Mother

Well I figured it was probably about time to do this, I actually started this post on another site. I wanted to put it here as its a big part of the how and why I dealt with the abuse the way I have. There will deffinately be updates to this as I write more when I can. This is a real struggle for me and a very touch topic but here goes. Oh and I'll add all the new stuf at the top and dotted above the old stuff so you dont have to re-read it if you do want to.



I had always thought my mom to be an extraordinary women. By the time she was 18, she was married, had three kids and her husband had died. (I never knew my father...he passed while mom was still pregnant with me) She raised us the best she knows how. For the most part she did a great job, my siblings and I are all doing well so far as you can see from the outside looking in. We are all, either in college or have graduated from college, have good jobs, stayed out of trouble, never been to jail or did any drugs. From that perspective she did great. Mom and I never had a real close relationship. I was the youngest of 3. I think she had some resentment towards me from the begining because...being that my dad passed, I as just another burden. Not only that but I have health problems. I was sick a lot, always in and outta the hospital. I was also a very emotional child. I believe that most started when I was 5 or 6, right about the time the abuse started with my brother. Things only got worst as I got older. I was compared a lot to my older sis who was like the "ideal daughter".

When I was 9 mom meet ...him. He was a nice guy. Mom was so happy, she had found a guy that treated her good, had a good job and didn't mind that she had so many kids. We were excited to, he didn't mind doing family things, we were finally going to be a normal family with a loving father. The father that had been missing from our lives for so long. We were the "happy family" for the next 3 and a half years, I remember us asking him if we could call him "dad" as he was the first father figure we had. When I was 11 he started hurting me. He left the summer after my 12th birthday a few months after the abuse stopped, I don't know if he left or if she kicked him out. I remember mom making us go see him and telling us to be good cause she wanted him to come back. She told us to show him that we loved him and want him to come home. I never said anything about him hurting me till I was 14, 2 years after it stopped. That's when everything took a nose dive. I had told my older sis a very little about what happened, she said that I had to tell mom and that if I didn't then she would. So I wrote a letter saying that he hurt me and I was sorry for not telling, and please don't be mad at me....left it on her dresser and left for school.

When I got home, her first reaction was to yell at me, call me stupid. Still yelling she told me that I was stupid for not saying anything and that she thought she taught us to open our mouths and say something if someone was hurting us. My image of my mother was shattered. From that instant on I always felt like she hated me.

I really did think she hated me. Everything in her actions said so. I mean at firsts after the initial shock of being yelled at wore off I saw my mom differently. It was like the anger that it happened was no long pointed at me, but rather refocused in to "getting me better". Mom took me to get evaluated to see if I had really been telling the truth. She never once said she was sorry that it happened, never hugged me. She did mention that it must have been hard to go see him that day but other than that she was totally distant from me. After the results of the evaluation I started therapy. Mom was very supportive of me going to therapy, she said that she didn't want me to be all messed up about this for the rest of my life....news flash...pretty much am!!!!!.....anyhow she took me religiously, once a week to see Angela. She never stayed for my session and most of the time I was to take a cab home. Eventually I had to get there of my own accord.

I don't really remember to much about the days that followed the letter it was just all to terrible, I felt terrible....after all it was all my fault as I did nothing to try and stop it. This was the method of thinking of my 14 year old brain.( and yeah pretty much still think this way) Everything hurt. I felt like I betrayed his trust by telling, even thought it was something he himself had encouraged me to do if....and this is a big if.... I wanted it to stop. By not telling, he took the notion that I did not want it to stop, a fact he seemed pleased with. It was all so confusing. I hated myself, hated the fact that I had ruined so many peoples impression of him...ruined the image of our once "happy family". I knew that my telling would also secure that my little sister never see her father-something that really devastated me and pleased me all at the same time.

I'm not sure (timewise) but I felt I was slowly starting to crack, apparently others could see this too as one of the school counselors called me into her office. This was something that never happened before. She asked me what was wrong and I told her that I wanted to die....*apparently they take this kinda thing seriously...(shrugs) who knew* I was not allowed to leave the office and she said she had to call my mom, this was really not going to make things better. Between the school counselor , my therapist, and my mother...it was decided that I was a threat to myself and I should be send away to a nut house(mental hospital). I was sent away for 5 1/2 week-something that probably really saved my life. Mom came and seen me a few times the first week then hardly at all after that. It was a very nice vacation but I longed to have a normal life again.

Being there was to much of a reminder of just how abnormal I was. The weekend before I was released I was allowed to go on a home visit. To my dismay, mom had already gotten a new boyfriend and he was living there. I was really nervous and scared about being there with me. He told me right away that he was not like mom's ex and would never ever lay a hand on me like that. It was not very comforting and when I told mom that I was scare of being there with him, she said that he wasn't like that so I didn't have to worry. She didn't make him leave or ask him to stay somewhere else, it was just something I had to deal with. During my visit she left me home alone with him. I was terrified, nothing happened but that's a hell of a way to test your new boyfriend and put your child thru hell- in my humble opinion anyway. When I was released that was pretty much the end her support not that it was much to begin with.