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Ber
 Posted:
Wed Aug 09, 2006 7:39 pm |
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Please,
I've been seriously considering writing a book and i've only just tapped the surface of me....read this and let me know if you think I have a story to offer. thanks!
I woke up one day and started reflecting. I looked at my children and thought “what happy memories they have gathered in the 2 and 5 years they’ve walked this earth” then I started to think back to my childhood and my smile caved.
I remember back to just 3 years old. I am the younger of 2 and one of a pair of children never wanted by their parents.
The first memory I have is my parents fighting. This was a normal daily function that my sister and I were sick of. I walked out of my room, crying, begging them to stop fighting. I then felt my sister Jennifer take me in, hug me and guide me out of the living room. We stayed in her room until they stopped. Jen and I were close as children; she was always bailing me out of situations, whether it was being choked by the neighbor boy or sheltering me from the parental fallout. She and I would forge a bond that I think a lot of sisters don’t have. Only we knew what the other went through, but it would be years before we could begin to understand the emotional and psychological ramifications that our parents inflicted on us.
I never quite understood the pair of them. They never laughed, they never smiled. They only did things to make the other angry. They were spiteful and hateful toward one another. They never hugged or kissed. My worldly knowledge at 3 years old was limited, granted…but I did know that people weren’t supposed to treat others they way they treated each other.
Shortly after this event the divorce happened. I’ll say it was for the best as they never should have been together. I don’t think anyone can really be with my mother. She never knew how to truly love someone and that makes me sad because with out love in your life you are so empty. She taught me how to be empty and broken.
So, after the divorce, Mom, Jen and I moved in with our grandparents, Mom’s parents.
They were great and they loved us and guided us morally and emotionally. There were many fights as Mom was never home, she worked, tried her hand at school, socialized…a lot. I will say she wasn’t a big drinker; she just never wanted to be around us. Anyhow, Grandma and Mom would fight about who we should be listening too. We usually opted to listen to Grandma. She was compassionate, loving, caring, understanding, yet she knew when lessons needed to be taught and how to do it without instilling the fear of God in us. I loved her like a mother.
From time to time, Dad would come for the court ordered visitations, but those ceased fairly early on. I think that was for the best. He would drive us to the house where he lived with his new wife and her two sons. We would be locked in their bedroom with them and who knows what my dad and his wife would do. Once we went out and he gave me an ice cream, I got sick and he berated me for getting sick all over his new sleeping bag. I got slapped for that. I remember him bringing us home and I just cried to my Grandma. I was upstairs but heard every word she had to say to him. To say she really let him have it would be an understatement. I felt so protected by her. She came back upstairs and hugged me and we cried together. She then made me some soup and I felt that for just a brief second, for that moment in time, an inner peace. She always brought me a sense of comfort and peace
After he stopped coming around, we wouldn’t see him for many years to come. However, day in and day out I was reminded that I was “just like my father” I heard that comment all the time and every time it stung harder and deeper. She never stopped at an opportunity to badmouth him to us or to victimize herself. She could never be blamed for anything bad that happened, in her own mind. I never questioned the normalcy of her situation. It was what it was and I had no escape.
There were consequences to not listening to Mom, they were physical and painful, they were emotional and mean. I remember one day I was told by my mother that I could not go ice skating with a friend of mine in the neighborhood. I asked Grandma if I could go while mom was at work. Grandma said yes, so I gathered up my skates and off I went. As I was walking home, mom was pulling in the drive way. She chased me around her bed room until she caught me, pulled my pants down and smacked me so hard that she left a good hand print. That slap stung so bad that I can still feel the heat from the handprint. I was in the bathroom crying and Jennifer came in, saw the handprint, hugged me and cried along with me. Mom never seemed to go after Jennifer as Jen was her pride and joy. She had an emotional hold on my sister that was like nothing I’d ever seen. She used it to manipulate Jennifer every chance she got. She was always so self-serving and always sad.
We modeled for Tykes Toys and Sears and Roebuck catalogs. We stopped at the ages of 4 and 7 but I remember being in the studio. It was fun but, as always, with Mom, the fun stopped.
I rode the bus to kindergarten where I started at age 4. Elementary school was ok. 1st and 2nd grades were spent at a private school. After the 3rd year tuition either couldn’t or wouldn’t be paid, I’m still not sure which the case is. Anyhow, in 3rd grade I started school in the public school system. It was a great school system and I quickly made friends. I started brownies and really was enjoying life away from home.
I got to go to slumber parties and play at friends’ houses. I was friends with the kids that would be the popular crowd in Jr. High and High school, but in 1985, my life took a horrific turn.
I guess I had grown accustomed to the rages my mother would embark on. I got really good at avoiding her. I would hear her cry in her room at night and I would go in and feel obligated to make her feel better. The hugs were awkward and the “I love You’s” came conveniently only when I would say things to boost her. I felt as though Jennifer and I had to be the ones to say “it’s going to be ok” …parenting her in a way that she never did with us. She was always so emotionally unavailable.
After the 5th grade was over, my mother decided to find an apartment to rent for Jen, myself and her. It was a 2 bedroom townhouse that was $350 month. She came home one day and just announced “we are moving out of here” and a week later we packed up and drove to the new apartment, still in the same town.
Grandma had been diagnosed with breast cancer, had a mastectomy and was going through chemo and radiation. She was in so much pain and I remember Mom not allowing us to go see her.
One day, my aunt, uncle and cousins came in to town from Rhode Island and snuck us over to see Grandma. She was lying in her bed and crying that she thought she’d never see us again. It broke my heart to see her in such pain, physically and emotionally. We hugged and kissed her…this would be the last time I got to see her or hug and kiss her.
That October she and my Grandpa made a trip out to California to visit my aunt and uncle. Grandma died out on that trip, October 19, 1985. I remember hearing the news and feeling destroyed. I kind of always knew it was coming, but never really wanted to let myself believe it.
I had just begun Jr. High school, I was in 6th grade and I just sort of quit life. I never got to say good bye and it would be years before I’d be at peace with her death.
So day to day life passed by me. I withdrew in to myself and quit talking to my friends at school. I was a mess, but I was also one of the lucky ones. I wasn’t picked on by peers like a lot of other “loners.” it wasn’t until 8th grade that I befriended 3 girls, Lisa, Kelley and Jenny. We would have sleepovers and spend a lot of time walking around, not doing much of anything…I never really felt like I belonged with these girls…I always felt like the odd man out, but I forged through, anything was better than being at home…ANYTHING.
By the time I was in 8th grade, I had been babysitting every day after school and earned a hearty $75.00 per week. In 6th grade, that’s a lot of money, however, it had to be turned over to my mother to help pay the rent. Between my babysitting money, my sister’s wages from bussing tables, child support and food stamps, we barely got by. Mom had lost her job and didn’t really fight too hard to find another. She wouldn’t do jobs, it seemed, that were beneath her, yet she was able to bowl every Wednesday night.
We rarely got new clothes. Everything Jennifer had, she bought with whatever monies were left over from giving to Mom. It was money Jen had earned.
Somewhere in this timeline, between 6th and 8th grade I was diagnosed with “asthma” and was medicated for it. The medication made me shake so bad and when I decided I wasn’t taking it anymore, I suffered terrible withdrawal. I could never breath around my mother. I suffered from nosebleeds, frequently. I grew to just get used to them. I remember being very young, 8 or so, losing a tooth, getting a nosebleed and having my eyes crusted shut from sinuses all in the same night. I walked in to her room and her response was “WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” God! How I hated being a burden to her.
I did what I had to do to get by and that was to suffer through the emotional and physical abuse imposed on me. She played emotional games with Jennifer too but she didn’t hit her like she did me. Jen got caught smoking; she was drinking but never got caught. I always got the lectures even thought I wasn’t indulging in those behaviors. I had no interest in drinking or smoking.
Then there was the day Jen ran away. She ran to her friend Tanya’s house, which was the apartment complex adjacent to ours. It was after she and our mother engaged in an ugly verbal encounter. I don’t remember the details, just the situation. Jen was fed up. She left a note. I cried. I remember crying so hard, begging her not to go, mainly because I didn’t want to be left all alone with my mother. Mom came home and demanded to know where Jen was. I didn’t want to tell because I wanted my sister to get out. I had to tell because I feared my own safety. I still am torn over that because I compromised my only ally so that I wouldn’t get beat.
My sister returned home the next day. I guess my Mom must’ve felt some remorse because all of a sudden, she decided to think it was ok to let Jen and I get our ears double pierced….which was a big deal in 1987. Jen had wanted this done for a long time and Mom as adamant against it, but nonetheless, she took us to have it done. I guess it was her way of keeping Jen around. It worked, as Jen was home every night, but as little as possible. In hindsight, I can’t say that I blame her. She turned to her friends and became very social, just the opposite of what I was going through.
I was falling apart inside, my grades in school suffered and I began to withdraw in to myself all over again.
I struggled and struggled. I wanted out. I daydreamed about a real family that would one day come and get me, but always managed to somehow keep Jennifer and my Grandfather a part of that “other” family. I was alone in my head and I imagined a life so much better that the one I thought I was destined to live.
I was the typical little sister and always wanted to be around her. I didn’t have any real friends. I always felt awkward around people and I was intrigued by her ability to just fit in.
I was always told by Mom that I was ugly…which when I entered high school would become fat and ugly. She also told me that I had no friends and no one liked me. She empowered herself by putting me down and every time she did it my esteem level shrunk just a little bit more.
In 8th grade, I made a friend, a dear friend of mine to this day. Her name was Laura and she moved to Ohio from the south. She was so nice and we were immediate friends. We didn’t hang out a lot together, we didn’t even eat lunch together, but our friendship remained and she’s one of the main reasons I made it through, although I’ve never told her that. I love her like a second sister. It would be years before I’d realize the magnitude of her friendship and how much I appreciate her being there.
The summer before my freshman year in high school the proverbial shit hit the fan.
I knew my mother suffered horrific nightmares. I thought this was common as I suffered recurring nightmares and night terrors. There was something much deeper under her behavior.
She began to have memories of her childhood and having been raped and molested by a priest.
I didn’t know how to process this information. I felt for her but couldn’t understand. Not that home was ever a great place to be, but it just got worse after that.
The summer before my freshman year in high school, Mom made us beg Grandpa to let us move back in to the house, which he did of course as we were made to tell him “if we can’t move back in, we’re going to have to live in the car with mom” She was a master manipulator and did wonders with guilt trips.
That summer, Grandpa and I went to Rhode Island to visit my aunt, uncle and cousins. It was a great summer! I always felt so happy being up there and with them. Fourth of July that summer was spent on a boat in the Atlantic Ocean seeing fireworks from the various cities in Rhode Island. It was such a nice feeling and a great place to be. I didn’t have anyone putting me down there or yelling at me, it was such a nice feeling that I didn’t want the summer to end.
I was so excited to begin high school but my first day was cut short as I ended up being so nervous I had 4 bloody noses, a common ailment that often accompanied the anxiety attacks, and was sent home. There was no one home to sign me out but since Grandpa’s house was only about 8 houses down the street, they allowed me to walk myself home.
This pretty much set the pace for how the rest of the year would be. My friendships with Lisa, Kelley and Jenny diminished as we drifted apart. Lisa and Kelley remained friends but I just was at a different place in my life. There was no big fight or anything like that, we just sort of ceased to be friends. I befriended a girl named Alyson. We had typing together and we became best friends. We had a lot of fun hanging out and we did everything together.
One night, we were at her house and I was going to spend the night. Her mom let us make fuzzy navels and we sipped them and hung out in her hot tub. A while later, a few boys from school stopped by and invited us to a party. We told them to come back in a while and we’d get ready to go. Well, they took a very long time that by the time they came back Alyson and I had shared a bottle of her parents’ imported wine. Neither of us had really been drunk before and we began to wander her neighborhood. The boys came back and ended up taking Alyson to the party and one of them took advantage of her. He didn’t even deny it. It was despicable. Weeks later, he started dating another girl and he bragged to her of the evening. She went to Alyson and told her that I told her all about it. It wasn’t me, but Alyson didn’t believe me and we stopped being friends. I cried and cried and cried. I was devastated, but like all other things that had happened, I forged ahead. Eventually, I started hanging out with my sisters’ friends because, even though we fought all the time, I felt better knowing that I was close to her somehow, even if it meant sharing her friends.
I knew I was the tagalong, I knew that they only accepted me because I was Jennifer’s sister. Jennifer was popular and outgoing and all the things I wasn’t. I did try to be friendly though.
From time to time, Laura and I would do things together and again, I know that people only accepted me because of our friendship. She was a true friend.
I hated being home and by the time I was in 7th grade, I had perfected my mother’s signature and she never asked for a report card. Jen loved this because her grades weren’t the best. I maintained decent grades, but I just know that nothing was ever good enough. No matter what I did, how hard I tried; nothing would ever be good enough to suit my mother.
Things with my mother progressed from bad to worse. I never went to any proms or homecoming dances. I was asked but I was always embarrassed that she would just put down anyone I brought home. I was under fire of her perpetual criticism that went so far beyond criticizing, it entered the limits of emotional abuse. “You’re fat, You’re ugly, no one will ever love you” …ah the number of times I heard that statement is infinite. I began to believe her…after all day after day, year after year she reinforced it.
When I was 15 years old, I suffered a bleeding ulcer at the hands of her abuse. It was then I decided I was done. I wasn’t going to let her slowly kill me. She killed my spirit over the years and I had to find a way to get it back.
I began to retaliate to her nasty comments. She never even made an effort to be nice to me. Everything she ever did was self serving. She was always so concerned with what people thought of her. She blamed me for every failed relationship she’d ever had.
The blame game was definitely her forte. Blame everyone else and never accept responsibility for your own actions. I learned to master this art, but then one day I would grow up and stop.
I found ways to avoid being at home. I think Grandpa did too. She was always there, always lurking always waiting for the time to strike up the nasty comments or the “poor Linda” act. Everything always had to be pointed back in to her direction. She thrived on attention; negative attention was usually what she got. She was more concerned with being a friend to my sister. She always wanted to know what “Jen’s friends said about her” She never even made the effort to get to know me, though she presumed she had me pegged as a worthless nothing who would amount to the same.
When Jen turned 16, Mom threw a “sweet 16” party for her. I never got anything like that. I just got “ungrounded” for the day. She enjoyed keeping me under her thumb. She always needed to control me because she couldn’t control or accept what happened in her life. At Jen’s graduation, after making a comment that she was “surprised it actually happened” she threw a huge graduation party with family and friends. Jen left for college and it was just grandpa, mom and I. Mom made her comments about Jen graduating and she never really saw how bright Jen was. School just wasn’t her thing.
I graduated and got a typewriter and was allowed a few friends over, but no family. By this time Mom had pretty much alienated everyone in the family. While she was in therapy she continued mastering the art of hearing only what she wanted to. If she didn’t like what the therapist had to say or if it didn’t serve her agenda some how, she would seek other counseling.
She drove around with “stop the abuse” signs on her car and she did things she needed to do, but nothing ever worked.
At 17 years old, I graduated high school with decent marks and I was heading to Kent State University. Laura also went to school here and finished her degree in architecture. I partied there and was put on academic probation by the end of the first semester. I made my share of mistakes but have gone back and corrected them over the years. After the first year I wasn’t able to return to Kent because of bad grades, but I did forge some great friendships while I was there and it was a year in which I really started to grow.
I realized that when I was not exposed to my mother, I was able to flourish, although I did act out in the beginning, I had to learn how to live and cooperate with others. I feared not being accepted but it was a year that I learned that I was none of the things she led me to believe for the first 18 years of my life.
So, it was back to Grandpa’s house. I began school at a community college. I took all the psychology courses I could. I was going to figure out why she was the way she was. It made no sense to me. I worked a full time job, carried a full time course load and had alternating weekend jobs. I did this for nearly 2 years and when I was 20 years old, my sister and I moved in to an apartment together. I was out again. We had our share of fights; we were battling our past demons in different ways. Mom always held a mental control over Jen. Jen for some reason had a compassion for her that I ceased to carry years prior. Jen was a much more forgiving soul. I was angry and the last thing I wanted to do was to turn inside myself and forgive her. I was afraid to confront the healing process, hell I was afraid of everything. I had spent my life fearing and it had to stop. Jen and I lived together for a couple years.
I used to cry myself to sleep wondering if anyone would ever want to love me. I knew Grandpa, Jennifer, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins and my very close friends loved me but I still felt incomplete. It was a familiar feeling, that empty broken feeling that I was shown. It wasn’t good enough anymore.
When I was 21, almost 22 years old, I met Greg. I had dated before but I always found a reason to push guys away, after all, no one would ever love me, right? I was too fat and too ugly. Dating was awkward for me and when I got rejected it cut and cut deep. I always had a knack for taking things so personally. When comments were made, they were made to hurt me, in my mind. Oh My God! I had inherited the “poor Linda syndrome” that ailed my mother! I had to find a way out of the cycle. I didn’t want to be her. I wanted no part of what she was or what she did to people.
Greg was so different and he came from an uber nuclear family that to me just didn’t exist. He was warm and kind and sincere. I was so scared of him.
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Joined: 06 Apr 2006
Posts: 1767
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| victims cry
Posted:
Wed Aug 09, 2006 8:50 pm |
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oh ber! you are so strong.
You have brought out something that we dont pay attention to. The obvious abuse is the physical and sexual. So many though, like you, suffer through horrible emotional abuse as children due to a parent who cant love, cant understand, or give love. I cried all the way through. You see my mother loves me and always did. She is a wonderful woman. But she also has a very very hard time showing her feelings or dealing with anger/sadness. It caused a lot of scars when i was growing up bc i was so afraid of having her turn into a block of ice if i upset her. Yet i was lucky, i knew she loved me and cared and she looked after me. She was very warm and loving most of the time. It was just a small part of her.
I cant even begin to extrapolate what you must have felt all the time. It scares me deep down that you and others feel that sort of pain daily when growing up.
So glad you managed to forge through it!!!
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On Vacation!
Joined: 22 Mar 2006
Posts: 9307
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| iquitos
Posted:
Wed Aug 09, 2006 9:23 pm |
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story
good story ber. sounds like your mother was depressed. you are lucky you had grandparents and an extended family to fall back on. sounds like you made it in spite of her. we are very resilient creatures. don't dwell on it. you came out ok.
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beady eyed rat
Joined: 26 Mar 2006
Posts: 15106
Location: nowhere man
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| Night_Owl
Posted:
Wed Aug 09, 2006 10:08 pm |
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...
Last edited by Night_Owl on Thu Nov 30, 2006 4:25 am; edited 1 time in total
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I know, but I can't say!
Joined: 24 Mar 2006
Posts: 117
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| likestoflap-lol
Posted:
Wed Aug 09, 2006 10:28 pm |
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BER. IT TAKES A LOT TO GO DEEP INSIDE YOUR HEART AND SOUL AND PUT IT IN WORDS. to be able to express the emotions on all levels and share with us is very unselfish. i worked in social work office and heard a lot of family storys that came from very sucesssful people who overcame such abuse. not easy task.. they recognized it as such -did not want to recreate it in their own homes as adults and seeked help. journaling is one thing the office encouraged . good luck with your writing. if it helps you it has a purpose. if it helps one person to read this you have done something good/take care of yourself always. l read every word-thank you for letting us in your world for a way to know how you must have felt. ltf-lol
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** Banned **
Joined: 24 Mar 2006
Posts: 2433
Location: at the mall buying purple sandals to meet clients -oh my~!
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| LiveNLearn
Posted:
Wed Aug 09, 2006 10:54 pm |
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I so understand and relate ~ ~ ~
A heart broken by verbal abuse is so hard to mend - But can be done.
Many times in the past, I've said that I would rather take a beating than face verbal abuse again ~
Bruises go away, heal in time and vanish, verbal beatings haunt the mind forever for some.
Love your children and show them the love that you KNOW does exist within you.
They will grow up to see the beauty that they have been blessed with having you as their mother.
Be Well ~
LiveNLearn
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Joined: 23 Mar 2006
Posts: 3210
Location: Lounging Around StateSide USA
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| blynn
Posted:
Thu Aug 10, 2006 7:52 am |
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Ber i really think you should write a book....so many have gone through what you have as a child.....i have myself gone through a bad childhood...i thank god i was able to make a better life for me....and give my 3 children what i never got growing up.....i think with you being able to write it is a big healing step for you....and i would be first in line to buy your book....i know its very hard to open up with your past...but your one step ahead by doing so....thank you for sharing with us...
((((((((((((((((((((ber))))))))))))))))) something you probable didnt get growing up....
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Joined: 04 May 2006
Posts: 146
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| Ber
Posted:
Thu Aug 10, 2006 10:22 am |
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Thank you all. I am really heading in the book-writing direction, I think it is something that needs a voice. I've only ever thanked my mother for one thing in my life...showing me exactly what kind of pain and hurt I never want my children to experience at the hands of someone that is supposed to love them w/all they've got.
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Joined: 06 Apr 2006
Posts: 1767
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| bamuda
Posted:
Thu Aug 10, 2006 11:03 am |
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So many parts of your life's story hit home for me, Ber.
You shared your deepest feelings, exposed your soft belly to the world and over a hundred people have read your words.
I think your children will benefit greatly one day by reading and understanding what makes their Mother tick, the pain behind the smiles.
They benefit now because of your experiences.
It is cleansing to release the old hurts, to share with others going through the same and worse. It helps you and that in itself is a good thing.
Your story touched me in so many ways. Thank you for sharing!
Go for it .... 
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Resident Philosopher
Joined: 24 Mar 2006
Posts: 1157
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| Hog' Breath
Posted:
Sat Aug 26, 2006 9:59 am |
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Ber,
I have fortunately never had to experience what you have.
You are a good writer, and like the others, I think you should take a chance in the writing arena. Good luck!
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Joined: 23 Aug 2006
Posts: 241
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| Hog' Breath
Posted:
Sat Aug 26, 2006 10:02 am |
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Ber,
I have fortunately never had to experience what you have.
You are a good writer, and like the others, I think you should take a chance in the writing arena. Good luck!
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Joined: 23 Aug 2006
Posts: 241
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| iwabwu
Posted:
Sun Aug 27, 2006 2:25 pm |
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Ber -
I feel so sorry for those little girls. 
If you want to write, I'd focus on one summer, or a small portion of your life. It sounds like you've had time to reflect and heal. Those all work together, at least in the things I've read.
Your story reminds me of a few others -
"Where the Heart Is"
http://imdb.com/title/tt0198021/combined
"Bastard Out of Carolina"
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0115633/
These are the kinds of stories that make me think and cry at the same time. While they are sad, there is learning and healing.
Good luck with the writing.
I think you've got stories for a lot of books, or other works.
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** Banned **
Joined: 17 May 2006
Posts: 6314
Location: Third Rock From The Sun
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| pax
Posted:
Sun Aug 27, 2006 3:20 pm |
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Ber, I think you could definitely write a book based on these experiences. Perhaps find a friend who can work with you, reading what you've written and helping you clarify and refine the expression of your deeply personal thoughts.
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Joined: 23 Mar 2006
Posts: 16336
Location: Wish You Were Here
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| Ber
Posted:
Tue Jun 12, 2007 10:21 pm |
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I'm still working on my book. Your words (all of them) have been an inspiration and truly helpful. Things have gone from bad to worse lately w/my mother. I think the ultimate conclusion and the ability to write the full story won't happen until my grandfather passes. She is destroying his life now and we have attorneys involved. I need to find someone to help me write and publish my story the right way. I know it's been a year but I still thank you all for your support.
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Joined: 06 Apr 2006
Posts: 1767
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| pax
Posted:
Wed Jun 13, 2007 12:37 am |
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Good luck to you Ber. In terms of your book, consider using what you wrote earlier as the basic outline. Then write chapters based on each episode, using a lot of specific details to flesh it out.
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Joined: 23 Mar 2006
Posts: 16336
Location: Wish You Were Here
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| dithers
Posted:
Wed Jun 13, 2007 5:19 pm |
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Ber,
Many parts of your story echo my own life.
After many years of blaming my mother for similar behavior I am now able to understand and forgive give her - for in the end she was a much more troubled soul than me. And her life had been much more hellish than mine . As far as I know she never experienced sexual abuse as your mom did but then I don't know that for a fact.
I hope you write your book if only for the cathartic exercise it will afford you in getting it all out and down on paper. I've found from my poetry, which I usually write during times of depression, that it is a tremendous release, both mentally and emotionally.
I hope one day you will be able to move past your mother's role in your life and come to both pity and love her for the tortured soul she has obviously been for so much of her life.
I don't know how old you are Ber. I am 58. I carried this burden of blaming my mother and my childhood until I was about 40. That's the same year my son was killed. It was then that I realized that I only had this one go round on this earth. There were no do-overs. And my son's death was the perfect warning that it could all end in a breath anyway. Nothing I could ever do or say would ever change the childhood I'd had. Nothing any counselor or analyst could do or say could ever change the childhood I'd had. Dwelling on the past solves nothing. And so I was able to move on.
I also know from my older sister, who was much like your sister as far as being mom's favorite, that we each have many different memories of the past. Mostly because of my young age, there were many things I didn't know or realize that were going on in everyone else's life - including my mom's.
I don't mean to sound preachy as I feel very badly for you and the misery you grew up with. But staying angry at the past only lets the past continue to win and keep you down.
I've said on many occasions, including on this board, that if we want to blame our parents for this kind of stuff - well were does it begin. Perhaps they in turn can blame their parents and so on down the line and that perhaps it's the fault of the first S.O.B. at the head of the branch on the family tree who is to blame for everything.
Live your own life to it's fullest. It's the only life you will ever have. Don't allow your mother and your feelings toward her to rob you of any more of it than you've already lost.
To be quite honest if I were to pick up this book and read it I would find it infinitely more interesting and full of depth if it was to include your mother's entire life and then segue into your life and show how those things that made her what and who she was and is came to haunt your life in so many ways. I think only covering your own life without covering the root causes of what made her what she is would be too one-dimensional. Since she is to be the catalyst for all your sorrow than the reader needs an opportunity to understand her more fully - both from an sympathetic and non-sympathetic standpoint.
And in the end, gaining that understanding of your mom's life might help you more easily find the peace you seek. For you see, your life didn't start when you were born. All the things that were happened to her came into play in how your life has evolved.
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Pretty in Blonde
Joined: 17 Apr 2006
Posts: 3468
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