Additional Trigger Warnings: Eating Disorders, Self-Harm, Profanities
This is my first post here, even though I’ve commented before and read all the rules. Please let me know if I have missed something or broken any rules. I’m not a writer and this might have weird flow. I just need somewhere to finally talk about everything.
Let me start off by saying that I am now happily married and have put myself through counseling that has helped me stop with my self-destructive tendencies. Over the holiday season, I finally realized that the reason I am so hesitant to talk to people about what I’ve been through stems directly from the fact that my Nmom hammered it into me that I was not allowed to tell anyone about the “bad things” in my family. I couldn’t talk to friends or family, and she refused to get me into counseling for all of my life with them. On that note, I am finally ready to talk about everything that has happened, and I think this is probably the safest place for me to do so.
So. Here are the skeletons in the closet.
All my life I’ve been a tomboy, and wanted to wear jeans and tee shirts, but my Nmom wouldn’t allow me to. She would hold me down and force me to wear dresses, or lock me in my room until I agreed to change. She would “accidentally” throw out my favorite clothes and only buy me pink and frilly clothing, or dresses and skirts. She refused to let me cut my hair, and when I cut it myself I was hit with whatever was in reach. I’ve been hit with:rulers, a flashlight, a wooden spoon until it broke, and much more. As we all know, this made me feel like I didn’t have control of my body. Additionally, I have always been very small for my age, so everyone would just pick me up and move me around even when I protested. And protest I did. I’ve always been stubborn and smart and had a sharp tongue. It served me well in school, because I stood up for myself and eventually won state and regional competitions for debate and literature. (This is only relevant because my parents HATED that I stood up to them, while my older sister was the nice one who never fought back.)
When I was about 8, my Nmom found out that my father was having an affair. When I was 9, they separated for about a year and a half. While my dad was out of the house, my mom would tell me things like, “That bitch isn’t even pretty! She’s not as skinny as me! The only reason (dad) is with her is because she sucks his cock! You know, that’s the only way to keep a man in your life. To let them stick their cock wherever they want.” At 9 years old I barely had any concept of what that even meant. All I knew is that my mother was telling me that the only way to retain love was to lose bodily autonomy.
At this time I was struggling with being bullied in school, and my mom would laugh at me and tell me that she wasn’t going to do anything to help. “It’s your problem! You know you have a mouth on you! You probably deserved it!” She would say things too like, “I wish you had never been born. If you had been a boy instead then you wouldn’t have to worry about this. Boys are better. I always wanted a son.”
My older sister had a friend who was a few years older than her, so when I was 9, he was 15. He had a bad home life and would come to our house all the time. My Nmom would say, “Oh what a wonderful young man. I wish he was our son.” She’d “joke” about wanting to trade me for him, and she constantly told him how much she loved him and how her Home was always open for him.
When I turned 10, my father (who was still out of the house) didn’t call, or visit, or send a card. He did come and pick my sister up for her birthday, but when he moved back in and I asked why he missed mine he said, “it just wasn’t worth having to deal with Nmom,” We fought a lot at that time, and I remember one day I was curled up on my parent’s bed, sobbing and screaming about how they didn’t care about me, and my dad said, “you’re right. I only came back for your sister’s sake.”
My parents were trying to make things work, so they would go out all the time, and my sister would be out with her friends. That left 11 year old me home alone. Now, in our state that is illegal. So, they hired my sister’s friend (the one who was “like a son” to them) to babysit me.
You can probably tell where this is going.
Let’s skip the details and say that it happened for 3 years. Finally, when I was 14, I got strong enough to not CARE if anyone loved me. If that was what “Love” was, I would have no part of it. I didn’t care that he was likely right and that if I told my parents they would choose him. I didn’t care that no one else ever said they loved me. I just... didn’t care about anything anymore. In fact, I didn’t FEEL anything anymore. The last attempt I made to feel something, I asked my dad for a hug, he said no. I asked my mom for a hug, she said no. I asked my sister for a hug. She said no. I hugged a refrigerator because it was warm and hummed, and I just.... broke.
I started to cut. For 2 years I was cutting at least weekly, but usually more. I didn’t even try to hide it. And, no one noticed. I stopped eating. And no one noticed. I was turning 16, weighed 90lbs, but because I stayed a straight A student, and I pushed myself to run 2 miles every morning and do 100 push-ups and sit-ups, my Nmom would brag to her friends about me, while constantly tearing me down at home for everything. I wasn’t getting 100% in my classes, I wasn’t keeping my room clean enough. I talked back and would disappear (to the library lol) for hours. She couldn’t trust me, and I was worthless.
When I turned 16, I finally told them. I don’t know, I guess it was a last attempt to try to feel that they cared. I told them about the sexual abuse, I showed them my cuts, I showed them that you could count every rib and see every bone. They responded by taking me to another country and threatening to leave me there.
I don’t know why they didn’t. I assume that Nmom realized that she would have to explain why I disappeared to her friends and family, and that would have been too embarrassing. So back I came.
But, even knowing what he did to me, my parents kept inviting the abuser back into the house.
My parents paid for my sister to go to a private university, they paid for her apartment, gave her a car, and paid for every school expense along with giving her spending money. I kept pushing myself as hard as I could, and when I graduated high school I earned a scholarship to a university that paid for everything school related and gave me a stipend. My parents decided to move, and they told me I could live in the family home, if I took care of it and paid rent. My sister graduated college the same year, and she moved back in to the house, rent free. She was finally going through a rebellious phase, and yet for some reason she took it out on me.
She started dating the man who had abused me. She knew about everything, and yet she invited him into our home. He would be there when I went to bed, and when I woke up. She gave him the code to our door so sometimes I would get home and he’d be there alone. I couldn’t handle it. I decided that I needed to move out.
I mean, I was taking care of a house, cleaning up after my sister, going to university full time, and working. If I was going to do all that, what was a little bit more money to live on my own rather than take care of her? So, I moved out.
And I realized that.... it wasn’t normal. What had happened to me wasn’t normal. I’d make offhand comments to friends who would look at me like I was crazy. I realized that I didn’t know how to handle conflict. I put myself into counseling (yay debt!) and... I started to heal. At 20, I stopped cutting. But I would relapse sometimes, I admit that. I also slept around an awful lot. I can see now that it was my way of attempting to reclaim my sexuality. But I also stopped that. I would only see my family at Christmas, and everyone would say things like, “oh wow! You are so lucky! Having parents fly you to (their country now) for Christmas!” And I’d smile and agree. But once I was there the awful things would start. Disparaging my job, my choice in my major, the fact that I didn’t have a 4.0 anymore.
I usually relapsed after these trips. But I stuck to it. I made myself keep getting help, and I started to be.... okay. In my last year of college I met my husband, and we knew on our first date that we were going to get married. We were engaged about 2 months, and married a year later. We’ve now been together for over 3 years, and I’m learning how to fight in a healthy way.
He encourages me to address everything that has happened. In fact, it’s because of my abandonment issues that I realized I needed to be more open about everything. He is so wonderful and he doesn’t deserve my lapses when I push away out of fear.
But, as the last thing before I end this lengthy post, guess what my mom said the first time she met him in person? She said, “Oh! Wow, he looks just like (abuser)!”
He doesn’t. Fuck you mom. Fuck you.
Submitted January 25, 2018 at 02:36AM by Aoeletta http://ift.tt/2GaBl65 raisedbynarcissists
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