Content: Discussion of child torture and sexual abuse, the affects of emotional abuse, feeling hated during violent abuse, dental appointment
I just thought, I was taught to hate me. I was taught that I don’t deserve mercy, so when I think of myself as a child, I feel the contempt that burned beside the torture.
I remember the little girl in the same light my mother put her in. That could be the difference between feeling compassion towards other survivors but struggling to give it to myself. I don’t see other survivors as bad but I remember my young self with the mask they put on her. That mask was created by them. It was created with words like; liar, disgusting, dog, disobedient, disloyal, unlovable, laughingstock, disruptive, manipulative, bad things happen because of me. Then there’s the one that gets me. She said, You’ll do anything with your mouth. She’d say it with a mocking giggle.
Anyway, my mother and her family branded me with those words. Even when they didn’t say the words, its burn accompanied the abuse. I could feel their hatred and anger, feel their contempt for me. It is an indescribable feeling to know the person hurting you wants to destroy you. That didn’t go unnoticed. Their hatred radiated. The only thing I can compare it to is a bear attack. He roars. You see his jaws open. He stands on his hind legs, roars again then swipes just once. You know its going to be bad. You know he wants to kill you. That kind of intent is the only comparison I have at the moment when describing my mother and her family’s desire to destroy me, my sister and my cousins.
To my knowledge, this is the first time I’ve made the connection that I see my young self in the same light, with the same mask given by my abusers. Now I wonder, how do I get the mask off the little girl who was taught to lay down and take it, lay down and let her? Can I hold the thought and not reject it?
It feels like if I accept it, I’ll have to let the familiarity of her go as well. There is a certain comfort in seeing her as bad. That pain in my stomach with its warmth is something I’ve curled up beside for decades. Feeling damaged enough to make my mother turn rabid has been a companion for years. When the mask is taken off will she be totally naked? Will she die? Her whole make up is abuse of all kinds. She’s nothing but a storehouse of abuses, nothing else. If I remove the mask, remove the brands, what am I left with? Will I even know her?
5:34 pm EST