Growing into Me with Bipolar

Posts tagged ‘parts’


Ok, so a week ago, my therapist made a comment.  A little one, that was just slipped in.  I didn’t actually register it at the time.  It was later, after I’d got home, bits of the session were floating about in my brain and i was resorting them again.  And this one kept drifting back over and over.

It was that she had casually slipped in that we no longer qualify as DID.  I sat with this for a whole week, until this week’s session.  And I said it our right at the beginning–had I misunderstood?  Am I really not DID anymore?  How does that work?  How do you go from being DID, and then one moment you’re just not DID anymore?

Her answer was that from what she observed, I no longer act as separate personalities, but rather as one ‘blended’ personality.  She said she does see parts of all of them, but they are now blended together with me, the one who fronted.  So, I guess that means we are ‘integrated’, and I guess it also means there is no ‘we’ anymore, just ‘I’.  It is strange, because I don’t really feel any differently. This is going to take a little getting used to.



This is what I’m talking about.  This is exactly what I mean when I say no matter how good I do, regardless of how well I do, I always end up right back in that hole I started out in at my lowest point.  I never really truly get ‘better’–whatever that might mean anyway;  but one thing’s for sure, I’m not it, and no matter how I try, or how much I start to believe, I never will be.

So, for about a month, I have finally been feeling (dare I say it?) pretty good.  Not like run and hop and skip and jump and stuff, but just an absence of the normal heaviness, weight, and inertia.  For the first time in almost 7 years I was actually feeling free, easy.  Like I could just do something without fighting myself to do it.  Like things were easy finally.  And I kept telling myself, ‘Self, don’t get used to this.  It won’t last (it never does!) Keep being aware of this nice, pleasant-feeling place, of how easy it is to be alive again. ‘  But alas, I did forget, I did lose perspective of it.  And then I fell back down, down down down into the hole it took 7 years to climb out of.  Funny how I could forget how this place feels after such a short time away.  But it’s all rushing back to me now, and I see how I never really got out.  It was but a dream, the feelings of weightlessness, of easiness.  But the dream is over now.

And all it took to burst that pleasant bubble was trying to find a package that should have been delivered, but wasn’t, and now seemingly has ceased to exist (not unlike me).   Yep, that’s right.  A notice in my mailbox that a package had been left with my apartment manager led me to the manager’s office to collect said package.  But the package doesn’t really exist.  The manager looked, but no package had been left for me with her.  She did say sometimes when she must leave the office for an errand, the postman can’t get in to leave the package, but may have left the note in the box already.  So this means the local post office should still have the package.   So, I spent hours on the phone since Tuesday trying to reach any living and breathing person at the local post office number.  No one ever answered the phone there.  I mean,  I let it ring 50+ times, then hung up and dialed again, etc. for hours on Tuesday and Wednesday.  No one ever ever ever answered.  So today, I decided to get smart and instead of calling only the local office, I would call the main 800  number instead and ask them for a way to reach a live person to find out about this package that wasn’t left for me.  After waiting on hold for 50 min, I finally had a live agent answer the line!  Whoo-hoo!  Almost enough for a champagne celebration!  But no, if you did, you’d have to throw it down the drain now, because the so called customer service rep (ie lack of customer service rep is more accurate!) told me the only thing she could do was give me the same number as on the website, and no, she couldn’t say why they are not answering their phones except they must be awfully busy.  I snorted in derision.  I asked if she were to let her phone ring 50+ times, would she get reprimanded.  She answered with ‘i didn’t do do that, so I don’t know’.  So I asked if there wasn’t a supervisor at the local post office whose name and direct number I could have.  The answer to that was ‘we don’t have any supervisors. ‘  And I burst out laughing and asked how that could be, that the entire US Postal Service could have NO supervisors AT ALL, ANYWHERE, EVER!! and her answer was ‘what can I help you with, maam’.  So, I refreshed her memory about the missing package and the post office that no one works at and the lack of supervisors anywhere, to which she answered, ‘what can I help you with maam’.  So, I refreshed her memory again, and guess what?   Yep, that’s right, you’ve guessed it—‘what can I help you with maam’ AGAIN!!  That was all she would say to anything I asked.  Now that it had been 2 hours since I first dialed the phone, and almost an hour holding, and now almost another hour being told ‘what can I help you with maam’ I finally snapped.  I broke, again, when I should have just hung up.  Should have just driven to the post office and asked for the package in person.  Should have just not let it become something I was so invested in, so wrapped up in.  But I just couldn’t.  I just wanted a real answer, a straight, helpful, honest answer.  Even if they couldn’t help.  Why did they have to lie to me?  Especially such obvious lies.  Why would one of the largest businesses in the country not answer its phone?  Or not ‘have any supervisors?’  Are they really that stupid–or do they really think ALL of us who call are that stupid?

In any case, the point here is that for a long while now I have really improved with this kind of thing, this kind of phone call, etc.  I used to end up screaming at the person within minutes of getting connected with them.  But for several months now, I have been able to have ‘normal’ resolution-seeking or information-seeking calls with even the most unhelpful of representatives without being reduced to either tears of frustration or becoming a screaming mimi in the face of their idiocy.  I actually thought I had solved that issue and now I remember why I told myself to not hold my breath.  Because no matter how much more ‘well’ I become, more stable, more calm and rational, I am and always will be who I have always been.  No matter how I hide it, or avoid it, the real me will always be there, always ready to show itself again.

So, now I know why I thought my life, my troubles, my issues were pointless to mention.  Because no matter how much you dream, struggle, hope, nothing ever really truly changes.  It just pretends to sometimes, and then when it will hurt you the most, it comes back up in your face again to remind you of who you really are,  who you will always be.

Who are We?

Many of you may ask yoursel(ves) the very same question.  Or maybe not.  I don’t really know, I’m really pretty new to this entire reality.  I know who I am, Anti-Kitty knows who she is, Trina knows and Little Trina knows who they are.  And we all know who each other is, and are aware of each other.  Pretty much, I’m the one that drives this person, and none of us even know who this “K” person is.  But while we work more or less cooperatively to keep this machine going, none of us knows who this person is even supposed to be.  We don’t think we have ever even met her.  How can a ‘person’ exist without the person being there at all?  This body, if it is not “K”, then is it us?  Do we get to claim ownership, whole or in part, of this body/brain we all share?  Do we even have to find “K”?  I mean, we operate pretty well nowadays as we are, in cooperation, with me mostly fronting.

Silly as it sounds, me, Kat, only just know realized I’m not actually ‘K’, that whoever that is (the original person), is not me after all.  It’s someone else, who maybe is gone.  So, I know who I am, and the others know who they are, but who are WE?  If we find ‘K’, will WE change/cease/stay the same?  It is a puzzle, which WE cannot know the answer to unless it happens, unless we find ‘K’.  Problem is, WE don’t know if WE want to find her.  Maybe its better to not know, to stay as WE are?

It makes one wonder, what is this concept of identity anyway, and if there is a single definition, should there be more interpretations?  So, who are WE?


I Don’t Know What This Means…(if it means anything?)

This post may be *Triggering* *Sex*

This post may be *Triggering*

A man I have known for a very long time, who has off and on been my lover, J, is on my mind.  Really on my mind.  I haven’t seen him since I left the midwest to follow my kids out to the Southwest, but calls periodically.  Most of the time, he wants to talk as if the last 5 years of separation hasn’t happened. he wants to talk to me like he always did, when we wanted to be together but  couldn’t, when we were together.  He still thinks of me just the same, and desires me, and tells me so.   He was the best lover I have ever had, the one I remember.

Since I have moved to the Southwest, I have gotten on a good (better) regime of meds.  I’m the stablest I have been in over 10 years.  And I entirely lost every bit of libido I ever had.  For those of you not in the know, I was previously, for as long as I have had a libido, so highly sexual that it practically consumed my life, was the focus of every thought, was what I did when not in school or at work.  Sometimes, I even forwent school or work in search of more sex.  It was never enough.

So, I am now basically without any libido at all, but J hasn’t got the hang of that.  He still talks to me like I do.  I have felt awkward, uncomfortable these last 5 years, talking with him, because I don’t want to lead him on, but I don’t want to hurt him either, by saying I just don’t care about sex anymore.  Not even with  him.  But recently, I have found myself really missing him.  Not just him, as a person, but missing how we were together, how consumed with being with him I was, how he felt against me,  how I felt when he touched me.

I don’t feel a change in my sex drive, except when he comes into my head.  But even this is new for me, since I have been out here.  I don’t know why I suddenly miss him, desire him again, but I do.  I don’t know if this is a symptom, or a sign of my libido changing again, or if I just really miss everything to do with him.

Feeling Overwhelmed

Ok, crunch time is approaching.  I sign the lease on my new, smaller, less expensive apartment on the 26.  That means moving will commence the next day, the 27.  I am going to rent a small U-Haul truck for 1 day.  I have to make as few trips as possible with it, but also get as much as possible moved with it, in the one day, because I am also being charged by the mile.  My son’s car (a 78 T-Bird) plus my ‘new’ car (03 taurus) can carry lots of the small boxes and plastic sacks and other oddly contained items.  My son’s car will hold more of this than mine, tho!  I feel I really need to get the furniture, food and utensils, and TV and computers moved that first day.

Even though I am making this move to save myself money, because of having partial rent on the new place this month in addition to partial rent on the old place next month, I am actually spending more on rent.  I won’t start to see the benefits of the new, lower rent until September.  So, since I am usually strapped as it is, I am going to be super strapped until September.  I can’t even buy my .86 soda each day.

In an effort to save as much as possible, I am going back to the old fashioned way of getting boxes—heading to the grocery stores in the middle of the night to collect their emptied stock.  I am dragging my kids too, and making my son bring his car, so we can maximize our trips and get as many boxes as possible each time.  It’s not a hard job, its just it is in the middle of the night, its tiring getting them into and out of the cars and in the house.  Because its so late, it throws off our sleep pattern, and I end up taking my night pills way too late.

So here I am today, after our first grocery store box run last night, and I am surrounded by what at first look appears to be a plethora of boxes in my living room.  But, most of them are actually fairly small, so we will still need to make several more box runs this week.  But just sitting here, surrounded by flattened boxes, I am almost completely paralyzed.  I think to myself, ” Self, you could start packing some things in one of these boxes.”  but then, I just get frozen and can’t move at all.  Can’t even take care of other business, like setting up the new electric account or anything.

And I am terrified, because I forgot to ask my therapist, A, for a letter for my landlord stating that I have a qualifying disability and require an Emotional Support Animal at my dwelling.  If I don’ t have this letter, then the landlord will charge me for pet deposit and pet rent, and may even disallow my dog from being on the premises since they have some breed and weight restrictions.  I absolutely must have my Sunshine with me, and I can’t pay all those fees.  So, I must have this letter from A.  I am moving on the 26, so I need the letter by then, but unfortunately, A has already left on a vacation and won’t be back until the 14 of August, which is much too late.  I can also try to get my med provider or nurse at my psych clinic to write one, but they are very difficult to actually get ahold of without an appointment, and it’s really hard to get an appointment in between appointments.  Like, I go to med check appointment, then they schedule me for 10 weeks out for next appointment.  So, trying to get in for any reason in between is practically impossible, so I’m not sure they can get me a letter soon enough either.  I’m trying not to think about it too much, but on the other hand, it has still to be dealt with.  Arggh!

Ok, so see?  there is really nothing that is sooo bad, or so stressful, going on.  And it’s not like I’ve never moved before (Ha!  far from it-I have moved so much its ridiculous!)  So, I shouldn’t be so daunted by this move, by getting the ESA letter for my dog.  But I am.  I am just paralyzed, completely overwhelmed, staring at all these flattened boxes, wishing they would miraculously pack themselves when I am not looking.  I’m really worried I might not be able to pull this move off this time, that I won’t be fully present–that I’ll be so dissociated I won’t be effective at all, and I’ll end up pushing it onto my kids’ and they won’t have a lead to follow.  I’m afraid this move will be a disaster.

I just thought maybe getting this down on paper, as it were, and out of my head, maybe I will feel more connected and less overwhelmed.  We will see.

Some days, it just doesn’t pay to gnaw through the leather straps.

I really felt that I have been doing really well lately.  And that I have gotten a lot of positive steps taken on different goals.  For instance, I finally got (after a year of begging) my mental health clinic to send the documents needed by Voc Rehab so that they could help me get the education I need to get the job I want.  So, first, I’m actually thinking of going to school all day, every day, in the near future, and am not running and hiding under my bed when contemplating it.  And second, I finally got my case manager at my clinic to speak to the local Housing Authority, who after a 5 year wait, told me I was over the income limit by $400 annually–when over $2k of that was a one time payment my ex had to make toward child support just so he could be allowed to get his passport, which he wanted to use to visit his fiancee in China.  That payment will not be repeated, so why was Housing Authority including it?  They refused to tell me how to appeal their decision, buy my case manager finally got ahold of them, and now they say they will reconsider if I make my case in a letter.  So, I really feel that I have been able to be ‘healthy’ and ‘normal’ in dealing with this stuff, in getting the wheels rolling on these different tasks.

And then a month ago, my car was hit on the driver rear fender.  Ironically, at a church parking lot where my daughter was attending a birthday, by the pastor!!  Who didn’t even want me to report the accident.  Said he had a friend….um, yah.  So, his insurance determined he was 100% at fault.  But now they are saying my car is totaled, because the repair is more than the value of the car.  Well, for some stupid reason, Arizona (where I now find myself) forces all cars that have been totaled out by insurance companies to be given a ‘salvage’ title.  This means, they can not for any reason, be driven on any public streets or parking lots, etc. The only way to get the car on the roads again is to ‘do repairs’ and then provide receipts of such repairs to testing facilities who inspect the car to see if  1) it is safe and roadworthy, and 2) if repairs done as per receipts provided were done properly. Then you can get a ‘restored/salvage’ title, and drive it again.

My problem now is, the other insurance company won’t tell me how much my check is going to be, or how much my car is valued at, so I can determine what funds I will have if I keep it and try to go thru the ‘restore/salvage’ process, and, since the damage is only bodily, and I cant repair it because it is the whole reason the car has been totaled….will the testing facility even DO the tests if I don’t have receipts?  And if I DONT keep it, I need to have an idea of how much I’ll be given so I know what kind of replacement cars to look at.  So, here, I thought I have been doing so well, acting so normally and healthily.  I thought I was handling and controlling myself and my emotions.  Until I got so worried about this car situation, and decided to call my own insurance, thinking they would be more free with information than the other party’s insurance has been so far.  But I was wrong.  I called, I waited on hold 20 minutes, I got transferred to customer service/sales…where they perky young lady refused to tell me absolutely anything, not even in general terms, not even the basics, and transferred me back to claims…..where I waited 20 more minutes on hold before finally being (ironically, magcially) transferred to the actual same person who had initially handled my claim….except he was out of the office for the day.  So, as I found myself leaving a message for him, I suddenly teared up and could barely leave my name and number.

So, so much for thinking I might actually be ‘healthy’ and ‘normal’.  I guess, I just get to have those almost healthy and normal days to make me feel good for a minute, before I fall back into those much more common and depressing days that I have all the time…y’know, where I cry at the least frustration or explode into anger instead.  Where I can barely get myself to leave my house, to do the basics.  Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected those ‘healthy’ and ‘normal’ days to last.  After all, I have got my own cushy spot all worn in in more typical and symptomatic days.

What I Received Today

” Dear Kat,

Please don’t be estranged from me any longer.  Your Aunt C is dying after almost a year of a long battle.  V is taking her from the hospital back to C’s home, and V will stay with her until she passes.  C is not expected to live more than 3 weeks.

And your Grandma was struck by a car while walking in a parking lot near her home.  She is in very bad shape, and will probably not walk again or be able to live in her own home again.

She and I have prayed for you daily all these years and I know it would mean a lot to her (and me) if she would hear from you.

She and I both love you deeply, and your kids too.

Please, please stop this.

I beg of you to call her.


So for those of you who have been following along, my Mom finally found me after 5 years.  When I cut her out of my life because  I finally decided I just couldn’t take the abuse any more.  And a month or so ago, she wrote me, and her letter was all soppy and sweet (ugh).  When I didn’t respond, this is the follow up letter I get (above).  So, when being all soppy sweet doesn’t work, she pulls out the guilt.  Now I never wished bad on anyone, and if it’s really true, I am sorry for them.  But that does not mean I can ever allow myself to be in any kind of relationship with her again—even if what she says is true (and I am not putting money on it).  But the real point is, if she can’t get what she wants by being saccharine, then she tries using guilt.  I expect the next letter to be angry, yelling, name-calling, to beat me into submission.  Hopefully, after that, she’ll try the ‘silent treatment’.

I started this post a while back, but wasn’t able to actually post at that time.  I can now, so here it is.

The Monster Within

I think I finally see who I really am.  All these years of wondering who is the real me hiding under the surface, under the ‘me’ that I show the world, that I want to make myself and others believe is the real me.  I have seen this truth before, but never accepted it, kept pushing it back under, deeper each time.  But I think this time not only did I see the truth, the real me, but I think I started to accept that the real me is not the me I hoped it would be.  

For all these years, I created  ‘selves’ for every situation.  A ‘self” that I want so desperately to be the real self, the real me.  But even after all these years, I still knew it wasn’t real.  I wanted the selfs that I created to be who I really was.  But they only go skin deep, like a carnival mask  that is adapted for every need.  I wanted so badly to believe that the self I show was really me–kind, caring, understanding, gentle, generous and compassionate.

And yet, as I search to find the me under the mask, I always knew the real me was something much more undesirable hiding in the depths of my being.  The one thing I have wanted more than anything in the world was to be nothing like my mother.  I even despise looking at myself in the mirror now, because all I see is her.  I hate when my voice has her tones, her raspiness, her sounds.   I hate when I hear myself say things and then realize that’s what she would’ve said.  I despise her with every fiber of my being, and probably always will.  In me, all she ever saw was something to crush, to consume, to torture and punish,  something to destroy the life out of.  All my life, I wanted nothing more than to be as far away from her as possible; to never see, hear, feel, or be like her in any way.  To complete eradicate her from my existence, forever.

Now, for 5 years, I have been free from her, except for 2 recent letters which I have ignored.  I have been improving in seeing her less in me.  Until now.  Now, when I see who I really am surface from the depths of my inner oblivion.  I am what I always feared becoming.  I am cruel, visious, violently hateful.  I am wicked and evil.  It has always been there, under the depths, but I refused to see, to believe.  I am exactly like her.  This is the true me.  In Macbeth, Lady Macbeth kills Banquo, and tries to wash the blood off her hands, but it will not go.  Because the truth of who she is is not the person she shows to the world, who she wants to believe is the real her.  The true Lady Macbeth is shown as she washes, ‘out out damn spot‘.  She is evil.  She is cruel and sick and twisted.  This real self cannot be washed away, no matter how many kind and loving and caring constructions of self are made to show the to the world.

No matter what she or I do, how many faces we create, the real truth is always there.  No wonder I have always hated who I am.

Ways To Mother Myself and More

Ok, so I’m still having difficulty trying to answer the questions my therapist asked me to think about.  So I thought maybe if I did it here, the reluctant answers may become more forthcoming.  So here goes…

How can you mother yourself?  Hmmm.  I have been pondering this one, and the only thing I can come up with so far (and it doesn’t seem like it fits really well) is treating myself to little luxuries.  For example, I’m thinking of buying some clothes every so often (even if I don’t really need them), or maybe purchasing a subscription to an online game I like (but don’t need!), or buying myself foods (yummy, unhealty chocolately type foods, that I also don’t need!).  There’s a few others in the back of my mind, but I don’t think they are viable (I don’t even think the ones above are viable, cause I am broke), for instance, I’d like to take short (and long) roadtrips, not to see anyone, just to see the scenery and different places here in the US and abroad (if I ever could afford it!).  But I probably can’t even do the simplest of these things since everything involves money.

So it seems like I need to find things that make me feel good, mothered, that are more intrinsic and less purchaseable.  I already play my favorite games on my computer while watching my favorite shows on tv.  I already pretty much stay in my pj’s (cuz they are comfy and cuz dressing is often overwhelming).

I think I finally figured it out.  I can remind myself, tell myself, that I am not worthless, stupid, for making mistakes, for not knowing things beforehand, for looking silly or for thinking I look silly.  I can remind myself, coax myself to believe that my feelings are valid and I am allowed to feel them and that also intense feelings will subside.  I can give myself support when I am down, by reminding me of perspective.  If I meet goals I have set, I can reward myself both verbally (in  my head) and also by giving myself a treat.

How well can you trust yourself and others?

I like think that I feel like I can trust myself, in the normal run of things in my life, like school/college-anything education-wise, handling my money (not hard, since I don’t have much), being there for my kids, etc.  But when it comes into things I haven’t had to do before, I am so afraid of failing and looking stupid, I usually do anything to avoid doing new things.  Like it took me years to be able to use the bus comfortably.  I used it, but I had to spend an hour planning my time to leave the house, time to get to the stop, time to wait, time bus arrived and so on.  For me, taking the bus straight down the street even a half mile was a terrifying excursion for almost 4 years.  Then suddenly, it became comfortable and I actually felt confident in making even complex trips, and without all that excruciating planning.  I guess that means for things I am familiar with, I can trust myself pretty much.  But for things I am not familiar with, I don’t trust myself much at all.

I certainly don’t trust myself when going up against authority figures, like police, or representatives at agencies, etc.  Actually, part of me thinks I am right and I often end up yelling or crying at the person because I feel they are not hearing me, don’t want to hear me, don’t understand me.  But another part of me thinks I must be wrong and they must be right because I am not knowledgeable in that area and they are.  That part just gives in, gives up, lets it go.

As for others, I really don’t know.  Most of my interactions with others are perfunctory, like the check out person at the grocery store, or the maintenance people where I live.  They are not intimate relationships.  My relationships with them are only in the capacity they play at that time.  And as far as that goes, I trust those people pretty much.  If a maintenance guy says he’ll fix the problem, I pretty much trust that.  But I really have no idea who these people really are, I only know them in the role they play in my life.  I really don’t know anyone, except for my  elderly cousins (surrogate grandparents), my kids, and my ex.  My ex I know way way way too well.  I wish I didn’t know him. I am seeing as I write, that I really don’t trust anybody in a personal, intimate sense, outside of my family.

The answer about trust then is 1) Half of me trusts me, half of me doesn’t.  And 2) I don’t trust any others, outside of my family, in more than a superficial role that they play in my life, such as service people, creditors, businesses, agencies, etc.

What needs to be ‘re’grown from your childhood?

Regrown?  I’m feeling suddenly like a tomato that didn’t quite make it, trying again.  Maybe I am.  Maybe I am a little green tomato on the vine, that never matured all the way to being a large juicy red ripe tomato.  I should have matured years ago, but I didn’t.  I just stayed small and green.  Scared, unsure, hoping and looking for someone to guide me, so I can grow finally.  How have I even made it this far, feeling so small, insignificant, afraid of everything?

Ok, I think I actually have an answer for this right off the bat.  I need to re-grow my self-esteem, my confidence,  my sense of extroversion or my desire to be in new situations with new people.  I need to re-learn how to play, be silly, have fun (with no thought to how I appear to others).

Thanks for listening!

Letter to my Mother


Here I am going to say all the things I always wanted to tell you, but I either didn’t or you twisted what I said or you just didn’t care.

I spent my whole life trying to prove to you I was good.  smart.  responsible.  caring.  I tried sooo hard to earn your love, your affection.  Every day I lived in fear of you, of your words, of your tone of voice.  Of your hands.  You terrorized me, every single day.  All I wanted was for you to not despise me.  I don’t know what I ever did to you that you felt you had to make me a perfect automaton who never had their own thoughts or actions.  I don’t know what I could have done for you to feel the need to instill fear and terror in my mind when I was only 3 years old.  I remember so clearly trying to stand in the corner by the door without moving or taking my nose off the corner.  You made me stand there all day, because I would always squirm or wiggle inadvertantly, so you made me stay longer each time that happened.

I always knew you hated me.  And I knew it was a secret that only I shared with you.  It was so confusing that when others were present, you actually seemed nice, even interested in me.  When I was still little, I didn’t understand this;  I thought that somehow I had done the right things, acted the right way, finally made you see what a good, nice, smart, responsible girl we were.  And then, I would do the same things the next time to told me to do something, only this time, you would bend over and put your face in mine.  It was always so angry, so ugly and distorted, it scared me to see it so close.  I wanted to squeeze my eyes so tightly shut to make you stop.  But I was too afraid even to do that.  I knew if you saw my eyes close, you would just make it worse, scarier, more threatening.  So I held my eyes open in front of that face you made, and became perfectly still, because I knew if I showed any weakness you would only have more fuel for your white hot burning hate.  Then you started yelling, when you knew you had me paralyzed, unable to move or speak.  I was your captive and you tortured and toyed with me like a boy pulling wings off flies, or burning ants with magnifying glasses.  For so so long, I thought I was somehow incapable of doing anything properly.  I thought I was useless, clumsy, and basically I didn’t trust anything I thought or did, and was afraid to try anything I didn’t already know how to do.  You did this me, mother.  You made me doubt every single thing about myself.  Now in my 40’s I am finally beginning believe in myself, to trust myself, for the first time ever.  Why did you have to punish me-for just being your daughter?  Why did you have to give me pain instead of love?  And why did you have to enjoy my suffering so so much?

For years I thought you must love me, because you said it sometimes, without being mean.  And because when others were around you treated me like you loved me.  And so I thought that your hatefulness was really you being demanding, tough on me, but because you loved me and wanted me to do things right, and know how to act.  I thought for so many years that if I could figure out how to do things right, what answer to give you when, that I would finally get you to stop hating me.  This was probably the most cruel torture you could have done.  I believed I actually had a chance to make you not hate me (I gave up on getting you to love me by the time I was in high school) You had by then made me doubt every single thing about myself, and also made me loathe every part of me, because I couldn’t ever do anything right according to you.  By the time I was a teenager, I didn’t even care if I got your love or affection or attention.  I just wanted to stop hurting for once.  Just once, I wanted to live in a safe place where I didn’t need to walk on eggshells, and wonder with my every word and every action if you would attack me again.

By the time I was 14 I had been raped.  Then I loathed myself even more.  I started drinking, partying, and became too promiscuous.  You didn’t care.  You didn’t talk to me.  You didn’t validate me.  You didn’t show affection, except if you call screaming, shrieking, tirades of my worthlessness and uselessness love.  Oh, and the occasional punch, slam or smack.  All the things I did, were all because I knew I was nothing.  Because you made me believe that.  Because you made me break into parts.  Because you are so inhuman and hate yourself more than anything but can’t accept it, you brutalized your own daughter from birth.  Instead of building me up, supporting my dreams and goals, you took every chance to rip me to shreds.  You may have broke me, but you didn’t kill me, didn’t eradicate me.  I managed despite your efforts to have 2 wonderful kids, to finish college,  and to do a  job I loved for many years taking care of others.

You don’t own me anymore.  You don’t even know me any more.  The person I am now was born from your hate, and from the others that came to help me survive you.  We have gone through the crucible and come out stronger.  We are joined now to make us successful, working together to be strong and stable.  Kicking me out at 17,  punishing me and my kids when my husband left me and I had no income or home, and wrapping it all up with the things you said to me the day I had to send my kids away from me, out of state, to their father, are unforgivable.  And the irony is that I forgave it all, up until the very last thing.  The day I lost my kids and sent them away, you said the cruellest, hurtfullest, nastiest, unforgivable things.  You (and oh yes, your mother was there chiming in too) told me with glee in your eye how I deserved to lose my kids, how I was a failure as a mother, how if it was up to you you would tell the courts and judges and anyone else how unfit I was and should never see them again.   You said in that cutting, snarky, voice with a smirk on your lips, how I would never be welcome to even your spare bed.  How I should go and crawl into the gutter that suits me so well and never come back out, because that’s what I have always been–nothing more than gutter trash.

You stole from me every single chance to believe in myself, to have confidence and courage just to make yourself feel good by turning your self hatred onto me.  I am not your punching bag anymore.  You do not own me anymore. I have claimed ownership of myself.  And I choose not to surround myself with abusers any longer.  So after 5 years, you have written to me twice in the last 2 months.  You think you can get in touch after saying those things to me?  You think 5 years is gonna erase your pure and unadulterated glee at telling me I am nothing but trash?  You think now that I have been rid of you for 5 years and have finally found myself, have started to discover who I really am, and am actually starting to like the real me, you think that NOW I’m gonna let you back in my life?  When would that ever in any situation ever, ever happen?  For the first time in my life, I am finally safe.  My home is finally safe.  I do not live in constant fear of the next attack.  I will never let you in again.  You and other abusers have taken up enough of my life.  I will never allow myself to be hurt again.  I will never forgive you for denying me what every child should have, unconditional love and support.

In the end, all that self loathing and hatred and anger that you turned onto me for 36 years, has backfired.  You thought if you focused your pain on someone else, like me, that you wouldn’t feel so awful.  Well, now I’m done, and you have only you to live with, with all that anger and self hatred, until you die.  The only person you can hurt now is you.  And even if you fool someone into being your friend or husband (again), it will be short lived since  it will end just like all the other marriages and friendships–with them leaving you because you are so hurtful and vile.

And I am a good person.  And I am  responsible.  And I am a good mother–a very good mother.  I guess its just who I am.


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