You see that photo below? That’s my mother. She looks like a happy, nice, kind person right? Wrong. Quite the opposite. That is a picture of the mother I longed for, wished for, the mother I saw very seldom. Now, if you met my mother you might even say she seems very funny and a blast to be around, she’dconvince you she was absolutely normal, but behind closed doors it was very different. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always awful, or maybe I didn’t realize it till I got older. You see, when you are young, you are naive, and you would never believe anyone, especially you mother could do anything wrong.
My mother was the world to me.
She and I were like peas in a pod. We spent alot of time together because it was just she and I until I was about 8. We would always read the bible and I would act out words, putting on a little play as she read. She taught me so much about God and always took me to church. Whenever I was sick, my mom would always buy me a carnation and a coloring book. That always meant alot to me. I don’t remember anything too painful or eventful for most of my childhood. Around the time I was 4 or 5, I remember going away to my aunt Terrie’s for a while. I guess my mother had been struggling with severe head aches for a while and went to the hospital because it finally became disabling.
My mother had finally gotten diagnosed with a temporal lobe brain tumor at the age of about 26. I didn’t see her for a while, and when I did, she was a little off. I guess my mother had to relearn to do everything. How to talk, walk, write, spell, and so on. At this point you might say, “How can you talk so badly about your mother when she has a disability?” Trust me, I wonder that too. You know, I have heard she’s always been this way, the tumor just compounded already present issues. I guess you could be a devils advocate and say that she was that way because she too was abused, she had a brain tumor, and was under alot of stress as a single mom… I did feel bad for her most of my life, but I am just human like the rest of us and I eventually resented her.
My mother was a saint to me, the most knowledgeable, wise person around. And then it all started slowly crumbling away. She decided after a while that she wanted to settle down, take a rest. When I was about 8, she met John. He was a good looking, athletic man from the Air Force. She said that when she met him, she wanted me to have a dad, but I belive she was looking for a free ride. She always told me that it isnt about love, it’s about being financially stable and having things provided for me. Besides, I really don’t think she knows what love is anyways.
From there it took a dive. My world was falling out form under me. No longer was I the object of her affection, she was too busy giving it to him behind closed doors. They got engaged only after a couple of months. John and I didn’t really have a connection, everything just moved so fast that I didn’t really have time to get to know him. Anyways, I’m not really sure that he wanted to as it is. Soon, after they got married, I found out I had a brother on the way. At that time I was hitting puberty and things were getting rough. Now, this would have been just another hormonal teen acting out, but I was different…
What I didn’t mention, is that when I was about three, my mother had a boyfriend, and this boyfriend liked me just a little bit more. His name was Al. I have only two memories of him. He always liked to keep cotton candy under the bed and to me that seems like he was baiting me. To this day, i have a weird addiction for cotton candy and I will eat a whole jumbo bag till I’m sick. And the other memory is of a time he was holding me, it was weird and uncomfortable. I see my self from a third person view, holding on to him as he grasps me strangely with his hand. And that’s it. I used to have reoccurring nightmares of being in a car that was out of control as it sped away from his apartment. Finally, I thought to just open the door and jump out, any pain was worth not having to relive this one more night.
And then they stopped.
So, this sets the stage for a very difficult time as I start to discover myself and my raging hormones. I had actually cried out for help very early on, my mother just didn’t know how to listen. I had the typical signs of sexual abuse; ADHD, not being able to focus, acting out, getting into fights, being clingy, struggling with relationships… They were all clues, I think that maybe part of her just didn’t want to acknowledge it ever happened. I get it, I really do. Who wants to admit they put their child in harms way? Who wants to admit that their boyfriend found their daughter more attractive? I know it had to be hard. I have told her in the past it was her fault I got molested, but to tell the truth, I know it wasn’t. It was her fault she didn’t get me help or the love I needed to fix it.
My cries for help went unnoticed. I had a very strange sexual drive at a very young age. My mother would catch me many times masturbating, or acting out events with my stuffed animals. Whenever she caught me she told me it was bad and that I would go to hell. At about eight it became a bit obsessive. I even slept with my hand in my pants, and whenever she would check on me at night she would move my hand. It should have been a sign that I still peed the bed at eleven, but she thought I was just being lazy. I masturbated with anything and everything. Some things I am not ready to admit to, but I will tell you this, stationary objects just weren’t enough. There is a reason I do not like dogs. They say that whenever you feel guilty about something, you direct your anger towards it. To this day I have to work very hard on being kind to dogs, but I can say that I have made major progress. I spent alot of time in my room, fantasizing about events, and creating a sick sexual world. Where normal children were playing make believe in a castle or pretending to be a cowboy, I was reliving scenes of molestation and domination. My favorite theme was being helpless or getting attacked by something unsavory like a beast or a gross animal. I guess that’s what you do when you can’t cope with abuse.
As a parent, when your child starts to act out what do you do? Think about it, what would your reaction be? Would you discipline them? Ground them? Sit down and ask them what’s going on? Well, this is the part that ties my whole story together. My mother couldn’t or didn’t want to understand, so she started “disciplining” me even more. She likes to say often when I try to tell her she was abusive, “Spare the rod or spoil the child.” I agree to an extent, but I believe that under no circumstances is it right to leave welts or draw blood. I remember the first time she actually beat me. I was about 10 and she had asked me to do the dishes. I did them the best I could, but before I could leave she noticed there were a few spots on them. She told me to redo all of them, I thought that was a bit unfair, and being an adolescent, I whined about it. It turned into an argument and out of nowhere my mother grabs a fistful of my hair and slams my face into the cupboards a couple times. I ran into the bathroom crying, and as I was sitting in the bathtub, handfuls of hair was falling out. I was horrified. I remember saving it so I had proof of what she had done to me, but as I would soon find out, no one really cares or believes you.
I loved my mother so much, but how could someone who gave birth to you, who loved you and took care of you, hurt you over and over without remorse? I just wanted her affection, her understanding, I just wanted her to care.
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