Bully

Even though I am of an age that I dare not mention, today I feel like that battered helpless child whose small voice could not be heard. My mother has thrust herself upon me. She has put herself into a rather precarious position, and I in my tights and billowing cape must rush out to save her. Although she is old, she has not changed; her propensity to disrupt and antagonize is as sharp as ever. In the days before her arrival at my house, my head ached and my body felt as if it were on fire inside. It kept me awake at night as I listened to the thunderous snoring of my sleeping husband. When I did sleep it was light, and I awoke groggy and angry. I have made it apparent that I do not want her near me, but she is in need as she always is and since no one else can or will help her, she ignores the signs and elbows her way in, like a thirsty bovine beast shoving its way to the front of the watering hole.


She believes erroneously that the room she stays in when she is here is actually "her room". She has claimed it like the unwavering bully she is, and actually seemed shocked that it was not ready and waiting for her. I will grant her two days. That's more than she ever gave me.


My husband says we will deal with it, but he does not know what I see when I close my eyes at night. She had the nerve to tell me that all she wanted from me as a child was to be a "good girl" and that I was the "greatest kid". In my entire life I had never heard those words uttered about me. I usually heard "slut", "bitch", and "whore", accompanied by a slap, kick, or punch. When did I become the "greatest kid"?


I know one cannot change the past, but the future is a different story. That's why I love my daughter so deeply and fully. When I take her shopping for her new school clothes, it will be just the two of us, and it will be a grand affair. We will shop and eat, and shop and eat till we get tired.
I hope my mother understands that she is only reaping what she has sown. I am not yet capable of forgiving, even though I know it would be healthy for me to do so. In the meantime though, my anger is alive and well. I don't see it dissipating any time soon. Still here.

The Bad Beginning

Ok. Here it is. This is for all you women out there like me. Stuck somewhere between 6 and 46. Or anywhere other than here. We are wives and mothers, executives and teachers. We go about our daily lives like everyone else. But we are not everyone else.

I decided to start this blog because I know you are out there. The ones who toss and turn at night because the dreams, memories and flashbacks never really go away. They are always there beneath the surface, ready to interrupt our stability and turn us back into what we were many years ago. As a child I was my mother's whipping post. I don't mean spankings and a slap on the wrist. I mean brutal, near coma beatings that I endured day in and day out from the time I can remember till I fled home at 18. Even after I ran for my life, the abuse continued in ways other than the physical. There was the emotional and mental abuse and I have the scars to prove it.

You see, there is much more to the story than the mere beatings. There was the abject poverty, the constant fear, the knowledge that there was no one to protect me except me, and I didn't know how to do that then. Years have passed and sometimes I am better than others. I have an 11 year-old daughter. As a sweet little baby, I gently rocked her to sleep and sang her songs that I made up myself. Her stuffed animals entertained her with dancing and conversations that came from my mouth but began deep in my soul. She would have a wonderful childhood even if I didn't. She would make it up to me. It was the only gift my mother ever gave me. She taught me what kind of mother NOT to be.

I will return to tell you much more. Perhaps you can tell me about your experiences and we will help each other to be complete.

Bye

Andy