I feel guilty complaining about my mother. I guess that's why I turn that into hatred for myself. We aren't supposed to complain about our mothers, who are dealing with the challenge of raising us, and my mother wasn't that bad as far as mothers go. I'm being ungrateful. Somebody told me that. Was it her?
I always dreaded christmas and my birthday, essentially I dreaded receiving gifts because I didn't think I deserved them. I feel like somebody would tell me that 'i don't deserve them but we already bought them so here you go.' My best christmas was my first christmas with my future husband, after we moved 3000 miles away, drew a christmas tree with crayons on a big piece of paper, wrapped our presents in newspaper, and put them on the floor next to the cushion we called a chair, LOL. We didn't have much money but we had real love. Not that fake crap my mom was dishing out as love. Even now I really struggle to treat myself to nice things cuz I don't think I deserve it.
we were driving home once after meeting a friend of hers. I don't remember the situation, i just remember me sitting in the back seat staring out the window when she suddenly said 'how did I get such a rotten kid?' Um, Idk mom, bad luck? I just went back to staring out the window. Then we stopped and she got me some animal crackers and all was good.
I didn't save my mom once tho. That's why I tried so hard to be a good kid; I was trying so hard to make it up to her. When I was 11 I woke up to her screaming "K, help me" over and over again. I didn't. I went back to sleep. Next thing i know we are in the police station, me sitting on a hard wooden chair listening to how my dad attacked her. He got arrested, they got divorced (a divorce that became final on my 12th birthday), nobody ever talked about it again. Talk about sweeping it under the rug. But I was consumed by guilt. Sure, I realize now that I was only 11 and scared, but at age 11/12/13/14/15/16 lol you get the idea, I feel like I let down my mom big time and she hated me for it. I tried so hard to make it up to her but nothing worked. In my mind she blamed me for not saving her and I hated myself for it. I spent age 16 trying not to make it 17.
At 18 I put myself in the same situation, screaming for help while my boyfriend at the time tried to kill me. We were in our apartment building and I could hear the neighbors TV. Hell, they probably turned up the TV to drown out my screams. Nobody helped me. That was an awful awful feeling. I had 2 thoughts then. One, no wonder my mom hated me and two, as an 11 year old there probably wasn't much I could've done. Tho even as I write that, I could've called the police or walked down the hall-- maybe I haven't forgiven myself as much as I thought I had! And yet, I've forgiven the neighbors for not doing anything. They were probably freaked out. Why can I forgive the neighbors but not me? When my mother told me she didn't love me 3 years ago, that was the first place my mind went- that I didn't save her.
It's highly possible she didn't love me much before that though. Unfortunately I have blocked out my childhood before age 11. My life starts with her screaming for help. I can remember material details before that age- where we lived, my room, my school (sorta)- but family is absent.
