I was 13 and my paternal grandparents were at our house for dinner. Suddenly I bolted to the sink and rinsed out my mouth. The reason was that I had taken a sip from the wine glass near my plate and what I had mistaken for Sauvignon had in fact been urine.Daddy poured a small serving of wine to his children starting at about the age of 9. He wanted to instill in us moderate drinking with meals. Now, in the progression of my substance use, I have settled into several decades of sobriety. I don’t drink anything with more alcohol than a standard Kombucha (1-1/2%).
My little sister was three years old at the time. She probably was too young for wine in Daddy’s judgement. Why did she disappear behind the wide central concrete pillar of the table Daddy had built, squat over my emptied glass refilling it, then replace the glass by my plate with a mischievous smile on her face? Why in later years would she deny it?
After her more recent crime against me and her denial of that, denial is clearly a deeply ingrained pattern of behavior. Whatever I experienced never happened. Her version of reality contorts me into a grotesque caricature that does nothing but lie.
I am working on understanding and allowing others to be who they are. I notice that at the heart chakra we are all connected in one universal self that we all share. She is just a narcissist version of me, and I am just a hippie version of her.