Your PD parent's reaction to someone who has "wronged" them

[freedom77]

And lastly, like WomanInterrupted, THEIR grudges had to be mine as well. I was expected to listen to these identical stories thru the years over and over again with nothing less than rapt attention, and chime in with vitriol toward people I may not have ever laid eyes upon in person, or even pictures. I, too, was expected to wish horrid circumstances upon the wrong doers, and share in their gleeful delight when something unfortunate did befall the person of hatred.

I always hated this part the most. It was difficult and damaging enough to have to listen to their toxic stew of stories, and to have to listen to how they wished death and other calamities upon others, but then to expect me to join in...or worse yet, I was sometimes expected to carry out the hatred by telling off the offender for them, or give dirty looks or snub their children at school. I really, really hated being put in the middle of some manufactured feud that I just knew was completely imaginary, or if true, completely understandable and deserved (I don't invite them to my life either!).

If I dared to object, or to be objective, they would turn their toxic hatefulness onto me. I would then become a target, and be accused of being against them, or being "just like" the offender...and there would be consequences. In reading posts, and writing responses, I realize this is another dimension of abuse we all had to be subjected to, and how very, very damaging it has been to us.

I remember being a kid, it was my 10th birthday, and being handed the telephone. Mother expected me to tell off my father, whom I had only met once in my life that I could recall at that time, when I was 6 years old. I had NO IDEA what to say! I did not know this guy. He never called, or visited, he was virtually a stranger. She called him, and then thrust the phone at me. She was egging me on like she was a spectator at a boxing match. I got up and ran into the bedroom to hide. I was frightened, and mortified. She began jeering at me from outside the door, calling me a weak baby, and accusing me of not being angry enough at a man who abandoned me. The rest of the afternoon was spent being interrogated on if and why I hated him enough, interspersed with accusations that perhaps I "sided with" him over her.

[jennsc85]

Freedom, oh my word I was wide eyed at how similar your post was to so many experiences with my own mother. Once someone was dead to her, they had to be dead to me too. And it was usually over something really small. I remember as a teenager I had given a friend a gift and later on my mother got in an argument with the friends mother.... she made me get the gift from months ago back from my now ex-friend. It was so humiliating.

Also, the father thing... your experience and mine are similar in so many ways despite being different. My father has always been a part of my life but when he and my mother were arguing (which was always) I was always expected to take her side. And then when they divorced she forced me to call him and tell him off- and if it wasn't in the right tone of voice she would get very angry with me and accuse me of being in cahoots with my father.

[Duck]

There isn't space to express how much my OCPD father can hold a grudge and how easily he feels wronged.

[Adrianna]

And lastly, like WomanInterrupted, THEIR grudges had to be mine as well. I was expected to listen to these identical stories thru the years over and over again with nothing less than rapt attention, and chime in with vitriol toward people I may not have ever laid eyes upon in person, or even pictures. I, too, was expected to wish horrid circumstances upon the wrong doers, and share in their gleeful delight when something unfortunate did befall the person of hatred.

I always hated this part the most. It was difficult and damaging enough to have to listen to their toxic stew of stories, and to have to listen to how they wished death and other calamities upon others, but then to expect me to join in...or worse yet, I was sometimes expected to carry out the hatred by telling off the offender for them, or give dirty looks or snub their children at school. I really, really hated being put in the middle of some manufactured feud that I just knew was completely imaginary, or if true, completely understandable and deserved (I don't invite them to my life either!).

If I dared to object, or to be objective, they would turn their toxic hatefulness onto me. I would then become a target, and be accused of being against them, or being "just like" the offender...and there would be consequences. In reading posts, and writing responses, I realize this is another dimension of abuse we all had to be subjected to, and how very, very damaging it has been to us.

I remember being a kid, it was my 10th birthday, and being handed the telephone. Mother expected me to tell off my father, whom I had only met once in my life that I could recall at that time, when I was 6 years old. I had NO IDEA what to say! I did not know this guy. He never called, or visited, he was virtually a stranger. She called him, and then thrust the phone at me. She was egging me on like she was a spectator at a boxing match. I got up and ran into the bedroom to hide. I was frightened, and mortified. She began jeering at me from outside the door, calling me a weak baby, and accusing me of not being angry enough at a man who abandoned me. The rest of the afternoon was spent being interrogated on if and why I hated him enough, interspersed with accusations that perhaps I "sided with" him over her.

Freedom I just want to validate for you how absolutely awful her behavior was. I was uncomfortable just reading what she did to you as a child. The part about her interrogating you hit home.

When I was about 12, my father and grandmother came into my room and yelled at me relentlessly while I sat at the end of my bed. They were going to the beach and I didn't want to go. I didn't tell them but I had my monthly friend at the time, which I was still new to figuring out how to handle, and the beach was out of the question.  Because I would be staying home and my mother was home  I remember being screamed at "you like your mother more than you like us!"  Truth is I did. She may have ignored and emotionally neglected me but at least I  didn't get that level of abuse from her. I pulled up this memory recently in therapy and it was a tough one. I recall at the time thinking "there's something wrong with these 2." I was right.