My father forced me to make up lies to account for and disguise the injuries he inflicted on me. He did this to me from a very young age, almost from as early as I could form language and had the mental capacity to construct an explanation for an event that had occurred.
Not only would he force me to make up the lie in the first place, but he would then question me about it, requiring the creation of more and more elaborate detail and explanation of the lie, so that a tiny lie could grow into an enormous complex story within a matter of moments. He would force me to repeat and explain the lie time and time again, often in public, and wherever possible in contexts in which its validity would be challenged and would need to be defended by me.
The complexity of the mindgames was horrific, chilling, repulsive. I remember the tortured torment of trying to keep mental pace with him, frantic not to be caught out, aware of the vicious ever present consequences if I slipped up.
Shamefully, sickeningly, there comes a time when the truth and the lie begin to blur, and you can almost begin to doubt which is what, what is real, what is not, what happened, what didn't...
The line between sanity and insanity when that begins to happen can blur so quickly, so frighteningly.
It makesme nauseous to think of this now. Gaslighting... I never even knew what the term meant until recently, much less had any knowledge that I had experienced it.
Sometimes, when I'm really scared and dissociated, I still find myself caught in the almost pathological terror of not quite being sure if something was real or not, and sometimes, if I am real or not...
Triggering, God...
Maddog