Hidden Pieces: Mother's Abuse

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***

Well, I made a decision after much thought and prayer, I decided to begin retelling what I wrote in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

Grandpa always told me it was my job to take care of my mother and that is exactly what she demanded from me. However, I felt like I was going crazy with her and I was really terrified of her. Sometimes, I was fearful that she would kill me. She would seem to suddenly become full of rage, out of control and begin taking it out on me by yelling at me, screaming at me, blaming me and hitting me. I was attacked and assaulted by her slapping me in the face, so hard, to bruise her hand or knock me off of a chair while I was dusting, hitting me on the back/shoulders/head with her closed hand and kicking me. With the dusting, I just waited until she was done and got back on the chair and started dusting again. Never cried, said anything to her, never talked about it and like most things pretended that it never happened. [I do the same thing now, but am getting better about expressing myself and a bit better about not ignoring myself and feelings...tough lesson when that was what I used for so long to cope.]

The first time that I really remember my mother beating me was while we were with living with Grandma and Grandpa and she came home and was angry. I was about three years old. When she got to the bedroom door, where I was inside coloring, she immediately slapped me in the face and then starting hitting me with her fists on my shoulders and back areas. I was so surprised because she had never done that before.

 Then, she took a wooden stick off the window sill and without any clothing on my bottom half began to hit me over and over again on my bottom and the back of my legs. I still didn’t say anything or cry even though it hurt. It felt like she was trying to really hurt or injure me, which is exactly what I say I feel like doing when I fragment. [I have internalized her projection that I am bad and need to be punished.  My self injury is a result of this and those are some of the thoughts that run through my head.]  The pain was really awful and seemed to radiate all over my body.

During the time, she kept screaming at me that I was “the reason that she couldn’t find a job, needed to find one and that everything was my fault.” I didn’t quite understand, but knew that I was bad and to blame for the problems. This event was also the last time that I was excited as the time approached for her to come home. Previously, I was always happy when she was going to come home. From this point on, I became increasingly anxious when the time came as I did not know what type of mood she was going to be in or what was going to happen to me. [I learned to listen to how she drove into the drive way, the way she closed the care door, her footsteps, her opening the door to the house, walking in, and her face.  A bit hypervigilant.]

“Lost fantasy that she was happy to see me and wanted to be with me.” I completely lost trust and a sense of safety from my mother. From that point forward, she was really unstable and unpredictable and would rage at me verbally and physically. I felt absolutely trapped and really confused and terrified of her. I remember trying to hide when I heard her come home in an angry mood. In my head, I just kept saying, “I need to disappear…go away, just go away…disappear.” [I still tell myself this which at times can mean suicidal thoughts that have always seemed to have been with me even before I could verbalize it.]

Of course, she found me and in my head I was saying, “Mommy, don’t, please don’t…I’ll be good, I promise…no not again…what did I do this time.” At first, it was maybe one time per week and no one, but maybe my aunt or uncle was home…I don’t know if they heard or not. I certainly didn’t make a sound or talk about it. Then, it was at least two to three times per week.

Sometimes, on the weekends because she wanted to go out with her friends and she made sure that I knew I was interfering in her life and that she did not want to have to stay home with me. Other times, she would just take off and leave me with whoever was at home…didn’t ask them, just took off. (I thought she was leaving because I was bad. I now know that this is not true, but that was how I felt then.) I know that she loved me, but I never really felt like she loved me or was a source of comfort. I felt like I was never good enough for her to love me. Grandpa, my uncle and definitely my aunt was where I went to for comfort. I know that my mother is really angry with me for shutting her out which she says, “I’ve done my whole life.” Thing is that she never was safe to let in…even now which just makes me sad. I had to disconnect from me in order to stay attached to her.

[From what I now know, her rages have to do with her projections that I am all bad or all good.  I either meet all her need or I meet none of them which is a classic borderline personality trait.  At this point or before, the thoughts of dying, being bad and being so hypervigilant became a way of life.  This tells me that my mother is really sick and was not equipped to take care of a child. My family has told me that when she would go out with her friends that I would cry for her to at least say goodbye or reassure and comfort me.  My grandparents would get into arguments with her about her going out too much and just wanting her to come hug me or something as I was crying for her.  My aunt ended up comforting me...I really thank God for her.]