Some mothers have an ocean full of love for their children. Others have a thimble full. Though my mother had more than an ocean full of love for my younger sister, and I [thought] had a thimble full for me, as a child,I was alright with that. My rationale, at the time, was that my sister was terribly ill and expected to die before reaching adulthood. I figured that my mother had to give an entire lifetime of love to my sister in a short period of time. And I was willing to make the sacrifice. After all, deep down, my mother, my "mommy" loved me too, right? Wasn't that the rules?
And also, my father treated my mother, my siblings, and I quite abusively much of the time. So, it was "normal" for my mother to get a little extra cranky with me sometimes, right? After all, she was a wonderful, loving mother. Everyone said so, and it MUST be true, because DAMNIT, that's the rules!
And it made sense that when my younger sister played with my older brothers' toys without permission, and left them scattered all over the basement, that my mother would tell both my brother and my father that I was the one that had actually done so. If she hadn't, then my sister, my poor, dying baby sister, would have received the beatings, and that might cause her to die even earlier. I actually fancied myself as the family "hero",taking on so many of the beatings that would have otherwise gone to my sister or mother. Sometimes, I wondered why she never thanked me for "protecting my sister," but then I would feel guilty for being selfish. My mother already went through so much. How dare I expect anything more?
What really confused me though, was when my mother and sister [possibly brother too, I still don't know] would approach my father and accuse me of all sorts of wrongs straight from their imaginations. It made no sense, because when I received these beatings, it wasn't to prevent someone else from being abused. And I couldn't figure out why my mother [ my MOMMY!] and later my younger sister, would watch as I was being attacked with tight, smug little smiles on their faces.
And sometimes I would wonder, even though my mother was going through so much, why she refused to intervene when my brother would tie me up and leave me alone in the dark basement, or when he forced me to eat cat feces, or my own vomit. But then I would remember that somehow I must deserve it because I was the "bad girl, the liar, and the one who made stuff up," Not only that, but I was incredibly stupid as well, so stupid in fact, that I could not figure out WHY I was the "bad girl," WHEN I had lied and made stuff up. I guessed that made me even "badder" and "deserving of everything I got."
And also, my father treated my mother, my siblings, and I quite abusively much of the time. So, it was "normal" for my mother to get a little extra cranky with me sometimes, right? After all, she was a wonderful, loving mother. Everyone said so, and it MUST be true, because DAMNIT, that's the rules!
And it made sense that when my younger sister played with my older brothers' toys without permission, and left them scattered all over the basement, that my mother would tell both my brother and my father that I was the one that had actually done so. If she hadn't, then my sister, my poor, dying baby sister, would have received the beatings, and that might cause her to die even earlier. I actually fancied myself as the family "hero",taking on so many of the beatings that would have otherwise gone to my sister or mother. Sometimes, I wondered why she never thanked me for "protecting my sister," but then I would feel guilty for being selfish. My mother already went through so much. How dare I expect anything more?
What really confused me though, was when my mother and sister [possibly brother too, I still don't know] would approach my father and accuse me of all sorts of wrongs straight from their imaginations. It made no sense, because when I received these beatings, it wasn't to prevent someone else from being abused. And I couldn't figure out why my mother [ my MOMMY!] and later my younger sister, would watch as I was being attacked with tight, smug little smiles on their faces.
And sometimes I would wonder, even though my mother was going through so much, why she refused to intervene when my brother would tie me up and leave me alone in the dark basement, or when he forced me to eat cat feces, or my own vomit. But then I would remember that somehow I must deserve it because I was the "bad girl, the liar, and the one who made stuff up," Not only that, but I was incredibly stupid as well, so stupid in fact, that I could not figure out WHY I was the "bad girl," WHEN I had lied and made stuff up. I guessed that made me even "badder" and "deserving of everything I got."
