Fear seems like such a tame word for it. It bring the feeling experience that I encounter when I contemplate or even acknowledge the possibility of a choice that might offend my parents.
I’ve realized that my mom isn’t a bit reasonable or capable of
love; this whole time she’s been playing me. That’s why her physical letter to my new home address felt like such a threat.
I know where you live
And that’s the only reason she emailed me last month, to tell me that she still blames me and that she hears the things I say about her.
You can’t trust anyone because they will betray you
In processing the terror of growing up under the power and control of a sadist, I realized that the threats extended far past just making me suffer, making me miserable, or demanding my time/energy/resources… It was far worse than that. My dad didn’t want me to die. He wanted me alive but hollow. He wanted a pretty little slave to reel in… stuff, or money, or vanity, or whatever the hell else he wanted. He wanted me to go out fishing and hand him my catch. Fame, I guess, would have been his ultimate goal.
And to that end, to the end of hollowing me out anyway, he went a fair ways. I mean. He went a long ways. I had a weird sense of pride that I hated him from a young age. Since I knew what the feeling was, I identified it with my dad. Yet I knew that if I ever revealed this hatred, he might kill me. I believe he is capable of such a thing. It never bothered him that I actually hated him; it would, however, completely and decidedly eliminate all benefit to him if I were to reveal it in any foundational way. He had to believe that I was suppressed, or repressed, or whatever. And so not a mote of a hint could escape me.
Maybe it’s more the fact that I was conscious of my hated that I was proud of. I was conscious of it and the things he was capable of, and that is what terrified me.
And, I was alone. So utterly, profoundly alone. Not a soul on my side. Every single adult in my life sold me out to that sadist. My mom Number One, of course, but every one else as well. Even the bus driver.
And there was one person who was nice to me. One who I really liked- a nanny, or babysitter- who I really loved. Amy. The moment my mom caught wind that someone might be kind to me, that I might actually form a bond with a nice person- it was unceremoniously cut off. No warning. No explanation. I just never saw her again. I was five.
It’s all so fucking stupid. I’m supposed to be finding the “lesson” or something in all this right? What is the fucking lesson? My dad beat me. He left marks and bruises so the school had to call. He killed all my pets. All of them. Except the cat I took with me. He threatened anyone who had even a chance of caring about me. Ie, if a boy or a man was interested, my dad made sure it wasn’t because he cared about my well being or happiness.
I mean, what would happen if a strong, caring, high quality man came into my life? That man would want to know all about my relationship with my dad. He would find out sooner rather than later probably, what an violent unhinged child abuser my dad is. Then what-?
So Mom is the provoker of the violent chaos that is my dad. Of course she’ll never disavow him. She’ll be a paranoid control freak on a power trip with her sadist on a leash forever. It’s all she knows.
I feel stupid for not seeing through it earlier. It’s never obvious when it’s your history. But it all lines up. It all makes so much more sense, and becomes consistent. She welcomed her mother back into her life after being abandoned, and I pitied my mom for it when it was a fucking trap for me the whole time. “We must invite and appease our mothers no matter what”. Yeah, no.
I recall that my during my reading, it was mentioned that my soul wasn’t necessarily related to my blood family. Possibly that’s why I am able to separate from them. Something in me feels perhaps that there is the possibility of a positive; if I replaced another child who would not have been able to separate and thus continued this cycle of senseless violence… Then that is a good thing. Perhaps we are all slated for one such a changeling experience that will break the repetition.
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