I'm just now realizing how scared I am of my mom and my
brother and sister, and my dad, too, even though he's dead. It kind of feels
like I grew up in a tornado, and now am having the opportunity to step back and
look at it in context, and realize how fucking terrifying and horrible and
harmful it is.
I try to think of nice memories of my mom, from when I was
little. Memories that involved me feeling safe with her, or when she took me
out of dangerous situations. I keep coming up with her picking me up from
school because I was sick. It was really a relief to see her every time. She
was very nice and maternal when I was sick, the way I remember it.
Any time I left my mom for any extended period of time, I
would be really homesick. I went to Girl Scout camp for one week when I was
about 12. I couldn't go to sleep in that strange and different place without
crying. I had my same blanket and same pillow, and brought group pictures of my
parents and siblings, but at night I cried anyway. During the day, I would
almost cry sometimes, but would suck it back in and wait for it to get dark so
no one could see me.
I mastered the art of crying silently - the trick is to not
let too many tears out at a time, or my nose would start to run, and my cover
would be blown. In unfamiliar beds in unfamiliar places, I would pull the
blanket over me and take a deep breath and let some tears squeak out. Then I
would exhale very slowly (so people couldn't hear it), and then took another
breath and held it, and so forth and so on. I would do this until the fear
passed, and then I could just go to sleep.
I guess that's how I still cry now, but not nearly as
intense, and if I'm alone, I let a lot of tears go all at once and blow my nose
a lot. Usually I feel better after a couple of rounds of this, but sometimes
the pain just will not subside. I end up numb staring into space like a
vegetable until I fall asleep or someone or something makes a noise that brings
me back, and by that time, I don't need to cry anymore.
Anyway, when I was little and went on a sleepover, my
parents always had to come get me in the middle of the night because of how
terrified I was. That was a good memory of my mom - coming to pick me up from
sleepovers.
Another good memory of my mom was knowing she was next to me
when I was in the (regular) hospital with an ovarian cyst, and then surgery.
But its just like the process with my dad: I will keep
holding on to this catalog of positive memories, but when I start to consider
that my parents aren't the loving people I needed them to be, the narrow focus
on those memories pans out a little, and eventually encompasses the events
surrounding that moment. With my dad, every single moment I held onto to be
sure that he loved me occurred within 24 hours (before and/or after) of a
traumatic event.
I guess I'm kind of suspicious of my positive memories of my
mom. For example, she came and picked me up from school whenever I threw up
(which was pretty common, especially in grade school), but she had a very young
daughter who was in such a constant state of anxiety that she (me) was
physically sick on a regular basis. Why would that not raise any flags? I
always felt like my getting sick was brushed off and attributed to something
dietary, or neuroticism.
(It just now occurred to me that the times I was sick
growing up may have been the mornings after my dad abused me. Huh.)
My mom, just in the past few years, has told me that she's
told other people that there had always been something wrong with me. She was
so relieved when I was in fifth grade and they said I had a.d.d., and even more
thrilled when the meds they put me on reigned in my overtly aggressive
behavior, and turned me into a geeked-up little zombie.
Why wouldn't my mom have done something sooner? Why was she
so thrilled when I was diagnosed with a.d.d.? After the diagnosis, she went out
and learned everything she could about a.d.d., and was then always ready to
explain my strange behavior away. I think she was glad to have a somewhat
socially-acceptable disorder (there is a lot of controversy about a.d.d., but
it sure was a better diagnosis than post traumatic stress disorder resulting
from incest, among other things) to pin it on, finally.
My mom actually wrote me a letter describing her relief when
the a.d.d. diagnosis was made, and that she was happy to have a name to put on
"it".
I kind of feel like I was a little caged animal. I believe
my brother and sister felt the same way, and that is how they treated me.
Actually, that is how they have always treated me when I go out of their lines
of decency, like when I told them I'm not a Christian. My brother wasn't so bad
about that, but my sister angrily preached to me like I hadn’t spent a
significant part of my childhood drowning in a church.
She would use her concern over my immortal soul to just let
me know some things she felt really strongly about, and just wanted to tell me
because it was really important to her that I not burn in hell, and she needed
to make sure I had eternal salvation.
She really actually thought hell would be worse than my
childhood. It has not occurred to her that earth is actually hell, and we're
all already in it - that's the horse I'm betting on.
My brother has been more like that when it comes to my
oldest son. Even as a teenager, he would chastise me for undermining his
authority (the kind that only existed in my brother's imagination) with my son,
and he had endless lectures about how much more he knew about parenting than I
did, and that I needed to do this, and that, and whatever, because I was
obviously taking my son down a path of treachery and evil (also the kind that
only existed in my brother's imagination).
My brother's latest excuse to interject himself into my life
was that he was worried about Wes (my son). He was concerned that Wes was only
getting my side of the story, and so took it upon himself to copy that email he
wrote (the one that lays everything out as he sees it, and explains to me what
reality is) to Wes. For Wesley's own good. Just to make sure he is not being
manipulated by me.
They have always both been very integral in the brainwashing
aspect of my parents' abuse, and as I'm sure I've said before, they are still
doing the same thing. They may also be victims of our horrific upbringing, but
that doesn't mean I have to put up with them.
I don't wish anything bad to happen to them, or for them to
suffer in any way, and I feel that way about my mom, too. But what I really
want for them is nothing. Regardless, it doesn’t matter what I may or may not
want for them, or believe about them, just as it doesn't matter what they may
or may not want for me, or believe about me.
I do not care. I do not want to have anything at all to do
with all three of them. What they do with that information is not my problem.
But they are so, so crafty at reopening my psychological
wounds, whether they are aware of it or not, and that is why I am scared of
them - they can hurt a place in me that I have no way to protect. And that is
why I will take out restraining orders all over the world, if I need to, to
keep them away from me and my family.
I really hope the restraining orders will be enough to keep
them from contacting me.
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