A moment in a thought

My thoughts, in my life, of adoption and other such things

The death of childhood December 17, 2008

Life has thrown many obstacles at me, as I am sure is the same for many others.  Some people just seem to go through life without too much difficulty, without ever knowing what it feels like to be abused, depressed, suicidal or any of those other fun things that come along.  

I on the other hand, am not one of those people.  Because of that I have been in therapy for what seems like an eternity but is really only six years.  I have a myriad of diagnosis including chronic depression, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and Borderline Personality Disorder.   However, I don’t really think of myself by those things.  In all reality I am just a person, thats all it is.  A person with things I have to deal with, and have dealt with, tremendously well all considering.  I am a completely different person now than I was six years ago, three years ago, even one year ago.  However, some things just never cease to amaze me.  New things pop up that I hadn’t even thought about.  

One of those was in a therapy session I had yesterday.  My therapist asked me to write a letter to my mother, and start it with Dear Mom, I hate when you…. and list all the things from my childhood that I hated when she did.  So I did.  I started with the pen to the paper and Dear Mom, I hate when you scream at me… and so on from there.  Without too much time passing, I found myself in tears and with a list that was four pages long.  The saddest part was that none of the things were one time only things.  They were ALL things that she had done to me, more than once, and not I hate it when you wouldn’t let me go to so and sos house.  Nothing like that, all things that were regulars in the list of I hate it when yous… 

When I got to the fourth page I stopped.  Simply because I was crying too hard and I didn’t want to go on.  I closed the notebook I had written it in and didn’t think about it again.  Didn’t remember a lot of the things I put in that list because I was writing from the heart and not from my head.  

In Session yesterday my Therapist, J, made me read the letter out loud.  I surprised even myself when I had a hard time doing so.  I don’t know why, I guess because A.  I knew it would hurt her, and B.  I knew it would hurt ME.  I knew that reading that list would transfer what I had written from a secret place locked deep in my heart, to a conscious place in my head.  I didn’t really want to do that.  I needed to do it.  

I did it.  In reading the list of things I myself wasn’t even ready to hear, I made yet another realization.  Well really J made the realization through the tears in her eyes that I didn’t want to put there.  My mother was abusive.  

I was abused.  Not just sexually abused, that I already know about… a little hard to forget, even though my mind had done a good job of it.  But I was abused, by the person who was supposed to love and nurture me and care for me forever and ever.  Not physically, no she didn’t hit me any more than the slaps when I did something wrong.  No she was verbally and emotionally abusive.  

I don’t know why this comes as a surprise to me.  But it does.  It hurts, it brings up things I don’t want to feel.  My mother was abusive.  Not an easy thing to deal with.  

Particularly since the worst part of it is, I love my mother.  I really do.  I don’t know why, I guess that deep part within me that loves her because she is my mother.  I love her because she isn’t ALL bad.  She isn’t a terrible awful person who belongs somewhere in the pits of hell.  Which is hard for me, because I would think that all abusers belong somewhere in the pits of hell.  

My mother does not.  She is a good person <BAH> really, she is.  Well I guess I should say she TRYS to be a good person.  She was the girl scout leader, the mom who always went on field trips, the one every other kid loved!  She made the best cookies, she made the best projects, she was creative, she is all sorts of good things.  

However, she is also abusive.  It wasn’t on purpose, I KNOW that.  All she ever wanted in the world was to be a mother (I know right?  Barf) I just wasn’t the right daughter for her.  Too bad there isn’t a store or something where you can pick the right kid.  Had things been different perhaps it would have worked better, but I was just not the right kid for her. 

I do not allow myself to still be abused, we have come to this relationship that seems to work, where we both pretend that the past never happened and we are just this happy family la te da.  

So how does one go about dealing with something like this?  Dealing with a rationalization that comes in adulthood.  I guess I just keep going about doing what I am doing and hoping the eventually the majority of my demons will settle.  That hopefully I will know how to be someone that is not anywhere NEAR my mother.   I can’t make the past better, I can’t make it different.  I can keep going toward the future but I wonder how to effectively let go of the past, without burying it in a non healthy way, as I have done for so long.

 

Flashback April 16, 2008

Filed under: Abuse — Jessie @ 9:37 pm
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I was sexually abused when I was a child.  I know I have written about it before, but its a big deal in my life. 

The thing of it is, it isn’t always a big deal in my life, in fact, most of the time, I don’t even think about it. 

It started with the movie Georgia Rule.  For those who havn’t seen it, its about a girl who was sexually abused by her stepfather.  And the movie is about the family dynamics after she comes out with the truth. 

Its so different than the dynamics of my family, and the dynamics of what happened in my family after the truth came out for me.  See, my mother didn’t ever do much of anything. 

And it makes me angry.

It got worse when I called my Grandmother, I don’t often do this, because well she is a lot like my mother.  And I know before long, the guilt trips, no matter how subtle, are going to start.  I wasn’t dissapointed.  She went on about how sad she was that I couldn’t show up for Easter.  I started thinking, if my mother had just told her, if she had stuck up for me in the slightest bit, my Grandmother would know why I didn’t show up for Easter.  It made me sad, it made me want to tell my Grandmother what really happened so that she would know. 

Then there was a game… a game for kids about knowing the difference between okay touch and not okay touch.  A game that teaches kids that its not okay for someone to touch you in ‘those’ places.  That its okay to be uncomfortable, and most of all, if it happens, its okay to tell someone.  Its okay, and its not your fault. 

All I could think about is that maybe, just maybe, if someone had talked about these things.  If I had someone I could have talked to, someone I could have trusted.  Maybe I wouldn’t have had to suffer with the abuse for five years, maybe it would have only happened once, and maybe I could have gotten through it.

Instead, yesterday, I suffered my very first flashback from the abuse.  It was scary as hell. 

Expecially since before this I could barely remember any of it… any of the five years that I suffered through hell. 

I was terrified, thank god for my therapist, who could be there, and allow me to relive some of the worst moments of my life.  Thank God for my ability to get through things. 

I guess I don’t know where this is going, perhaps I just felt the need to put it out there.  Its something that I guess has needed to happen for a while, and I guess it just caught me off guard, because I have spent years trying to pretend that this all didn’t mean anything to me. 

It also brings up a lot of feelings that I just want to go away.  Feelings towards my mother, feelings towards anything.  It made me think about how I am going to go about all this now that I know I need to do something, do something if I am going to make these hard feelings go away. 

I keep thinking I need to write a letter to my Grandmother, telling her what happened, explaining to her why I don’t come around for holidays anymore.  Because even though it should be my mother, it should be her explaining to people.  Because she is supposed to love me and protect me that way, but its not that way. 

I am going to have to do it.  I guess having a flashback, I guess reliving these moments, feeling like he was right there.  Feeling him on my skin.  It was my bodys way of telling me i’m ready.  I am ready to do something about this, work through it.  Get through it.  I suppose the first step is my Grandma.

I guess I am just afraid that I will get the same reaction from her that I got from my mother. 

I’m even a little afraid that she will do the opposite, what if it blows the whole thing out of the water.  What if then, I am thrown into dealing with it. 

Worst of all, what if I have to face him.