Dear Sister,
I have to leave you alone now. This letter will be jumbled because I’m not use to feeling what I feel when I think of you. I’m use to singing your praises. I’m use to telling others I couldn’t stand the way you screamed but never have I felt so angry and so hurt when I think of you. I use to just be sad and long for you but in the last few months when I think of you all I want to do is bend over and cry.
When we were kids, though I didn’t understand you at all, I figured we had something big in common and that gave us a secure bond. I thought the abuse was enough to bring us close together so we could out wit the mother, stay one step ahead of her together, be each others confidant. I thought we could be friends. I saw you in nothing but light. Despite being disgusted by your reactions it never changed how I felt about you. I was disgusted by your reaction, not you. That issue is my own and I know why and I’m trying to deal with that. But I want you to know it never made me think you were anything other than the source that hung the moon.
Continue reading ‘She Hangs The Moon’
I know when I’m closed off it means something intense is going on inside, something intense that I just don’t want to feel or deal with. I wasn’t sure what it was until I sat in therapy and it came to me that my neighbor I’m helping care for told me I’ve been different since last Wednesday. I asked Dr. D what we talked about. It seems the whole sister issue came up yet again. I really have trouble with that one. I’m not use to feeling so angry with her or let down by her. I’m just fine with being pissed at the mother. I can see her for who she is but I’ve always had a fantasy view of my sister. She’s always been my big sister, the one that hung the moon. The one that I brag about because she is such a great seamstress. She’s pretty and smart. I always looked up to her. Yes, I did her homework, I gave her my food rations, I fought for her when other kids beat up on her and all that jazz. I never hit her back when she hit me. I even tried to show her how to leave when the mother used the dowel rods on us. Still I looked up to her. I thought she was the best thing since sliced bread. But now, to look at her sexual abuse of me makes the face I painted for her turn ugly.
I stopped caring a very long time ago about my mother’s approval but I felt like I needed my sister’s. It hurts beyond belief to look at her as the person she is and catch a sharp resemblance of my mother.
Continue reading ‘A Million Pieces’
Last nights dream was quite interesting. I was in a classroom at elementary school desks waiting for the group therapist to come in so those assigned to speak that day could talk. The group therapist came in and went directly to the chalk board and started crossing off names. As he called off the names of the people who wouldn’t be talking that day he put one white chalk line through their name. He then wrote 3 names on the board of people he felt needed to talk that day. After writing he handed us a workbook and told us information on how to understand these individuals would be in the book. He didn’t even let them talk. He just gave us a workbook and left the room. We were to understand that one survivor used a tiger as a service animal because of her severe PTSD issues. One lady is in a domestic violence situation because she doesn’t have strength in her voice to tell and the third person ended up being accused of a crime he didn’t commit and was killed in prison which affected a survivor in our group because he witnessed it. The group therapist came in, shook things up, told us one thing then did another and simply walked out of the room but not before turning the lights out and leaving us all sitting in the dark.
Continue reading ‘Callous Abandonment’
My mother, a family friend and I were driving by the second grade house in the middle of the night in a yellowish orange van. I noticed she was speeding and so was everyone else. Cars were swerving in out and nearly causing crashes but somehow managing not to. I turned to watch 2 cars merge into the same lane and noticed one of them him something. I realized it was a child who had fallen off his bike. When I turned back around to tell the mother I noticed about 10 children riding the same kind of BMX bike towards on coming traffic. For apparently no reason at all they began to fall, one after the other. Cars attempted to miss the kids but they were run over again and again. I began telling the mother from the back seat how to maneuver around the fallen children so as not to hit them. She was stiff, driving carefully, listening to my calm instructions. The passenger in the front seat was silent, perhaps stunned by what was happening. We got through the children without killing any but we ran over the hand of one. The body was laying face down, blue jeans, dark hair and a green shirt. We ran over the hand but were happy we didn’t kill the child. I never looked back to see if anyone else hit him/her. What I did notice was that children kept coming, riding their bikes directly into traffic, falling for apparently no reason at all.
Continue reading ‘Dream Therapy: Woman Child’
Significant pieces, recurrent themes: The 2nd and 4th grade were some of the worst years of my life. The children falling off their bikes was like how my sister just fell off hers and broke her wrist. A buffet style restaurant shows up in my dreams often. I usually opt to go to the dollar store next door instead. Dreaming in a different language is common.
Of interest: Not many of my dreams are at night. The family friend I haven’t thought about in years but she was the person that hosted many of the talent shows the mother, sister and I were in. She herself is a survivor having killed an intruder who assaulted her. She was a sad woman, not overly emotional, quiet like in the dream. She lived in the same apartment complex we lived in while in the 2nd grade.
Commentary: What struck me about this dream is the flow of children directly into traffic. They didn’t even attempt to move or protect themselves from harm. They clumsily fell from their bicycles, clumsy like how my sister was. The van ran over the child’s hand.
Continue reading ‘Dream Therapy: Woman Child Commentary’
The dream started off with me walking single file with a group of people my age (36) down the dark auditorium of my second grade school. We passed two other single file lines, one of which my brother was in. In the dream he was 15 years old. I didn’t even know him then but in the dream he was 15. He caught sight of me and called me by my birth name. I corrected him which caused an argument. He got in my face and demanded to know why it was so important to change my name. I told him he didn’t require an answer, compliance would do. He didn’t like my answer but I didn’t like how he got up in my face angry and demanding. Some kid beside him asked why he was making such a big deal out of it. That’s when my brother held up a sign written like a child which mocked me. As my line moved out of the dark auditorium he sing song-like called out my birth name.
In the second dream I was also an adult as was my sister. In this dream I had to go to the hospital for some reason. I ended up in the waiting room with a doctor that had really radical mood changes, even his body size and hair colour changed with his moods.
Continue reading ‘Dream Therapy: Needs Not Met’
Significant pieces in the dream:
The age of the brother, being mocked by him, having him singsong my birth name, the grade school we were in, the white guy gardener she turned into, the sister’s possible death on the surgery table.
Of interest:
The flock of mallard ducks raining down poo on our heads.
Commentary:
I like the flock of ducks thing. As a child my room was always decorated with mallards. Of course it’s known they called me Little Duck all my life or just Duckie (with an ie not a y). So it was like a whole flock of me flying over head saying this whole situation was bullshit. Some of it I brought on myself but others I didn’t but it was all bullshit. The mother delaying medical attention for the sister is exactly what happened when she fell and cracked her head on the cement around age 30. She kept telling her not to go to the hospital. When she finally did it was because the pain in her head was so horrible she was in tears. It took weeks before she went to the hospital with the mother’s approval.
Continue reading ‘Dream Therapy: Needs Not Met Commentary’
It is an angry situation for me, more emotional than talking about my mother. The emotions are mixed, twisted and overwhelming so I don’t address it much. How can it be “easier” to talk about what the mother did as opposed to what the sister didn’t do? Somehow of all the losses it is the loss of her which seems the greatest. When I left that house I gained freedom but I left a sister I both love and hate.
I think what hurts the most is to have done everything in my power to make that girl like me yet she couldn’t. And I wonder had she shown a little bit of backbone would the mother have focused on me so much? If she thought there was a challenge in beating the sister into submission (which there was not) then would she have focused on me so much? I told Dr. D I realized that was horrible to say.
Continue reading ‘Adult Siblings of Abuse’
Christine Lawson, in her book, Understanding The Borderline Mother, says:
“Emotionally stable parents share their children’s joy and quiet their fear. But caretaking roles are reversed for children of borderlines whose mothers are chronically upset. Children repress their fear in order to calm their mother. Situations that should frighten children may not because they have learned not to feel. A dramatic (an hopefully rare) example occurs when cildren rescue the borderline mother from suicide attempts.” p.23 (cited from Markham’s Behavioral Health)
I said I don’t feel fear but I take that statement back. I feel fear I just express it covertly. I didn’t want to be like my sister who I always saw as weak. She jumped up and down, stomped her feat and screamed in pain. I thought she was weak for showing it but now I think maybe it got her less trouble than my lack of response.
Continue reading ‘I Was Afraid’
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