I'm not exactly 100% that this is the right place to share my story and recent experiences I've had with my mother, but it's probably the best I will find.
As a child, my mother was my idol. I didn't really have a father, because he chose to remain absent for the majority of my life. My mom worked and went to school, so she received a lot of help from her mother raising my sister and I.
As we grew up, my views on my mother began to change. My sister and I saw some pretty fucked up shit because of her. For example, when we were about 6-7 (I'm the youngest) and 8-9, we went to use our mom's computer to play a game or something of that nature. Instead, we found pictures of people we didn't even know having sex in the bed we slept in. We watched our mom get so drunk on vacation one year, she punched her husband (at the time) in the jaw so hard, she broke it, all because he wouldn't give her the keys to her car. She went to Key West one year without us for vacation, and made us look at pictures of her and her friends naked, drunk and promiscuous get their bodies painted. When I was just finishing high school, she had just gone through a divorce. My sister and I were very supportive of her, though she acted ridiculous the entire time. She was drunk almost every day. She would show my friends and my boyfriend (at the time) pictures from a topless photoshoot her and one of her friends participated in. She would have loud, blatant sex with men she had just met in the house at almost any time of the day with my sister and I there.
So now, I'm twenty-four years old, and have been pretty sustainable on my own since my mom kicked me out the first time when I was eighteen. She took my only means of transportation and told me she would no longer help me pay for college (though I had only completed one semester at this point). So, without money or a vehicle, I figured my shit out and made it for several years on my own. Of course, about a week or two after kicking me out, she cried, apologized, and begged for me to come home. Thinking that I didn't want to further ruin my relationship with my mother, I stayed out on my own hoping it would help our relationship be better.
A couple years pass, and my boyfriend (at the time) and I decided to move out of state. We spent several years living on the Gulf. Last year, we separated and parted ways. My mother was there to help as much as she could, but would constantly remind me of where I went wrong in that relationship. When I would find myself in a moment of weakness and cry (we were together for five years), she would tell me, as she had told me for the majority of my life, "dry it up, drama queen," as if my feelings were completely invalid. She treated me as if I were wrong and dramatic for getting emotionally distraught about ANYTHING. I always tried to make myself see this as "tough love" and quickly move past it.
Fast forward to earlier this year. I put myself in a relationship with a man that did not love me and was emotionally abusive. Constantly told me I was a psycho, annoying, and would tell me to "put a plug in it" anytime I would cry. I called it off after my patience ran out. I confided in my mother. I had not mentioned previously how bad things were to her because I was incredibly embarrassed and didn't want to hear her "I told you so" attitude about it. She told me I was a disappointment, as she has many other times in my life, but agreed to help me. I had to get away from this horrible man, so I took up her offer on moving back in. Horrible mistake.
After about two months of living with my mother, things began to go downhill. Her best friend, my aunt, was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer, to which we were all devastated by. About a week after that, her husband (another man she married in 2012) walked out on her, then our family dog of 12 years ran away. All of these horrible things effected my sister and I, but my mother didn't want to hear it.
I spent weeks trying to comfort my mom. I stayed in bed with her until she fell asleep. I would be with her anytime she would cry, no matter what the time. I took on the responsibility of caring for both of our dogs. I helped keep up with the chores, meals and yard work (the house sat on two acres) and tend to the pool. Nothing helped for a while. She was just sad.
After the sadness passed, she began to find her confidence again and, I suppose, that's when the anger became apparent. She took all of her stresses out on me. I was her emotional punching bag, if you will. Well, this began to take a toll on me. I voiced my opinion about it, and she blew up. She told me she was going to shoot herself to "put me out of misery", to which I panicked and flipped the fuck out. She came home to me crying and panicking, and told me, as always, to "dry it up, drama queen" as if nothing had happened.
She started getting into the old habit of bringing random men home and blatantly having sex with them. She also began to think that her shit didn't stink. Then, one day, she blew up.
I had just gotten off work, and was packing my bag to go spend a weekend with my boyfriend. My mother comes back from a date. She's drunk, I can tell, and immediately goes to the refrigerator for another beer. That morning, before I went into work, had already made tension for the current setting. She said some hateful jeers, and I walked away crying. She kept shouting through the house about how horrible I am, calling me selfish, childish, spoiled, etc.; she shouted anything that she knew would get under my skin. I yelled, "stop being a piece of shit" and that's when it happened: my mother lunged at me, hitting me in my face and wrapping her hands around my neck, exclaiming "I've been waiting to do this for a very long time." I pushed her off of me, and it continued from there. She grabbed my keys and kept demanding that I leave. I couldn't go anywhere without my keys. She told me she hated me. I got my keys back and began gathering my shit to leave. That's when the situation became life-changing. She grabbed her gun and pointed it at me. She told me to leave. I told her I would leave as soon as I was finished gathering my belongings and things for school. She told me to leave, or she was going to shoot. I told her to do it. She cocked the gun, and I left.
Still to this day, I cannot erase the image of my mother pointing a loaded gun at me out of my head. Every day, I think about how she should have killed me, which fucks with me endlessly. It's been about three months since that happened. I never really got an apology, though I apologized to her for saying some horrible things out of anger. My sister is upset by it all, and keeps telling me to make it right. The thing is, I don't want to continue having a relationship with my mother. She crossed a major line by bringing a gun into a situation strictly out of anger. I cannot trust her and I do not feel safe being around her.
The entire reason why I wrote this novel (sorry guys) was so that I could gather opinions from others, maybe some who has been in a similar situation. Am I selfish for not wanting to keep a relationship with my mother? Am I just being crazy? What would you do in my shoes? Any sort of answer on this will help tremendously.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
Submitted November 29, 2016 at 10:52PM by Superslowsloth http://ift.tt/2gFiUc7 raisedbynarcissists
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