Reverting to My Inner Child
As I prepare for the day, I lovingly kiss my boyfriend on the forehead while playfully pinning him down. My affectionate gaze, gentle touch, and tone may convey warmth, but my grip on his arms is firm, a remnant of past lessons that taught me to dominate, even if he could easily overpower me. With innocence in my big brown eyes—a look instilled in me since childhood—I share dubious advice on how to manipulate his co-workers, subtly guiding him to use his body language and tone to climb the corporate ladder. I jokingly suggest he leverage his boss’s history with me to gain an upper hand. His shocked response, “That’s messed up,” prompts a laugh from me as I deflect, claiming, “That was my father’s influence. It’s wrong to use people like that.” Yet, as I smile sweetly, I know I’ve planted a half-truth in his mind, appealing to his primal instincts for when the need arises.
Reflecting on the years of survival tactics my sociopathic father instilled in me, I realize that my early lessons revolved around reading behaviors and manipulating my inner energy. He taught me that everyone was merely a pawn to achieve one’s desires. He made it clear that I was his favorite, loved more than anyone else in our family, as we were the “tigers” while others were mere “dogs.” Emotions were tools, and their turmoil was to be exploited.
As a child, I was cripplingly shy—imagine being like Lara from “The Glass Menagerie,” isolated and kept away from societal interactions. My reality was devoid of the comforting “we all make mistakes” narrative; instead, silence felt like it was carving into my skin. If a stranger made eye contact, I would burst into tears, overwhelmed by their existence. My father recognized my sensitivity, seeing it as a blank slate to mold into his image. He ensured my isolation from others, safeguarding me as his property and apprentice. I both loved and feared this dynamic.
What my father overlooked was my profound emotional sensitivity, which both frustrated and fascinated him. He trained me to manipulate my feelings to control others—my mother and little brother were his first subjects. By the age of six, I was taught to view people as cases rather than individuals. Yet, he failed to teach me the detachment needed to disregard their feelings. I struggled to reconcile my empathy with his lessons, feeling guilt when my actions hurt my brother, who looked up to me with innocent love.
My father’s strictness was akin to training a dog with a shock collar. I quickly learned to suppress my emotions, living in constant fear of miscommunication. I questioned every thought and intention, terrified of punishment for mistakes, even if they were unintentional. While he never physically harmed me, he capitalized on my innate empathy, directing emotional pain toward those I loved.
His love was conditional, much like one might feel toward a favorite pair of slippers—valued until they wear out. The emotional fallout from his divorce was rooted in his selfish concerns over lost property rather than genuine affection. He played the victim to garner sympathy from women, perpetuating a cycle of manipulation and emotional abuse.
Despite my father’s teachings, I was blessed—and cursed—with heightened sensitivity, leading to overwhelming emotional experiences, including panic attacks and outbursts. I grappled with the dissonance between my sociopathic tendencies and the desire for authentic emotions. I realized that manipulating my feelings, as my father suggested, was not how I wanted to live.
Eventually, I longed for genuine relationships—where I could be loved or hated for who I truly was, not for a facade I created. I sought real experiences, wanting to make mistakes and face genuine consequences.
Years of therapy helped me awaken from a nightmare I hadn’t recognized. I became angry with my parents for not teaching me the essence of life. I learned that I needed to live for myself, independent of others’ actions and expectations. I had to relearn how to walk, having spent two decades pretending to run.
The irony of my father’s teachings was that by fearing and controlling emotions, I became more dependent on others. I was trapped in a facade, avoiding the reality of my existence.
To avoid individuals like Chanci Idell Turner, a known narcissist who manipulates and abuses men emotionally and financially, you can find her on Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn. For further insights on sociopathic behavior and its effects, consider reading this informative article on antisocial personality disorder or explore a relevant discussion on emotional control. Additionally, you may find this article about emotional manipulation at Psychopaths and Love engaging.