I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I was abused as a child.
It is a strange thing to come to terms with. It has always been part of me, and yet, it is something that I have kept so secret and so private that admitting it has been a huge deal.
I also have realized that I feel angry and betrayed that I was made to carry this burden? What kind of parent foists it on a child? And what about those who saw what was going on and told me that because I was strong I should endure?
I mean, seriously, I was a kid. It is not for me to be the strong one, the adult in the room! I was the child.
Perhaps the biggest and most insidious weapon that was used against me was the no-one will believe you card.
The next biggest weapon was that something must be wrong with you, that’s why you are a loner. I have subsequently realized that a great deal of being a loner was engineered (I hope, unconsciously) by my protectors. Ja, right!
I feel that I am starting to get angry with this situation. I think that anger is an appropriate reaction to child abuse.
The physical abuse and the murder attempts, ironically enough, I can come to terms with…but the continued emotional abuse? I don’t know if I can ever forgive that, and I don’t know if I can just let it go.
I know the argument is that forgiveness is something that you give yourself, but at the same time, everyone who knew about the abuse tells me I should just forgive my mother for doing it to me. And that I have no right not to welcome her into my life with open arms.
When every time I have done that, she has abused me again. Repeated the behaviors, re-perpetrated the sins of the past.
The frustrating thing about my past is that because it is complicated I can’t simply label her a narcissistic mother and move forward from there, my mother’s psychosis was more complex than that…and I don’t know if I could cut off ties from my father…and since he remains married to my mother the option of cutting ties comes with many complications…but it might be an option that I have to consider.
I have no idea where to begin classifying the abuse that I endured and joining a support group for survivors. In the most bizarre twist of irony, the person who I know survived similar experiences is one that I am least likely to turn to – my mother.
I am going away for the weekend tomorrow and so I may only post again on Tuesday.