seem too incredibly significant to most people. Yet, to my mother, it was abhorrent. Crying, or for that matter any emotion that she did not determine appropriate for her schedule, her needs, or her consistently inconsistent expectations was simply unacceptable. Her immediate admonishment to my tears was, “You know, you’re just like my mother, Kacie, you always have to take my happiness away from me. Nobody else has a problem with this but you.” Typically guilt and shame would have jumped into action, but at this particular moment and on this particular day, something very different occurred.

In the past, any crying episode would be lost in translation with her and when the incident was brought up in the future, she would reflect the experience back to me entirely different than my memory served me. She’d often recount that I had raged and become explosive. This specific time she accused me a few days later that I had verbally attacked her. And yet I clearly remembered crying and asking for time. I was always questioning myself. Always having self doubt and confusion because I trusted her and I loved her and I thought she knew best. I was wrong. I knew myself best. I just didn’t give myself credit where credit was due. Today I trust myself and I am willing to sacrifice relationships with those who cannot understand that.

A few days before this encounter with my mother, I had read an online article about Covert Maternal Narcissism. Those three sentences brought her castle of cards to a complete collapse. Because in this article common phrases and insults were listed that are commonly used by a CMN. All that she said to me, matched nearly word for word, and it was like a wrecking ball came through and my denial was disintegrated. This was the “A-Ha!” moment I had so desperately needed to save my life.

You see, I am an alcoholic and a drug addict.

After numerous months of AA meetings, 12 step recovery work, sponsorship and therapy I was struggling to successfully restore family relationships. I just couldn’t break through this invisible barrier and I had no way to explain it or understand what was happening. And here’s why, because you cannot heal in the same place that you got sick. • Mind-Blown •

During my recovery I had become removed from my family and I began to get well. Once I understood, accepted and became accountable for my manipulative and hurtful behavior during my active addiction and alcoholism, I was able to heal in so many ways, I cannot begin to cover them all.

I was excited to finally be welcomed back home with all of my new found knowledge and pink cloud charisma. But rather than address any core issues within the family dynamics, everyone quietly swept them under the proverbial carpet and I remained the alcoholic daughter that had brought the family such public disgrace.

It wasn’t more than 3 months before I relapsed.

I kept going to meetings and I continued to work tirelessly to stay clean and sober and to figure out why I just couldn’t get a handle on this. And then I got to my knees and prayed.

In recovery , and with sustained abstinence, layer upon layer of denial systems are broken apart and our personal manipulation structures that we have developed over the years are examined and released. We are shown that we must own our part in our addiction and accept responsibility for the pain that we had caused others to suffer. By bringing it to the light we could then acknowledge it, accept it and own it.

There was a wise and gentle older gentleman who had 27 years sobriety. He took me to the side after one of the meetings, and he said, “Kacie, yes, you own 100% of your part in this, of your drinking, of your manipulation to continue your drinking and the damage you have created because of your drinking.”

Then his voice deepened and I’ll never forget his next sentence, “BUT, you don’t own one ounce more, cuz trust me, they’ll let you.”

So while all the fingers had been pointing at me and having been told to “get it together”, to “stop drinking”, to “go get help, you’re sick Kacie”, not a single pamphlet about alcoholism was read, nor a single inquiry online about how to possibly support a family member that is fighting alcoholism and addiction. I believe my mother went to one Al-anon meeting, now I’m convinced it was for strictly for appearance sake. Later after I had been allowed back home, I asked her if she was going to any of the meetings, she quickly replied in a dismissive tone, “No. I’m not going back. Those people are far too controlling, all of them.”

I was out of sight and by all intents and purposes, clearly out of mind. It took my youngest daughter to reach out to me before any of the others. The irony in that is that I hurt her the most severely at the end stage of my drinking. She was the one that truly took the brunt of my alcoholic rage, and yet only days after she had given birth, she arranged to meet me (by my complete surprise) and brought along with her my new grandson. And as she cautiously laid down her anger and pain, she also laid her child in my arms for the first time. She offered me compassion and tenderness that I had never recalled experiencing from my very own mother.

As I attempted to reintegrate back into the family with tools, wisdom, and experience, it was evident that no one wanted to engage in any discussions about boundaries or to learn healthy and open communication skills. I was confounded with the idea that they all wanted me to get help but no one was willing to even look at the possibility of dysfunction and toxicity within the family. I realize now that sometimes, some things can be kept in the dark and kept silent for so long that denial simply wins by default.

And up until 9 days ago, denial had held me hostage to the truth as well. Although it was a brutal awakening to my mother’s insidious psychological abuse which our entire family had endured for decades, I felt as if chains of iron steel had been shattered and I was free.

Please understand, the cognitive dissonance that was unleashed was not going to make this a walk in the park. Over the next week I went back and forth trying to unsee, what I had so clearly seen. But slowly, with my journals, letters, text messages and voicemails, there was only one truth.

My mother knew no boundaries and her control was suffocating and severe, and yet was always camouflaged under the guise of love and concern. She subjected not only her children to these constantly transitioning realities but her grandchildren and even her great grandchildren. On occasions far to numerous to count, if I did not agree with her or her revisions of my very own memories, she’d make sure to punish me with disparagingly, untrue narratives that she’d personally present to various family and friends. More often than not, her go to was that I’d somehow or other “threatened” her, and so she would choreograph whomever bought the lie to protect this “frail, loving and devoted” mother. It’s truly been a challenge to even stay alive at times. (Yeah, I’ve had a couple of 5150’s before.)

I’ve waited my whole life to start writing, The one sure gift that I knew I possessed and trusted in and yet, I couldn’t begin. Now with clarity and conviction I now know why I was not able to write before. I couldn’t write a lie. And so as long as I believed in her distorted illusion, I would never know the truth to be able to write it.

Oh, and remember how I told you that I fell to my knees and prayed? We’ll be careful what you pray for and be prepared to receive what you prayed for. Because if your feet aren’t steady and your mind isn’t ready, an answered prayer can be awfully slippery to hold onto.