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Dear Diary

I want to learn why I survived my childhood with a positive and idealistic attitude about my future, I honestly fought and worked extremely hard to heal as much as I could from an abusive past and growing up in a cult, I healed my PTSD symptoms, I was happy and thriving in life and then I sabotaged my hard work, turned against myself, and did the complete opposite of what I did to heal. I want to figure this out and I want to heal again, this time more permanently.
 
I have gone through sooo many things in my life since the day I was born. My mom had postpartum depression when she had me and did not know how to take care of me. She was a stay at home mom and she had some intense mental health issues. My dad paid the bills. My first memory of abuse is one day, I spilled a bowl of cereal. I don't recall everything that happened but I remember my mom totally flipping out at me and I was crying and trying to tell her it was an accident and that I didn't break the bowl. I remember not understanding why it was such a crime to spill my bowl of cereal because I accidentally tripped. I don't recall how old I was but this is my first memory of abuse and I think I was about five years old.
 
When I was child, I remember being made to feel like I was such a bad person every day of my life, many times a day. I was yelled at for everything and blamed for everything. Mom would stay home with me and my sister, dad would go to work. My sister was mom's little angel and I was my mom's outlet for her anger. My punishment was mom grabbing me by my hair or by my arm and dragging me across the room and then relentlessly smacking me with a flyswatter. I don't even remember what she would say to me. She would then tell me to go sit in a corner. I remember sitting in a corner in my room on a daily basis and I would be there so long that I would have to constantly shift and I would end up with pins and needles. I would also make up games in my head to pass the time. Later in the day, my dad would come home, I would be in my room holding my breathe behind my closed door because mom would always end up telling him how bad I was that day and he would predictably storm into my room accusing me of something, I would try to explain what happened, he would just say, 'Excuses, Excuses, Excuses. I don't want to hear about it.' He would call me a liar and tell me I wouldn't amount to anything and just start smacking me and smacking me. Othertimes, he would spank until I set my pants. Every time he spanked me, he would start and not stop until I would inevitably wet my pants. If I started crying, he would tell me they were crocodile tears. Then he would send me to my room often without dinner.
 
As I am typing this out, I am not crying or anything. Just a little tense. I can tell people some of the things that have happened to me and not feel anything. That bothers me. It's as if it happened to someone else. Ugghhh. I'm sure this happened to other people too.
 
Ever since my first memory of abuse, (my mom freaking out at me for spilling a bowl of cereal) my mom started serving my breakfast of cereal or oatmeal in a recycled empty Crowley cottage cheese container, till the day I moved out at age 18. At home, mom served my meals on plates with brown decorations on them, and served meals to herself, my sister and dad on bowls and plates with blue decorations. Sometimes she served me food different from what everyone else was eating, sometimes she made me eat by myself in my room and sometimes she made me eat what was leftover on my sister's plate. I was always forced to finish my food. Sometimes she would give me salad to eat with a disgusting orange salad dressing on it (and not even enough of it), and force me to finish it. I always took so long to eat it and I would end up with so much chewed up lettuce in my mouth and couldn't swallow it no matter how much I tried and would pretend I had to use the bathroom and wrap it up in toilet paper and flush it down the toilet
 
Sometimes I remember dad yelling at me and smacking me when we were in the living room and I remember I would end up underneath the dining room table trying to get away from him.
 
My mom was supposedly allergic to perfume, cologne, cigarette smoke and anything that had a scent. Because of this, she always stayed home and never worked anywhere and didn't go to church. This also meant that if dad or me, (not my sister) came home from grandma's (she was a smoker) or Ibcame home from a friend's house, we would have to leave out clothes outside to air out. I don't think my dad had to do this part though; I would have to strip naked out of my clothes on the back porch, put my bathrobe on and immediately go to the bathroom to take a shower. No one else had to this either; because so supposedly had purfumy smells in my room, I had to keep my door shut at all times. We had a cat that I had found and loved (another story) and he was not allowed in my room. I felt like I was hurting his feelings though and I would sneak him in my room. He would sit outside of my room and hang his body against my door until I let him in. If I was caught, of course I would get in trouble.
So because of this whole perfume thing, almost everytime I came home from a friend's house, my parents would start yelling at me because I smelled like perfume and then dad would start yelling at me that I am making my mother sick. If mom ever went shopping with us, she would ride in the car with an air purifier plugged into the cigarette lighter and she would wear a mask over her nose. I knew it was all a bunch of B.S. though because I remember that sometimes my sister and I would be given the same toys from someone. We would have to air them out on the porch and my mom always let my sister bring her toys in the house first. Mine would have to air our longer. And one time, my dad bought me a nice dress and I was able to wear it to someone's wedding but it "had to air out". So I kept asking mom if I could bring it in. Mom forced me to leave it out on the porch for a long time and it eventually got moldy and was ruined. It was the nicest dress my dad had ever bought for me.
So guess what? My mom is a smoker now and has been for a few years. I knew she was making it all up just so she didn't have to get out of the house.
 
Very normal. You are telling your story. Memories coming up in clumps.
The feelings are there. They will start when you can handle it, whether it Feels like it or not.
You are doing fantastic.
Share at your own pace. This is your space.
Hugs.
 

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