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.

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